#i just can't let go of the death grip i have on that song when it comes to this fic

[ghost-proofbaby]

SO SCARLET (IT WAS MAROON)

CHAPTER FOUR: CASTLES CRUMBLING

AND HERE I SIT ALONE, BEHIND WALLS OF REGRET. FALLING DOWN LIKE PROMISES I NEVER KEPT.

☆ pairings: rockstar!eddie munson x fem!reader

☆ warnings: no use of y/n, strong language, angst, mentions of RUMORS of workplace sex scandal, minors dni

☆ WC: 5.4K+

☆ A/N: if you would like to listen to the song that eddie is recording at the end - it is an actual, real life song. :-) it is called "blood sport" by sleep token (one of my favorite bands i get to see live next week!!), and i highly recommend listening to it during your reading. especially the latter half of this chapter.

thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for the divider!

masterlist

“Alright, so – anyone care to fill me in on what the Hell that was?” 

Matt stands like a disapproving father figure as the band lines up opposite of him just outside the building. Eddie had hoped nothing would be mentioned until they were in the car, but the driver was clearly running a few minutes late.

Three of the boys glance at each other, worried expressions immediately giving up the hoax even as Eddie only shrugs and says, “What do you mean?” 

“Cut the shit, Munson,” Matt had never appeared so livid, so undone by irritation. His usual patience with Eddie is nonexistent, “What’s going on between you and that girl? Is she a past groupie?”

The insinuation gets a scoff out of Gareth. Jeff side-eyes him in warning, but Eddie couldn’t care less, “No, she’s not a past groupie. This was the first time I’d ever-”

“Don’t lie to me,” Matt points an accusatory finger at Eddie, narrowing his eyes, “I am your manager. If you have any unsavory connections with that girl, I need to know so I can decide if we need someone else to organize the event. We are not having another repeat of the Lewinsky scandal.” 

“I knew it! I fucking knew you called it that, too!” Gareth cheers, but he’s quieted by one look from their furious manager.

The Lewinsky scandal had been their code-word for when the tabloids had become convinced that Eddie was fucking an assistant at the label. A girl had even come forward and claimed to have had sexual relations with Eddie, and he had taken heat for it for a full month before the buzzing novelty worn off.

Eddie had only spoken three words to the girl. No, thank you when she’d offered him a mug of coffee during a late night at the studio. He wishes now he’d been less polite. 

And he also finds himself wishing that’s all this was. He wishes you were just another scandal, another terrible rumor spread around. If all the accusations between you two were false, if all the hatred was based on misconstrued circumstances, it would be so much easier. He can talk himself out of that. He can confess to those sins and get off with no more than the order of one hail mary from Matt. 

But you? The reality of all that had happened, both all those years ago and just thirty minutes ago? He can’t find the words. They choke him up, unwilling to leave the cavern of his chest and enter the world, just like all the songs gathering dust as demos. 

“It’s not going to be another Lewinsky scandal,” Eddie scowls, feet shuffling against the concrete below him. Can’t be another Lewinsky scandal if she wants nothing to do with me anymore, “Maybe she just doesn’t like me. I am allegedly a very polarizing public figu-”

The car pulls up, and Matt is quick to grab Eddie’s shoulder before glaring at the boys, “Get in, I’m not finished with our polarizing public figure yet.” 

Grant and Gareth only let out low whistles, following instruction without lingering as they clamber into the back row of seats in the SUV. Jeff takes his time, though, going as far to pause beside Eddie and place a hand on his back.

“Just tell him the truth, Eds.” 

It’s the final nail in his coffin. Eddie is cursing Jeff’s retreating figure as he climbs into the vehicle and shuts the door, leaving him alone with Matt. 

“Explain,” Matt demands, “Now.” 

Eddie’s eyes focus on a gaping crack in the sidewalk, jagged and uneven, right down the center. 

He has two options. He could continue to lie, insist he knows nothing about you until Matt just gets bored of not being offered the truth. Or he could admit it all, reveal the muse behind the art he had been fiercely protecting over these last few months. Every line, every chord, every broken note that had left his lungs during those witching hours in the studio. 

On one hand, it’ll rip away the opportunity that has been offered to him on a silver platter – the opportunity for closure. Selfish, bloody closure that neither of you had gotten, it seemed. But on the other hand, it might grant him some sympathy. Matt, the label, the producers – they had all grown tired of the dance Eddie led them in every time they’d inquire about the music. But if Matt knew-

It’s a dead end trail of thought. He knows he won’t admit to the worst of his atrocities he’s committed. No scandal, no late night ending with him in handcuffs, no fraudulent headline is going to compare to what he did to you. What you did to him.

It’s a little too late for damage control, anyways.

“I went to high school with her,” the lie works well enough, easing some of Matt’s frustration, “I was just shocked to see her. All of us were shocked to see her. No big deal.” 

Eddie knows the people around him have come to learn that they must pick and choose the battles they engage in with him. And he can see that decision flash across Matt’s face as he decides that this is not a battle necessary to the war.

“Alright. But if you’re lying to me-“

“I’m not lying.”

“If you are, that’ll be one of my last straws, Munson.”

It won’t be. Eddie knows it won’t be. Everyone, every single goddamn person in this world it seems, is capable of giving Eddie Munson unlimited chances — except you. You, it seemed, were the only person who had come to their senses. 

You always were smarter than people gave you credit for.

—

“Run the track again.” 

They’d spent a few hours in the studio already. It was an odd hour for them to be haunting the space, more used to visiting in the dead of night rather than the middle of a weekday, but it was down to the wire now. Vocals needed to be recorded, instrumentals fine-tuned, tracks properly mastered. Eddie could no longer hide in the night when it came to recording the haunting melodies stained with the blood of his past — no matter how wrong it felt to see a sliver of sunlight breaking through one of the windows, just through the top of the blackout curtains.

“I really think that was the one, man-“ the producer starts, probably just tired after repeatedly running in circles with Eddie’s perfectionism.

He doesn’t care. He’s paying them, they can stand to let him re-record as many times as necessary to satisfy Eddie, “Run it again.” 

The silence only continues to buzz in Eddie’s headphones. He’s ready to cuss out the producer as he angrily shoves them down, off his ears and hanging loosely around his neck, the wire a leash as he whips to face the one-way glass wall. The lights are off at the main board, guaranteeing that they can see Eddie but Eddie can’t see them.

Until suddenly, the light comes back on, and the reason for the absence of the repeated track Eddie had requested becomes obvious.

Gareth.

He stands at the center of it all, a few paces from the seated producer with a deep scowl on his face. 

“What the fuck?” Eddie says, mouth just close enough to the mic for them to catch his overflowing annoyance, “I said-“

“We heard what you said, Eddie,” Gareth interrupts, his voice just loud enough to be faintly heard even as the headphones curl around the nape of Eddie’s neck, “But I need to talk to you.” 

It’s the strictest tone that Gareth has used on their lead singer in an unfathomably measure of time. Probably because it’s the most words he’s said to Eddie in a very long time, as well.

Eddie finally removes the headphones, hanging them carelessly on the mic stand and moving towards the door — surprisingly, without putting up a resistance.

The control room is warmer than the fairly large area that served as a ‘booth’. Smaller, as well. Cramped with a low couch and one too many chairs available to trip over, the control board spanses the entire wall that holds the oversized window into the recording room. A plethora of small lights twinkle like stars, and numerous switches that Eddie had come to know better than the back of his hand alternate positions to guarantee the clearest sound. Only Gareth and the producer occupy the room, the rest of the band having taken off around the fifth time Eddie had requested a redo of his vocal tracking.

“This better be good,” Eddie complains, furrowing his brows, agitated at the interruption. 

But Gareth shows no remorse, “We need to talk.” 

“Yeah, you said that already.”

“We need to talk,” Gareth repeats, eyes flickering to the poor soul still seated at the controls, “Alone.” 

Eddie hardly has to open his mouth, the man jumping out of his seat the moment the lead singer flicks his wrist to signal for him to leave.

Whatever Gareth was about to say had to be important, and it’s that thought rather than the difference in temperatures that has sweat building on Eddie’s brows.

Is he about to quit the band? Is he about to tell me he’s had enough? Maybe he’s done with my bullshit — I would be.

“Speak, Emerson,” Eddie flatly insists, grabbing a small water bottle out of one of the mini fridges in the room before he throws himself onto the worn leather of the couch, “And make it quick. We’re on a time limit, you kno-“

“We’ve gotta talk about her, man.” 

Her as in you. 

For a moment, Gareth sounds like a friend again. He’s dropped all the persistent perturbation he’s taken to defending himself with when it comes to  Eddie, his voice pleading as he stands before the distant man. All the rueful power plays that had developed over the last year vanish. It’s just Eddie and Gareth, bandmates who started out in the latter’s garage in some small Indiana town. Not Eddie Munson, infamous rockstar with a chip on his shoulder. Not Gareth Emerson, passionate drummer overshadowed by the ego of his lead singer. Just Eddie and Gareth.

 “We all know you didn’t tell Matt the truth.” 

“I did tell him the truth-“ 

“Not the whole truth, then. There’s no way he’d let it slide if he knew that she was your ex-girlfriend.” 

The defiance vacates Eddie’s body quickly. He doesn’t even attempt to prowl his mind for a quick quip in response. All he does at the words is drop his shoulders, the defeat creeping up on him as he deflates. 

Ex-girlfriend. The title feels so pitiful to truly describe what you were to him. 

But to be fair, even when he had been in your good graces, girlfriend had also never felt significant enough.

“Did-“ Gareth starts after a beat of silence, noting the way Eddie couldn’t quite hide his wounds on the topic, “What did you guys talk about? When you went after her, what did she say?” 

“Nothing important.”

Eddie turns into a shell, a zombie as he stares straight ahead and tries to compartmentalize. That always worked; with meetings, with arguments, with lectures. Even before the fame, it worked.

It doesn’t work quite as quickly when it comes to you. His brain, it seems, is incapable of uncrossing all the wires you twist within his brain.

“You two were alone for, what, ten minutes? And you’re telling me she didn’t say anything important?” 

“What the fuck is there to say?” Eddie laughs soullessly, “Oh, hey, stranger! Remember me? The guy you up and left without a word?” 

“Yes!” Gareth shouts unexpectedly, “Yes, that’s exactly what you should have done! She left. Not just you, but all of us. We never even really knew why. And now- what? Are we just supposed to pretend we don’t know her?” 

Eddie knew why. She’d never had to say it, and that was the issue. He always thought about all the answers he swore he craved, and always let every question he claimed to have haunt him during the waking hours. But when the day turned to night, when he was left to nothing but his own devices in a dark and empty apartment during the witching hours, he knew. The question of why had been answered since the first phone call cut short with you during that goddamn tour.

The songs knew, too. He supposes it had been an arrogant assumption to believe the band had read into his lyrics and put the pieces together. 

“That’s exactly what we’re going to do,” Eddie nearly whispers, throat tightening and fighting him on the words. It’s the opposite of what he wants and needs — but it’s what you want and what you need. And so he plays the messenger, even as it kills him, “We are going to completely disregard my past with her. We are going to treat this entire situation as professionally as possible. I’m talking the full nine yards: you will not mention the fact that we know her, you will not question her about anything from the past, and you will not, under any circumstances, ask her why.” 

His own set of rules he’d privately set for himself in his own mind during the car ride over. 

Gareth squints his eyes in disbelief, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Are you serious?”

“Deathly so.”

“This isn’t just about your past with her,” the boy nearly passes, starts to reach up to tug on his hair before he thinks better of it, “This is about the way she left all of us. Not just you. She was a friend to all of us. She was the one who taught me how to tape my drums when I’d bust a hole in them, she was the one who helped us design our first merch, she was the only person any of us would let be in the room during practices. And not just the band stuff, either,” Eddie watches tears form in Gareth’s eyes, “She was the only one who had the patience to help me with my fucking math homework back in school, man. She was the one who nearly curb stomped Jason Carver the week he sent Grant home with a black eye. She was the first person Jeff called when his parents broke news of their divorce, for fucks sake. Not me, not you, not any of us — her,” Gareth’s breaths come out as pants as he stops his pacing and stands before Eddie. The tears continue to lace his bottom lash line as he heaved silently at the end of his rant, his pained expression completely unexpected to Eddie. 

This is the part Eddie chooses to forget. He’ll let himself swim in the memory of you late at night, he’ll indulge in vices that always amplify his pain rather than succeeding in his attempt to numb it, he’ll stare down the mirror each morning and curse the reflection he finds with all the blame in the world he is capable of holding in the palms of his hands. But in all the ruptures of his own old scars, he fails to consider that he is not the only one burdened with loss. 

They all lost you. When Eddie lost you, so did the band. You’d become a ghost to more than just your abandoned lover — you’d become a tired haunt to boys you’d known, boys you’d befriended and burrowed your way into the lives of, just as well. 

“She was our friend,” Gareth chokes out, fists curling at his sides, “Jesus Christ, I- I get it. She was everything to you. Whatever. But she meant a lot to the rest of us, too. Whatever happened wasn’t just some isolated event — you two didn’t just hurt each other. You set off whatever bomb erased her from our lives, but it left the rest of us with some damage, too. Don’t forget that.” 

This is the part where Eddie should apologize. This is the part where, once upon a blissful time, he would have said his repentance. 

He doesn’t.

“I don’t care how hurt anyone is,” he lowly responds, eyes unable to meet Gareth’s any longer, “I’ve told you the rules, we’re going to follow them. End of discussion.” 

Gareth throws back his head, and Eddie winces at his scoff, “She’s not your fucking property, Eddie! She isn’t solely yours to keep or whatever the fuck you think you’re doing!” 

Eddie can’t even deny the action of keeping you. All the demos, all the songs laid to the grave because he couldn’t stomach the thought of releasing them for others to experience. 

But that’s not what this was. This, the cataclysm that was sending Gareth to finally release all this pent up frustration, was him following your rules. You’d made your wishes for this project very clear, and he needed to at least try to respect them. They all did. 

So he takes on the role of the bad guy. He lets them paint him as the villain if it means no red will stain your ledger. 

“Oh, I think she’s made it very clear that she isn’t mine,” the mask slips on far too easily for Eddie. Cool demeanor, compartmentalizing. Not you, but his emotions towards his friends, if he could even still call them that. His bandmates that he had once seen as brothers. “Doesn’t change what I said. Don’t push it, Emerson, or there’ll be Hell to pay.” 

“What are you going to do? Disappear on us?” Eddie finally looks back up to meet Gareth’s fiery gaze as he spits out hateful words, “Hate to break it to you, but you already left this band behind two years ago. And if you ask me, you should start leaving the vanishing act to her. At least she doesn’t make us pay for her mistakes.” 

Eddie is by no means done with the conversation, more than willing to continue fighting with Gareth, but the other boy clearly feels differently. He leaves his words hanging in the air as he spins away, storming out of the door, the air in the studio now several degrees hotter now with the irate fuel of the fight.  

It was all a blood sport. All of it. It didn’t matter if Eddie was fighting with the band, the management, with you. It was all bloody and fruitless, and it all left him the same awful type of hollow in the end. 

He stares blankly at the wall as he makes a silent decision.

By the time the producer has timidly returned to the room, Eddie has already set up his laptop to connect to the studio's system, prepped so that any recording would automatically copy into his personal hard drive. A way for him to listen and ruminate in the privacy of his own apartment. 

The sheet music torn from his notebook already lays at the table besides the entrance to the booth. 

“Do you… want to run the track again?” the man, the stranger, asks. He clearly heard the fight. Eddie and Gareth hadn’t been exactly quiet in their screaming match. At least, Gareth hadn’t been. 

Is it really a screaming match if only one side fights back? 

“I want to lay a new track,” Eddie’s voice is deadpan as he clicks a few buttons, finalizing everything. He only needs the man to click record, “A raw piano and vocal demo. We can add the rest of the band later.” 

“I-“

One look from Eddie, hardly passed over his shoulder with a glimmer of unbridled determination, and the man quiets as he takes his seat. 

Eddie storms into the booth without another word, fist curled around the page of lyrics and terribly hand-drawn music clefts. 

She isn’t yours to keep.

Eddie was aware of that. Painfully, painfully aware. But it had never been about his claim to you. 

Gareth was right. Eddie never wanted to own you. Keeping you, however, had been something he should have taken more care with.

The chill of the small room to record in does little to lessen the flames eating Eddie up as he bypasses the assembly of various instruments all crowded in the space. Gareth’s drum set, Jeff’s guitar, Grant’s bass — he storms right past them, eyes locked on the grand piano in the fair corner. It took up the most space, far too large to have been forced to be contained within this compact room. 

Eddie drags the mic from where it had been stationed previously with him, quickly and recklessly resetting it at the piano. 

Once he’s seated on the bench, crumpled pages thrown up onto the music desk of the piano and headphones snug over his ears again, the producer finally clicks on his mic to speak.

“Hey, uh… Does this demo have a name by chance? Or do you just want to label it as an unknown for now?”

It certainly does have a name.

“Blood Sport,” Eddie spits out. “Just name the file Blood Sport.” 

The hum that would indicate to Eddie when those on the other side of that glass window were speaking clicks off, and he takes it as his cue.

He’d written the song a while before. There were some gaps in the lyrics, some notes he’d played with on his personal piano scribbled over and never replaced. He’d never played it in its entirety before. 

It starts slow. His fingers hold the ivory keys delicately, arranging for the first opening notes as if he were slotting his knuckles against your own for the first time over again.

She isn’t yours to solely keep. 

Were you ever his to keep, ever? 

Even the ivory keys of the Steinway are more solid than you ever were. You were nothing more than water, than blood, destined to slip between Eddie’s fingers. He never stood a chance in having you, in holding you, in keeping you. 

Not just now, but before all the blood shed, as well. He should have recognized Cassandra’s curse the first day he looked into your eyes. He should have known the twist in his stomach was only Fate sinking its claws into the two of you. 

A tale fit for a Shakespearean stage — a tragedy always meant to be.

“I want to roll the numbers, I want to feel my stars align again.” 

Eddie’s voice is soft to match the steady beat of piano notes that emit from the crooked curl of his hand against the keys. A soft thump, a gentle lull. And instead of losing himself in the music, he finds himself wrapped up in one of the many memories he’d chosen to lock away for the last two years.

Something was off. 

Eddie’s stomach had twisted with anxiety of something being wrong for weeks. You stopped answering his calls, his texts, every form of connection with him. But as he stood in front of the door to your shared apartment, the bile rose even higher in his throat. 

He smelt the decay of what he had done before his key had even entered the lock. 

“Would you invite me again? Won’t you pay for your arrogance? Won’t you show me your weakness?” 

You were never his to keep. 

His voice nearly cracks as he approaches the first chorus, not finding the strength behind the vocals he’d always envisioned for the song.

The click of the door opening echoed through the apartment. It felt empty the moment he’d crossed the threshold – you could have just been tucked away in the bedroom, or even in the bathroom, but he knew. 

You hadn’t been returning his phone calls. You hadn’t been returning his texts. He knew something had happened, something had changed. Irreversible damage had been done, and he would now have to face the mess he’d created to return home to. 

“I made loving you a blood sport.” 

He repeats the line until it rings in his head, over and over. Until he swears the words could crack his bones, and the stars that will show in the night sky will do nothing but mock him for the self-inflicted pain.

At first, he convinced himself you just weren’t home. You’d gone to the store or to see friends. You’d be home soon enough and then, the two of you could scream at each other all you wanted. You were angry with him, rightfully so, but he’d rather you yell and scrap with him than the alternative. He didn’t care. Because he was here, back in the flesh and willing to take any and all cruel words you had sharpened for him. The two of you would fight, yes, but at least that meant there was still something there worth fighting for.

After the first three hours, he realized with a sinking stomach that the alternative might just be his reality. 

“I want to be forgiven.” 

He recalls the look on your face when you’d first seen him today. The fall of your act, the discarding of grace and composure.

The look that told him that he can want all he’s capable of. He can want, he can crave, he can yearn, he can tear himself apart bit by bit with his feeble yet shattering cravings — it won’t change a thing. 

You were never his to keep.

After the clock struck the fifth hour of his return, he started his calling.

Over and over and over, he was met with your voicemail. Endless messages spoken and sent alike. Every single one trying to be gentle as they inquired where you were. Letting you know he was back. Going as far as to ask you if the two of you could talk. 

He wanted to fight. He wanted to fight, because it meant you still saw something worthy within him.  

But even more than Eddie wanted a fight, he wanted you to come home. He wanted you to be there, to welcome him into your safety and remind him he was human again. It was selfish – he was so goddamn selfish – but he needed to feel your skin against his and remind him that he was still a person beneath it all. Beneath the demand, beneath the unwarranted adoration from strangers, beneath all the fractures the sudden traction had left him with – he was still a breathing, living person. He was still your person. 

Eddie’s fingers begin to slam against the keys with increasing urgency as his chest heaves out with every syllable. Repeating, and repeating, and repeating the chorus as if it changes a single thing. He loses himself in it all; in the music ringing in his ears and the memories now drowning him as he confesses all his sins to the microphone. 

You never came home. 

There was no fight, and after the hours reached double digits right along with his ignored phone calls, he had to accept the truth.

You weren’t just at a friend’s, or the store. You were gone. Truly, truly gone.

The drawers once filled with your belongings were vacant. The smell of your perfume was nothing more than a whisper across the pillows. Eddie scoured the entire apartment for signs of you, turning every single piece of furniture over looking for clues. He never thought to check the counter until he’d already ruined the space, terrorizing it in a frenzy before his eyes landed on the letter and the key.

He had approached them both hesitantly. All his denial drained from his body, like the blood pumping through his veins, as his fingers pinched that silver key so gingerly.

A past he can never return to. A home he will never hold the key to again. 

The joints of his fingers ache and his lungs begin to burn for all that he lost — all that they all lost — because of him. His  own foolishness, his own downfall. He did this. 

The aftermath is blurry.

He read the first few words of your letter before promptly crumbling it with his tortured fist, knowing exactly what it said without needing to fully swallow all the words just yet.

He never fully read the letter. He skimmed it, a week later, but not that night. 

Then came the flashes of the pain. The way he’d swung his fists at air and menial objects alike. A vase holding wilted carnations met its demise on the kitchen floor, a hole in the wall appeared that he later had to patch up, one of the coffee tables ended up across the living room with a leg splintered half off. 

He never dropped the key. 

Even as he dropped to his knees in the center of the broken glass, bleeding shins to match his bruising knuckles, he still held that small piece of silver fiercely. He pressed it so tightly, dug it so deeply into his palm that it later left a scar. And not even the way he had grabbed at the broken glass surrounding him had the capability to mar it away as he let it slice his skin, crying out, hopeless and devastated. 

You were gone. He had lost you, and he had been arrogant enough to never even notice it.

“You say it doesn’t matter.” 

The headphones had long since slipped off his head, and he makes no move to adjust them. He hadn’t even noticed that his body had begun to fall forward and curl into the piano until he’s weakly choking out the final lyric that he hadn’t even written down onto the page. 

He hadn’t noticed the tears falling, either.

What were meant to be gasps for air as his fingers fly across the keys in a haunting melody are only sobs. Cries of pain as he no longer can see mere inches ahead of him, a scar of the center of his palm stinging as if brand new, his heart and head pounding in sync. He isn’t even sure if the producer he’s forgotten the name of is still recording. He lets the sobs slip out as he continues to play. 

He can’t quite end the song yet. The moment he does, he’s terrified of the version of him that he will have to face once more. All those surface blemishes from the beginning of the end had run deeper beneath his skin. He was nothing more than rubble and fractures now, splintered every which way until he had become unrecognizable. When he looked in the mirror, all he could see was a creature of destruction.

“You set off whatever bomb erased her from our lives, but it left the rest of us with some damage, too. Don’t forget that,” Gareth’s voice echoes in the silence beginning to gather between the notes.

Another wrecked sob leaves Eddie as he finally finishes off the melody, playing entirely unaffected up until that point. Reality crashes down. His body shakes, shoulders hunched as his forehead connects against the freezing wood of the piano and he pinches his eyes shut tightly enough to be left in total blackness. 

He couldn’t play another note if his life depended upon it.

The memory fades with the final note before his head rattles with a new image. The smile, the grimace, you had offered him before you two parted ways today. An effort at professionalism that Eddie had seen right through. 

Pain. That’s what had twitched in the corners of your mouth. The same pain, if not worse, as the one that now radiated through every atom of Eddie’s broken figure on the piano bench. 

He can’t fix it. Not your pain, not Gareth’s pain, not his own pain. The time for damage control, for sincere apologies and any reconciliation has passed. Just like watered-down blood through his fingertips. 

Eddie hopes that the producer has had half the mind to stop the recording when he stands and slams the drumset behind him into the wall. Destructive, just as he had been the night he returned to an empty apartment. Just as he had been when he’d been the one to rot and wither away all that you two had once held between you. 

They can replace the drum set. Surely, he has a person for that. 

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[ynbabe]

Cute situations w/ f1 drivers- ep2.

Asking the drivers if they 'wanna nap?'

Charles:

"Wanna nap?" You asked the man as soon as he stepped into his hotel room, tired and eyes red. You knew Ferrari wasn't some winter wonderland but you didn't know why Charles put up with it.

You had been close friends with the man, since before he'd started f3 too, you knew he bled Ferrari red but this wasn't bleeding this was suicide.

Nonetheless, you were there for him, every weekend, only today there wasn't much to do, he had just come back from some meetings. He looked at you and hummed, taking off team-issued merch and throwing himself on the bed beside you.

You turned on some sad Adele song and faded into sleep, holding the boy close to you, his head resting on the curve of your neck.

Carlos:

"Wanna nap?" You asked Carlos as you both walked into his drivers' room, it was early in the morning at the Las Vegas GP and just as the year before they had messed up the timings and the drivers had to wait till four-thirty in the morning to get on with the programme.

Knowing the both of you, you were sure if you hadn't extended the offer the both of you would have ended up doom-scrolling through Netflix looking for some show to watch fighting off sleep.

"What?" He asked, shocked at the offer for a second before raising his browns and winking at you, "You finally feel my charm didn't you?" he laughed as he climbed onto the small and rickety bed next to you. "Smooth operator strikes again," he praised himself, pulling you close to him, enveloping you in his arms as the big spoon.

You groaned and kicked his shin, making him complain, "Dude you're so fucking lame!" You made fun of the older man who only replied with terrorism (tickling you,) "S-top, stop, I'm sorry," you laughed, trying to escape the death grip he had on you, eventually getting him to stop.

He let you catch your breath as he set an alarm, before trapping you in his warm arms again, both drifting into a comfortable sleep.

Lando:

It was way past midnight but you couldn't sleep, unable to get yourself out of the party high, too drunk to rest your brain. Thankfully you weren't the only one.

There was a barrage of knocks on your hotel room, a slurred voice with a British accent begging to be let in. "Y/n/nnnnn, I can't sleep," he cried once in the room, stumbling over nothing as you both made your way to your bed.

You giggled as he fell, brushing his hands over the cold blanket. You joined him, crawling onto the bed slowly as the room around you spun. You laid on your back, clinging onto the bed for dear life.

Lando noticed and piled on top of you, making you raise a question brow. "So you don't fall off," he muttered, his face buried in your chest.

"Ohhhh, that makes sense," you said, understanding his thought process as the spinning slowed down. "We should nap," you said out loud, eyes shutting due to the comforting warm weight on top of you.

Lando hummed in return, wrapping his hands around your waist, as you pulled one hand up to his and another grabbing his curls for extra support.

Oscar:

There were two things everyone knew about Oscar, he hated waking up early and he loved sleeping. So when his trainer woke him up on a perfectly cosy yet cool Monday morning to exercise, he nearly wanted to kill the man, only stopping because that would take much more effort than simply going through with the workout.

Your apartment was closer to the gym than his, so he happily invited himself in to bitch and moan about his trainer and how that man must have hated him.

Rolling at your friend's antics, you pushed away your laptop, walking from the dining table to where he was sitting on your sofa.

"Wanna nap?" You had barely finished your question when you were pulled onto the Australian.

"I thought you'd never ask," he whispered, as he shuffled on the narrow sofa to get comfortable, you still on top of him, his arms wrapped around your waist and your face buried in his neck.

"Are you using me as a teddy bear?" You asked incredulously, trying to get up to no avail as the man's grip on you was far too strong.

"Yes, now let me sleep," he murmured, already half gone.

George:

George had a habit of pushing himself too far, ever since he was a child. When you guys had just newly become friends, the boy had spent hours trying to find out what exactly you liked and didn't, stalking your Instagram and your family's Facebook.

You had found it endearing but also concerning how he always wanted to be perfect. So when you walked into his house at midnight (you got a key made- there's a reason the both of you got along so well,) and found him staring unblinkingly at his laptop and a large mess of papers spread across the wooden coffee table.

"Dude, what is wrong with you," You whisper-yelled at the man making him jump, pressing a hand to his chest.

"Me? What is wrong with you?" He yelled, panting as you jumped over the back of the couch, sitting right next to him, ruffling through the papers much to his chagrin.

"Shut it, Georgie boy," you smirked at him using the nick name he hated. “What are you even doing, it’s so late?” You asked looking at the taller man who started off in a rant about the car and everything he was doing wrong, making you slide down on the sofa till you head was resting on the backrest. You lifted your feet up to rest them on the coffee table, making George rush to move a stack of papers so they wouldn’t be under your feet.

Perfect. You grabbed the man’s shoulders and made his head rest on your lap.

“What on earth are you doing!” He yelled more than asked, trying to get up but you doubled down.

“George you need to sleep,” you deadpanned as he tried to make you let him go, knowing his pleas fell on deaf ears he gave up.

You raised your brow, “wanna nap?” You asked teasing the boy.

“Only for a few minutes,” he pressed, making himself comfortable, while you tangled your fingers in his hair, “maybe more then,” he sighed and let his eyes shut, slightly watering and finally fell asleep.

Lewis

Lewis had never been a friend to you, he was more like an annoying yet caring older brother or like a fun uncle of sorts. The man was fiercely protective of his friends, even those whom he saw in animosity.

But you were different, Lewis would steal your coffee, eat your food, and push you around but he'd also sneak you Red Bull (much to his disgust,) into his driver's room during late races, walk you to your hotel room after parties and get you souvenirs from races you couldn't be at. Similarly, you loved to annoy the man, stealing his expensive jackets, which looked hilarious due to the size difference, stealing his headphones and running away with them and most importantly coming to him with your problems day or night.

So no, Lewis wasn't surprised when you showed up to his driver's room in the middle of the day, even though Toto had revoked your pass for the day (for bullying George, but it was worth it,). He was ready to tease you but then he saw your eyes, red and tears flowing down your face.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" He immediately came up to you, giving you a once-over to see if you were injured. "Did someone say something, are you hurt?" He asked panicking at your silence. You simply wrapped your arms around the older man, hiding your face in his chest, quietly sobbing and sniffling.

He walked you both to the sofa in his room, seating you down, trying to wipe your tears, "Do you wanna talk about it?" He asked as you finally calmed down, using his arm as support to sit up.

You cleared your throat, "No, I just wanna nap," you hiccuped slightly.

"Okay," he leaned back so you could rest your head on his shoulder, giving you one of his airpods to relax, which you gladly accepted.

Lance & Fernando (they aren't always gonna be together but the situations... THE SITUATIONS WRITE THEMSELVES)

"Oh honey that’s not," Lance said pointing to your coloured hair (matching with Alex) and thats how the conversation had started and had ended in a cat fight.

“At least I’m not a nepo baby,” you yelled as you threw a basket of oranges at him, which he dodged, darn those f1 reflexes. The basket itself smacked him square in the face, leaving a red indent across his nose. He glared for a second before jumping over the table you were fighting across and pulled your hair. “Owww, you bitch”

You bit his hands in defence, to which he kicked your shin, screaming you launched yourself at him, crashing the both of you to the ground, “oh my god, okay, truce, truce,” he panted, pushing you off him.

“Just so you can catch your breath,” you retorted making him mock you. In reality, you were definitely much more tired than he was. You were struggling to catch your breath, your head killing you where he grabbed a large chunk of your hair.

You turned to look at him, resting your head on his stretched arm, he was massaging his nose, the bruise turning purple now, “well that was fun,” he turned to face you.

“Sooooo fun,” you rolled your eyes, “wanna nap? My heads killing me,” you are far him in accusation but he glared right back pointing to his swollen nose.

“Sure,” he shrugged, shifting closer to you and closing his eyes. You opened your mouth to make a joke but were interrupted, “there are like a million oranges on the floor right now, I’ll throw one at you,” you accepted defeat and fell into a comfortable sleep.

That’s how Fernando found the both of you, slightly scowling but fast asleep, he took a picture for blackmail’s sake and placed a blanket over the two of you.

PT-2 w/ Max, Logan, Alex, Daniel, Yuki, Pierre, Esteban, Zhou.

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Waiter waiter! 1 asking Feixiao, Kafka, Acheron and Robin to be big spoon for cuddling request pls! 🐕

(Honkai: Star Rail) Feixiao, Kafka, Acheron, and Robin being asked to be the big spoon

I bet Feixiao could crush me in her sleep.

Jokes on S/O, Feixiao was going to do that anyway!

(Feixiao) "Hah, straight to the point! Alright, why not?"

She has zero issue with this, and takes S/O into her strong arms without hesitation.

Feixiao would nuzzle into S/O with a big smile, and feeling quite comfortable.

Though this is when she's sober. When drunk, S/O is little spoon whether they even asked to or not.

And that grip that was comfortable before becomes ironclad, the only thing stopping Feixiao from gripping S/O being herself.

And that side of herself wouldn't be back awake until the next morning.

In combination with an adorable pout and terrifying strength, S/O is not leaving her arms.

(S/O) "...F-Fei-...xiao...can't breathe...!"

(Feixiao) "Hm...S-Shush..."

And that sentenced S/O to death, because her grip somehow becomes even tighter than before as her head rests on the top of them, unintentionally rubbing her face in their hair.

Kafka lets out a low sultry chuckle, ultimately shrugging at S/O's request.

(Kafka) "Needy, aren't we? Well, fine, guess I can indulge you for a little while.~"

Honestly, in this relationship she didn't really expect any less than being asked to take the wheels.

Does she mind? Not particularly, it's kind of amusing.

Though she definitely wants to see if S/O can work up the courage to ask her to be the little spoon.

(Kafka) "Comfortable enough for ya?"

(S/O) "Y-Yeah, thanks."

(Kafka) "Why so jittery? You're the one who asked me after all, not like you're caught in a web."

(S/O) "With you? That's always a possibility."

(Kafka) "Hm, good answer."

They weren't wrong either.

Acheron pauses for a moment before a small gentle laugh passes her lips.

(Acheron) "Very well. Here...-"

Acheron holds S/O closely and firmly, the gentle squeeze instantly making both of them feel at ease.

Acheron has not had this type of affection in a very long time, or at least not that she can remember, anyway.

Yet the feeling deep within tells her that this sensation is...pleasant.

Having S/O's head rest under her chin, she lets out a small hum of approval.

(S/O) "Thinking about something, Acheron?"

(Acheron) "Hm...Just how nice this feels is all..."

After this, she will wait for S/O to ask to be held, though the longing look in her eyes tells them that she needs it as much as they do.

Robin can't help but giggle, one hand quickly reaching to her mouth.

(Robin) "Sure! If you're comfortable with it, S/O."

Her wings flutter in happiness for a brief moment before taking S/O into a comfortable hug, squeezing them ever so slightly.

Robin's smile just grows exponentially, getting to just spend time with someone so dear to her without worrying about anything else, at least for the moment.

Sometimes, she'll ask if S/O can do the same for her with a blush accompanying the request, but she doesn't mind being the big spoon either!

Whenever she is the big spoon, she can't help but start humming a lullaby to S/O.

Sometimes it ranges from one of her more recent songs, or even a song she learned from Sunday back when she was younger.

Regardless, it always puts the two of them at ease without fail.

(Robin) "...Good night, S/O."

With a hand gently brushing back their hair she takes a deep breath before joining them, smiling at the sight of S/O resting comfortably.

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

title: my tears ricochet | part i

pairing: husband's best friend!joel miller x female reader

rating: chapter - t; full work - explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 7k

summary: after moving from new york to texas with your fiance, you expect to jump right into wedding planning with his help. when he claims to be too busy, he suggests asking his best friend, joel miller, to help you instead.

you weren't supposed to fall in love with him.

author's note: this story is a three part fic inspired by the song "my tears ricochet" by taylor swift. this first part is reader's POV, part two will be joel's POV, and the third part will be dual POV. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging or commenting!

chapter tags: modern au, infidelity, emotional abuse, the fiance is shitty, no use of y/n, single POV (reader), wedding dress shopping and other wedding planning activities, angst, arguing, alcohol consumption/mention, kissing, no smut. please let me know if i've missed any!

major work tags: modern au, infidelity, explicit sexual content, character death

You stare out at the manicured yard, watching as guests move about the grounds and waiters in black uniforms carry trays of food and drinks through the crowd. Your boyfriend -- wait, no, fiancé -- Alex laughs boisterously with your father, a hand on his back in easy familiarity. You know you should be down there with him given that this is your engagement party, but you were starting to feel overwhelmed by the constant smiling and greeting strangers and showing off your shiny new engagement ring that you needed a break.

The door opens and a man you don't recognize steps into the room, pale blue dress shirt stretched tight across his broad chest and a pair of wrinkled dress pants. He runs a hand through his messy dark curls.

"Sorry, I didn't think anyone would be in here," he says. As he looks you over, his brown eyes go wide with surprise. "Shit, you're the bride!"

You smile at him. "That's me," you reply. You hold a hand out towards him as you give him your name, his rough palm sliding against yours as he grips it firmly.

"I'm Joel Miller," he tells you. You know the name well, being that he's your fiancé's best friend. "Didn't mean to make our first time meetin' so awkward."

"No, no, it's not your fault. I've just been feeling a little overwhelmed with all the," you wave your hand towards the window, "festivities. It's great to finally meet you."

"I don't blame ya. They can get pretty stuffy down there. Congrats, by the way."

"Thank you." He lets go of your hand. "So, why are you hiding?"

He laughs, deep and full bellied. "Alex's mom doesn't like me much. I'm sure she was hopin' that we would stop bein' friends when he went to school on the other side of the country, but I’m like a stubborn tick."

"How could she not like you, Alex told me that the two of you have been best friends since kindergarten!"

"There may have been a few mishaps in high school," he says. "You ever tried eggin' your principal's house?"

"Can't say that I have," you reply.

"Well, it doesn't end well if you get caught." He looks out the window with a smile on his face. "We got arrested. Alex's dad had to bail us out. Probably had to throw some hush money around so that it wouldn't show up on his record when he applied to school."

"He's never told me that!" You say, laughing hard enough around the words that your stomach hurts.

The door opens and this time, Alex himself steps into the room. His serious expression morphs into a smile when he sees you and Joel.

"There you are," he says, crossing the room to kiss your cheek. He greets Joel with a hug, patting his back roughly. "What are you two doing in here?"

"I just needed a minute alone," you tell him.

"And I crashed her minute alone. Told her about the time we got arrested in high school," Joel adds. Alex's jaw tenses, his smile tight as his eyes flick to you, like he's worried about your reaction. "She laughed. It's all good."

"Right. Well, I came to find you because its time for the toast and dinner," Alex says. "Let's get back down to our guests."

A hand at the small of your back urges you towards the door before you can reply.

"Alex, are you listening to me?" You ask. Your fiancé looks up from his phone.

"I'm sorry, baby, I was finishing an e-mail," he says. He sets his phone down on the table, dark screen facing up, and gives you his full attention. "What were you saying?"

"I wanted to schedule the cake tasting. Do you have any free time this week?"

He grimaces. "I don't think I do, sweetheart. Your dad's got my schedule pretty packed."

"I can just ask him to--"

"No," he says sternly. "You know I have to make a good impression with the rest of the firm."

"But--"

"Babe, no. I can't do this week. Why don't you ask my mom? Or Joel?"

While your future mother-in-law is kind enough, you don't have much patience for the way she tries to take control of your wedding planning. Joel, however, might be a good idea. He knows Alex well enough to be a stand in for a decision like cake and icing flavors.

"Could you give me Joel's number?"

Alex smiles, seemingly pleased that he's off the hook as he takes his phone in hand and sends you his best friend's phone number.

You meet Joel at the bakery that week. To your surprise he's there before you, dressed in worn jeans and a t-shirt and he smiles brightly at you as you approach.

"Hey," he says. "Ready to eat some cake?"

"I think this will be my favorite part of planning this whole wedding," you reply. He laughs as he pulls the door open for you to step inside, following in behind you.

"Welcome to Buttercup Bakery! Can I help y'all with anything?" A young woman with a name tag reading BEVERLY asks from behind the counter, pink and white apron tied around her waist.

"I have a cake tasting appointment," you reply, giving her your name for the reservation.

"Excellent! If you want to go ahead and take a seat anywhere you'd like, I'll bring out the tasting options and we'll get you squared away in no time!"

She disappears through swinging doors as you and Joel take a seat at a pink acrylic table with matching chairs. He looks around the shop with interest.

"What made you pick this place?" He asks.

"Had the best reviews," you say with a shrug. His brow furrows.

"Alex didn't suggest it? He helpin' you at all with this weddin'?"

He says it with a laugh, but the question makes you dig your fingernails into your palm. "He's just really busy with work. I've been doing a lot of the planning."

“What about your uh, what are they called? Bridesmaids?”

“They’re all back in New York. It’s just me.”

“I thought your parents were here, too? Isn’t Alex workin’ with your dad now?”

“It’s just my dad, he’s back in New York. His partner opened a firm in Austin and Alex is working with that office. He’s hoping to make partner soon, too.”

Joel nods, eyes scanning your face but you keep your expression as neutral as possible. The swinging doors open and Beverly returns with a marble tray, bites of cake artfully arranged on the surface. She sets it on the table between you and Joel.

“Okay! These are our six most popular flavor combinations for you to start with and if there’s something more custom you have in mind, we can totally make that happen,” she says. “Starting at the top, we have classic vanilla with vanilla buttercream, chocolate cake with chocolate ganache and chocolate buttercream, our signature champagne cake with strawberry buttercream, lemon cake with lavender buttercream, caramel cake with caramel mocha buttercream, and white chocolate cake with raspberry jam and white chocolate raspberry buttercream.”

Joel grins at you. “This might be the best thing anyone has ever asked me to help with.”

“I’ll leave you guys to it,” Beverly says with a wink, walking back to the counter.

“I don’t know which to start with,” you say, eyes scanning the selections.

“That chocolate one is callin’ my name,” Joel replies, spearing one of the chocolate cake bites with a fork and taking a bite. He hums appreciatively. “Oh yeah, that one is a winner.”

You choose the vanilla to start, taking a bite of the moist cake with buttercream that tastes strongly of vanilla bean with a hint of cinnamon. The simplicity makes it good, but overall the flavor doesn't stand out to you. Joel continues to take bites seemingly at random while you opt to go around the tray in the order that Beverly introduced the flavors.

"Any of them stickin' out to you?" Joel asks when you've reached the half-way point.

"They're all delicious," you reply. "I think Alex would probably like the vanilla best, though."

"I didn't ask what Alex would like, I asked if there were any that you liked." He spears the remaining piece of white chocolate raspberry with his fork and holds it up to you. "Here, try this one next."

You eye the fork dubiously. "I don't think--"

Joel slips the bite of cake into your mouth despite your interrupted disagreement, smiling at you triumphantly. You chew the bite begrudgingly.

"I think that one and the chocolate one are my favorite," Joel says as you swallow.

Beverly returns at that moment, a notepad in hand as she pulls up a third chair to the tiny bistro table.

“So? What are your thoughts?”

“I think I’m going to get the vanilla,” you tell her. Joel’s jaw ticks, almost like he’s upset you’ve chosen the flavor that you said Alex would like. “But, could I get alternating tiers of the white chocolate raspberry, too?”

Joel’s lips quirk up in a small smile and you try to ignore the way it makes your stomach flip.

Joel: Have you picked flowers yet?

Not yet.

Joel: I know a place. You busy today?

You stare the at the message in surprise. You weren’t expecting to hear from Joel again, but his name on your screen has you fighting back a smile.

I’m not busy. When did you want to go?

Joel: They open at noon. Here’s the address.

“Baby, have you seen my blue tie?” Alex calls from upstairs. You drop your phone to the counter like you’ve been caught doing something wrong.

“Which one?” You reply, pressing a hand to your chest.

“The plaid one!”

“Should be in your tie drawer!”

“It’s not here!”

You pinch your nose, making your way to the stairs to join him in your shared bedroom. He’s standing in front of his tie drawer, hands on his hips as he stares at the contents. You peek over his shoulder and reach into the back, pulling out the neatly folded blue and green patterned tie.

He takes it from your hand. “That one should be towards the front. Can you remember that next time you put away dry cleaning?”

“Sure.” You bite your lip to hold back the sigh that threatens to spill. “You want me to tie it for you?”

“No, thanks, I need it to be perfect. Big meeting,” he says, his lips tilted in a smile that feels condescending. He leans into you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you, too,” you murmur, watching his back as he enters the bathroom and shuts the door behind him.

Joel is waiting outside of a dark green storefront when you arrive at the address he’d sent you. He smiles when he sees you, a true one that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly, and it gives you this strange feeling of emptiness because you can’t remember the last time Alex smiled at you like that.

When you’re close enough, he pulls you into a hug that envelops you in strong arms and the scent of woods at nightfall with a hint of citrus. Your eyes flutter shut as you hug him back and breathe him in.

He releases you and immediately you feel a chill in losing his warmth despite the oppressive Texas heat. You look at the shop as he steps back, taking in the gorgeous floral arrangements in the window and cursive script painted on the glass that says PETAL TO THE METAL.

Joel opens the door to the shop, a brass bell ringing to announce your entrance. A man at the counter in the center of the store looks up and grins at you both.

“Joel! Nice to see you,” the man says. You watch as they shake hands with familiarity, the man behind the counter smiling kindly. “You must be the bride. I’m Frank.”

You give Joel a look of surprise before introducing yourself and shaking Frank’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Do you two know each other?”

“Joel’s an old friend of ours.”

“Ours?”

A back door bangs open, someone emerging with their arms so full of potted plants you can’t see their face. A deep voice let’s out a series of curses.

“This is my partner, Bill,” Frank says. “He’s not much of a people person. Great with plants, though.”

“A little help would be nice,” Bill grunts. Frank rolls his eyes but leaves the counter to take a couple pots from Bill’s hands, revealing a man with long brown hair and a grizzled expression hidden amongst a thick beard. Frank leans in and kisses his cheek.

“You need only ask,” Frank says. Bill’s cheeks turn pink beneath his thick facial hair. Despite the annoyed expression on his face, his eyes are soft as he watches Frank. “Let me grab you the event portfolio and we can talk about your wedding. Have a look around.”

As Frank leaves and Bill busies himself arranging the new plants, you and Joel wander the shop and take in aisles and shelves of different flowers with little gold name cards in their pots or on their buckets.

“So,” Joel says, “How are you liking Austin?”

“It’s…hot,” you reply. “Really, really hot.”

“That’s the south for ya, sweetheart.”

Your face grows hot at the endearment and how it seemed to just roll off his tongue. “Have you lived in Austin your whole life?”

“Texas born n’ bred,” he says proudly, puffing his chest out.

“You never wanted to live anywhere else?”

“I’ve always thought Wyoming sounded nice. A farm that I built, some sheep, no neighbors for miles,” he says wistfully. “Maybe someday.”

“Building a farm, huh? You good with your hands, Joel?”

He blinks at you. “Y-yeah. I mean, I’m a contractor. I gotta be.”

“That’s impressive,” you tell him, biting your lip to hold back your laughter at his flustered response.

Frank approaches, lifting a heavy book in his hands. “You ready to pick some flowers?”

Joel holds the door open for you as the two of you leave the flower shop an hour later. He waves goodbye to Bill and Frank with a promise to visit them for dinner soon before following you down the sidewalk.

“You wanna get lunch?” Joel offers. “My treat.”

You pull your phone from your pocket to check your messages and finding none from Alex, you think to yourself, why not?

“Sure,” you agree.

That's how you find yourself sitting on a bench in the park with Joel Miller, your husband's best friend, talking to him about everything and nothing as you eat street tacos from a food truck nearby. He makes you laugh so hard you choke on birria, the sauce dripping down your chin. He reaches out, wiping the mess with a brown napkin while he smiles so bright it puts the sun to shame.

Later that night, while you're in bed, you can't help but think today was the best day you've had in a long time.

And you're not sure what that means.

You begin texting Joel regularly. You ask him for his opinion on things that Alex can’t be bothered with — the suit colors for the groomsmen (navy blue), the invitation stationary (the linen finish), and favors (miniature bottles of hot sauce - Joel assures you this will be a hit with the Texas crowd). In between those conversations, he sends you pictures from his construction sites or asks you how your day has been and whether you had gotten the chance to check out that show he recommended.

When you tell Alex about the wedding decisions you've made, leaving out the extent of Joel's help, he hums and nods at the appropriate intervals, feigning attentiveness while his thumb moves rapidly across his phone screen. It should bother you, you think, that your future husband is so uninvolved with planning his own wedding, but then your own phone lights up with Joel’s name and a goofy photo he sent from a construction site, his hard hat askew on his head and his eyes crossed, and your annoyance with Alex fades into background noise.

There’s one last item on your checklist that you’re more nervous to ask Joel for help with than the others — dress shopping. You could probably fly back to New York and be with your friends for the momentous occasion but you’re certain that Alex wouldn’t appreciate your absence for something he considers so frivolous.

Not that you say anything when he’s gone for his golfing trips.

You’re staring at Joel’s contact screen, working up the nerve to call him and ask him if he’d be willing to come dress shopping with you, when it lights up with an incoming call, his name at the top of the screen like just your thoughts summoned him. You answer on the third ring.

“Hey, I was just about to call you,” you tell him.

“So that’s why my ears were itchin’,” he laughs. “You need somethin’?”

You take a steadying breath. “I just have one more thing I need help with and then you won’t have to deal with me.”

“I don’t mind helpin’ you, sweetheart.” You stomach flutters at the nickname and he clears his throat to fill the loaded silence that follows his words. “Now, tell me what you need.”

“Could you come dress shopping with me?”

“That all? Just tell me where and when,” he says. You breathe a sigh of relief, giving him the details of the appointment you made at a local boutique. He promises to meet you there this weekend before hanging up.

The word sweetheart in Joel’s deep voice echoes through your mind for the rest of the day.

Joel looks hilariously out of place on the pristine white couch located in the middle of the dress boutique, a dainty glass of champagne held in his large hand. You sit beside him, your legs touching as you watch the sales associate flit around the store, pulling hangers of dresses from the racks.

“That’s a lot of dresses,” Joel comments, taking a sip of champagne.

“You not up for the challenge?” You tease. He laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his wide smile.

“Trust me, I’m up for the challenge. We’re goin’ to find you the best damn weddin’ dress Texas has ever seen,” he promises.

“Alright, I’ve got some gorgeous choices here for you,” the associate announces, holding up a handful of ivory hangers draped in all types of fabric from satin to chiffon. “You wanna follow me and we’ll get started?”

You follow her to the fitting room and she sets the hangers on a rack, fanning out the dresses so that you can get a better look. There’s five of them in a variety of styles, including an impressive ball gown boasting layers of tulle that trails to the floor.

“I’ll try that one first,” you tell her, pointing to ball gown.

“What’s your fiancé’s name?” She asks as you undress, taking the gown from the hanger and arranging it on the floor for you to step into it.

“Alex,” you reply. She drags the bodice up and instructs you to hold it to your chest while she laces up the corset back.

“I think it’s sweet that you’ve brought him with you.”

“Oh, no. That’s Joel, he’s my husband’s best friend.”

“Really?” She asks, the strings tightening around your waist. “The way you two look at each other, I would have bet money he was the one marrying you." You're about to ask what she means when she finishes tying off the bodice and says, "Wow, this dress is stunning on you."

Her comment retreats to the back of your mind as you look at yourself in the mirror. The strapless white gown hugs your chest and waist, flaring out into a layered skirt with lace appliques. There's beading on the sweetheart neckline that trails down the bodice in intricate patterns that catch the light of the fitting room. The dress is stunning.

Marnie leads you back out to the showroom, helping you step up onto a raised platform in front of a trifold mirror that shows you your reflection from multiple angles. You twist and turn, taking in all the details of it before finally facing Joel.

"Damn," Joel says. "That sure is one hell of a dress."

"It's...a lot." You twist your hips from side to side, the heavy skirt swishing across the floor. "I feel like a cupcake and I don't know if I'll be able to dance in it."

"You wanna test it out?"

He's standing before you can respond, reaching a hand into yours to guide you down from the pedestal. When you're on the floor, he wraps an arm around your low back, pulling you close while swaying side to side.

The world around you goes a little blurry and the only thing in perfect clarity is Joel. The feel of his hand in yours, the weight of his arm at the small of your back, the clean smell of soap and citrus, everything is just....Joel.

"How's it feel?" He asks, voice low. You tilt your head back to look up at his face.

"Huh?"

"The dress...dancin'...how's it feel?"

The question drags you back to reality, where you're currently dancing around a bridal salon with a man who isn't your fiance. You pull away from him, returning to the pedestal as the bridal associate joins the two of you again.

"Uh...I don't think this is the dress for me. Can we try the next one?"

You try on two other dresses in quick succession, neither of them leaving a lasting impression. It's the fourth dress that really gives you pause as you look at yourself in the fitting room mirror.

"Honey," the associate says, adjusting the off-the-shoulder sleeves of the dress, "This dress was made for you."

The scooped neckline highlights the lines and curves of your neck and shoulders, the corset bodice hugging your curves in satin folds. The skirt fans out from the waist, similar to the silhouette of the ball gown without all the additional weight and fabric and a thigh high slit allows for some extra movement.

She leads you back out into the showroom and helps you once more onto the pedestal. You grin at your reflection as she fixes the skirt into place.

"Well?" You ask, catching Joel's eye in the mirror. His mouth is set in a serious line, brows pinched together and his arms crossed over his chest. You own smile falters. "You don't like it? What's with the look?"

He shakes his head, his serious expression morphing into a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "You look..." His voice trails off and he clears his throat. "Alex is a lucky son of a bitch."

You laugh, lifting the skirt so that you can step off the pedestal. Joel's eyes drop, his gaze fixing on the skirt as you walk towards him.

"You think so?" You ask quietly, stepping in close.

"Yeah, sweetheart," he murmurs. A single finger runs down your arm, goosebumps erupting over your skin in its wake. "I know so."

With the wedding plans finalized, your attention returns to your work as a web design consultant. Your client portfolio starts to build once more, keeping you busy in the months leading up to your big day. Alex remains focused on his work at the firm, working long days and longer nights that have him arriving home well after you've gone to bed, the two of you just ships passing in the dark. You would feel lonely, you think, if not for Joel.

The two of you still message each other frequently, though you don't see him again until a month before the wedding, when Alex invites him over for dinner one Saturday night.

The doorbell rings just as you put the chicken in the oven and you wipe your hands before going to answer it, your heart racing. Joel's sweet smile greets you when you open the door and seeing him across the threshold has the tension in your shoulders easing the slightest bit.

He steps across the threshold, strong arms wrapping around your waist in a tight hug. Footsteps on the stairs have him releasing you far sooner than you would have liked.

"Joel, my man! Glad you could make it," Alex says as he reaches the first floor. "Honey, is the table set?"

"No, not yet," you reply.

"You need any help?" Joel asks. You open your mouth to respond, but Alex jumps in to say, "No, she's got this. Let me give you the tour."

You watch as Alex leads Joel upstairs, commanding his friend's attention. You swallow down the anger that rises in your throat at your fiancé's dismissal and return to the kitchen, gathering the place settings and arranging the table to his liking.

"It's a nice place," Joel says as the two men enter the living room, which opens to the kitchen and dining areas.

"All that work finally paying off," Alex comments. You roll your eyes, fighting the urge to mention that you were the one who fronted the down payment for Alex's choice of home in Texas. The oven beeps and you pull out the chicken parmesan that had been baking.

"Smells good," Joel comments. You look up, catching his eye. A wordless understanding passes between you, a quiet appreciation that makes your blood run hot.

You plate the food while your fiancé uncorks a bottle of wine and pours it into the wine glasses at each place setting. Alex settles in at head of the table and Joel takes the seat to the left, leaving you with the seat to Alex's right, across from Joel.

The three of you make small talk between bites of dinner and sips of wine. Alex asks Joel about the contracting work he's been doing, Joel asks him about his work at the new office and how he's settling in, being back in his home state. It's halfway through dinner that Joel looks to you and asks, "Are you excited for the wedding next month?"

"Of course," you reply, fingers tangling in the cloth napkin resting across your lap. "Planning it was a labor of love."

"Right, thanks for helping her with the cake, man," Alex chimes in.

Joel chuckles. "Helped with a lot more than just the cake."

"What do you mean?" Alex asks, glancing between the two of you.

"Well, I helped get the flowers, the cake, pickin' out the stationary. Dress shoppin'," Joel clarifies. Your stomach drops as Alex's jaw grows tense, his brow pinched as he nods and pastes on a forced smile.

"Wow, I didn't realize you'd been so involved," Alex says. He removes the napkin from his lap, setting it on the table. "Would you excuse us for a second?"

Alex stands, looking down at you expectantly. You smile at him and Joel in turn, but the expression feels hollow and you taste bile in the back of your throat. As soon as you're on your feet, Alex has a strong hand wrapped around your wrist, urging you along behind him as he makes his way towards the stairs.

Once he's reached your shared bedroom, he turns to you, eyes filled with rage. “What the fuck is that about?”

“What do you mean?” You ask. He laughs, the sound devoid of any humor.

“He helped you pick out your dress?” Alex paces the length of the bedroom like a caged animal and for the first time in your relationship with him, a frisson of fear courses through your veins. “You can’t possibly be that fucking stupid?”

“Excuse me?” You snap. “You told me to ask him for his help!”

“With the cake!” Alex shouts. “Not the entire goddamn wedding! Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?”

“You weren’t exactly offering much help, Alex!”

His eyes narrow. “I thought you would be perfectly capable of planning shit on your own, but I guess that was giving you too much credit.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask. “Why are you being such a fucking asshole right now?”

“Because you’re my fiancé, not Joel’s!” He steps in close, towering above you as he hisses, “Did you fuck him?”

“No!” You shout.

His eyes search yours and whatever he finds seems to extinguish his anger, his coiled muscles loosening. He grips your shoulders, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “Why don’t you head back downstairs and I’ll stay up here for a minute to cool off, okay?”

The sudden switch leaves your head spinning but you manage to nod. Alex kisses your forehead and you take that as your cue to leave, escaping the confines of your room. In the hall, you grip the banister of the loft that overlooks the living room and take the first real breath in what feels like ages, your eyes squeezed shut as you try to calm your racing heart.

You return to the kitchen and Joel’s head snaps up when you enter. He rises from his seat at the table, rushing to your side.

“Are you okay?” He asks, low voice filled with concern, his brows pinched with worry. “What the fuck was that?”

“Just a misunderstanding,” you murmur, pushing past him.

“That’s bullshit,” he hisses. “Is he always like that?”

“Like what?” You sigh.

“An asshole. Yellin’ and threatenin’ you.” His fists are clenched at his sides. “He ever hit you?”

“What? No, of course not.” You take a deep breath, beating back the wave of tears pressing at the corners of your eyes. “He’s just got a lot going on with the move and work and the wedding.”

Joel is quiet, watching you with keen brown eyes that you, for once, wish weren’t focused on you. He steps close, voice low as he says, “Be honest with me, sweetheart.”

“I’m fine, Joel,” you tell him. The lie claws at your throat and sends your stomach into a tailspin. “I promise.”

Footsteps echo on the stairs and you step away from Joel, busying yourself with loading the dishwasher, clearing the counters, anything to keep your hands occupied and stop their shaking. Alex enters the kitchen with a sharp smile.

“Hey, man, sorry about that,” he says, clapping Joel on the shoulder. “I think we’re ready to call it a night. Ain’t that right, honey?”

You force yourself to keep your eyes on Alex as you smile and say, “Yeah, baby.”

“Let me walk you out, Joel,” Alex says. “Honey, say bye.”

“Goodbye, Joel.”

Joel: Hey

Joel: You having a good week?

Joel: Been a while. You doing okay?

Joel: You’ve been quiet

Joel: I need to know you’re okay.

Joel: Just let me know

Joel: Please

“Just two more days until you’re my wife,” Alex says, pressing a kiss to your lips. He smiles at you and you mirror the expression as best you can.

“I can't wait,” you reply.

"I gotta get going," Alex says. He presses a kiss to your cheek as he passes where you're sitting at the bar. "Love you."

"Love you," you repeat, out of reflex more than affection.

The front door slams shut and quiet settles over the house. All you want to do is crawl back into bed and pull the covers over your head in the hopes that it protects you from the way time continues to creep forward despite your uncertainties. Maybe, if you lay there long enough, time will move on without your involvement.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a heavy knock at the door. You’re not sure who it could be — your dad is scheduled to fly into town in the late afternoon and your friends arrive early tomorrow morning and you’re fairly certain you don’t have any deliveries scheduled. Sliding from the bar stool, you leave the kitchen to answer the door.

Joel stands on the other side of the threshold, haloed by the morning sun. For a brief moment, you wonder if you’re dreaming.

“What are you doing here?” You finally ask.

“Can I come in?” He replies, running a hand through his already messy hair. “I need to talk to you.”

You step aside and allow him to enter the hallway, shutting the door behind him. You avoid his gaze as you return to the living room with him following behind you. The silence that settles between the two of you makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

"Why haven't you been talkin' to me?" Joel asks. He takes a step closer, brown eyes searching yours for an answer you try to keep hidden.

"I've been busy," you say.

"Cut the bullshit," he snaps, surprising you. "Is it because of what happened at dinner?"

"No," you reply. Joel must sense the brief hesitation, hear the weakness in your voice. His eyes go soft, full of pity, and you can't fucking stand it. "Don't look at me like that."

"Look, I've known Alex a long time, and all those years weren't exactly peachy," he says cryptically. "I love him like a brother but even family ain't without faults.” He steps in close, his hands cradling your face in a delicate grip. “Tell me this is what you want," he demands. "Tell me that you're happy with Alex. Tell me that there's nothin' here between us."

The words are there, right on the tip of your tongue, but nothing can bring them to life. Your heart beats a frantic rhythm against your ribcage, the rush of blood in your ears the only thing you can hear. He leans closer, eyes dropping to your lips and you know what's about to happen next but you can't bear the thought of stopping him as he closes the scant distance between your mouths.

For the briefest moment, you allow yourself the chance to just feel. No thoughts, no panic, no worry. Just Joel's warm lips moving against yours, the trace of his palm from you cheek to behind your head, pulling you closer even though you're already tightly pressed to him. It's slow and deep, like he's trying to convince you down to your marrow that this is where you're supposed to be.

But it's not.

You push him away and he doesn't fight you, but the look he gives you damn near shatters your resolve. His eyes are dark, jaw tense, hands flexing at his sides like he's fighting the urge to reach out and pull you back, damn the consequences. Your eyes and throat burn with the effort of holding back the tears that threaten to spill.

"You need to leave," you whisper. "You can't do this, we can't do this. I'm getting married in two days, Joel!"

He runs a hand through his hair, pulling on the strands in frustration. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't lay awake at night thinkin' what a fuckin' asshole I am for fallin' in love with my best friend's fiancé?!" He shouts.

"This isn't love, Joel--"

"Don't," he snaps. "Don't you lie to me. I know it, you know it, hell, the fuckin' lady at the dress shop knew it!" He takes a deep breath. "I'm showin' you my whole hand here and you won't even lay down a goddamn card!"

"There is no card!" You shout.

"You kissed me back!" He counters.

You stare at each other for a long moment, like two scared, wounded animals. Eventually, one of you has to back down, retreat, lick their wounds until they've healed in a messy pattern of scar tissue that will serve as a painful reminder of what could have been.

Joel sighs, another pass of his hand through his hair as he says, "You know what? Fine." He turns to leave, the line of his shoulder lower, his head low.

A glutton for punishment, you call out, "Joel?"

"Yeah?" He asks, weary. Bone tired. You feel it, too.

"Will you still be there tomorrow?" You ask, unsure of which answer would be worse.

Another sigh. "Yeah. I'll be there."

The door slams shut behind him.

Your rehearsal dinner is torture.

This should be one of the happiest events of your life but all your energy is being directed at avoiding Joel like the plague. He moves through the crowd comfortably, having known many people in attendance for most of his life, and you feel like an unmoored boat, hoping a wave doesn't crash over you.

Alex sits beside you, drinking from a glass of whiskey as he talks to one of his uncles that has been praising him for landing the opportunity to work with such a prestigious law firm right after college. A dizzying rotation of people approach you through the night - friends who chatter excitedly about the big day tomorrow, aunts who ask when you think you'll have children, uncles who tell you that they're proud of you for landing such a successful, promising young man. It's those last comments that have you hiding a frown in your champagne glass.

It drags on forever, this constant stream of polite conversation and forced smiles. When you finally return to the hotel that you're staying at for the night, you start to feel like you can breathe again. You have a suite separate from Alex's for getting ready early in the morning and he walks you to your room, hand on your low back, a smile on his face.

"I'll see you in the morning," he says, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. "My almost wife."

The sentiment has bile rising in your throat and as he turns to leave you're blurting the words, "I can't do this."

"Sweetheart, you're just nervous," he says, voice surprisingly calm. He squeezes your shoulders. "You just need to sleep it off and everything will be fine in the morning."

"No," you tell him, shaking your head. "No, it won't be fine."

His smile drops, like a mask has just been removed. "Where is this coming from? Everything was fine at the rehearsal."

"Everything was not fine at the rehearsal!"

Alex takes the room key from your hands, unlocked the door and ushering you inside. He flicks on the light to the sitting area and takes a seat on the couch.

"What's going on with you?" He asks, exasperation dripping from his words. "What do you mean the rehearsal wasn't fine? Did you not like the food or something?"

You stare at him incredulously. "The problem wasn't the food, Alex! The problem is us!"

"There's no problem with us," he says. "Unless there's something you want to tell me?"

"What do you mean?" You ask.

He stands, coming close. "Is this about Joel?"

"No!" You snap, perhaps too quickly. "This isn't about Joel."

"Then what is it? Because as far as I know, we're a perfectly happy couple."

"Perfectly happy? Alex, you didn't even help me plan this wedding. Not a single minute of it."

"Not this again," he groans. "Sweetheart, let it go. I'm sorry, okay? Is that what you need to hear?"

Your jaw aches with how hard your teeth grind together as he dismisses you so easily. A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth steadies you enough to say, "I'm not marrying you."

"Baby, please," Alex says. For the first time, he sounds panicked. "Don't make any rash decisions, alright? Whatever this is, we can work through it. If I lose you, I lose everything."

Maybe he's right. Maybe the stress of the last few months has just caught up to you.

"Okay," you whisper. He breathes a sigh of relief and presses another kiss to your temple.

"I love you," he says. "Everything will be okay after tomorrow. You'll see."

You don't say anything back, and he doesn't wait around for a response. He leaves your suite, the click of the door shutting loud in the late night silence. You stand there for who knows how long, wondering if he's right. Would everything be alright after tomorrow? Could you sweep those lingering feelings for Joel to the side in favor of the life you'd been building for the last few years?

You know what the safe choice is, but is it the right choice?

It's the morning of your wedding day and you've been poked and prodded with makeup brushes and your hair has been perfectly styled for the occasion. Flashbulbs have been going off on the cameras that are documenting your special day, capturing moments like your bridesmaids helping you into your dress and your dad's first look, a handkerchief clutched in his hand as he smiled at you.

For the first time in hours, you're alone in your suite. The makeup artist and hair stylists have packed up and taken their leave and your friends are downstairs, waiting for the limousine. You told them you would be just a minute longer.

A soft knock at your door has you realizing that you may have taken too long and you shout an apology as you rush to answer it. But it's not one of your friends on the other side like you had expected.

It's Joel.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him. His hair is styled, curls smoothed and slicked back into submission. His white shirt is a stark contrast to his navy blue tuxedo, matching bow tie tight around his neck. His boutonnière is slightly crooked where it sits pinned to his jacket lapel. He looks you up and down with a small smile.

"You look beautiful," he says. He reaches for your hand, fingers tangling with yours. Never quite folding together, but never quite letting go, either.

"Thank you," you whisper.

"Are you ready?" He asks. You wonder if he knows, if Alex told him or if he can just see it on your face.

"Yes."

It's a lie, one you've been repeating since your alarm went off this morning after a night of tossing and turning. His smile falters, but doesn't drop.

"Good, that's....good," he says. His hand leaves yours, and you feel like you've had an entire unspoken conversation that's left you both defeated. "Lets go get you married."

Joel Miller masterlist

All masterlists

divider graphic by @saradika-graphics.

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

*pulls the 45 cents I have to my name out of my pocket and drops them on your table*

I can't believe my name will be forever attached to this but one (1) Kenjaku solo session with Heianera!YN portrait, please

❝ life and death will always lead to love and regret (but you have the answers, and I have the key) ❞

Kenjaku x Heain Era!ftm!reader [one-sided] | Heian Era!ftm!reader x Sukuna Ryomen | r! is a curse-user & sukuna ryomen's concubine, NSFW | sub. bottom. reader (AFAB) | NOT PROOFREAD | wc: 4.1K

warnings: creepy/stalker behaviour, Kenjaku is a 'passive'-yandere (in the sense that Sukuna would and will kill him if he tried anything), manipulative behaviour, gore (detailed), Kenjaku jerking off in front of a portrait of r!, very unrequited

authors note: don't be ashamed, Gabriel. I got way too excited writing this and I think that speaks volumes on how I need to get checked, LMAO. On another note - yes, my YN's will always have a harem of men in the JJK-verse because that's what YN (and you, my dear reader) deserve!

I wrote this partially on my phone so bear with me guys...

*song on repeat: Bernadette by IAMX & Rule #34 by Fish in a Birdcage. * YN is described as having long hair because of the heian beauty standard (hair colour and texture not mentioned).

People often compared the years they lived as sand. The hourglass holding it is comparable to the human body. He often thought that metaphor was weak. People — humans — were not hourglasses and their years were not sand. No, no. That’s far too neat for humans.

Humans are messy. They are loud, and chaotic, they defy nature's rules and destroy her for the sake of progress. They had no balance, their compass broke when the synapses in their brains sparked conscious thought.

In that chaos, humans made curses. Or, well, you could argue it who came first but without humans and their silly consciousness — cursed spirits wouldn’t thrive.

People are flesh left under the sun. With their blood drying out, flies and maggots eagerly feast on what they can while the meat greys and rots. That’s a much more appropriate metaphor for a human life. If anything, the hourglass comparison should be used for himself. Constantly turning it over to keep going; uncaring of what kept the sands in confinement so long as it could continue its path.

Down, almost empty, flip, repeat.

Kenjaku had perfected his cursed techniques. He had earned this, he had earned his right to let his curiosities run rampant. He had earned the right to be in the presence of Sukuna Ryomen and you.

“Yuuji, you still owe me for eating my yoghurt from the fridge. It was expensive and it took so long for me to find it!” Nobara huffed. “You might as well just buy some for yourself. I’m labelling my food now.”

Megumi glanced over his shoulder at the lack of reply from the pink-haired boy. Nobara stopping next to him with her brows furrowed, sighing as she looks around for him.

“...I was just talking to myself? Seriously?” she grumbled. Megumi adjusts his grip on the bags. The grocery trips were a good team-building exercise according to Yuuji, a way to get to know each other better. Megumi and Nobara agreed after a particularly harsh mission that aimed directly at their novice team fighting experience.

So far, the results that were yielded from it were found that Nobara had an aversion to pineapples, Megumi had expensive tastes, and Yuuji was very good at budgeting money.

“No, he was right beside you a few minutes ago,” Megumi reached for his phone. Nobara placed her hands on her hips, tilting her head as she continued to scan the crowd.

A gaggle of businessmen came out from the underground train station and between the crowd of slicked-back hair, desperate combovers, and sweaty bald heads, she spotted him.

Tugging on Megumi’s sleeve, she pointed to him. Yuuji was standing and staring up at some sort of vertical banner. As they both approached, they shared a glance.

“Oi, Itadori,” Nobara placed a hand on his shoulder. Smacked it really. He didn’t budge. There was a dullness to his eyes that unnerved her enough to remove her hand. Megumi tightened his grip on his phone as he called out to him again. She took a look at the banner and her brows furrowed.

It was promoting an opening of someone’s private gallery. Some rich kid’s great-great-grandfather’s collection. The painting they used was of a true beauty. A man with long hair, dressed in the finest robes with a serene barely-there smile. It looked to be more European in nature, the art reminding her of the portraits of giant frilly dresses and puffy shoulder sleeves despite the obviously Japanese clothing, accessory, and manner in which the subject was regaled in the painting.

The banner must have costed a pretty penny considering how much detail they could see. Megumi could practically feel the raised textures the artist had used to mimic the pattern of the traditional robe the man wore. The flow of his hair, the texture and pattern it had; and his lashes were surely not that long in reality.

Megumi tore his gaze to Yuuji.

It was like he was in a trance. His mouth was slightly ajar, his brows furrowed and his hands shaking as his knuckles turned white.

“Itadori?”

Yuuji had long forgotten this. This ache in his chest that he sometimes woke up with. When he reaches for the empty space next to him and finds no one. Those moments in the basement when he watches a historical movie and his chest tightens as the nobles courted one another.

“Do you know the painter or something?” Nobara asks.

No, he wants to say. Not the painter. If he knew who it was that did this portrait, he’d tear their heads off their body. But the man? He knew him.

That hellish grin, that perfect face and most importantly those nightmarish eyes.

You’ve seen dolls, right? Those porcelain ones specifically. The craftsmen who make them, the expensive ones with real human hair. To be left on shelves instead of being played with. They would draw these white dots on the eyes, varnish them even, so their eyes would reflect back. A mimicry of humans, that’s what dolls are. But even then, their eyes still twinkled. Not this man. No. It was devoid of light. Pools of (eye colour) and nothing more. These eyes would swallow up any trace of light and diminish the stars from the sky with just a glance.

Yuuji knew him. His soul knew him. His hand clutches over his heart and his friends watch this with trepidation.

It’s been 2,000 years. Sukuna was no longer human and therefore his memory was not as fickle. He still remembers those moments before dawn; the sight of your bare torso breathing softly as you rested next to him. The sun filtering through the windows and making you appear even more ethereal and deadly. How your brows would pinch seconds before you woke. Those soulless eyes that shot through his very soul.

Sukuna could recognize you even if he was blind. He’d be able to hear you just by feeling your chest rumble. If he had to eat one thing for the rest of his life, your body and flesh would sustain him.

In his Malovent Shrine, whilst he sat on his throne, he’d summon his flames in his palm. There he’d watch as your figure danced across his hand. You’d twirl between his digits, a smile across your face as he watches the imitation of you.

It used to be enough. Lately, the action brings him more contempt then fondness. The flames never quite catch your shape anymore. Constantly shifting. That coyness is gone, mini-you petulantly staying hidden behind his fingers. So he snuffs you out in his fists.

He hates you for making him miss you. A King should not be missing anyone or anything. Yet, as his vessel stands here, Sukuna teeters on the edge of breaking the Unbreakable Vow he’d made with the brat just to gaze upon you.

The painter got your resemblance and it was agony for him.

How could he continue to be without you when he’s seen you again? Days ago, he wanted to kill you for making him delirious and now he wants you back in his arms.

“Itadori.” Megumi’s tone is firmer. Nobara smacks his shoulder again and Yuuji jolts forward, nearly falling until his rigid legs quickly come back to life.

“Huh?”

“Are you alright?” Megumi asks, his thumb hovering over the DIAL button of Gojo Satoru’s number. Yuuji glances at his wrinkled shirt and releases it, confusion painted across his face at the fading pain across his chest.

“I...yeah, yeah. I'm okay. I have no idea what that was....”

Rich bodies made life significantly easier.

What was that saying humans used?

Money can’t buy happiness?

Kenjaku chuckles at the thought. Foolish and vain — typical of humans. Clinging onto whatever they can to convince their egos they’re better than most when they’ll all meet the same fate. Kenjaku forgets the exact point where he stopped seeing himself as one of them, but he’s sure anyone would if you’ve lived as long as him. Apathy. Most call it a disease of selfishness. Kenjaku simply thinks they’re lying to themselves.

“Mr Geto?” the gallery was a lucrative endeavour. A piece in his grand scheme that required little effort but great rewards. More personal gain on his end.

“Mr Hajimoto mentioned you specifically in his will. The private room is all yours. Thank you so much for your donation to this fine institution of arts.” Kenjaku offers the man a polite smile and nod. The awkward silence prompts them to open the large doors and Kenjaku is greeted by you.

(Y/N) (L/N). In all your glory. In his favourite colours and his favourite kanza. The bespoke lighting on your portrait makes his hands fall limply to his side. You were a brushstroke away from taking a breath. The colours used to recreate that undertone your skin had, the delicate curves of your lashes and the plumpness of your lip.

The two guards in the corner of the room are a nuisance. But with a simple twirl of his right hand, the Slit-Mouthed Woman makes quick work of them. This curse technique was truly convenient, the mess she made cleaned up by a different curse who laps at the blood with vigor. The noises are all muffled as he admires those vicious eyes.

Just saying your name makes warmth travel down between his legs.

“I’ve almost forgotten how you look like.”

Silence ticks by for a minute.

Then Kenjaku bursts into laughter. Clutching his stomach and covering his mouth as he does. He can still smell your blood. Even if Suguru’s body had never had the pleasure of touching you — Kenjaku remembers it.

The way it flowed out of you like silk ribbons. Warm and wet and virile.

“You are an unusual sorcerer,” those were the first words you said to him. He knows you meant that in a derisive fashion — the curl of your nose was a clear indicator. But that was the day a feverish need was planted inside of his very soul.

You. You. You.

The shape of your face.

The cadence of your voice.

The way the wind carried your scent to his nose.

The sound of your cat-like foot-steps.

The effortless way you carried yourself despite the heavy robes that a revered concubine of your rank would wear, along with the golden hair accessories that would probably break a lesser man's neck.

It didn't stop there either.

Your brain, the wickedness that ran through your very veins and that fire that burns within you. Kenjaku wanted to be inside of you in every he could fathom. To sit within that perfectly shaped skull, to thread his fingers between the locks of your hair and take a scalpel to that skin he so craves to taste. Or perhaps inside in the traditional sense, between your legs, embraced by your warm insides and your deadly arms.

Kenjaku ponders on the time he has. He decides that he should indulge in you. He undoes the robes this body wore and sighs as it reveals the torso. Bodies were all the same but he does appreciate the care Geto Suguru took into his temple — there was no need for shame when he's already desecrated this corpse so viscerally already. His hands travel down his torso and that pronounce v-line and past the patch of wiry pubic hair.

You make him feel young again. Reckless and stubborn. Your eyes watch him as he leisurely spits into his palm and strokes it over the tip.

Evil is such a lame word. So primitive in its nature, another one of human's attempts at letting go of responsibility. If something or someone were evil, they were inherently irredeemable. Humans used to call snakes evil simply for doing what a snake would do when hungry, instead of realising they shouldn't have left the door to their huts opened and their sleeping brat asleep.

Was something evil when it simply did what it was meant to do?

They were simply following natures course.

This act Kenjaku is doing now, is not perverted or evil, he is simply being. Simply living, existing, relishing.

If anything, you were the undoing. The evil. You've made, and continue to make, him lose crave and hunger. You were so cruel, so ethereal — so evil.

Kenjaku groaned your name, walking backwards and dropping onto the low seat the gallery provided. His legs spread and he hung his head down but his eyes remained affixed to your painting.

"He sounds beautiful, Mr Hajimoto," the blonde painter had told him once or twice or thrice. Young but talented, the way he used his brushes on canvas was so impressive and Kenjaku missed you so much (Y/N). He simply had to spread the wickedness of your beauty, immortalize it forever within canvases and lesser non-sorcerers minds.

"Did you know him?" his accent was clunky, the Japanese language tumbling on its delicate legs following the rhythm of the painters voice. Still, he — Mr Hajimoto, Kenjaku — gave him a gentle grin.

"Very well. He was my lover."

The small notebook the painter had written your features down in, it was displayed in this very room as well. In a glass casing, handled with gloves to ensure pesky skin oils wouldn't deteriorate his inked strokes.

Speaking of strokes, Kenjaku's was beginning to pick up it's pace. His smile now looser, like an animal that caught the scent of blood, his tongue curled over his teeth as he imagined the disgust on your face. You'd probably cover your nose with the sleeve of your robe and the thought makes his cock jump; you were wearing his favourite colours and it made him moan.

The notebook was filled with sketches of you. Kenjaku recalls correcting the human, correcting him when he disrupted the harmony of your anatomy. You were the humans muse for years, (Y/N). Even as he neared his death bed, the blonde artist kept drawing you. Sketches lose, your shape less tangible, but hauntingly beautiful. Like your dark flames flowing in the wind. Even as his memories of his life escapes him, the artist remembered you. What a blessing. Kenjaku had visited him before he died and whispered your name into the old man's ear.

Sorcerer Society keeps your name hidden. It's their way of control. Making Sukuna Ryomen more monstrous by telling others he ruled coldly and cruelly alone; death was not as harsh as being erased. They say Sukuna needed 20 of his fingers and his mummified heart to be revived. That's what those poems talked about after all.

A misunderstanding.

The heart was Sukuna's, yes.

But it wouldn't revive him.

"You were so angry," he chuckled out, "so defiant even when I was inside of you."

The sky was blood red, the black smoke making the colour more saturated as it seemed intent on blotting out the sun. Uraume had felt a sudden chill, you did too, and they swiftly rose as the scent of deceit was so thick in the air.

“Uraume,” your voice remained nonchalant. But there was a tenseness in your throat that even they could decipher through the layers of regality. They turned, mouth pressed into a thin line as they went on their knees.

You continued to stare, impassively looking down at the patterned swirl of their snow-white hair. The red and black sky turning the colour of your eyes a pleasantly mournful shade; the golden kanza in your hair that your Lord Sukuna himself had commissioned for you glimmered righteously. The teeth of a beast, the curling of centipede legs, and the melded wings of a raven. It was beautiful just as much as it was unusual.

“You leave your Lord’s prized possession to fend for himself?”

Uraume lips reveal a modest amount of teeth. Their face like a porcelain doll as they raise their head. It makes your heart flutter and squeeze.

“You are stronger than these worms, they wouldn’t dare attack you.”

This is true. A fact. You were strong. 100 sorcerers or 1, 000 sorcerers — it made no difference to you. They’d turn into dust and wither right before you. But it shocks Uraume when you place your palm against their jaw, thumb stroking over their cheekbone as you gaze down at them.

“How horrid it is, making me defend myself.”

They see your eyes soften. It was no wonder you were Lord Sukuna’s concubine. Just being touched by you, looked down upon by you; it makes their spine melt.

“I should have your head for your insolence.”

Uraume apologizes, lips stilling when your thumb presses down on them.

“Return to me. Whole. My Lord Husband and I will not be pleased if you do not. We don’t want weaklings to stand behind us.”

Uraume bows, their lips kissing your knuckles as they do before they raise and disappear from your sight. The screams of terror that are heard outside at the sight of them make you slip your eyes close.

Kenjaku appeared before you what felt like hours later. He looks at the scene with a raise of his brow. Your feet were soaked in blood as bodies were strewn across the wide room. The floor was shimmering, looking as though it was breathing as it creaked from his weight. The clothes the bodies wore painted a clear enough picture — they were your servants. Loyalties were swayed as the fight prolonged. These little ants thought they could save themselves from punishment if they showed these righteous sorcerers your head.

He couldn’t smell smoke and there were no signs of charring. The bodies were mangled beyond belief, guts spilling out, eyes gouged, arms bent unnaturally.

Yet, in the gore and horror, you stood across from him with only your feet stained by traitorous blood.

You were a vision. Delicately wiping away blood from the tiger claw kanza with the sleeve of a dead servant. Then, he watches as you carefully put it back in place atop your hair.

“Kenjaku.”

He bows his head, bending at his waist, then lifts himself up again.

“The Kamo clan, your clan, joined this rebellion. I feel that should be a good enough reason to kill you.” The fire in your eyes makes his heart race. He moves forward, casually stepping over a torn torso.

“That would be unwise,” he gives you a grin. This body of his is new. The stitches are still fresh and red. Most likely a desperate attempt of his to hide away while they destroyed his old body. The corpse is younger, and more plain-looking. Despite it’s Curse Technique being a mystery, you’ll take your chances at strangling him.

“I’ve come at the behest of your Lord Husband. To ensure your longevity.”

Your brows pinch. Kenjaku delights at the creases it creates, tucking away this sight into his memories for lonely nights. Then, you scowl.

“You lie.”

His giddiness is palpable. The wide grin on the corpse’s face is clearly not his own; cheeks lifted too high and smile too large and unnatural. Kenjaku must’ve been a truly ugly man with a truly ugly grin. The body struggles to adjust to this display of amusement.

“I’m not.”

He takes a step forward and you lift your hand. The standstill would’ve lasted longer if it weren’t for the yells and thunderous footsteps clambering up to your room.

“You lie!”

Dark flames roared out from the windows. The heat so smoldering it causes a burst of hot air to knock back the men on the stairs, burning their skin and face. The blood on the floor boils, the iron scent now more acidic as the once fleshy bodies now crumble into dust.

You feel his breathe against the nape of your neck. As you turn, he wrings his arms around you like a snake. One across your stomach, the other around your shoulder. That horrible smile is pressed against your skin.

“Kenjaku,” you growl through gritted teeth.

“That’s right. Say my name.”

Fighting feels a lot like sex.

Kenjaku can feel your passion behind every strike, the bruises you leave behind on his skin are akin to hickeys. When you yell out and scream, cheeks so hot he can feel the rush of blood to your face just from looking — the rapid pulse you have and the way your face is contorted.

Kenjaku pins you down. Your legs are thrown over his own while you gnash your teeth at him and spit insults his way. Your hair was so beautiful, thrown back around your head like a lion’s mane. He slides your wrists above your head and holds them with one hand while the other undoes the meticulous array of folds your kimono had.

Sweat drips down his nose. It’s all your fault. Using your Curse Technique in this room, charring the wood and setting it all aflame. Still, he could work in this conditions.

“Ah,” he moans at the sight of your bare skin. Watching the rise and fall of your chest, licking his lips as he places a hand over your heart.

When you kick at his stomach, he acts like he cannot feel it. When you kick again, this time hard enough for a loud crack to be heard, he looks at you.

“If you kill me, you will break the Binding Vow you and Ryomen had made with me.”

He feels your feet dig into his rib, the spiderwebs of cracks spreading further. He allows this with a pleased hum. Your ragged breathing all at once calms and with a blink, your eyes lose that unbridled fury.

“You dare say my Lord’s name so casually?”

Kenjaku laughs. As he leans down, he presses his forehead to yours. Your nose curls in disgust but you keep your lips pursed. The feeling of his sweat sliding down the sides of your forehead and dipping to travel the side of your nose; threatening to get into your eyes as it slips just beneath it.

“Forgive me, venerable concubine.” Kenjaku does not mean this. When he presses his fingers together and imbues his hand with Curse Energy. He enjoys it.

Slicing through your skin at a pace that made the cut more ghastly then it would be if it was done quickly. You remained stone-faced while Kenjaku chewed on his lower lip, every twitch or squint just fueling his hunger.

He is past your skin and now he sees the yellow, when he twists his wrist you grunt as he slices through the threads of muscles. He spreads his fingers and your teeth part as you let out a strained yell.

"You can be louder if you want," his lips brush against your cheek every time he speaks.

"When I return, I'll take pleasure in ripping your head off your body."

"Threatening me?"

He reaches bone. His finger scratching against it before he peels away and settles between your legs. Your hands aren't pinned but you do nothing but curl your fingers into fists as he shoves another hand into your chest. The squelching and pulsing of your flesh, the bursts of blood from your throbbing veins and pumping heart. The wetness and warmth of your insides. He can feel your body clenching around him, and he convinces himself its because you truly enjoy this depravity just as he does.

The size of his hands in your chest is unbearably uncomfortable. Invading you, filling you when you want nothing more than to burn him, as he moves his digits and wrists within you.

He grasps onto your bones and breaks it under the pressure of his wrist. Your blood is spraying him, staining his clothes.

"Your blood looks like ribbons," he whispers to you, "even your insides are like works of art."

You want this to be over with already.

Your arms move down, eyes still set in a glare. You slip your fingers under the soaked clothing and spread it apart further to reveal more of your skin. Shimmying your shoulders so your torso is now bare of any clothing.

The tent between his legs pressed into your crotch. It's hard to ignore, but you push through and grasp onto his elbow and force him to go in deeper.

"Promising you."

Kenjaku's elbow straightens sharply and he moans as he feels your heart beating in his palm. He pulls it out of your body, panting as your eyes slip close and your heart slows. Beating slowly...slowly...slowly...

Kenjaku moans at the memory of your heart in his hands. Your warm blood coating his skin, drying under his nails and crackling in the creases of his joints.

"I wanted to keep you on me forever," he grunts out as his pace gets faster. "The smell of you, of your flesh."

"I didn't need your body, but it was too beautiful not to be admired."

Kenjaku throws his head back, placing his palm across his nose and lips as he sifts through his memories so he can conjure it all over again.

The painting watches on impassively. The croons and purrs of Geto Suguru's cursed spirits echo faintly in Kenjaku's ears while his hips thrusts into his own fist. It's desperate. He usually isn't like this. Even when he was creating the Death Womb Paintings — even when his plans are so close to coming into fruition.

You make him like this. Make him lose control, every thought poisoned with you even when you're nothing more than a mummified heart hidden so desperately away by Sorcerer Society.

"I've gotten a lead," Uraume had informed him just a few days ago. "They've hidden him in the ocean in an underwater research facility."

"Underwater, hah, they think it'll keep your flames contained. Keep your loyal servant away as if the depths of the ocean is enough to scare them, us — Oh, (Y/N)."

His fist stops and Kenjaku stands, removing his clothing fully as he places a hand against the wall of the gallery. The textured wall, the grooves, give way to his nails as he digs them in. He stares into your eyes, imagining the crease of your furrowed brow and Kenjaku groans out your name as he cums all over the wall.

"...Oh, I can't wait to see you again, venerable concubine."

[midnightbluebells03]

Abby coming home to you after awhile apart because of a business trip or a long patrol

I'LL CRAWL HOME TO HER

CW - fingering (R receiving), mentions of blood/death

WC - 1.6k

I saw Hozier live and work song is so Abby Anderson coded I just had to

Leave me any Ellie or Abby requests x

Patrol.

A six letter word that made your jaw tighten and your grip white knuckle against your palm. Indents from your nails in your skin when you finally let your fists relax for a second.

It had been months. Scratch that years since you started dating Abby. Top scar killer, built like an ox, a human tank in the eyes of the WLF. An unstoppable solider, who's hands have done unspeakable things.

But to you? That's your baby. A soft girl who let's her blonde her cascade down freckled shoulders as you massage her scalp. Someone who babbles about her coin collection for hours while her fingers trace each engraving. The girl who kisses your forehead in the morning and sneaks you back trinkets from her patrol.

Patrol.

Sitting on the edge of the bed in the quiant space you and Abby shared you can't help how your leg is bouncing. Fingers fidgeting as you try to steady your breathing. Her group was supposed to be back hours ago. Nothing more than a standard search, an easy day in Abby's own words when she had rushed out this morning. Yet here you are, lip caught between unforgiving teeth as your mind runs a mile a minute.

What if she was hurt?

What if she was dead?

You shoot anxious glances towards the door every so often like you could manifest her presence. And sure enough after what felt like forevwr the handle turns. In walking a roughed up Abby sporting a new bandage wrapped around her bicep as she rubs the back of her next with a deep sigh. Your feet work before she can even mutter an apology, rushing to wrap your arms around her waist like you could crawl into her ribs. Her fingers run through your hair as her chin rests on your head.

"Sorry baby" you can hear the exhaustion in her voice. The slight rasp from a day of yelling that makes you frown. "Scars"

You hum in response, face buried in her chest as you rub circles into the small of her back through the fabric of her muscle tee. Abby knows the routine, knows how badly you just need her to be with you. So taking careful steps forwards she leads you towards the bed, picking you up while bwing careful of her arm before sitting herself down on the sheets. Keeping you settled firmly on her lap with your face in her neck. You pepper kisses along the skin you can reach like you could ease the pain her body carries, and she swears you can.

"What'd you do today?" She whispers softly hands playing with the hem of your shirt, that's really her shirt. Incasing you in faded black fabric. Underneath you only have on your panties, your sleep shorts sitting in the washing basket since you were too distracted by Abby's absence to do laundry. "Dogs all good?". There wasn't a single time in your whole relationship where Abby hadn't asked how your day was, and on the days you beat her too it she would insist you go first.

"Mhmm" you forcefully pull yourself from her neck to look into the steel blue eyes you want to drown in. Placing a peck onto Abby's nose. "Alice misses you"

She gives you a soft smile before pressing a quick kiss to your lips. "Sure she does baby" brushing a few stray hairs out your face before her palm settles on your cheek. Thumb stroking over the skin gently. "I'll come see you two tomorrow before I go out okay?"

You give her a soft smile before your eyes wander down to her arm. Looking at the tight bandage around her bicep and swallowing hard before whispering. "How...how was patrol?"

She knows you wouldn't judge her. That you understand she isn't some kind of monster, that the world around you didn't allow for much morals. For much innocence. But sometimes you catch her in the bathroom. Staring at her blood soaked hands like she's disgusted with herself.

"Don't wanna talk about it" her other hand slowly creeps under your shirt, calloused fingers grazing across the skin on the small of your back. "Just want you" Abby leans in and her lips brush against your jaw before she starts to trail kisses down your neck. Pressure increasing as she reaches the spot just above the collar of your shirt.

You bite your lip, tilting your head back slightly but whispering softly. "Abs you gotta sleep". You don't really want her to stop, the way your hand moves to the nape of her necks show her. Your fingers practically itching to wrap around her braid. But you try to be the reasonable one here. Try.

"Please?" Her voice is warm against your skin. A gentle nip of her teeth making you jump slightly. "Always sleep better after"

"Abs" You know you should tell her to sleep, tell her that taking care of herself should come first. But when she pulls the collar of your shirt down to suck a hickey into your collarbone you cant help but moan. "F-fuck" with a wet pop Abby releases the skin, rubbing over the purple mark with her fingers before looking at you with pleading eyes. Eyes you've never been able to turn down before. "Okay but-". You don't get the chance to finish before Abby has moved you. Making you lie on your back as she positions herself between your legs. "Abby!"

"But I need to promise that I'll go to sleep right after and take care of myself tomorrow" she gives you a cocky grin as she pushes the shirt up until your chest is exposed. "I know the drill baby don't worry". With a wink that makes you roll your eyes Abby leans down, kissing across the plush of your breasts until her mouth lands on your nipple. Swirling her tounge around the hard bud as your back arches into her. She takes her time moving herself between each breast until you're biting your lip so hard trying to suppress your whimpers that you can taste blood. When Abby releases your nipple she frowns slightly at the sight of your puffy lip. Brushing her thumb across it. "I know you gotta be quiet baby but don't hurt yourself"

"Easy for you to say" you pout softly before Abby takes the hem of your shirt and hovers it above your mouth. Letting you take the fabric inbetween your teeth to try and muffle yourself. She smiles as you comply and gives you a kiss on the forehead.

"Good girl" Abby trails her hand down your stomach slowly until she reaches your panties. Pulling them down when you lift your hips and placing them to the side. Her fingers run through your wet folds and she moans softly. "God" her spare hand rests on your inner thigh, keeping you spread for her as she toys with your clit slowly. "Always so needy for me huh baby?"

You try to respond but it's barely audible through the fabric so you just nod. Eyes rolling back slightly as she applies more pressure to your clit. Making your hips jerk up in response. Abby hums as her mouth finds its way back to your chest, peppering a soft trail of kisses all over your body. She was always so gentle with you, like she was afraid you'd break.

The room is still apart from the faint moans coming from your lips and the slight creaking of the worn out bed under you. And for a minute it feels like the world isn't so bad.

Because Abby's got you.

You grip onto her wrist as you feel yourself nearing the edge, squeezing hard and earing a groan in response. Abby leans into your ear so she can whisper sweetly. "Missed you" her hand leaves your clit and you drop the tshirt from your teeth. Before you can complain her fingers are circling your dripping hole. "Missed you so fucking much" she mumbles softly. Pushing in slowly as you eyes flutter shut at the stretch. "Never gonna get sick of coming home to you yknow that right?" Before you can answer she starts pumping in and out. Only making soft moans spill from your lips instead of conherant sentences. "Don't care if it's infected, scars or even other WLFs, nothing-" she moves her fingers harder. Like she's trying to drive the point home as her fingers curl against that spot that makes your eyes water. "Nothing is going to stop me from coming back okay?"

You can't do anything but nod as your fingers find their way into the base of her braid. Tugging gently as you struggle to keep your eyes open. "A-Abby-"

"Sshhh" she kisses your forehead grntly as her fingers keep their pace, coxing you to your climax as she whispers "I've got you baby, give it to me"

You clentch around her thick fingers as you hit your edge hard. Eyes rolling back and your hand still gripping her hair hard while the other clutches the sheets. You whimper as she helps you ride it out, only pulls her fingers away once your breaths even out and yours eyes open slowly. She plops herself down beside you, watching as you regain your head and turn your face towards her.

"I missed you too" your voice is shaky, airy. Filled with more love than you could put into words

Abby smiles before pressing a quick kiss to your lips. She raises her eyebrow at you as her fingers trail back to your clit. You swat at her none injured arm playfully and reach for the lamp on the nightstand.

"Deals a deal Abs you gotta sleep"

She groans and reluctantly stips from her patrol clothes. Not bothering with pyjamas as she crawls under covers. Pulling you into her chest and kissing your head. Its quiet for a few seconds before she whispers. "Round 2 in the morning?"

"Abigail" you say sternly but with a clear smile in your voice.

"Okay, okay...goodnight baby"

Tag list : @lonelylocallesbian @st4rluvrr @boobdrug @thegreatandlvable @icedsimpsayo @madds19zxl @jupiter-502

[gauloiseblue]

I'm Only Flesh and Blood

(König × Reader)

[Dead dove: do not eat | MDNI]

TW: rape, non-con, imprisonment, death, violence, overall dark theme

(I don't know why, but this song just resonates with the story, not because of the lyrics, but the way he sings it.)

You were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

You didn't realize there was a war on the horizon, before it all fell down upon the city.

Between the rumbles and the upstanding pillar, you coughed as the dust surrounded you.

You screamed for help, as the shattered walls trapped you in, leaving no space for you to move. You did it over and over again, until your throat scratched. Yet no one came to rescue, no one heard you scream.

When the night fell, you curled up your body, trying to find warmth in the harsh structures. There's no light that could reach your place, you only knew if it's daylight when the temperature rose up slightly, although it soon blurred as you lost track of time.

You were starving, your lips were cracked and split open. You thought you'd die like this, until you heard a heavy stomp of a boot.

There was a sound of a man shouting above you, and a heavy thud soon followed. You didn't have the energy to speak, as you watched a little light come through the rubbles. One by one, the wreckages were lifted, and you winced at the glaring light upon you.

There's a shout, and more shouts followed after in a language you didn't understand. You covered your eyes to see a soldier stretched his hand to you. Just like a fool, you reached up to him.

The event that unfolded between the rescue and the medical help was fuzzy in your memory. What you knew was, you woke up in a cold room, with men in uniform by your bed.

They asked you your name, and basic questions that you weakly answered. After they wrote it all down, you heard them mumble the word 'foreigner'.

"Where am I?" You asked them with a hoarse voice.

"Hospital." One of them said, before they both left the room.

Your brows furrowed, as you sensed something's off, but can't pinpoint what it was.

When the doctor declared you've made a full recovery, you were immediately brought to a different building. The man took you to an office, where a hunched figure in a mask sat at the desk.

He shooed your escort with a wave, and he left the room without a sound. Leaving you with the big man.

"What's your name?" He asked with a strange accent.

"(Name)." You responded.

"They said you're not from here." He stood up, and you witnessed the full glory of his height, "Visiting?"

You slowly nodded, nothing to add.

He shot you a sneer, as he walked closer to you, "You didn't know there was a conflict?"

"No," You lowered your head, "I thought it was safe."

You saw his polished boots as he stood in front of you, before he lifted up your chin so you'd face him.

"You're lucky you're inside the ruin, you know." He began to speak with malice slowly dripped out of his mouth, "Your kin were mostly dead or imprisoned. The women were raped, and the men were skinned alive. But you're still alive. You must be lucky."

The grip on your jaw became harder, and you whimpered, both from fear and the pain.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of you."

He let go of your face, and you immediately took a step back with your legs trembling. Your gaze was down, and you couldn't see the smile on his face. He walked past you, and you heard the door open, before a soldier took your hand and led you through the hallway.

In the other room, you met several girls with the same expression as yours—scared, confused, unsettled. You stood beside one of them, and watched as the soldier left.

The girl turned to you, asking your name.

"It's (Name)."

"Oh." She responded, "Where were you from?"

You told her the name of your hometown. "You?"

"I lived in the neighboring country." She smiled, "I'm Nina by the way, nice to meet you."

You returned the gesture.

"Do you know why we're here?" You asked.

"I'm not sure." She said as she rubbed her neck, "But I overheard the soldiers referring to us as flowers, I'm not sure what that means."

"Flowers?"

"Pretty flowers, in fact." She clarified, "One of them even said exotic ones. I just hoped it's not what I think it is."

You opened your mouth to reply, but the conversation was interrupted by the opening door.

There's a man striding from the door, and stopping on his track to see the people in the room. He scanned them one by one, before he turned to the soldier on his side.

"Which one is the Colonel's girl?"

The soldier looked at you, before leaning in to whisper.

"Hmm," He let out a displeased grunt, "Well, take her away then. There's no point in choosing her when she's off the list."

The soldier said something to him, but he dismissed him.

"I don't care, take her away."

He pressed his lips together before he nodded.

"Come." He said to you, and Nina immediately grabbed your hand.

"Don't go." Her eyes were wide as she told you, and you were alerted by the fear in her face. But you didn't have the time to process it, as the man ripped you away from her, dragging you out of the room.

"No—" You tried to protest, "Let me go."

He stayed silent, while his hand was planted on your arm.

"Where are you taking me?"

"None of your business."

"It's my business to know."

"Shut up."

The two of you arrived outside, where he quickly called a car to the lobby. As the car parked, he opened the rear door and shoved you inside.

The door was already closed by the time you shouted at him.

The whole ride was silent, as you bit your nail, trying to make sense of the situation. You tried to look out the window, figuring out where the driver's taking you. Though you found nothing, not a single clue.

It took perhaps 15 minutes before the car parked in front of a house—a big house, in fact. At the front door, you met another man in military uniform. He didn't say much as he let you in, before locking the door behind.

It took a minute for you to process what happened, before you knocked on the door, asking why you're here. Again, you received no answer.

Deciding it's not worth the time, you began to roam around to find a way out.

It's a two-story house, with a big dining hall and equally big kitchen. It has a study room, and a meeting room right beside it, the two rooms were connected by a door. They looked like they've been used recently.

Upstairs, you found the bedrooms, as well as the bathrooms. There's a door leading to a balcony, but it was locked.

When you came back to the first floor, you tried your luck in the study room. It was full of papers, and you skimmed over it. But it's all written in a language you didn't understand, so you decided to move to the drawers. But as you bent down to reach the handle, you heard an unmistakable voice coming from the door.

"Don't touch that."

You lifted your head to see the same man you met in the office. He was leaning on the frame with his arms folded, watching you intently behind the mask.

"Curious, aren't you?"

You looked down to avoid his stare, "I'm sorry."

He took the time to examine your face, before he spoke, "I was planning to take you home with me, but it seems like my lieutenant sent you away without my permission."

"What do you want?" You asked him through gritted teeth, "You're not planning to send me back home, aren't you?"

He smirked, "Clever thing." He said, "Do you really wish to know that?"

You kept your glare at him as he explained.

"You see, you're still officially missing, and it's not our job to report every single person we found." He walked toward the bookshelves with his hands on his back and his chin up, "So if we found someone, it's our right to keep them."

He pulled a file from the shelves, and threw it onto the table.

"It's yours." He told you, "Go on and read it."

You looked at him with disdain, before you flipped the file open. There, you found all of your private information—the copy of your and your parents' IDs, your bank accounts, and detailed information about your background. Although it's written in German, you knew it from the written dates and a few familiar names.

"Do you understand now?" He spoke in a low tone, "You have no choice."

He left the room as you froze on the spot, unable to bring yourself together. The soldier by the front door took you to a bedroom and locked the door behind as ordered. Leaving you alone, at a loss.

You stared blankly at the window, and took notice how it's screwed shut. Even if you were to break the glass, it's already lined with railing. The same applied to the small window above the toilet, and you saw no possible way out in the bathroom too.

Maybe you could open it with something, something that resembles a screwdriver.

When the sun had set, you heard the lock turned, before the soldier entered with a tray and a jug of water. He set them down on the nightstand, before leaving without a word once again.

You looked at the food, and you had no appetite despite your stomach growl. You didn't touch the plate, but filled up the glass with water. That was it, that's your dinner for that day

At night, you couldn't sleep. You could hear the clock ticking, reminding you that you're still here. Pretty much alive.

20 minutes past midnight—you knew it from the toll of the grandfather clock outside—you caught the sound of the door opening, then closing. It came from the room beside you, the master bedroom.

That night, he spared you from the dreadful ordeal of sleeping together. But your luck was running thin after the third day of your stay.

You were laying on your bed with your thoughts, before the door of your bedroom opened. Your blood ran cold, as you heard a heavy step entering the room, and went towards your place.

The blanket rustled, as the man slipped inside. He settled into the bed, before pulling you into his chest.

Your heart beat hard against your chest, and you began to feel yourself sweating. You knew Fortuna frowned at you when he slid his hand under your neck, pressing his fingers on your pulse.

"You're still awake, aren't you?"

You bit your lower lip, and slowed down your breathing. All was an useless attempt to calm you down.

"Don't worry, I won't touch you tonight."

You took a sharp breath as you caught the meaning of it. It made him chuckle, as he buried his face into your nape.

"But if you try something funny, I can't guarantee that to you."

Your body turned cold when the words left his mouth, to the point that you stayed still, petrified by the threat.

He did keep his promise, as he fell asleep right by your side. Perhaps if you're a bit braver, you could lift his hand and escape that night, but his words hung on your head, as if it's a guillotine that'd fall on you if you moved an inch.

You didn't sleep that night. Drowsiness only came to you after hearing the birds singing, signaling the first arrival of the sunray. And you were too tired to notice the way he stirred, as it went closer to his waking hour.

In the afternoon, you found yourself alone in bed, with the door locked, and the breakfast on the table.

You survived that night, but it didn't mean you'd make it on the other days.

Unfortunately, it came sooner than you prayed.

It was your fault, you were careless. You thought he wouldn't pay any mind to a missing cutlery, but he did.

At the dinner, he asked you to accompany him at the dining table, and you sat there, blissfully unaware of the impending torture.

As you chewed the tender steak, he announced his concern about the lack of butter knife in the dishwasher.

You stopped at your track, as your body tensed up. The meat stayed in your mouth, as your throat tightened up, closing your chance to swallow.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice?" He asked with a cold glare, "Did you think I'm stupid?"

You kept your gaze to the plate, as the alarm blared in your head.

"Answer me!" He slammed his fist on the table, and you flinched away in fear. The reaction caused you to choke, forcing you to cough out the meat into the napkin.

"I'm sorry." You whimpered, while gripping your hand so it would stop shaking. "I'm sorry."

For a moment, you thought the time had stopped for you. Until you heard the chair moved, and he stood by the table.

"Hands on the table." He retorted, and your body obeyed him without delay.

You jumped when he threw away your plate, sending it and the cutleries to the floor as it shattered upon the contact. You began to feel unsteady, as the panic was rising from your chest.

He stood behind you, and you trembled as you heard the sound of a zipper.

That was the day you found that he'd use sex as a punishment.

He made sure that it hurts, and left you bleeding, he'd render your legs useless by bruising your hip and insides, as he rammed his cock against your core. You screamed at him, begging him to stop, but he kept going until he ripped the orgasm out of you. By the time he finished, you're entirely spent, as you curled up on the floor.

In daze, you felt yourself being picked up, before laid down on the mattress. Leaving you wondering about it in the morning.

He was cruel, but he took you to the bedroom instead of leaving you. He was merciless, but he bothered to put a few medicines on your tray.

You didn't understand him, and you didn't like it one bit. You had a hunch that it couldn't be that simple—that he felt guilty, or he felt the need to take care of you.

To your disdain, he continued to do it for weeks. He helped you up, and gave you the medicines every morning. He kept it as a routine, until you could stand on your feet again.

While your body's recovered, the phantom pain still throbbed between your legs. Reminding you of the consequences for your misbehavior.

The memory of it kept you in line, as you unconsciously complied with his demands.

That was, until his demand became more outrageous.

It seemed that he was testing you—putting you through unnecessary trials of whether you would obey him or not. He'd put a choker on you. He'd ask you to get on your knees, and put your head on his lap. He'd tell you to sing, while his finger slipped inside your panties. He'd place you on his desk, and told you to spread your legs while he watched you pleasure yourself. He'd force you to watch an erotica without your pants on, so you'd leave a stain on your chair. He didn't ask for sex, but what he requested was way more improper, to the point that you felt dirtier after doing it.

And he seemed to be pleased by it, he delighted in your humiliation.

He also got off on your fear.

He'd play a cat and mouse game with you, and he'd scream threats that'd set you running. He knew you're scared of him, and he used it to his advantage. And when he caught you, you'd be forced on your knees as he shoved his cock into your mouth.

You're aware that there'd be an escalation from the moment he declared he'd take care of you, but you weren't prepared for the level of depravity he possessed.

The way he'd threaten you with sex, and soothe you with aftercare, it was too much.

One day, you sobbed as you begged him to end it all, with your tears running down your face. But he just sneered as he rubbed his member against your clit, forcing you to watch as your body trembled when you came for the fifth time.

There were times when it's all quiet, when he was wrapped up in his work. Those were the times where you could gather your thoughts, and planned for a possible escape.

You knew about his gun collections in the study room, you just needed the bullet. You couldn't really escape through the front door, except when it's night. So you began to devise a plan.

In the back of your mind, your rationality told you it's impossible; that even if you killed him, his affiliates would catch you so easily. You have nowhere to go. But you shoved it back into the water, as your feeling thrashed inside your chest. You need to go. You need to get away from him.

Fortunately—and unfortunately—you found out the answer to your plan.

He hosted a house party with all of the soldiers. Some of them were recruits, and some of them looked like they're on the same level as him, judging by the presence of a pretty partner on their side.

You were given the role of a quiet escort, and you were allowed to leave his side only when he told you so. You wrapped your hand around his arm, as he greeted his guests.

The last friend of his came a little later, and your eyes were widened as you saw a familiar face. It was Nina.

She looked thinner compared to the last time you saw her. Her eyes were hollow, and her face was pale, with the exclusion of the red mark on her cheek.

You had the chance to talk to her when they all sat at the dining table. While the men were talking over brunch, you made your way to her and stood beside her.

She was quiet, and you doubted that she heard you, but it only lasted for a moment before she muttered out I'm fine.

"He slapped me this morning because I forgot to brew his coffee." Her lips trembled as she spoke, "But he told me to prepare everything for the party last night, of course I'd forget it."

Your brows furrowed with sympathy, as she continued her snivel, "I should've felt grateful that he only slapped me. The other girls—the other girls got it worse. But I—everything I did was wrong in his eyes. I don't—I'm so sick of it."

She quietly sobbed, and you took the initiative to pull her aside, guiding her to the restroom.

In there, you got the full length of her story.

The man who took him treated her as a housemaid, but never addressed her as such. He'd shout at her constantly, and he'd shove her face against the counter, forcing her to look at the little dust spot she missed. At night, he'd force himself upon her, with little to no preparation. And when she tried to escape one time, he brought home the head of her mother. The only family she had left.

You didn't know what to feel, but you could see that she got it worse than anyone.

You tried to soothe her, but you knew the wound was larger than you could stitch. It could never be healed.

As you both returned to the dining room, you found the table empty, as the men had already moved to his study room.

And your heart triumphed when you saw the key in his hand, as he opened the locked drawer to fetch something vital for your escape.

The bullets.

You watched him as he slipped them one by one into the old revolver. You burned the image of it in your head—the silver, big barreled revolver.

He then invited everyone in the room to walk with him, with the intent of showing a demonstration.

"This thing is a beauty, a wild horse," He remarked as he exhibited the firearm, "You need to learn to tame it before you ride it, or she'll kick you off the mount."

The men laughed, as some of them added an equally filthy joke. He chuckled before turning his body and stretching his arm to aim at the target.

There was an apple on the fence, on the far side of the garden. And the red fruit stood still, before it exploded as his gun went off with a bang.

The men cheered, applauding the magnificent show that you couldn't understand. Why did they praise it? Wasn't a gun supposed to do that?

You didn't have the time to ruminate, as you heard your friend whisper under her breath.

"He loves you."

The chatter from the men almost drowned her voice entirely, that you had to double-check your hearing.

"What?" You asked her.

She turned her face towards you, and a tear rolled down on her cheek. The sight of her stunned you, as she reached to touch your cheek.

"He never took his eyes off you." She muttered as she leaned closer to you. "I'm sorry."

For a moment, you thought you felt her lips brush against yours, as she pulled you into a kiss. And you almost taste the wine in her tongue, until a sharp shrill flew past you with an incredible speed. Before you knew it, you were on the ground, with her body slumped against you.

You sat there, watching the open side of her head as it dripped dark fluid into your dress. It was warm, and slowly seeped through the fabric, spilling over your thighs.

You didn't know who was screaming.

You couldn't remember how long exactly before they removed her body from you. The party must be over since the men took you to your room, leaving you alone as you sank into your chair. Your hands couldn't stop shaking, as you saw them stained with red.

What happened to your dress? It was supposed to be white, wasn't it?

You stared at your knees, as the image of her head was still fresh in your mind. You felt your vision narrowed, as if you watched yourself through the third eye. You weren't there, you were still on the ground, with your friend's head on your lap.

The door was opened, but you didn't notice it. You didn't notice any presence, before a hand softly landed on your shoulder.

You jumped out from your chair, almost shouted for the second time, if not for his embrace.

It caught you off guard, and you began to sob against his chest. You couldn't help it, it was the only comfort you had, even though you knew that he had removed every other hand just so you'd choose him.

"Don't be sorry." He gently lulled you, "She brought it upon herself."

He removed the bloodied dress from you, before turning away to fetch a wet towel. You didn't have the energy to fight him, moreover to lift your finger. So you let him clean the blood off your face, and off your body.

You didn't resist when he put the fresh clothes on you, and he guided you to the bed, letting your head fall onto the pillow. He didn't do much and left the room without a word.

On the bed, you let your mind wander to your friend—her hollow stare, the gaping wound in her heart, you should've known it. There's a quiet anger in you, as well as a deep sense of loss. She used you as a means to end her pain, but she had no other choice. She had nothing left.

For days, you asked yourself if it's the only way for her, or if you could help her, reach out to her just a little further. But what came back was an echo, since she was already an empty shell long before you could help her.

You were angry at yourself, angry at him, angry at the man who took her. Yet you couldn't do anything about it, you were powerless.

He was smart enough not to bother you, since you'd erupt at any given moment. But he'd snap at you if you crossed the line, and you'd end up with tears, as you bit your lips shut.

You don't know what to do with this anger, you still don't know the answer to this day.

While you have the plan ready, you haven't chosen the execution date. You need to be close enough to him to take the key, but you're still repulsed by him.

A week has passed by, and you find the courage to close the distance between you and him. You begin to join him for dinner, and keep him company in his study room.

That's when you start to see the crack.

There's a time gap where you can carry out the plan, at least the first plan. When he comes home, he usually leaves his things unattended at dinner time. You would have the freedom to roam, and you could sneak into his room for a short time. You once made sure which pocket that had the key in, and did a double-take a few days later. When you're certain of it, you move to the gun collections. You had memorized the revolver, so it didn't take long before you found it.

With that in mind, you're ready at any time.

You maintain a good facade in front of him, as you wait for the moment to strike.

The chance comes to you one night, when he decides to postpone the dinner. He has to talk with someone outside, and leaves his things on the dining table.

The window of time will be short, since the time it takes for him to finish will be uncertain. But you take it nevertheless.

You don't waste any time as you pull the key from his vest's pocket, and march toward the study room.

Adrenaline rushes through your body, and you're shaking as you take the revolver off the padded wall. You then turn your heel as you approach the desk, sliding the key with difficulties, before unlocking the drawer.

Alas, you run out of time.

You hear the front door close, and a heavy step echoes through the house. You hold your breath as you slide the cylinder release, and take a few bullets in your hand.

"Mäuse?" Your panic rises as you hear his call, with trembling hands, you try to push the bullets into the cylinder. Alas, one of them falls to the floor.

The noise must've alerted him, as the sound of his step turns into a heavy bolt.

You only manage to put two bullets in, before slapping the cylinder shut and aim at the door, right at the same time as his arrival.

He stops in his tracks when he sees you inside, with the gun in your hands.

"Don't come any closer!" You shouted a warning at him, though you couldn't hide the quiver in your voice.

He stands by the door, with his face unreadable, as it hides behind the mask. You pull the hammer, while your finger rests on the trigger. You're ready to shoot, he knows it from your stance.

He sighs, shaking his head in disapproval, "I gave you time, and this is how you repay me?"

"Don't—don't move." You tried to warn him once again, "I'll shoot if you move."

"Can you even shoot me with those hands?" He leered at you, taunting you with his words, "You won't hit any target if you keep shaking."

He catches you off guard as he storms the room, forcing you to pull the trigger.

The bullet hit his shoulder, and he shouts in pain. The shot you released enrages him, as he pulls a sledgehammer from his side.

You don't have the time to aim as you shoot the second bullet, and it flies past him, leaving him unharmed.

A high-pitched scream escapes your mouth as the hammer slams onto the desk, causing the wood to crack upon impact.

The revolver quickly dropped as you fled to the connecting door, escaping the place through the next room.

You run towards the front door, trying to push the handle, but it won't budge. You hear him coming, and jump to the side, narrowly escaping his hammer of rage as it punches through the door, sending the broken pieces everywhere.

"YOU COME BACK HERE!" His voice boomed through the house, and you could almost feel the floor shaking.

You dash to upstairs, and push your bedroom door open, before locking it just in time.

Still, it can't protect you from him.

You watch in horror as the door shakes and fills the room with the cracking sounds, before it flies open by force.

And there he is, standing at your door like a nightmare.

You can't do anything except running away from him, running to the corner where you'll certainly meet your demise.

And you lift your arms and brace for the impact. You can see the hammer coming to you from the corner of your eye, and you cry out when it strikes.

It's all silence, before a quiet sob falls from your mouth.

His hammer crashed on the wall, just an inch away from your head, showering you with dust and smashed fragments.

Your body slides down to the floor, as your legs give up. You continue to weep, while he lifts up the hammer, and tosses it to the ground.

"Are you done?" He retorted harshly, and you shrunk away from him.

He yanks your hand away, and throws you to the floor. You yelp when he sits on top of you, pushing your face down to the ground.

"Should I treat you badly so you'd learn to appreciate what I did for you?"

"You took my freedom away." You hissed through your tears, "You kept me in here so you could play me like a toy."

"But I took care of you, didn't I?" He growled, "I never asked you to clean the house, you didn't even have to cook for yourself. What more could you ask for?"

You flinch at his tone. You've seen him angry a few times, but never this angry.

"Do you want a toy of your own?" He asked, voice dripping with bitterness. Your eyes snap open, as the phantom pain throbs in your hip. "I can certainly give you one."

"No…" Your lips quivered as he slipped his fingers under your clothes, "No, no! Stop!"

You tried to kick him away, do anything to get away from this monstrous man.

"Get away from me!" You screamed at him, but he ignored you as he ripped your clothes off. "Please! I'm sorry—"

"It's too late for that, don't you think?" He laughed when you tried to crawl away, while he undid his belt.

You cry out when you feel the head of his cock poking against your core, before he slowly pushes it inside.

It was excruciating, as he stretched you open with a force. He groans as your walls clamp around his member, as if repelling him from entering.

He snakes his arm around your shoulders, as he pulls you close until his chest is flush against your back. A bitter tang of iron hits your nose, reminding you of your own mistake. He hisses when you grab him on the place near the wound.

"Don't think you can escape me, (Name)." He snaps his hip against you, and you throw your head back, eyes tightly shut. "Not even in your death."

You scream when he buries himself completely, stuffing himself to the hilt, until you feel yourself full.

The pain comes back to you, as you feel your core burning. He makes it worse by feeding it frictions, as he begins to pump himself in and out. He tosses his mask aside, before he marks you with his bites. He sinks his teeth onto your neck and shoulder, before he lifts you by your chin, and crashes his lips against yours.

It was bitter, full of teeth. His kiss tasted like rage, and the jealousy he held since your friend stole it from him.

You cough from the lack of air, and fall down on the floor. The mixed saliva in your mouth drips down to your chin, and he runs his thumb to wipe it off.

He bends down to kiss you once again, and you whimper when you find yourself growing wetter against your will. The resistance from your walls becomes lesser, and he can easily slide his member in.

"You know, Mäuse," He mused as his hips moved like a piston, "I'm only flesh and blood, but I can be a good father."

He keeps his arm around your body, as you struggle against him.

"I can buy you a big house, taking care of our little ones." He covers your mouth when you begin to voice your protests, "As long as you're with me."

Your hand starts to flail around, trying to hit his wound, but it's out of your reach.

"I'll make you my wife, and we'll live together as a couple." He said with a smile, but through your eyes, it was a madman's grin. "You just have to be good, and I'll treat you as such."

His cock brushes against the spot that made your moan, and he keeps hitting it until your back arches, as you turn limp in his arms.

He soon follows after you, as his cum spills into your womb, filling you up to the brim. You gasp when his arms tighten around you, as his cock twitches inside your core. A sense of dread hits you as you feel his cock doesn't get any softer.

"I think you'll make a great mother." You heard him murmur, before he pressed his lips against your temple.

[greenboyfriend]

choose a fantastic green thing (tarot reading)

"what do you need to know?" image 1: ahh, a classic. woman with fish. iridescent fish, no less. image 2: women want him, men want to be him. whether you love him or hate him, you can't deny... he is a bug. image 3: the bowl. image source not everything may resonate with you, and that's ok! take what does & leave the rest. don't force it.

1.・。.・゜✭

hello friends. what a nice pull! you may be giving or receiving a gift as an act of charity or kindness. it seems like you’re unaware of something, but it’s not a bad thing. consider it blissful ignorance. it may be wise to stay in this state, shunning negativity/corruption. also, some of you may be dealing with children/ a child? maybe someone is having a baby?!

nevertheless, you’re trusting your intuition at this time, and it’s serving you. however, you may be a bit apprehensive about a change/transition you’re going through. know that it’ll happen no matter what you do! you’ll have to eliminate excess one way or another, cutting down to the bare essentials. it’s scary to go through change where you’re unsure what will happen, but you’ve got to do it at some point.

and anyway, you’ve got your intuition at your side. tune in with yourself however you know best, whether that be taking a walk outside, listening to your favorite song, etc, it will help you to regroup.

being sympathetic and loving towards others will also work in your favor. try to open up, and give others what you would like to receive yourself. “forgiving and forgetting” may also be relevant for some of you.

(6 of cups, death reversed, ace of cups)

2.・。.・゜✭

holy FUCK, you need to pump the brakes. holy FUCK, whatever it is, SLOW THE HELL DOWN!!! four of swords literally came flying out of the deck before i even got the chance to shuffle. take this as the universe/your future self urging you, begging you, pleading on hands and knees, to CHILL OUT!

yes, we all know you are very determined and forthright. yes, we all know it, and we all know that has turned out very well for you in other situations. however. at this point, you’re gambling whether things will go your way, and you can tell. loosen your grip on those reigns! resting ain’t so bad!! not every moment needs to be jam packed with activities.

i feel like you know that, but you don’t want to accept that it’s true, or can’t. despite this, you’re feeling the effects. the 10 of swords spells exhaustion & burn out– finding yourself depleted, full of swords, and on the ground (in vain); all the while, the call for action has not even arrived yet. 

consider yourself. if you need to have a goal, think of it this way: how can you most effectively relax? what activities (or lackthereof) will make you feel the most refreshed when the time comes to get moving again? in a sense, take all the anxious energy you’re feeling, and put it to use by taking care of yourself. you’re not going to be able to succeed in the way you want to if you’re completely exhausted from ignoring your own needs.

so relax! if you’re not sure how, beg the universe for help. that’s what i did, and now, i have a cat. 

(the chariot reversed, 4 of swords, knight of swords, 2 of wands, 10 of wands)

3.・。.・゜✭

your cards strike me as very sweet, my bowl lovers… after going through a trauma in your past, you’re working towards healing by opening up to those around you. now is a great time to be intimate, and not just in the romance way! maybe you’re interested in moving forwards with this, but you aren’t sure which path (which person/people, perhaps) to take. not to fear, however!! page of cups is here! let your heart/intuition lead you, and don’t be afraid to have some fun with it.

consider your emotions exactly as they are: does this person make you feel happy? secure? take your knee jerk reactions and mix them with your observations. after that, the choice should be clear.

six of swords is not always the most fun of cards (typically denoting healing, sloughing through the slop, ect) but trust that where you’re going certainly is… a blast, that is!! it may be a celebration you’re heading towards, but more than anything, it seems like you’ll gain a new sense of freedom. with the page of cups and six of swords present, this is likely how you approach your feelings & relationships, and how they’ve been impacted by your past. expect to shed some light on these patterns, and even overcome them entirely!*

these last two cards cement this message. if you go after what you want, you’re certain to meet success! it can be scary, and it might take a while, but keep trying! you can do this!!!

*for the time being, anyway. progress is not linear! sometimes it's 2 steps forwards to go 1 step back and that's ok!!!

(4 of wands reversed, page of cups, 6 of swords, 7 of cups reversed)

(pulled later: 6 of wands reversed, page of pentacles)

Ws all around my friends

[0strawberrysorbet0]

𝑂𝑢𝑟 𝐿𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝐼𝑠 𝐺𝑜𝑑.

𝑌𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑒!𝑉𝑜𝑥 𝑥 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

Please do not use/steal my work on this site or any other! Reblogs and likes are appreciated greatly!!

This is based of the song from Heathers! Enjoy!

PLS PLS PLS send some suggestions I'm out of ideas and wanna start writing more!

Summary: Vox finds out you've been a victim of two perverts from Valentino's dungeon, and he has a little.. Fun with the demons who did it.

Warnings: Talk of death, murder, mention of suicide, yandere, vox is a little mad, hitting, stabbing, blood, violence, pervert shit, groping, undressing

Vox wiped the tears off your face, examining the bruise, you had been helping with Valentino, even though he had been forced to release you from the contract you still had a few odd jobs to do in his so-called 'sex dungeon'.

While you were helping on set two perverts came up to you, groping and running their hands on your flesh, squeezing you till your skin had bruised. They had dragged you to a separate room but you had managed to escape before they could do anything.

It had been a few days but some of the marks were persistent, at first Vox had called you a cheater once he spotted them. Screaming and babbling nonsense.

"You.. Yøū cHëætîñg lītTlë SlûT!" He had screamed, voice glitching wildly as he grabbed your arm, however things had changed as soon as a tear slid out your eye and onto your cheek.

"No. Darling, I'm sorry... Shhh shhh it'll be fine" he said, pulling you close as if he wasn't about to hit you two minutes ago

"Now.. Who did this?" He asked, voice stern as he held you tighter.

After you had given the names he told you to go get yourself dolled up, after finishing you went to him. He led you to a large grassy area outside of the tower, the sky was filled with stars.

"Are we.. Having a picnic?" You asked him, head tilted as he pulled something from his pocket.

"Oh? Oh dear no.. It's far too late for that" he smiled a toothy grin, he pulled the object in his palm to his face, a gun..

"What are you doing with that?"

"Hunting Filth."

Filth? That wasn't really an answer, he pulled his watch out and called Valentino and asked him to send the perverts outside.

Holy shit.

The demons could be seen walking out of the building, disgusting smirks across their faces.

"Wonder where the bitch is waiting" one said before laughing "Can't believe that whore wants us both at the same time.. Score!" The other one fist-pumped the other.

Vox hid himself in a bush as they approached you.

"Hey hot shit~ so.. How are we doing this?" He said, already unbuttoning his jeans.

"Well... I was thinking you could.. Strip?" You said awkwardly, trying to okay along with whatever he was doing.

A few minutes passed and now both demons were in their boxers gripping your waist when suddenly..

BOOM!

The bullet fired straight through the first demon's head, blood splattering across your skin.

"Bro?.. Holy shit! (Demon 1 Name)! FUCK!" The second one screamed, pulling away from you as he looked around, spotting Vox behind him,

He began to run, through the field and to the street, this demon was fast but luckily Vox could bounce through each screen he passed until he had him cornered, he was back right next to the field, he had led the demon in a circle,

Like his prey almost.

You had spotted them as they came back, walking and peaking through the corner of the wall to watch.

Vox had a sadistic smile on his face as the demon begged for mercy.

He wasn't given it.

Vox pulled out a knife and ripped the demon the fine pieces of meat, making him unidentifiable.

"Darling? You don't need to hide in the corner! You can watch if you'd like" he smiled sweetly at you.

"Okay" you said as he pulled you to in front of the sliced-up demon.

"He should've just let me shoot him" Vox muttered

You didn't respond, instead letting him engulf you in a tight hug, both demon's blood mixing onto eachother.

"You didn't have to do that" you whispered, wiping blood off his screen around his eyes.

"But I did. Our love is god after all, isn't it dearest?" He smiled.

You simply nodded, accepting they you'd be stuck with him for all eternity.

[juniperdugong]

Perfection Pt.5; Wake me before you go

Falling unconscious Mingyu rushes you to the Mortuary to try and bring you back. As you're out, a memory comes back.

Pairing: mortician!mingyu x corpse!fem!reader

Genre: Mortician!au, Horror!au || Fluff, Crack, Romance, Angst || Inspired by Frankenstein and other undead media

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts || Depression || Minor wounds ||Mentions of death and corpses (Nothing in-depth and nothing intended to disturb) || Mentions of suicide || Necro-romance, aka romantic attraction to a corpse. || {Please let me know if there are other warnings you would like me to add}

WC: 3k

Songs that inspired this fic

Series Masterlist

"We have to take her inside!" Wonwoo is yelling with urgency as the guard surrenders your body over to Mingyu's care.

Mingyu kneels down, cradling you in his arms as tears form. "We can't…" he says in a near whisper against your forehead not letting Wonwoo's words tear his attention from you.

"What do you mean we can't?! It's right there!-" Confusion rides over Wonwoo's face as he watches Mingyu begin to weep over you, droplets slipping off his face and onto yours. The young guard steps away from the situation in shock as Wonwoo gives him a slight nod and a wave of his hand signaling to find help quick.

"I said we can't Wonwoo!" Gyu whips his head around to face Wonwoo, he's gleaming red in frustration. He brings you in closer to him, resting his head against your chest so he can, hopefully, find a pulse; Please be beating. Please be beating. Please be beating. "Fucking, thank goodness." the biggest wave of relief washes over him as he hears the faintest of murmurs. "Wonwoo help me get her into my car."

"Are you crazy?! She needs medical attention-" Wonwoo raises his voice not understanding why Mingyu is being this way, the fact that Gyu isn't bringing you further into the hospital agitates him beyond belief.

"WE NEED TO GO TO THE MORTUARY! FUCKING HELP ME!" Mingyu, completely lost in his emotions now, screams at the other man till his throat hurts. Veins popping out as he's now gripping so hard onto your lifeless body that bruises were sure to appear. "Help me Wonwoo!"

He's never seen Mingyu like this. Sure there was the occasional squabble between him and Seungkwan from time to time but he had never seen Gyu so distraught and broken. "Forget it." As Wonwoo's trying to figure out how to handle what's going on Gyu gets up - suddenly remembering his strength - and begins to carry you back to the car, letting the door slam in Wonwoo's face as he leaves.

It's dark and he can barely see as the one flickering street lamp attempts to brighten the entirety of this back lot and the crying isn't helping. "Shit, fuck! I shouldn't have left you. This was so stupid. I'm so sorry, my love." He presses a gentle kiss to your temple and his knees nearly buckle as he feels how cold you've gotten. "We just got you warm, y/n. You were getting warm." The tears are overtaking him as he reaches the car, it dawns on him that he can't open the door while holding you and it only fuels his current rage as he kicks a dent into his bumper.

"Let me." Wonwoo reaches for the door handle, heaving as he ran over here. Mingyu is taken aback as his friend helps get you inside.

Gyu places you in the back seat as gently as he can, leaving a small kiss on your jaw before he backs away and faces Wonwoo. There's a seriousness as they stare at each other with furrowed brows. Wonwoo knows it isn't the time to ask questions when he sees Gyu nearly shaking, eyes wide in panic, and his breath unsteady as his shoulders rapidly move up and down. Gyu shakes his head and runs over to the driver's side, hands scraping down his body for the key.

"I'll drive." Gyu looks up as Wonwoo pushes him out of the way. "The key-" "They're in there, Mingyu." He points past the window to the ignition where the keys have been sitting since Mingyu had gone into the morgue. "Come on."

They get into the car and take off with speed, thankful that there were little cars on the road tonight. "The mortuary?" Wonwoo questions, Mingyu nods frantically as he reaches into the back to grab your hand and hold it in his, not daring to let you go right now. "You'll tell me about this later." Wonwoo says pointedly. Mingyu doesn't even process the words as he contorts himself in his seat to look at you, a faint beeping noise falls on deaf ears as the seat belt light comes on.

--Flashback--

You see Mingyu enter the building, letting out a huge sigh as nearly half of the job is done at this point. You recline back in your seat, legs shaking and jittery with nerves as you wait for Gyu to return. It's not even a minute before you bring yourself back up and rest your head on the window to try and calm yourself.

As you look out you see a group of people walking on the sidewalk, it's dark and you can barely see them but the face of a girl comes to you clear as day as she passes under a streetlamp. Suddenly your vision is starting to blur and you feel lightheaded. Your heart pounds in your chest like it's about to burst out and your head is spinning, you look down and see your fingers turn grey and cold.

As you start to panic you stumble with the door handle. You need air, you need help, you need Mingyu. Your fingers barely catch on the handle as they fall limp on you. Willing yourself to stand you struggle to put one foot in front of the other, pushing the car door closed with what little strength you could muster.

When you make it to the door of the building you feel yourself begin to dip between conscious and unconscious, knees buckling and head fighting to stay on your shoulders. With a lack of control of your limbs, you slam yourself into the door repeatedly. It hurts at first but your senses are beginning to numb, eventually you're unable to feel anything as you continue to slam your body against the door.

Finally, the guard opens the door, eyes wide as he sees you in a zombie-like position. "H-hel-p Mi-ng-gyu." are the last words you get out of your mouth before the world goes dark.

--Flashback--

You're back in your room, not the one you had made home with Mingyu in, no. You're in your old room. The one littered with trash and piles of dishes that hadn't been touched in months. The apartment. You sit on the edge of the only clear spot on your bed, the rest of the space being taken up by mountains of clothes and random items that were in rotation as you took to rotting daily in this space.

Whoever Mingyu is and whatever that life is is not apparent to you. You're stuck in a memory, one where you've settled into the routine of living like this. Destroying yourself by isolation and hurt, wanting a way out but not seeing one, the only viable choice nowadays being continuing on like this until someone comes to save you or death. Yeah, those were the only options that made sense.

Ding Your phone lights up with a text message, of course.

- You're scheduled for 3pm today.

It was never anyone important, just your boss reminding you that you had work. You scroll up to see if you've gotten any other notifications, although you never do. The only things you see are notifications from other apps telling you to return and waste away the time you have left on them. No surprises there.

You let out a sigh as you get up and head for the bathroom. Lifting your head as you enter you see your face in the mirror, deep bags under your eyes, and a gaunt look on your face - nothing new here either. You push away the junk around the sink before running some water to at least wash your face before your shift.

Exiting, you pick up your uniform which laid on top of one of the piles of clothes. You don't remember the last time you washed, you don't remember the last time you had done much of anything other than work, come home, lay in bed, and sleep.

It's been like this for months, at this point you wondered if things could change. If it's too late for you to get yourself together. It is too late, you'd need help for that - that's the conclusion you draw. But who would help you? Your family barely texts or calls anymore, the only people you could call "in-person friends" are your coworkers, and the few friends you do have barely contact you because they're too busy with their lives, their interesting lives. There was no one who you felt you could divulge all of your darkest thoughts and worries, no support.

Maybe…it would just be better…if you were gone. No more problems. No more worries. You wouldn't even be much of a burden to the people around you anymore. Your boss wouldn't have to text you for work every day. Your landlord wouldn't have to voice her concern over the state of your apartment. Yeah, no one would have to worry. It would be much better that way, wouldn't it?

You had pondered upon this idea many times before but this is the only time you felt you could stick to it. You could actually do it this time. It's not like anyone would come looking and once people did, well it would be too late to have stopped you.

You decided you were going to do it. You'd finally give up on this shitty excuse of a life.

As they arrive at the Mortuary Mingyu has already gone through a plan in his head, wanting to get you to the prep room as quickly as he can.

"The key for the building is the smallest one on the ring, open the door and keep it open as I bring her in." He instructs Wonwoo with an urgent tone. As soon as the car stops Mingyu is out and on his feet. "Run!" He says to Wonwoo - his friend's speed not enough for him in this moment. He goes to pick you up and once more rests his head against your chest, just to make sure. "Dammit, it's even slower now."

Getting through the door he again instructs Wonwoo as they navigate the halls of the Mortuary, eventually getting to the prep room. "Quick, grab the empty table." he sloppily points towards the metal table that he hadn't used since you had awakened, the one that he laid you on that night. He lays you down, the slightest chuckle willing itself out of him as this moment reminds him of when he had brought you back to life, a bittersweet memory right now.

Wonwoo watches in amazement and concern as Gyu begins to hastily arrange all the equipment. Questions only continue to build up in his mind observing his friend's ministrations. He occasionally tries to step in and help, only to be swatted away by Mingyu giving him an excuse about it being more efficient if he just does everything himself.

Gyu couldn't take any risks. Just by being here, Wonwoo was putting himself at risk, and much more than that he was putting you at risk. The night sky promised no rainstorms, which meant no lightning, he had to find another way to jumpstart you. He stepped away for a second before a lightbulb went off.

"Wonwoo." He looks intensely at the man. "I need you to go to the front of the building, find the fuse box, and turn off power for all rooms except for this one." Gyu waits for a step, for any sign of acknowledgment. "I need you to tell me that you've got this." "I got it, Mingyu. Easy." "Good." His breath settles in its pace - he uses the energy from the adrenaline to hone in on his objective. "After that, I need you to go outside to the storage room. It should be just around back. Take my keys and the same key you used before should open that door." Wonwoo nods as he takes in all the instructions. "Bring me the generator that's in there." "Okay. Is that it?" "That's it. I'll take care of everything else, now please go. And hurry."

Pushing his glasses back into place Wonwoo takes off. Gyu goes over to you, hovering as he hesitates to place the hooks in your body. He has to keep reminding himself that this is to bring you back, the thought of actually hurting you now that you're alive being far too painful for his fragile heart. He swipes a piece of hair off your face. "This is gonna work, y/n. It has to. It worked before and besides…I need you. Can't bear to live without you now. Just got you, can't give you back so easily. So just come back to me pretty girl, okay?"

Talking about how he can't be apart from you gives him the amount of confidence he needs to continue. Steadily he brings the sharp hooks to your skin, right over the punctures he had made before that have already begun to heal over. With the gentleness of a lamb he skewers them through; You slightly twitch and blood begins to drip down, Mingyu is nearly passing out at the sight. If you had made any noise of discomfort he swears he would find any other way to do this. But you don't and he calms himself realizing that you're at least still able to react to sensations slightly. He sees as the lights flicker off in the hallway - Wonwoo's gotten to the fuse box.

Mingyu waits for a while, allowing himself to come down from his adrenaline high and actually prepare himself for what's to come. He organizes the machinery and goes over the rough details of what should happen in his head. Once he's sure that everything is in place he goes back over to your unconscious form. He slides his hand over yours, comparing palms before clasping fingers and leaning down to leave a soft peck against the back of your hand.

Wonwoo comes in minutes later. "Found it." "Good good, bring it over." "What exactly are you trying to do?" Mingyu turns to him hesitating, "I'm going to jumpstart her heart…again." "What." "I'm going to fucking plug that generator into the wall and then hook it up to her to jumpstart her heart." Wonwoo thinks he's finally lost it, the emotions have overwhelmed Mingyu to the point of insanity and Wonwoo doesn't even think he has the power to do anything but watch as his friend spirals. "Wait, what do you mean again?" "It's a long story. I just need you to trust me." Mingyu grabs Wonwoo by the shoulders, shaking him and staring into his eyes like a hawk. "I need you to trust me. Do you trust me, Wonwoo?" He sounds crazed, like a true madman right now, but goddammit was he persuasive with his passion. Grabbing Mingyu's hands by the wrist Wonwoo twists himself out of the other man's grasp, "I trust you, Mingyu. I just don't unders-" "Good. I was gonna kick you out of here if you said you didn't. It would've done irreparable damage to our friendship too. Also, now isn't the time for questions. Help me figure this shit out."

They both begin to fiddle with the generator and the machinery. Neither of them were engineers, mechanics, or technicians of any kind so it took all the knowledge Gyu had of building these machines for them to finally figure something out that had even a sliver of a chance of working.

Standing back from the monstrosity of wires and parts they exchange a glance. Mingyu gives a nod and Wonwoo picks up the generator's plug. "Do it. Just do it." - the hesitation gets to Mingyu and he can't help but cover his mouth in anticipation as Wonwoo brings the plug to the outlet. With a final thud into the wall - it's in.

They both get even more nervous as nothing happens, silence befalling the room, and Mingyu's heart drops.

TCH TCH TCH In succession, the lightbulbs in the room burst! Sparks flying out in every direction. The men cover their heads as surges of electricity pulse between the machines, each of them flickering on for just a second before shutting down once again. With each machine, the energy got closer and closer to your body, although the parts weren't working in tandem they sure were moving all of that electricity towards the intended destination. Your body.

Mingyu is watching with wide eyes, practically biting at his fingernails, watching as everything goes off. As the machine closest to you blazes with light he's wide-eyed, time spreading so thin that he swears he can feel as each individual electron shifts to create energy.

Panic ensues as the surge reaches your body. You begin to write on the metal table, the pain eliciting haunting groans from your mouth. Gyu is immediately at your side, his hands hovering over you as he tries to fix whatever is happening, even though he doesn't know how. Wonwoo joins him rushing to the opposite side of the table, "What do we do, Mingyu?!" "I don't know!" They're both yelling incoherent sentences at each other, as you twist and turn. Your body contorts unnaturally as muscles you've never used before spasm. "Unplug it! Unplug it! Unplug it!" Mingyu repeats the words over and over again as Wonwoo rushes to follow his commands.

Just as Wonwoo grips the plug…

Your chest lifts as you suck air into your lungs, torso lifting to sit up. Short jagged breaths follow as your hands roam all over your body to try and ground yourself. "Hey hey hey, I'm here.", Mingyu reaches out to you. You grasp onto his being so tight that you think your nails might be drawing blood, but Gyu doesn't care. He's hugging you, rubbing a hand along your back to soothe you as you're still shaking and in pain - evident by the tears that have formed in your eyes and the way you're breathing hasn't steadied. "I'm here. Not going anywhere. I promise."

A/N: I'm really enjoying what I've written lately guys... BUT LOVELIES!! If you don't already know, this series is no longer going to be scheduled so if you want to keep up with it the best way to do so would be to join the taglist below, just send a comment or ask and I will happily add you to the list! Please Reblog and Comment (They act as power-ups for me)

Taglist (OPEN): @jjin-kun @mydolle-dd @sojuxxi

[mynameismisty]

MINE|JOHNNY CAGEX FEM!READER

☆SUMMARY: Johnny wasn't a jealous man, but you with his co-star seemed a bit too over the line.

☆ORIGIN: I don't really have a song for this LMAO btw this came from a request, thanks anon! The request is rlly long soo💀

☆WARNINGS: NSFW, obvious p in v, jealous sex, creampie, praise

MINORS DNI

You knew Daniel. He was one of Johnny's co-stars, and a friend of yours. You had come to know it after he flirts with you multiple times, knowing you were with Johnny. But Johnny didn't seem to mind at all, you knew he wasn't jealous, he was just a bit protective. He knew when it went too far.

On a day where you got to the set first before Johnny, Daniel was on the set filming a scene and apparently, the girl he was supposed to make-out with... wasn't there! And who was?

You.

"It'll just be a small little session, darling." Daniel purrs, holding you by the shoulder after convincing the director to just put a wig on you. "C'mon, aren't we friends?"

"I don't wouldn't want to-"

"But we won't kiss anyway! Just some good ol' hollywood fake-a-roo."

Still, it weirded you out that he'd be presumably slobbering over your cheek in attempts to make the scene look real. You hoped no one would tell Johnny.

So they filmed the scene, and just like you thought, you had Daniel making out with your cheek and the Camera behind him where they could only see your hair and kissing noises.

After, it was like nothing happened. You went back to Johnny's trailer to just hang around until he came. Going over to the sink, you washed your face thoroughly, turning off the faucet and getting a scare.

"Johnny, baby!" You let out a yelp, holding onto your chest.

He stood, just beside the locked door of the trailer. You must've not heard him due to the water running.

"You enjoyed that, didn't you?" He said, it was obvious venom laced around his words.

"Huh? Enjoyed what?"

"That little make-out session you and Daniel had."

"Johnny-"

"Oh, but you enjoyed that, didn't you? Liked him kissing all over you?"

"No! We just filmed a scene since the other girl was gone!"

"Still," He walked over to you, managing to pin you on the small counter in the trailer, you leaning back in fear that he might bite. "Does it give you any permission not to talk about it to me first?"

"But, baby! It all happened so quick- I-"

"I- I- I-," Johnny imitated in a mocking fashion. "Answer me, does it give you any permission not to talk to me about it first?"

"N...No.."

"You know I'm not a jealous man, right, sweetheart?" You nod weakly. "But that just crossed the line."

You knew you were definitely in for a wild ride.

“Oh fuck, Johnny, I can't!" You moaned into the pillow, gripping the sheets tightly.

"You like that?" He pants, holding you by the hips with a death grip as if you were going to run away any minute. "You like how I fuck you?"

"Ah! Yes, Johnny, yes!" You felt a hand smack over your ass as he pushed his dick undeniably deeper into you. You felt Johnny slap it again and again, watching it jiggle, loving the sight of you squirming and moaning uncontrollably.

"You like that, huh? You like making me show my limits?" And you could only moan in response.

Johnny's pace slowed down as you whined. "Come on, baby, if you wanna cum, work for it."

"Johnny!"

"No buts, c'mom pretty girl. But you tell me who's the only person to make you feel like this and I'll help you out."

You moan, pushing your pussy back to him. "You do— ahh— please—!"

"Good girl," He cooed, this time lightly pulling you by the hair (but still having his other hand on your waist) gently and increased his pace. "Go on."

"Y-You! Only you can make me f-feel like this!" You stuttered over your own words, writhing and moaning uncontrollably.

"Mhm."

"Ahh! Please, make me cum!" You felt the familiar knot in your stomach tightening, about to rip into two pieces as you try to hold onto the damn bed.

"Yeah, baby, just— fuck— keep talking."

"Only you, J-Johnny! I love you, n-not anyone else!"

Your ass, moans and arched back were just too much for him, burying himself into you as you felt that knot snap in two "Ahh- fuck, Johnny!"

Your orgasm washed over you, thighs trembling, threatening to give out on you, your pussy clenching around him and your juices dripping down the sides.

He wasn't done though.

"Such a good girl for me." He pounded into you, over and over again until small tears started to flow from your eyes. "Yeah, I know baby, you're sensitive?"

You nod, too tired to have anything else come out your voice rather than moans.

"Come on, make those sounds for me, pretty girl, don't hide 'em."

That made you moan even louder as he pushed into you back and forth, leaning over you so his mouth was just next to your ear. "You like that, baby?"

You felt your second orgasm approach, clenching your pussy around him and tensing up a bit.

"My girl gonna cum on my cock again?" You could feel his smug grin pressed into the back of your neck. "Fuck, yeah, hold on." He still pounded into you but you felt him reach out for something and opening it, rubbing over your back.

Then you realize. He's writing his signature on your back. In Sharpie.

"You look good like this, babygirl— shit!"

He felt you cum again, juices slipping iut faster this time and he couldn't hold back.

"Ahh, fuck, shit, baby!" He pushed your head into the pillow as he came inside you, shoving all of his seed into your stomach that it made you feel full.

"J-Johnny..."

"I know, baby, I know.." He kissed you on the forehead. "You're sorry, right?"

You give another weak nod.

"Mhm, don't worry, baby, just don't let it happen again, yeah?"

You give a sigh and fall asleep, body plumping to the side as you hear Johnny get up to go grab a towel.

"Think I'll need a talk with Daniel."

💚

[quinzzelx]

Don't Go

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: Azriel thought he knew what pain was. But faced with the consequences of battle, he shatters.

Word Count: 4.8K

Warnings: Heart-shattering angst. I'm sorry, this does not have a happy ending. Death. I need to still proofread this!

A/N: One of my favorite Band's songs, one that I hold very dear to my heart, is called "Don't Go"... Let's just say, this song expresses the feelings of this perfectly. If you are interested in an alternate ending, one with a happy one, let me know.

☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆

I was raised in the valley There was shadows and death Got out alive but with scars I can't forget

You never imagined that drowning could be so tranquil. Drifting, falling, floating deeper into the abyss, your once-alert eyes now glazed over with a distant emptiness. The shimmering surface of the moon above reflected in the water, casting a serene glow upon the scene. Despite the turmoil raging within you, the water remained calm, almost comforting as it enveloped you.

With each passing moment, consciousness slipped further away, your limbs heavy and unresponsive. The light above grew dimmer, more distant, as you descended into the depths. A sharp pang in your chest served as a grim reminder of impending death, your lungs screaming for air that was nowhere to be found. The burning agony of suffocation clawed at your throat, the water filling your lungs with each desperate gasp.

This was the end. At the age of 347, a mere blink in the lifespan of a Fae, you faced your demise. While humans might find such longevity unfathomable, for your kind, it was but a fraction of existence. Yet, as the final bubbles of air escaped your lips and rose toward the surface, a sense of peace washed over you. Despite the fear that once gripped your heart, in this moment, all was calm.

Your death would not be in vain. You had fought until the very end. And now, as you surrendered to the depths of the lake, you found solace in the embrace of the water, welcoming you home. Your vision blurred, the edges of your consciousness fading as you struggled to stay afloat. Every movement sent waves of agony rippling through your body, your broken bones protesting with searing pain. Despite your efforts, the darkness continued to close in, suffocating you with its crushing weight.

But then, a sensation unlike any other tore through you, a visceral reaction that seized your heart in a vice-like grip. Panic surged through your veins, amplified by the frantic beating of your heart. It was as if every fiber of your being screamed out in terror, a primal instinct that screamed for survival.

Ears ringing and throbbing with agony, you felt a sharp, stabbing pain shoot through your skull as your eardrums burst under the immense pressure. The pain was excruciating, a relentless assault on the last bit of strength you held onto.

An orphan and a brother and unseen by most eyes I don't know what it was that made a piece of him die Took a boy to the forest Slaughtered him with a scythe Stamped on his face An impression in the dirt Do you think the silence Makes a good man convert?

In the tumultuous landscape of the Illyrian Mountains, whispers of dissent had been stirring for years. Cassian's hunch had sparked a relentless pursuit of the rebels, their motives driven by a desire to reclaim power and revert to antiquated traditions. Their disdain for the new order, especially Rhysand's leadership, fueled their rebellion.

Months of meticulous investigation led Azriel to their hidden stronghold, nestled deep within the rugged terrain. The plan was in motion: pairs deployed, each with a specific mission. Cassian and Feyre, Rhysand and Mor, Nesta and Azriel, and you with Gwyn and Emerie tasked with liberating the captive females.

Amidst the chaos of battle, Azriel wielded Truthteller with lethal precision, dispatching adversaries with practiced ease. Yet, his focus fractured when Emerie and Gwyn rushed to his side, your absence glaringly apparent. Dread coiled in his gut as Gwyn's wide-eyed gaze met his. It was then that Azriel noticed your absence, a sinking feeling gnawing at his gut. "Where is she?" His voice was tight with worry, urgency lacing his words. Her response only fueled his anxiety. "There was a group of about ten. She's our best fighter, and she insisted we go for help." Azriel's instinctive reaction was to scowl at Gwyn's decision to leave you behind, but he knew you were capable. Still, the thought of you facing such odds alone churned his stomach. So many of them? Fuck, he had to find you. A glance at Nesta was enough as she immediately nodded. "Find her." With a silent nod, Azriel launched himself into the sky, his wings slicing through the air with a fierce determination. The urgency of his mission spurred him onward, each powerful beat bringing him closer to the treeline that marked the edge of the battlefield.

It was only recently, during your parting, that the bond between you had awakened with startling clarity. The sensation pulsed within him, a potent reminder of your connection. How had he overlooked it for so long? The question gnawed at him as he scanned the landscape below, every hut, every tent, every clearing scrutinized for any sign of you.

As he neared the cliffside, a gust of wind carried the pungent scent of blood, assaulting his senses with brutal force. Panic seized him, his chest constricting with a primal fear as he descended closer to the source of the chaos. Then, amidst the carnage, he felt it—a flicker of your presence, fragile yet unmistakable.

We all have our horrors And our demons to fight But how can I win when I'm paralyzed? They crawl up on my bed Wrap their fingers round my throat Is this what I get for The choices that I made?

Landing with a staggering thud, Azriel stumbled forward, his chest heaving as he fought to quell the rising panic. Ears ringing, he scanned the scene before him, desperate for any sign of you amidst the chaos of battle. The sight of severed limbs and pools of blood sent a shiver down his spine, his heart hammering with dread. The battlefield was a scene of utter devastation, a macabre tableau of violence and chaos. Bodies littered the ground, their limbs twisted at unnatural angles, pools of blood mingling with the churned earth. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid scent of sweat and fear.

A sudden sound to his right shattered the eerie silence, drawing Azriel's attention like a predator honing in on its prey. His eyes narrowed, scanning the landscape until they landed on a figure slumped against a tree stump. The Illyrian's battered form was a testament to the brutality of the conflict, bruises marring his face, blood staining his clothes. As Azriel approached, his shadows coiled around him like vengeful serpents, an ominous aura of danger emanating from his every movement. His broad shoulders were squared, his stare intense and unwavering, like the embodiment of death itself stalking through the battlefield.

The Illyrian male flinched as Azriel loomed over him, a towering figure of wrath and retribution. With a swift motion, Azriel snatched him by the collar, yanking him up and pressing him against the tree with a force that left no room for defiance. "Where is she?" Azriel's voice was a low, menacing growl, barely contained fury simmering beneath the surface. The Illyrian snarled in response, his bruised and bloodied face contorted with defiance. He spat into Azriel's face, a vile mixture of blood and saliva, his defiance fueling the flames of Azriel's rage. "I won't tell you a gods damn thing, Bastard," he spat, his voice dripping with venom.

Azriel's fury intensified as he tightened his grip, bones cracking and snapping under his relentless grasp, the Illyrian's defiant sneer faltering as pain seared through him. "Tell me where she is," Azriel growled, his voice a dangerous rumble that reverberated through the air like a thunderclap, echoing the storm raging within him.

The Illyrian's lips curled into a twisted grin, his defiance unyielding even in the face of Azriel's wrath. "Your whore? We took care of her," he taunted, his voice laced with malice as he sought to goad Azriel further. Azriel's gaze darkened, a storm of fury brewing behind his eyes as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against the Illyrian's face. With a swift motion, he slammed him against the tree once more, the force of the impact jarring his senses. "You will regret those words," Azriel growled, his voice dripping with icy venom. In an instant, Azriel's shadows surged forward, wrapping around the Illyrian's limbs like vengeful tendrils, constricting and squeezing with crushing force. The Illyrian's defiant grin faltered, replaced by a look of sheer terror as he struggled against the suffocating darkness. Azriel's grip tightened, his fingers digging into the Illyrian's flesh as he leaned in closer, his voice a low, menacing whisper. "You will tell me everything," he snarled, his words a promise of retribution as he unleashed the full extent of his wrath upon the helpless captive.

Azriel's gaze hardened, his patience wearing thin as he pressed the Illyrian harder against the tree. "You will tell me," he insisted, his voice a deadly whisper. "Or I will make you wish you had."

With a defiant glare, the Illyrian spat back, "You can't scare me, Shadowsinger. I'd rather die than betray my comrades."

Azriel's jaw clenched, his fury simmering just beneath the surface as he stared down at the defiant captive. "So be it," he growled, his voice cold and unforgiving. "But know this, your death will be swift compared to the torment I will unleash upon those who have harmed her."

With a final, chilling glare, Azriel released his grip, allowing the Illyrian to crumple to the ground in a heap. Azriel's heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing like thunder in his ears as he stumbled forward, the weight of the bond pressing down on him like a suffocating shroud. Desperation clawed at him as he scanned the surroundings, his senses straining to pick up any sign of your presence.

God forgive me for all my sins God forgive me for everything God forgive me for all my sins God forgive me God forgive me

As he reached the edge of the cliff, overlooking the vast expanse of the lake, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of Azriel's stomach. Where were you? His mind raced, frantically trying to piece together the puzzle of your disappearance. And then it hit him, a searing pain shooting through his head as the bond between you wavered and dimmed. Gasping for breath, he clutched at his chest, his vision swimming with panic and fear. He couldn't lose you, not like this.

Azriel's mind reeled as the realization struck him like a bolt of lightning. You were dying, and he had only just discovered that you were his mate. The weight of the revelation bore down on him, suffocating him with a sense of dread and urgency. With a fierce determination, he forced himself to focus, pushing aside the overwhelming surge of panic threatening to consume him. He cursed himself for not recognizing your distress sooner, for failing to protect you when you needed him most.

The sensation of suffocation intensified, the air growing thick and heavy around him. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't bear the thought of losing you. Then it hit him like a physical blow, his eyes widening in horror as the truth dawned on him. "No," he whispered hoarsely, his voice trembling with fear and desperation. In an instant, he was on his feet, his movements fueled by a primal instinct to save you at any cost. The chaos unfolding at the cliffside suddenly made sense, and he knew what he had to do.

With lightning speed, he leapt into the depths below, his senses on high alert as he scanned the eerie still surface of the lake. Every fiber of his being screamed for you, a silent plea echoing in the depths of his soul. No, no, no. He couldn't lose you. Not now. Not ever.

Don't go I can't do this on my own Don't go I can't do this on my own Save me from the ones That haunt me in the night I can't live with myself So stay with me tonight Don't go

Frantically, Azriel swept over the vast expanse of the lake, his heart pounding in his chest with each beat of his wings. The enormity of the task ahead overwhelmed him, but he refused to succumb to despair. With each passing moment, the silence from the other side of the bond grew louder, echoing in his mind like a haunting refrain.

"Please," he pleaded silently, his thoughts a desperate mantra as he called out your name into the void. "Hold on, just a little longer." He tugged at the fragile thread of the bond, hoping for some sign of life, some glimmer of reassurance. But there was only emptiness, a faint flicker that threatened to snuff out entirely.

Then, like a beacon in the darkness, a glimmer of light caught his attention, reflecting off the surface of the water below. It was a small ray of hope amidst the vast uncertainty, and Azriel clung to it with all his strength. Grateful for the clarity of the lake's icy waters, he scanned the depths below, searching for any sign of you.

And then he saw it—a flash of metal glinting in the moonlight, unmistakably your sword. His heart leaped with a mixture of relief and dread as he circled the area, his keen eyes scouring the surroundings for any trace of you. With a surge of determination, Azriel dove into the clear waters of the lake, his muscles straining with the effort as he propelled himself downward. Anxiety gripped him like a vice, each stroke of his wings a desperate plea for your safety.

His heart hammered in his chest as he descended deeper into the murky depths, his senses keenly attuned to every movement, every shadow that flickered in the water around him. The pressure of the water pressed in on him, threatening to crush him with its weight, but he pushed on, fueled by the urgency of the situation.

"Please," he prayed silently, the word a fervent prayer on his lips as he scanned the darkness below. The faint outline of your form came into view, a haunting specter in the gloom, and his heart clenched with fear at the sight.

His Illyrian wings strained against the resistance of the water, their powerful beats driving him ever closer to you. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to reach you, to pull you from the grasp of the icy depths and into the safety of his arms.

With each stroke of his wings, Azriel descended deeper into the darkness, his heart pounding with a mixture of dread and determination. His fingers strained, grasping for your form as he fought against the relentless pressure of the water.

When he finally reached you, his heart twisted painfully at the sight of your vacant eyes staring lifelessly into the abyss. Gently, he pulled you into his arms, cradling your limp body against his chest as he began the arduous journey back to the surface.

Tell me that you need me 'cause I love you so much Tell me that you love me 'cause I need you so much Tell me that you need me 'cause I love you so much Say you'll never leave me 'cause I need you so much

As he ascended, a sense of urgency gripped him, his movements swift and purposeful as he struggled against the weight of your lifeless form. Halfway to the surface, he summoned his power and with a flicker of shadows, he winnowed to the shore, still holding you tightly in his embrace.

Your body felt unnaturally cold against his, your skin pallid and clammy as he laid you gently on the ground. Panic surged through him as he knelt beside you, his hands shaking as he pressed against your chest, desperate for any sign of life. But there was nothing—no rise and fall of your chest, no flutter of your eyelids. Tears stung his eyes as he stared down at your motionless form, the weight of his failure crushing him with each passing moment. "No," he whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking with emotion as he fought to suppress the rising tide of despair. "No, no, no."

With tears streaming down his cheeks, Azriel bent over your motionless body, his hands trembling as he began chest compressions. Each push was an agonizing reminder of his helplessness, his fingers pressing against your chest with desperate force, willing your heart to respond.

The bond between you dimmed with each passing second, a thin thread of connection that threatened to snap at any moment. But Azriel refused to let go, his mind consumed by a singular determination to bring you back from the brink. Leaning down, he pressed his lips to yours, breathing life into your still body with every exhale. The taste of saltwater lingered on your lips, a bitter reminder of the depths from which he had pulled you.

His movements were frantic, almost desperate, as he continued to alternate between chest compressions and breaths, his own breath ragged with exertion. His wings, normally a symbol of strength and power, drooped at his sides, soaked with water and heavy with the weight of his despair. In the midst of his efforts, he failed to notice the arrival of Cassian, Nesta, Rhys, and Feyre, their shocked gazes fixed upon the scene unfolding before them. They hovered at a distance, unsure of how to intervene, their hearts heavy with the weight of your precarious situation.

But Azriel was lost in his own world, consumed by the task at hand. He refused to acknowledge the fear gnawing at his heart, the dread that threatened to consume him whole if he dared to let it in. Azriel's hands moved with a desperation born of sheer terror, his fingers trembling as they continued to press against your chest. Each compression sent a jolt of anguish through his body, his muscles straining with the effort to bring you back to life. "Please," he whispered, the word barely audible over the rush of blood in his ears. "No, please."

His vision blurred with tears, the world around him reduced to a hazy backdrop of grief and despair. He chanted your name like a prayer, a desperate plea to whatever gods might be listening to spare your life. "You can't go," he pleaded, his voice breaking with emotion. "Not like this." Beside him, Cassian's heart shattered at the sight of his brother's anguish. Stepping closer, he placed a hand on Azriel's back, a silent gesture of support in the face of overwhelming sorrow.

"Brother," he murmured, his voice thick with unshed tears. But before he could say anything more, Azriel's head snapped in his direction, rage blazing in his eyes. "No!" Azriel snarled, his shadows swirling around him in a tempest of fury. Cassian recoiled, his heart aching at the sight of his brother's pain etched so clearly on his face. Feyre's sobs echoed in the background, a haunting melody of grief that underscored the desperation of the moment. Rhys and Cassian shared a look, their expressions mirroring the anguish that weighed heavy on their hearts.

But it was Azriel who bore the brunt of the agony, his entire being consumed by the terror of losing you. As he clung to your lifeless form, he felt the weight of despair pressing down on him, threatening to crush him beneath its unbearable burden. With each passing moment, he watched helplessly as you slipped further away from him. Your lips, once full of color, now turned a lifeless shade of blue, your cheeks growing hollow with every breath you didn't take.

"Please," he begged, his voice raw with anguish. "Do something! Rhys, please!" His words were a desperate plea, a cry for salvation in the face of overwhelming despair. But as Rhys stepped closer, a defeated look on his face, Azriel's heart shattered into a million pieces.

"I... I can't," Rhys murmured, his voice heavy with sorrow. "I'm sorry, brother, but..." Azriel's rage boiled over, his pain spilling out in a torrent of emotion. "You don't understand!" he screamed, his voice cracking with anguish. "She is my Mate!"

Don't go I can't do this on my own Don't go I can't do this on my own Save me from the ones That haunt me in the night I can't live with myself So stay with me tonight

The words hung in the air like a heavy fog, their significance sinking in with a painful clarity. Rhys and Cassian exchanged shocked looks, their faces a portrait of sorrow and disbelief. And as Feyre wept silently in the background, the weight of the truth settled over them. Azriel's cries echoed across the desolate landscape, a symphony of grief that pierced the night with its raw intensity.

With each failed attempt to revive you, his soul fractured a little more, the pain tearing through him like a relentless storm. He clung to you desperately, his fingers digging into your lifeless flesh as if trying to anchor you to the world of the living. But no amount of pleading or praying could bring you back, and with each passing moment, the reality of your loss became more unbearable.

Tears streamed down his cheeks unchecked, mingling with the cold water that surrounded you both. In that moment of utter despair, he felt as if his heart had been ripped from his chest, leaving behind nothing but a gaping void where you once belonged. In the eerie silence that followed, broken only by the lapping of the lake against the shore, Azriel held you close, his heart shattered into a million irreparable pieces.

His tears mingled with the water that now cradled your lifeless form, a cruel reminder of the love that had been torn from him so suddenly. "I love you," he whispered brokenly, his voice barely a whisper against the vast emptiness of the night. "I have always loved you." Each word was a knife to his soul, carving out the depths of his grief with ruthless precision.

As his tears fell upon your face, mingling with the coolness of death, Azriel felt the weight of his loss bear down upon him with crushing force. With trembling hands, he brushed a lock of hair from your forehead, his touch gentle yet filled with unbearable sorrow.

And then, with a heart-wrenching realization, the bond between you flickered and died, snuffed out like a candle in the wind. The agony that tore through Azriel in that moment was unlike anything he had ever known, a searing pain that threatened to consume him whole.

A guttural scream tore from his throat, raw and primal, echoing across the desolate landscape. His shadows burst forth from him in a frenzy of writhing darkness, swirling around him like a tempest unleashed. Rhys acted quickly, raising a protective shield to contain the torrent of emotions that threatened to overwhelm them all. Clutching your lifeless body to his chest, Azriel's whole being shook with terror and despair.

"No, this isn't true," he cried out, his voice a desperate plea to the uncaring heavens. "Don't leave me." But there was no answer, no miracle to bring you back to him. In that moment, the reality of living without you crashed over him like a tidal wave, threatening to drag him under. How could he go on without you? How could he face a world that suddenly seemed so cold and empty?

Your laughter, your smile, the warmth of your touch—all of it was gone now, lost to him forever. And as he held your lifeless body against his, Azriel screamed, a primal cry of anguish that echoed into the night, a haunting lament for a love that had been stolen away too soon.

With his forehead pressed against yours, Azriel wept, his tears mingling with the water that surrounded you both. He pressed a gentle kiss to your cold cheek, his lips trembling with sorrow and regret. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I failed you. I failed us."

The shadows around him finally began to still, their frantic dance slowing to a mournful sway. Rhys lowered his shield, allowing the others to approach, their faces etched with sorrow as they took in the devastating scene before them. Cassian stepped forward first, his expression a mixture of grief and disbelief. "Az," he said softly, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I don't know what to say."

Azriel looked up at his brother, his eyes red-rimmed and haunted. "Say that it's not true," he pleaded, his voice breaking. "Tell me this is just a nightmare and I'll wake up soon." But Cassian could only shake his head, his own heart heavy with grief. "I wish I could," he said quietly. "But this is real, Az. And I'm so sorry."

Azriel's voice cracked with anguish as he spoke, his words a desperate plea to the heavens. "Why you?" he cried, his voice raw with pain. "You were everything good in this world, everything bright and beautiful. Why did it have to be you?"

He clutched your lifeless form tighter to his chest, as if by sheer force of will he could bring you back to life. "It should have been me," he whispered, his voice thick with sorrow. "I'm the broken one, the one who's lived in darkness for so long. You deserved so much better than this."

Tears streamed down his face as he pressed his forehead against yours, his breath hitching in his chest. "I can't do this without you," he confessed, his voice barely more than a whisper. "You were my light, my reason for living. And now you're gone."

His heart shattered into a million pieces as he held you close, the weight of your loss crushing him beneath its unbearable burden. "Please come back," he begged, his voice choked with grief. "I can't bear to live in a world without you."

Don't go I can't do this on my own Don't go Save me from the ones That haunt me in the night I can't live with myself So stay with me tonight

Rhys approached Azriel cautiously, his expression heavy with sorrow. "Az, we need to leave soon," he said gently, his voice barely audible over the howling wind. "You'll freeze to death out here." Azriel's tear-streaked face twisted with fury as he turned to Rhys, his grief-stricken eyes burning with intensity. "I can't leave her here," he growled, his voice thick with emotion.

Rhys nodded solemnly, understanding the depth of Azriel's pain. "I know, brother," he replied softly. "But we can't stay here forever. We need to take her home."

Azriel's sobs echoed through the desolate landscape, his voice barely above a whisper as he pleaded, "Just five more minutes." His gaze remained fixed on your beautiful face, etched with pain and longing.

Rhys and Cassian exchanged a somber glance before silently stepping back, giving Azriel the space and time he needed to say goodbye. The minutes stretched into hours, the sun dipping below the horizon and rising again, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink. But still, Azriel clung to your lifeless form, his whispered pleas of "just a little more" echoing through the silent air. Each passing moment felt like an eternity as Azriel grappled with the reality of your absence. The weight of his grief was palpable, a heavy burden that threatened to consume him. But still, he couldn't bring himself to let go, as if leaving this place would make the devastating truth more real.

As the sun reached its zenith once again, casting long shadows across the landscape, Rhys approached Azriel with a heavy heart. "Az," he said gently, his voice filled with compassion, "we need to go." Azriel's voice was raw with emotion as he stood for the first time since arriving at the desolate shore, still cradling your lifeless form in his arms. His eyes, once filled with anguish, now held a haunted emptiness as he spoke to Rhys, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I can't live without her, Rhys," he confessed, the weight of his words heavy in the air. Each syllable was laden with the depths of his grief, a pain that seemed insurmountable in the wake of your absence. Rhys's heart clenched at Azriel's words, the pain evident in his brother's voice piercing through him like a blade. He could see the devastation etched into Azriel's features, the unbearable weight of loss bearing down on him.

"I know, Az," Rhys murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I understand. But we have to take her home. She deserves that much." His own grief threatened to overwhelm him, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand. "We'll give her a proper farewell, Az. Together." Azriel cradled your lifeless form in his arms as he followed Rhys, his steps heavy with grief. He thought of all the moments they had shared together in Velaris, the quiet nights spent stargazing on the balcony, the lazy mornings talking over coffee. He thought of the way your laughter echoed through the streets of the city, a beacon of light in the darkness.

But now, all of those moments felt like distant memories, fragments of a life that was no longer his to hold. As Azriel prepared to winnow back to Velaris, your lifeless form cradled in his arms, he couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of regret that consumed him. He would never get the chance to kiss you again, to hold you close and tell you how much he loved you. He wished he had confessed his feelings before, before the bond had been revealed, before it was too late.

You had died alone, unaware of his love, unaware that you had a mate who cherished you more than anything in this world. The thought tore at his soul, leaving behind a gaping wound that he knew would never fully heal. He would carry the weight of that regret with him for the rest of his days.

But as he prepared to winnow, to leave this desolate place behind and return to Velaris, he knew that he had to find a way to live with the pain, to honor your memory in every moment of his existence. You may be gone, but your love would live on in his heart forever.

With one last lingering look at your peaceful face, Azriel whispered a silent promise to himself, to remember you, to cherish you, to love you for all eternity. And then, with a heavy heart and tear-stained cheeks, he winnowed away, back to Velaris, with you in his arms, your spirit forever intertwined with his own.

Don't go Don't go Don't go Don't go

☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆~●~☆

A/N: I'm sorry. Whew. I made myself cry while writing this. Please let me know if you enjoyed this and if you'd be interested in an alternative ending. :)

[thefallennightmare]

Miracle-twenty two

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Warnings/Tropes: forced proximity, slight enemies to lovers, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff, mentions of death, and swearing.

Summary: Reader is the merch girl for Bad Omens. It wasn't what she wanted to do with her life but when her mother got sick with Alzheimer's, reader took a job where she could to help with the costs. She thought it would be a one-time gig but the longer she was on the road with them, the harder she fell for Noah Sebastian; even if he wanted nothing to do with her. She needed a miracle to save her mom and her future.

Author Note: The moment you've all been waiting for. I know I teased masked sex in this one BUT it's going to have to wait for the next chapter. TWO CHAPTERS LEFT; I REPEAT TWO CHAPTERS LEFT!

Tags: @ada-clarence @nonamessblog @thescarlettvvitch @malice-ov-mercy @crimson-calligraphyx @theoneandonlykymberlee @yumikitten @blackveilomens @cherrymedicine13 @thebadchic @notmaddihealy @jay02bo @beaker1636 @jakekiszkasguitarpick @punk-pr1ncessxoxo @er3nslovergirl @iamdesolate @lma1986 @jessitpwk @themodern-daywednesday @writethrough @bngurngheart @dreams-that-are-anwsered @loeytuan98 @omens-in-reverse @loverofagoodbeard @jay02bo @niicoleleigh @tearfallpixie @cupidsdreams

"Noah, I swear to the gods, put me down," I giggled while smacking his back.

He ignored my protest and pathetic attempt to break free from his hold as he opened the door to his room, kicking it closed behind him. My upside down view was of his round ass, which I tried hard not to take a bite out off, so I wasn't able to see what was scattered around the room and bed until Noah gently let me fall to my feet.

I brushed my hair out of my face while narrowing my eyes at him. "You can't manhandle me to get what you want, you know."

He scoffed while raising a brow. "Says the girl that just jerked me off in front of the guys."

I pursed my lips, a red hue covering my cheeks, and when I went to retort back with a witty comeback, I noticed the scene in front of me.

Behind Noah, who was smirking like an idiot, were a couple bouquets of flowers; one on his dresser, one on the table next to his bed, and one on his desk next to his computer. All black dahlia's, my favorite.

"Davis told me that back in high school you used to be obsessed with black dahlia's," Noah said as he watched me fiddle with one between my fingers.

Tears burned at the back of my eyes but I refused to let them slip.

"Yeah," I cleared my throat. "After the murder; call me grotesque but I'm a huge true crime nerd."

Noah smiled warmly at me when I gazed over to him. "When did you do all this? We've been together all night.

"I set it up when you ran to grab the pizza's. Although, I was hoping to have you up here a lot sooner. The playlist I made is almost over."

"Playlist?" I questioned, now hearing the soft tune of music play from his computer.

Bending over the desk, I scrolled through the entire Spotify playlist he created and titled it Angel. It had all of my favorite songs and of course, some Bad Omens songs. Between the flowers and playlist, my heart was swooning with such an intense feeling that I had to grip the chair in front of me to steady myself. Why did I feel like this? Why was this unknown feeling so intense that I couldn't breathe?

Love, you idiot. You fucking love Noah Sebastian.

I almost stumbled on my feet when the realization slammed through me like a fucking truck. There always was this sensation that lurked at the depths of my heart and soul that knew I loved Noah. With everything that's happened the last few weeks, however, clouded over those sensations until recently. The more time I spent with now, the intense those sensations vibrated throughout my veins.

"You didn't have to do all this, Noah," my bottom lip trembled.

He cupped my cheek, thumb grazing over the trembling lip. "Yes, I did. You've been going through so much lately and while I don't know what's going on in your mind exactly."

Noah's fingers tapped against my forehead causing me to let out a small laugh.

"I do know that you needed something to lift your spirits," he finished then motioned to the bed behind me.

Looking over my shoulder, a gasp fell from my lips when I saw a small velvet box on the bed, next to a piece of paper that folded perfectly in half. Noah quickly hushed my panic with a kiss to the side of my head when he noticed my shoulders went stiff.

"It's not a ring, don't worry," he muttered.

Good.

Because I only realized I loved him, the last thing I needed right now was a proposal. But that didn't mean I was opposed to it down the road.

With shaky hands, I opted in picking up the piece of paper first and seeing what it was made my stomach flip repeatedly.

"A plane ticket?" I peered up at Noah.

"You're coming with to Europe, angel. Wether its to work for Bad Omens or to be with me. I'm not letting you stay back," Noah's tucked a piece of hair behind my ears, fingers lingering on the skin of my neck.

Guilt pulled at my heart. "I think I have no choice but to work for you. I have to save up some money if I want to find a place. Although, I'm not sure how I'm going to afford anything over in Europe. Maybe I should stay back and find a job here-."

Noah hushed my ramblings with a fiery kiss, hand burying into my hair while the other grasped at the back of my neck to pull me into his chest. The plane ticket fluttered to the ground as I grabbed a fist full of his shirt and I had to stand on my toes to lean up into the kiss.

"For once, angel. Stop worrying about what you have to do in order to survive. I'm here now, let me help you with things," he muttered against my lips.

"But I-."

Once again, Noah cut off my words with his lips but this kiss wasn't intense as the last one.

"Please let me do this, okay?" He leaned back so he could look into my eyes. "Let me take care of you the way I should have from the start."

The part of me that was used to fighting help or fighting to survive screamed to decline, tell Noah to fuck off and I didn't need his help. But learning to change and heal from the trauma of my past made me eventually nod. I needed to learn to accept help because there were something I couldn't do on my own.

"Okay," I breathed. "But I still think I should start looking for an apartment. It might take a while of me working to save up."

Noah grabbed the other gift and placed it in my hands. "This might help."

I raised a curious brow at him. "What is it?"

"That's the whole concept of a gift. You open it and see," he urged me on with a nod.

I smacked his hand away as he tried to open the box for me and when I saw what was inside; I was even more confused.

"A key?" I wondered while picking it up out of the box. "What's this for?"

Noah rubbed the back of his neck."Uh, shit. I had this whole thing planned in my head but now that you're standing in front of me, I'm nervous."

My heart hammered against my chest as I waited for him to find the words he needed to say, still clutching the key tight in my hand. I knew what he was going to ask and my brain was screaming the answer already before he even asked.

With his hand in mine, the thumb that had the angel wings tattoo rubbing across the back of my hand, Noah locked his eyes with mine.

"Move in with me, angel."

The words stumbled out in one large garbled mess, and Noah cursed. "Fuck, this was a lot easier when I practiced it in my head."

Through my own nerves, I couldn't help but giggle at how adorable he was in this moment. From the second I opened the small box, I knew what he wanted to ask me but I was still very on the fence about it.

"Are you sure that's a good idea? We're going to be with each other all the time at home and at work? Won't you get sick of me?"

The corner of Noah's lips curled up in a smile. "You said home."

Fuck.

I bit the inside of my cheek to hide my own smile. "You know what I mean."

He pulled me down to sit on his bed with him and brough my legs into his lap, fingers grazing over the bare skin of my thighs. The small action did so much to calm my racing heart.

"There's no way I could get sick of you. Having you with me when I wake up in the morning or go to sleep at the end of a long day makes whatever issues we may have down the road worth it. It makes sense if you think about it. Why would I have you go find a place of your own when Jolly and I have all this extra space?"

My eyes widened. "Oh, please tell me you talked to Jolly about this? I don't want him to feel left out or what if he thinks we're going to kick him out?"

"Jolly is fine with it," Noah reassured me by pulling out his phone to show me the text thread between him and Jolly.

Of course, he was telling the truth. Jolly even called him out for not asking sooner. But when I watched Noah swipe out of the messages, I got a peak at the background on his phone and my cheeks flushed with a blazing heat. It was a picture of me, one that I posted on my Only Fans; the one of mean in their Bad Omens shirt in the tour bus bathroom.

"Noah Sebastian!" I scolded. "Why the fuck is that your background?!"

I jumped into his lap to snatch the phone from him hoping to change the background. Noah laughed while one hand kept the phone away from quite a distance and his other arm snaked around my back to keep me in place.

"It's fucking hot, angel." Noah shrugged so matter-of-factly.

"What if someone sees it?" I seethed trying to reach for the phone again. "Well, Folio's already seen those but still."

"Don't remind me," Noah grumbled, dropping his phone on his bed.

The grip on me turned possessive and for a moment, I stopped trying to grab his phone and instead, cupped Noah's face.

"You have no reason to be jealous. I deleted the page but we both know those pictures are out there. It was something I knew would happen when I started the page."

"I know," he eventually sighed.

"Why do you even want that picture as your background? You can't see my face," I wondered.

Noah's eyes darkened as he licked his lips. "Maybe you should take another one for me, this time where I can see your gorgeous face."

"Hm," I hummed while brushing my nose across his. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"You don't even know."

My squeal of laughter echoed around the room when Noah flipped us on the bed so he was leaning over me, digging his hips into mine. A mixture between a moan and a whine fell from my lips and I grasped at his hips so I could keep him close. He was still wearing his sweats from earlier so I could still feel the hard definition of his hardening cock. With his face buried in the crook of my neck, Noah breathed me in while leaving pepper light kisses everywhere.

"You said home," he repeated his words form earlier.

"Yes," I breathed out a moan when his cock slide over the folds of my pussy.

I was still turned on from our little under the blanket action earlier and with everything he was doing right now; I was minutes away from coming undone.

"So you'll stay?"

Noah pulled away so he could gaze down at me, hair falling into his eyes. I gently brushed it away so I could get a good look of his face to see if he truly meant and understood what he was asking of me. This wasn't something he could take back, or well he could but it would mean the end of our relationship. That wasn't something I wanted.

But through the dark depths of his eyes, I could see that Noah meant every part of his question.

Leaning up so my lips ghosted over his, I smiled. "Only if you change your background."

"It's a fucking deal, angel," Noah said before crashing his lips to mine.

We both moaned into the kiss, starved for the desire that's been clawing at our insides for weeks. It's been an unspoken rule between us that even though we've fooled around, we still haven't had sex yet. Neither of us knew why we were waiting so long to jump over that hurdle but now that the future was bright and clear of any more obstacles, we were ready.

I was ready.

Noah's large hand spread across the skin of my stomach as he slipped it underneath my shirt, fingers pulling at the waistband of my pants, a silent question.

"Please," I begged, raising my hips up to meet his.

He made quick work of shedding me of my pants then my shirt, me now laying underneath him in just a pair of black panties. Sheer darkness filled the whites of his eyes as he cocked his head at me.

"You weren't wearing a bra all night?"

I shrugged innocently. "Oops."

Noah's savageness poured out of him through his kiss as he attacked my lips once more and now it was me who slipped him off his shirt and sweats, the black briefs doing absolutely nothing to hide the hardness of his cock. I ran my palm over it, his entire body shivering underneath my touch.

"Fuck, angel. If you keep that up I'm going to cum in your hand all over again," he groaned while bitting my bottom lip.

I hissed in pleasure, the taste of copper lingering on my tongue.

"Did you-." I licked my bottom lip. "Did you just bite me?"

Noah shrugged. "Oops."

Wrapping my legs around his waist, I somehow managed to flip us around so I was now straddling him. It wasn't an easy task since he was much taller than me but we made it work even though we were horizontal on the bed.

"Noah."

His name fell from my lips in a whine full of desperation. He barley touched me but the wetness between my legs was warm and I needed this release so fucking bad.

"What do you want from me?" His hand slide up my stomach to cup my breast, fingers pinching and pulling my nipples.

"You. I just want you."

With his free hand, he helped me shimmy out of my panties then I hurriedly slid his briefs down his long legs, eyes lingering on the array of tattoo's. I was kneeling in front of him and leaned towards the rose tattoo on his right kneecap to pepper kisses along it before jumping over to the Japanese style mask on his left leg, purposely avoiding the tattoo of Bryan's face.

"That's so fucking weird."

"Trust me. That's not the weirdest tattoo I have," he chuckled.

My lips parted over the leaking head of Noah's cock, fingers wrapping around the base, and I licked up the bits of pre-cum that seeped through the slit. I hummed in pure delight as the salty taste lingered on my lips.

"So good," I praised looking up at him through my lashes

He groaned pleasure, or annoyance that I was taking my time, I wasn't sure. Noah sat up and rested his elbows on his knees, the LED lights behind his bed and around his room bathed him in an orange glow.

"Angel," he warned. "I'm not in the mood for games. Please."

I rose to my feet slowly. "Is Noah Sebastian begging?"

"Fuck yes I am," he sighed.

"Well, who am I to make you wait," I straddled his hips once again and gently pushed him back onto the bed, the head of his cock sliding along my folds.

My head leaned back in pure bliss when Noah guided himself past my wetness, the thickness of his cock filling me completely. It pulsed inside of me, earning a desperate groan from me. Noah's eyes fluttered shut as his lips parted to an 'O' shape and hands gripping my hips so tight I was sure there would be bruises in the morning.

But I didn't care. Having him finally inside of me felt so fucking good.

I rocked my hips against him with my swollen clit rubbing against his warm stomach and I shivered at the sensation. Everything from earlier sent me in a spiral of pure desire and I felt the coil in my stomach pulling tight.

"Are you alright?" I asked when I realized Noah was barley moving.

He nodded, eyes finding mine through the messy strands of hair that covered his face.

"You're just so fucking beautiful, angel. I've wanted this for so long," he admitted and grabbed the back of my neck to yank me down towards him.

He attacked my lips with so my force I had to rest a hand on his chest, our tongues exploring each other mouths in a kiss so vicious it made my head spin. Noah's hips finally moved in a slow, steady stroke and I whined into the kiss.

"More," I mumbled into his lips.

"Fuck, angel." He groaned. "If I go faster, I'll-. It's too good."

I cupped his face to look at him. "Noah, please don't think you need to make this last an hour. I'm so fucking close and I can tell you are too. I have an implant so you don't have to worry about anything."

That's all he needed before his arms wrapped around my back, pulling me closer to his chest as his hips snapped up into me in violent strokes, the head of his cock hitting that perfect spot. I yelled out my pleasure, exposing my neck to Noah who immediately attacked it with his teeth leaving bite marks all along it.

My body hummed in a prayer like awaking, the flames and heat burning high in my belly as my organs crested higher; so fucking high I was afraid I would combust into nothing but matter in the air. His name fell from my lips in devotion, a woman praying to her God, and my toes curled as the orgasm ripped through me with so much force I screamed out in pure bliss.

"I love you."

The aftershocks halted, my body going rigid in Noah's embrace, who didn't bother to stop moving his hips. My heart swelled with so much emotion at hearing those three words and I brushed back the stand of hair from Noah's face, it stuck to the skin with his sweat.

"Wha-what did you say?" I stammered, breathless.

He blinked slow. "I love you, angel. I'm so fucking sorry for everything hurtful thing I've done or said to you but I promise I'll spend forever making it up to you."

"I." Thrust. "Love." Thrust. "You."

A second orgasm tore through my entire being at Noah's proclamation and my head fell into his chest, his cock twitching before he released himself deep within my walls, a low groan rumbling from his throat. We lay there tangled in each other's arms for a long moment to let our breathing calm, along with our hearts. Although, there was no way mine would ever beat normal after hearing Noah loved me.

He loves me.

I peppered kisses all along the tattoo's over his chest as I curled myself underneath his arm, exhaustion digging deep into my bones.

"I love you too, Noah."

[theonewiththefanfics]

Dare to Hope, Dare to Dream (Part 2/?)

Synopsys: For three years now, Astarion and his love have been relegated to living in the shadows as he lost his ability to walk in the sun. But one day hope is reignited, and the vampire can't help but reminisce how he got where he is now.

Pairing: Astarion x fem!Reader

Genre: angst, fluff, SMUT

Warnings: violence, abuse, talks of SA, character death, SMUT (if there is anything else that should be tagged, please do let me know)

Word count: 5830

A/N: I have not played Baldur's Gate 3 (I don't own a PS or a PC where to play it. all of this is based on the info gathered online and through Neil's own gameplay etc. Please be kind :) )

Part 1

The composing of the letter was quick work, as excitement thrummed through their veins, but every passing day diminished the accumulating hope.

It was agonising, waiting for Gale to respond. Where usually Astarion’s mind was preoccupied with Y/N, now it was occupied by that damned tome and that damned fucking page he couldn’t read.

There was a huge possibility it could be nothing but a simple song or a poem. It could be a curse for all he knew, but something in his still heart screamed it could be the thing that set him free from living in eternal darkness and making his love live like that too.

He’d give anything, pay any price for Y/N to be able to walk in the sun again, and if his hand was in hers, wrapped around her waist or tucked against his chest as they enjoyed the wonders of the world in colour, not the perpetual greys of night, he would beg on his knees if he had to.

His love didn’t seem to be fairing any better. She was fidgety all the time, where she used to be able to sit and watch Astarion patching up a shirt of hers or adding gorgeous swirls of gold and silver, now she organised and cleaned his whole tailoring room over and over again. Y/N cooked almost obsessively, way too much food for just one of them to eat, and it almost drove him mad how restless she’d become during sleep as well.

Worry ate at him that Y/N hadn’t gotten proper rest in days, all because of that damned book. Would it be worth it? Would her losing sleep be worth it in the end? Nothing that hurt her was, not in Astarion’s mind, but whenever he asked her to leave something be, said that he’d pick it up, she’d simply shrug and say, “No time like the present.”

Taking into account his feedings as well, his heart twisted at the thought that all of this was weighing on her shoulders, but luckily at least some of the burden of wait was lifted when Gale’s answer came.

To their relief, the wizard gave them good news and apologies, as he’d travelled beyond the Sword Coast with his grandfather, but would be taking the first available ship to Baldur’s Gate. It would take at least three weeks of travelling, but he would waste no time beyond that and go straight to their home, and that left the two anxious lovers to occupy their time however they could.

Y/N had already rearranged the whole library twice by then, half in search of figuring out where this mysterious book had come from, half in absolute boredom, while Astarion had taken to sowing and stitching dresses and tunics and shirts and trousers and even a gorgeous set if not a scandalous one of lingerie for Y/N (which he had promptly ripped to shreds that same morning she’d donned it to go to bed).

She’d admonished him through a desperate moan, as his tongue had skimmed against her neck, lace scraps still around her ribs and hips, nothing more left of the intricate design he’d so patiently made. Not that it’d covered much in the first place.

“I’ll make you hundreds more just to rip all of it off again,” Astarion groaned as her hips ground up against him, delicious friction causing him to respond in kind.

“But it was so beautiful!” Y/N whined when Astarion took her wrists in one of his hands and held them in a tight grip above their heads.

“Nothing is as beautiful as you completely bare and uncovered for me. So… delectable…”

Let’s just say neither of them could get out of bed after the sun had set, as their legs wobbled at the lightest touch to the ground, leading them to another day of sleeping in, and a night of passionate debauchery.

However, as much as Astarion wished to stay like that with Y/N, both of them naked and twined in bed, other things had to be done around the house, and at that moment, he’d asked Y/N to model a dress for her.

He didn’t dare say the cut was based on a sketch hidden deep in his drawers, and originally it was made of white lace with an accompanying veil, not the jade colour he’d cut it in now.

“Do you think we’re harbouring false hope?” she asked, colour-coding his threads and placing the box neatly back on the table after Astarion allowed her to redress and was happy with how the skirt flew around her hips.

“In what way, my dear?”

“I just,” Y/N huffed, sitting down on the arm of the chair next to him, watching how his quick fingers stilled their needlework so as to not poke her accidentally. “I don’t want you to be disappointed if this… if this isn’t what we think it is. I know how much you miss the sun.” Y/N gently threaded her fingers through his moon-white locks. “I know how guilty you feel for me having to forego it. You don’t have to say anything,” she interrupted whatever was on Astarion’s tongue. “I can see it on your face.”

He looked down at the green gown’s hem he was embellishing. He’d tried so hard to hide the guilt seeping through his veins. He didn’t want her to know that; he already burdened her life as is.

“I can’t say it wouldn’t hurt if what we hope doesn’t come true.” Astarion put the needle and dress on the table, turning to Y/N and pulling her into his lap. “I wish I could give you the world, but I can barely give you half… if even that much. You deserve so much more than what you’ve deemed enough. I just want to… give you more…”

“My Star, please don’t even think you’re not enough for me.” Y/N brushed a pale curl behind his ear.

He gave her a rueful smile. “A little mind-reader you are, aren’t you?”

She simply shrugged, melting against his chest, his undead heart beating just a tad stronger at how much comfort she got from simply being held by him. “It’s not so hard nowadays when you’ve become an open book to me.”

Astarion had nothing to respond to that because he knew he had, at least with Y/N. He might not voice it out loud, but his heart was open. Yes, fear still lingered in bleeding gashes around the edges, but he knew, she’d always be there to dab at the pained spots and heal them with a kiss.

“I’m not leaving,” she mumbled, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Not now, not ever. Not when the sun sets or rises. An army would have to come in and tie me up before dragging me away from you. And even then, I’d be kicking and screaming, biting my way out to get home.”

Astarion’s breath stuttered, but he didn’t mention what the words of her referring to him as her home did to him. “I just want if only a minute to stand in the sun with you. If that’s all I’m given for the rest of eternity, it’s what I’ll take. Just a moment with you in the sun.”

Y/N took his chin between her thumb and pointer finger, tilting his head up so their eyes could meet – his scarlet ones brimming with unshed tears, her own Y/E/C ones filled with nothing but sure-fire determination. “Whatever is in that book, spell or no, we’ll figure it out. But one day, I know, you will be able to walk in the sun again. I’ll make sure of it. Even if I have to raise all nine hells, I’ll find a way.”

“I know you will.” Astraion sighed, letting the tears roll down his cheeks. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Y/N’s laughter was the most gorgeous symphony to his ears. She gave a light kiss to the very tip of his right one, a shiver of pleasure rushing down his spine. “We’ll figure it out, my Star.”

That morning, just a couple of hours after their conversation, as Y/N was closing all the shutters to their home so as to not let in the sun of the new day, Astarion slid his palm into hers, tugging her to their bed while kissing every inch of her skin he could get to.

He needed to be close to her, he needed to sink into her and fuse together, become as close to one body as possible, otherwise, it was like he was going to combust from the love unless he could bathe her in it.

“I need you,” Astarion whispered against her cheek, as Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck.

“You have me,” she responded in kind. “All of me is yours if you want it.”

A shudder went through his body as he swiftly, but tenderly rid both of them of their clothes, gentle hands running over Y/N’s hips and sides, as she lightly squirmed away from him when he playfully dug his fingers against her ribs, before trailing their way to her stomach, where a jagged scar stood slightly raised against the rest of her body.

“And I’m yours. Body and soul,” Astarion said, still looking at that scar while he slowly slipped his frame to rest atop, his cock sliding through her already slick folds, lightly nudging his tip against her clit in a teasing manner.

“Mine,” Y/N sighed out dreamily, as he filled her, her legs locking around his hips, ankles crossed over the small of his back to pull him deeper until their hips rested flush against one another.

A slight whimper escaped him as he affirmed. “Yours… just yours, my love.”

He’d never thought that such a word as “mine” would bring him such feelings of love and adoration.

Astarion had always wanted to belong. He’d always wanted a family, friends or a true lover to build his life with, but for a horribly long time, all because of Cazador, that wish was locked away in a tomb just like him. And after a while of pain and misery, he just gave up on the idea as a whole. Belonging to someone became a despised thing, a notion he had no free will. He was a pet, a thing to be had and done with as his master pleased.

But then that Nautiloid ship happened, and he gained allies. Who morphed into friends, and then Y/N, the oddest one of their group, became so much more than that.

That night when he’d offered himself to her, he’d been ready to use his body as coin, as he’d been taught, if it granted him food, shelter and protection. Astarion was used to whoring himself out, but that wouldn’t be the worst he’d done. At least Y/N was nice to look at. She included him in conversations during the day and asked for his opinion. It would most certainly be lovelier than the other times.

Yet she’d surprised him and said no. She still offered him all the things he asked for, even her neck if he needed to feed, but Y/N was adamant she would not take sex as payment for such things.

Astarion took a surprised step back. “Am I – do I not appeal to you?”

Why did it sting? Why did the thought of the answer being “yes” hurt so much?

“No,” she shook her head. “It’s just that you don’t have to ask for those things and sleep with me as payment.”

“Oh.” That stumped him truly. His mind reeled at her words. “Then what is it that you want?” A cheeky comment was right there for him to spit out, but he refrained.

Y/N shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe patch a hole in a shirt, if it gets too ruined? Help me carry part of my loot if it gets too heavy? We’re friends, or at least good travel companions, I’d like to think.”

That moment had changed everything for Astarion. It had changed how he looked at himself and what he could ask of the world. She’d helped him learn he could say no.

When Y/N had been close to decapitating that vile Drow Araj after she looked at him like he was a puppet for Y/N to use, Astarion had confessed that night – his whole plan of seducing her, securing his safety and getting in her good graces so he always had someone to have his back if suddenly the rest of their party decided to turn against him.

The kiss they’d shared, initiated by Astarion himself, felt like the first kiss of his life. He was jittering like a youth as Y/N’s lips pressed to his. And for the first time in ages, he thought maybe he had someone, to be with not belong to.

When she cried out in ecstasy as Astarion started to move, slowly dragging his hips back and forth, allowing her to feel every ridge and dip and immersing himself in the warm, wet feeling surrounding him, his thoughts couldn’t help but wander to that moment in the Szarr Palace when Y/N had cried in pain instead as Cazador’s knife dug deep into her gut.

She’d gone in for an attack in an attempt at freeing Astarion from the grasp of the Ascension ritual, and she had almost gotten Cazador, had the vampire not moved in the last second, twisting away from her sword and delivering the critical hit himself.

Someone screamed so loud, the sound verged on popping Astarion’s eardrums. It was only when his throat went raw he realised it was him screaming.

Cazador didn’t even bother to pull the knife out, letting Y/N drop to the ground in a heap, her blood trickling out of her wound and pooling around her body, staining the tiles a deep red.

Astarion wanted to retch at the sight.

“Pathetic,” Cazador spat. “Both of you.”

Nothing but white-hot rage coursed through Astarion’s veins as he watched his master walk around Y/N’s crumpled form, nudging her with his foot as if she were nothing more than a worm.

“I cannot deny,” Cazador mussed. “For a brief second, I did consider turning her into a new addition to our family. It would have been fitting – my prodigal son, returning and bringing the last piece I need. A fitting punishment, for your disobedience, Astarion, wouldn’t you agree? You’ve broken pretty much all of my rules, and someone has to pay.”

Cazador turned his back on Y/N, obscuring Astarion's view of her. “And how poetic would have it been, had it been you draining her, taking every last drop of her blood, only for me to sire. I think I would have enjoyed your screaming immensely, but no matter. It would only be a waste of time.” The vampire master smirked at a struggling Astarion. “Tell me – was her blood sweet? It smells absolutely delectable. Maybe I should have a little taste.”

“Fuck you!” Astarion roared. “Damn you to all nine hells!”

Cazador only chuckled. “Maybe a couple of decades in that tomb of yours will do you good. Remind you of manners. Or maybe I will let Godey -,” but he didn’t manage to finish whatever horrors he was already painting in his mind as he choked on the words.

The vampire’s dark brows furrowed as he slowly glanced down and saw a blade protruding from his stomach, the hilt buried deep against his spine.

Surprise, anger and confusion all flashed across the immortal’s face as Y/N yanked the dagger out. Cazador slowly turned and found Y/N standing before him, a hand clutching against her stomach.

“That,” she gasped. “Is for what you did to me and this,” she thrust her hand again, this time letting the blade go clean through Cazador’s neck, “is for what you did to Astarion.”

She left the blade there, taking a few steps back on swaying feet, but it was enough of a distraction to break Cazador’s concentration and Astarion dropped free.

He was on his feet in an instant, pulling the knife Y/N had plunged back out and then smashing it deep into Cazador’s gut over and over and over again until there was nothing left of him but a mangled, almost cut-in-two, corpse.

Astarion dropped to his knees, chest heaving with exertion, his whole body covered in blood, all of it Cazador’s. Who was dead.

Cazador was dead.

His master, his torturer, the one who robbed him of his life and choices was finally gone.

Relief rolled through him like a tidal wave, his body slowly but surely wracked by sobs as catharsis set in. Two hundred years of pain and misery, two hundred years of not owning his body or mind, and now he was suddenly free.

He didn’t know how to process such a realisation. It seemed almost easier to live his life in fear, to constantly look over his shoulder and go to bed with the thought his miracle of a chance at life could be taken away at any moment. In that way, he didn’t have to create friendships or relationships, he didn’t need to get close to anyone and risk losing them. He could just always keep peeking through the tiny slit from the boarded-up window, instead of poking his head through the crack in the door.

So what was he to do now, when that door had been blasted wide open?

“Y/N,” Astarion whispered her name, his head snapping up and scanning the hall, quickly landing on her body.

She’d collapsed about fifteen feet away from Cazador, but it took him less than five seconds to be by her side. With trembling hands, he took her by the shoulder and turned her on her back, so he could see her face.

A sob raked through him. “Please,” Astarion begged, pulling her head to rest on his thighs. “Please don’t leave me.”

“Star,” his name was a moan of pain from Y/N’s lips. And he hated it.

It was supposed to be a sigh of pleasure as his tongue lapped against her sweetest spot, a groan of delight when he sank into her, his hands holding hers, lips pressed together in a reassuring kiss. It was supposed to be a laugh between hiccups as he joked and snarked. It was supposed to be anything but this.

Her body was covered in so much blood, and had it been Cazador’s he would have been fine, but he knew it wasn’t. It was her own, that sweet and tantalizing scent of it running up his nose. Usually, the tiniest drop of it, could turn him feral, but all it did now was make bile rise in his throat as more and more of it coated his hands and the floor around them.

“I’ll complete the ritual,” he choked, brushing a strand of matted-down hair away from Y/N’s face. “And then I’ll save you.”

“Don’t,” she gasped, begging him. “Please don’t.”

“I can’t let you die,” he could barely manage the words, but she still heard them and shook her head.

“And I will not let you kill innocents just to save my life.” Y/N clutched at his arm as tightly as she could with all her remaining strength that was weaning with every passing second. “If you do this, I will never forgive you. You’ll become just like Cazador. And I know you are so – so much more than that. Than him. Don’t let Cazador win. You – you fought so hard,” she sobbed out, half at the implication of what he’d overcome, half at Astarion pressing down on her wound as he attempted to staunch the bleeding, but to no avail. “Don’t throw all of it away. Not for this.”

Astarion swivelled his head around desperately as if a response on what to do could be found in the room, yet nothing but Cazador’s mangled body and the pool of blood it’d created answered.

“Please,” he whispered, leaning down and pressing his forehead to Y/N’s and once again repeated. “Please don’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” her response was barely a puff of air. “I will always be right here with you, Star. To the very end.”

Y/N placed her palm right where his undead heart broke into pieces, and when she closed her eyes, the only sound left was the echoes of his screams.

He might’ve been screaming for ages, Astarion didn’t know nor did he care. All he knew was that his love, his sun, his reason for living was gone.

The sound of the door being broken down invaded his mind, as many pairs of footsteps entered, but Astarion paid no mind to his friends. They could all go to the nine hells with Cazador for his sake, as long as he got to stay with Y/N.

He heard Karlach, the gentle giant of their group gasp out Y/N's name, and even Lae’Zel’s hiss of surprise was unmistakable, the scene before them rendering the rest speechless.

“She almost looks like she’s sleeping,” Astarion muttered, tracing his knuckles against Y/N’s cold skin. So close to his own temperature he didn’t feel the difference. A tear splashed against her cheek, rolling down her temple and disappearing into her hairline.

“Astarion, Shadowheart can help,” Wyll said, stepping closer, but the pale elf just shook his head.

“No,” he muttered, tracing her unmoving features with his thumb. “No one will hurt her. Not anymore.”

“Astarion, she won’t hurt Y/N,” Gale piped up. “We can bring her back.”

But he wasn’t listening anymore. He didn’t care what they were saying. No one else would ever touch her. No one would ever dare hurt her again. He’d set the world on fire if they so much as touched a hair on her head.

His friends however had different ideas. With apologies on their lips, they grabbed him, ripping him away from Y/N, her body unceremoniously dropping to the ground from where her head had been resting against his thighs.

“I’ll kill all of you!” Astarion screamed, trying to bite and scratch as he was pulled further and further away from Y/N. “Some friends you are!”

It took Karalch physically ripping him away from Y/N’s dead body, Lae’Zel and Wyll helping her pin him to the ground as Shadowheart and Gale crouched beside his love, while Astarion trashed against their hold.

“He took her,” Astarion wailed and roared, his pain echoing in the chamber around them. “He took her!"

There was no need for elaboration. Not even Lae’Zel, always so quick to show her disdain against emotion, spoke. Instead, she moved a bit to the side, so Astarion could at least be granted the gift of seeing Y/N’s face as Shadowheart and Gale hovered over her dead body.

“He killed her, and I could do nothing about it,” Astarion whimpered, eyes focused on the serene look his lover had in death. He only hoped she felt at peace wherever she was.

A pale blue light glowed from Shadowheart’s hands, Gale’s power feeding hers.

“It won’t work.” He let the tears fall freely from his eyes. “She’s gone.”

It was a resigned statement from someone who was completely exhausted. He’d prepared for never leaving the Szarr palace, for dying, if he had to, but he’d never prepared himself for losing Y/N. She had become such a staple, such a sure thing in his life, he no longer could imagine how a single day without her smile could go. But now she was gone and –

His brows furrowed. It had to be a trick of his mind, a hallucination his grief-stricken heart was conjuring up, but there it was – the sweetest sound in the world he never thought to hear again – Y/N’s heartbeat.

A ragged intake of breath shattered through the hall, and he watched as her lashes fluttered. Her lungs stuttered as if they needed a minute to reconnect with her brain before they levelled out and remembered how to breathe.

Karalch, Wyll and Lae’Zel released their hold, and Astarion slowly sat up on his forearms. When Y/N took in her first full steady breath, Shadowheart slumped over, Gale already having expected it, dropping into a crouch and allowing her to lean on his side.

He couldn’t believe it. Y/N had died in his arms, he’d watched her life’s blood seep across his hands, and yet there she was – on the ground, her heart beating and lungs dragging in short breaths, barely but still.

“She needs rest,” Shadowheart said, running a soothing hand down her friend’s cheek. “As do I.”

“Let’s get back to the inn.” Wyll approached and helped the exhausted cleric, as he wrapped her arms around his neck and lifted her up, without much of a fuss. Lae’Zel and Gale hovered over Y/N until Astarion was capable of getting to his feet, knees trembling like a fawn's. Whether they were there for him or her, Astarion didn’t know but appreciated nonetheless.

“Would you like me to carry her?” Gale offered, a gentle look on his face, nothing but concern evident, but Astarion shook his head.

“I’ll do it.” His voice was raw from the screaming and crying, but he didn’t care to clear it as he gently lifted her up.

Y/N’s head lolled to rest against his chest as if on instinct and he had to push down a sob as he felt her warm, alive body curl into his own, like so many times before now.

Karlach laid a leather jacket across Astarion’s naked shoulders, but all he could concentrate on were the shallow breaths entering Y/N’s lungs, her slow but steadily beating heart and the way her fingers curled against where his still one rested.

The whole trek back to the lodgings they’d procured previously, Astarion was numb, completely and utterly numb save for the incessant need to check if Y/N was breathing. He was struggling to figure out his emotions.

As he laid her down in the bed, Karlach lighted a fire and Gale promised to bring a cloth and some warm water for Astarion to clean Y/N up, he couldn’t help but grieve Cazador.

He didn’t stray from his love’s bedside not even for a second, keeping vigil day and night, but most importantly watching her chest rise and fall with deep, even breaths, yet some part of him mourned his master as well.

Three days after the events of the Szarr Palace, Astarion had reluctantly agreed to have a quick wash while Karlach watched over Y/N. He regretted that decision more than anything because sometime during the ten minutes he allowed himself to get rid of the crusted blood, she had awoken.

When he re-entered the bedroom, Astarion almost fainted at the sight of her beautiful Y/E/C eyes boring into his scarlet ones.

“Hello, Star,” she croaked through a smile, and he almost crumbled then and there by the doorway, had it not been for the tight grip on the knob.

Karlach made a quick exit, but not before placing a warm palm against his shoulder, giving him a slight nudge in Y/N’s direction, though he didn’t need one. It was like she had a magical pull, making him stumble across the room before his knees gave out with a hard thud and his hand desperately sought out Y/N’s. When their fingers entwined in a tight hold, he swore to himself to never let go of her again.  

“I thought I lost you,” his voice broke. “I – I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I’m sorry,” her own tone was quiet, barely a whisper. “But I couldn’t just let him hurt you more.”

“I know. I know you… I just…” He huffed, brows furrowing as he searched for the correct words. “I thought when I got my freedom back, you would be there by my side, but instead you were the cost of it.” Astarion choked on the word “cost”. “But at the same time, I couldn’t help but mourn the loss of him.” He didn’t say his name, he’d decided Cazador wasn’t worth having the honour of a name spoken aloud.

“And it felt disgusting. He hurt you. He took you from me, and yet… I didn’t even have him left after your… your… heart stopped,” Astarion took a shaky intake of breath. “I was completely and utterly alone. When Shadowheart appeared, I was almost tempted to ask her to revive him just so I could kill him again for what he did to you… and maybe, just so I wasn’t alone.”

Astarion lifted his gaze, resting his cheek against the palm Y/N had untwined from his, so her soft thumb could brush away the rivers of tears spilling down his face. “Please don’t leave me again. I’m – I’m not strong enough to go through it once more.”

“You are, my Star,” Y/N kissed his forehead. “You are so strong.”

“Let me rephrase that then – I don’t want to go through anything in life. Not without you by my side.”

“I promise,” she muttered and leaned forward pulling Astarion to lay next to her, sealing the vow with a kiss.

And though he still struggled with nightmares of that fight, though he still woke up breathless at times, arms desperately searching for the warm body that always occupied the other side of the bed, the deepest reassurance he could ever have that everything was alright, that Y/N was safe and sound, were moments like these when her body melted against his, where she was panting and gasping and so full of life, especially as Astarion hit that one spot that made Y/N throw her head back in a moan of pleasure.

Her nails dug into his shoulders with such a delicious taste of pain, never drawing blood though, but always leaving crescent imprints he wanted to keep on his body forever. Like Y/N’s touch could erase everything Cazador had left on him.

Y/N’s back arched, and Astarion used the moment to slip his hands underneath and pull her upwards from the bed so that she was resting in his lap, legs wrapped around his waist, chest to chest, and him buried so deep, it made both their eyes roll to the backs of their heads in pleasure.

She’d taught him sex could be wonderful. It could be meaningful and lovely, instead of a means to an end or a bargaining chip to be used. It had taken a while for Astarion to grow comfortable with even the thought of her touching him, but nowadays, he became quite the grump if he ever awoke not in Y/N’s arms, even if it was for such a simple reason as nature calling her.

Her touch was the balm on sunburnt skin, her kiss was a reassurance that it needn’t go further than that and he could always say no and would be listened to. But in moments like these, all Astation wanted was more. He wanted to feel her squeeze around him, to hear her breath choke at the back of her throat, he craved to feel her pulse race as she climbed higher and higher, closer and closer to her orgasm with every thrust of his hips.

Sex had been something repulsive and vile to him. Now it was the most beautiful thing he felt blessed to participate in, all because of the woman moaning his name above him.

“I’m so close,” she whispered in his ear as Astarion kissed her neck, heart thundering in her chest.

“Let go,” he muttered, a shiver rolling down Y/N’s spine at the pleading tone of his words, making her grip his back tighter, and dig in her nails more. “Let go, I got you.”

She whimpered at his coaxing words and tightened so much around his cock, it became almost impossible for Astarion to keep pumping in and out, so he slid a hand down across her chest to her clit, just to push her over that edge she was teetering on.

Two deft fingers circled around the swollen bud, once, twice and that was it for Y/N to break. With a sigh of his name, she came, hard, taking him along as well, the orgasm surprising Astarion with its intensity and how quickly it’d crept upon him.

Bliss exploded through his veins, and his nails dug into the small of Y/N’s back, always careful to not hurt her, but deep enough to leave moon-shaped marks on her body, the same ones she no doubt had left along his back and shoulders as they both succumbed to euphoria.

A moan got stuck in his throat before slipping past his lips as Y/N ground down one final time, before stilling her hips and relishing how he filled her until the mix of their pleasure ran down their thighs and stained the sheets below. Never mind that though. It was a problem for future Astarion and Y/N.

They both were trembling as, slowly, the orgasmic wave subsided, and as they came down from their highs, Astarion couldn’t help but place a cheeky kiss on Y/N’s neck, letting his fangs skim along her skin and feel her pulse spike at that.

Y/N let out a breathless laugh, her hands slowly skimming up and down his spine, body still rocked by pleasure. “If you want a snack, you know all you have to do is ask.”

“I’m fine,” Astarion mumbled, burying his nose in the crook of her neck. “I just… I just love you. That’s all.”

At least that’s what he said, but underneath laid a thousand other words – I need to feel your heart beating. I have to feel your skin against mine. I need to hear you breathing and know that you’re alive and here with me. That he wasn’t imagining it as some sort of a hallucination and wouldn’t wake up back under Cazador’s control with her body lying dead on the ground by his feet.

Y/N hummed in content, pressing a kiss to Astarion’s chest. “I love you too. So much.”

A smile bloomed on his lips as he pulled away just a bit so he could cup Y/N’s face between his hands. “I don’t know what I may have done in my previous life, and I certainly don’t know what I did in this one to ever deserve someone like you, but whatever it was… I’m glad I did.”

The way her eyes shone would have brought Astarion to his knees, had he already not been kneeling on the bed. Y/N was just about to pull him in for a deep kiss when their moment was disturbed by the bell of their house ringing.

They knew it was daytime. And only one person would ring it then.

Astarion looked at Y/N.

She lifted a brow. “Ready to figure out what’s in that book?”

He pressed his forehead to hers. “With you, I’m ready for anything.”

Tags:

Everything tags: @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @m-a-t-91 @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @lestersglitterglue @im-squished @strangersstranger

Astarion tags: @spacebarbarianweird

A/N: I am in love with pixels on a screen...

[jasmineeeeeeeeesblog]

I don’t know if anybody reads these anymore 😭 but this is a Klaus imagine. I’m also on Wattpad I’ve written one shots about Jeremiah fisher and Klaus on there. My name is unknown_writ_er if you wanna check it out. I have a few stories I won’t post on here cause they’re fluff but you can check them out if you’d like. Also I’m open to request so just send me them! Also I can write fluff on here but I don’t see a lot of it.

CONTROL

‼️SMUT‼️

Summary: Klaus was busy and you were bored so you thought you’d dance with someone? A dance never hurt anyone…

——————

I spent the whole night sitting down at the party. The whole thing was just for him to make plans and talk to people. I haven't seen Klaus the whole night. Everyone was just dancing and having fun. Klaus invited me as his plus one. He always does that because he always needed me by his side as his last hybird. We weren't dating or anything special. He gets mad though when I talk to other people especially boys because I can get 'attached' to them and spill all his secrets but I honestly didn't care too much about this rule because I honestly liked Klaus. I seen the good out of him through all the bad but at times like this I do get bored.

Damon Salvatore. He walked up to me with his fit and tall figure, Black hair, and blue eyes staring at me. He walked up to me and asked to dance.  Dancing wouldn't hurt anybody. I wouldn't catch feelings for Damon he's an ass and he's in-love with Elena. He's probably just tryna to use me to get closer to Klaus but I didn't care I was so bored. I grab his hand and get up a slows song turns on. We dance he his hands on my waist I had my hands on his shoulders and he was smirking at me. I would be lying if I said Damon wasn't hot but I just wasn't attracted to him like that.   He kisses my hand then sends me off to go to my next dance partner is was this random guy. I've never seen before. He was just a random new guy.

Then Klaus came and compelled the dude to go away. Then started dancing with me. "Now what did I say Y/N" he says. "It was just a dance" I say rolling my eyes. He grips on my hips harshly. "You still disobeyed me." He says. "It was only once just get over yourself" I say as I walk away. He grabs my hand "go get in the car I will deal with you in a second don't disobey that order" he says sarcastically. I decide to ignore him. I go to the kitchen and get a glass of wine. I then hear Klaus say his goodbyes then leave. I knew he'd be in here in a matter of seconds as he realizes I'm not out in the car. As I expected Klaus was in there in the matter of seconds he grabbed my arm and ran back to the car he threw me in the back seat.

He closed the sliding window that connects the drivers to the passenger. He got in. "Why do you not listen to anything I say" he yells. "Because I was bored and I just wanted to dance I'm not inlove with Damon." I yell back. I've never yelled at him the shock look on his face turned to anger. He pinned me against the seat "DONT ever yell at me again Y/N and I'll make you regret it." He says. "And do exactly what I'm your last hybird you won't kill me since you can't make anymore" I say. "There's things worse than death, love" he says. "But I don't think I'd ever be capable to do those things to you" he mumbles. My hearing going in and out for his low tone. "What did you say." I said. "Nothing" he says. "You know whatever I'm walking home" I say as I get out. "Fine walk home dont be surprised if I don't let you in" he says.

It was cold but it obviously didn't matter I was a vampire. I walked home instead of using my vamp speed because I didn't wanna see Klaus and he probably didn't wanna see me now. I soon get home after 2 hours it was like 11 by time I got home. I sigh as I knock on the door. It was locked of course it was. I just yell "Fine I'll just go to the Salvatore's boarding house" I say as I start to walk away. Before I got to the stairs of the porch I heard the door open and someone grab my arm, slam the door, and pin me against it. It was Klaus with messy hair, eyes bags, his sweatpants hanging low so that can I see his v-line, and his shirt off. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want him right now.

His hands were on the side of my head his body wasn't that close but his face was. I smirked. "Why don't u want me at the Salvatore house so bad" I said. "I already told you" he says. "That can't be the reason you let me in the house after you told me you wouldn't." I say. "You know I could protect myself but you just like to have control over me" I say. He Just stares at me without saying anything. I didn't think I was right so the shock on my face when he didn't disagree or deny it. " oh so that's what it is. You like how you know you could do anything to me at the snap of your finger." I say smirking. I put my hand on his torso. Tracing his abs. His face still staring straight but I could still tell by his eyes I was affecting him. I rubbed my hand further down to dick. He let out a gasp and I could see him get hard. He backed up from me and then kept walking back and forth.

"Y/N stop messing with me" he says staring at me. "Who says I messing with you" I say smirking. "You better lose that attitude you know you're defenseless against me" he says. "Yeah I think you like that. You can control everything I do. You like that I have to listen to you" I say getting closer to him and I push him on the back of the couch and climb on top of him. "I barely touched you and you got hard" I say smirking. He flips us over "you just had a whole thing how I'm in control and now you want to try and be. Not happening love" he says as he holds my wrist in one hand and tears my dress with the other one. He sits up with his legs on either side of my hips and kissy sits admiring me. My arms were still pinned. I managed to get out of it as he wasn't holding that long and I flipped us over. He was just smirking at me amused. I started leaving hickeys down his neck and torso.

(IK that vampires heal quick but just imagine hickeys stay‼️)

As I got to the waistband of his sweatpants. I pulled them down along with his boxers. His dick hit his stomach. I bring my hand to it and start stroking it. He threw his head back. I bring his tip to my mouth and start licking it. I started taking him in my mouth. I took us much as I could then stroked the rest. I kept bobbing my head and Klaus soon grabbed my hair pushing me down more and more. He then pulled me off. I could tell he was about to finish. "Y/n you drive me crazy" he says breathlessly while flipping us back over. He started kissing my neck leaving hickeys all down me. "Now I'm about to fuck you better than anybody can especially Damon." He says as he kisses down to my breasts and unclips my bra. And starts sucking on my nipple. One of his hands slide up to my neck. The other slides down to my panties and slides his hand in. I let out a gasp as he rubbed my clit.

He inserted 2 fingers in me while rubbing my clit. I was moaning. He moved his mouth to my other nipple. When he found my G-spot I screamed his name. He looked up at me and smirked. Then kept going at a fast pace there. He then stopped attacking my breast then kissed me. He took my moaning to slip his tongue in my mouth. "Klaus I'm about-" I was cut off by a moan as he went faster then I finished all over his fingers. He pulled them out then licked the juices off his fingers. He then slid my panties off. Then aligned himself against my entrance. "Is this okay" he whispered in my ear. My breath hitched feeling him so close to my core. "Yes Klaus" I said breathlessly. He slowly pushed into me.   He leaned onto my shoulder then slowly starts going in out.

"Faster" I said with a moan. He starts going faster hitting my g-spot. I was scratching his back. He started leaving hickeys on my neck. As he kept going faster he started rubbing my clit as I finished all over his dick. I was sensitive now. He kept going and my legs were shaking. I was squeezing against him he looked like he was about to come undone. He went at a faster pace and I finished for a third time all over his dick then he finished deep inside me then rode out both our highs. He planted a kiss on my forehead then he left I thought he was just gonna leave me here. Was I just a random fuck? He came back with a blanket, a tshirt, and towel. He had put some boxers on. He cleaned me up then threw the tshirt on me then threw the blanket over me then got next to me wrapped his hand around my waist and laid his head on my neck and we fell asleep.

———————

This is more soft version but I could make another story kinda like this and make it rougher if y’all liked.

[happy74827]

Moral Support

[Harvey Specter & Teen!Reader]

Synopsis: All you wanted was to spend more time with your busy uncle, but since he’s the best closer in town, even a simple concert at your school is inconvenient. Still, given the importance, you can’t help but try.

WC: 2198

Category: Platonic, Angst/Fluff

New show alert! Well, it's not really new to me since I'm almost on season seven now, and it's an old show to begin with, but this show currently has a death grip over me, and I'm actually shocked it took me this long to start writing for it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this... buffoonery because I sure did.

『••✎••』

Harvey Specter was the kind of man that was always on the move. The workaholic attorney practically lived at his job, and if he wasn't there, he was out trying to get more clients. He rarely had time for himself or for those closest to him, which was why you rarely saw him anymore. It was always quick phone calls that were over before you could even grab the phone from your father. The rare occasion that you were able to actually spend time with your uncle was the holidays, and even then, he’d always leave early. There was always some case that required his attention, and you knew better than to complain about it.

He was your hero, and you respected the fact that his work was so important to him. But that didn't stop the sting when he'd cancel plans for the third time in a row. You loved him, and you knew that he loved you, but that didn't mean you didn't miss him. You wanted him to be around, and you wanted him to be proud of you. That was why when you found out that you were picked to do the major solo in your upcoming choir concert, you immediately thought of him. How proud he’d be when he showed up and heard you sing.

But… when you decided to “drop by” his office, you were reminded once again that your uncle was a very busy man. He was hunched over his desk, his hand was in his hair, and his eyes focused on whatever paper he was reading. He didn’t even hear Donna, his amazing secretary, when she told him you were here. So, you walked in and cleared your throat, making him look up.

"Uncle Harvey, hi!" you said happily, walking closer to his desk. He looked tired and not at all happy to see you, but you weren't going to let that deter you.

"Hey, kiddo. What are you doing here?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the papers in front of him. You sat down and leaned forward, trying to read them, but he was quick to snatch them up.

"I just wanted to come see you. I haven't seen you since Christmas."

"Well, I've been busy. You know that." He said, standing up and shuffling the papers into a folder. "What's up, kid?"

Harvey turned back around to face you, a small and tired smile on his lips. You reminded him a lot of Mike, though it really should be the other way around. You were always curious about his work, wanting to learn everything you could. Mike did, too, but he didn’t have the same innocence as you. The smiles you wore were much more genuine.

"Well, I just wanted to ask you something," you said, suddenly feeling shy. He sat down again and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and clasping his hands.

"Shoot."

You took a deep breath and began to explain, "So, I have this choir concert coming up. I've been taking lessons for a while, and I auditioned and got this huge, big solo in one of the songs.”

"That's great. What's the question?"

"Well,” You let out a sigh, “I was hoping that you would be able to come.”

There was a pause as Harvey let what you said sink in. His expression shifted to something that you couldn't place. There was a mix of emotions in his eyes, and it made you uneasy. You knew what was coming, but you still held onto hope. You held onto the idea that this one time was the exception.

Spoiler alert, it wasn’t.

"As much as I would love to, kiddo, I can't," he said, his tone a bit softer than it was before.

"Can't or won't?"

“I have a case that requires a lot of my attention right now. A man could go to prison for something he didn’t do, and I can't risk that happening because I went to some little show."

"Some little show? Uncle Harvey, this isn’t just some show! This is a big deal, and I want you there. I want you to be proud of me,” you said, trying not to get angry.

"I'm always proud of you."

"It doesn't feel like it."

He looked at you for a moment before letting out a sigh. He leaned back in his chair, running his hands over his face. It was clear that he was stressed and had a lot of work to do, but you still couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

"I have a lot going on, okay?" he said, a bit harsher than before. You felt yourself shrink a little, and you dropped your head, nodding.

"Yeah, I know," you mumbled, standing up and grabbing your bag. "I'm sorry. I'll let you get back to work."

He called after you, but you kept walking. You didn't stop until you got outside, and even then, all you could think about was going home and being alone.

"How'd it go?" Donna asked, sitting at her desk. She had a warm smile on her lips and a cup of coffee in her hands, but it quickly faded when she saw the look on your face.

"Why ask when you already know the answer? I'll see you later," you mumbled, waving as you passed. She called your name, too, but you ignored her like your uncle. You weren't in the mood to talk to anyone. You just wanted to be by yourself. Maybe eat some ice cream, too, just to dissolve the disappointment.

Once out of sight, Donna let out a sigh, shaking her head before deciding to walk into Harvey's office. She was ready to tell him off for how he treated you, but the words died in her throat. He was leaning back in his chair, the same tired expression he'd had when you came in still on his face. It wasn't the fact that he looked so worn that stopped her, though. It was the look of guilt and regret.

"Go away, Donna,” he grumbled, not looking at her. “I don’t want to hear it."

"You should," she replied, closing the door and stepping inside. "She's a kid, Harvey, and she looks up to you."

"I know that."

"Do you? Because, from what I saw, it doesn't seem like it."

"Donna, what do you want from me? I can't just drop everything and go to a show. Not when someone's life is on the line. I have a job to do," Harvey said, his voice rising as he stood up.

"That's a crap excuse, and you know it. You can work around things. I know you can."

"It's not that simple. I have a lot going on, and I can't just let it fall through the cracks."

"But you can let your niece fall through the cracks?"

"Donna-"

"She wanted you there, Harvey, and you just dismissed her. Instead of a simple “I’ll try my best,” you said to her face that her show isn’t important enough."

"I did not say that," Harvey snapped, moving around his desk.

"Some little show?" Donna mocked, throwing his words back at him. It got him to pause, his anger fading into something else.

"Don’t quote me. You know I didn't mean it like that."

"Didn't you? You didn't exactly phrase it nicely."

Harvey's jaw tightened, and his hands clenched into fists. Donna could tell that he was holding back. She had hit a sore spot and as much as he wanted to yell, he was stopping himself.

"Why do you care so much?" he asked, his tone sharp.

"Because she's a good kid, and she deserves better than your bullshit."

"Get out," Harvey said, turning his back to her and sitting down. Donna watched him, trying to see if he'd change his mind.

"Fine," she said, "But just think about what I said."

And with that, she walked out of his office, leaving him alone with his thoughts. She wasn’t wrong, and that pissed him off.

He hated being wrong, and even though he didn’t think he was, the guilt that filled his chest wouldn’t let him think anything else.

The next week, you were backstage and trying not to freak out. It wasn’t that you were nervous. You loved to sing, and it wasn't hard to do it in front of a crowd. There were so many people there, and they all cared. You didn't have anything to worry about. It was more so the fact that your uncle was one of the few who wasn’t.

He didn’t call or even send a text. It was radio silence, and it hurt, but you weren’t surprised. As much as you wanted him to be there, he wasn’t going to come. He had more important things to do, and as much as it sucked, you accepted it.

Still, the idea of singing without him knowing about it made you want to throw up.

You didn’t have time to dwell on it though because the concert was starting. Your solo was near the end, and it was the last song, so you didn’t have to sit and watch everyone else for too long. That was good, but not enough to stop you from worrying.

Before you could start panicking, the choir started, and you were forced to focus. All thoughts of your uncle slipped away as the music washed over you, and soon, you were lost. Everything seemed to blur as the sound grew louder and the world became smaller. This was where you were meant to be. On stage, singing your heart out.

Your parents and little sister were in the crowd, and you knew they were cheering for you. You couldn’t hear them, but the image was enough.

You finished your solo, the sound echoing off the walls and making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Everyone was clapping, and you smiled, bowing as the lights dimmed.

As soon as it was all over, you rushed backstage and grabbed your things, ready to go home and relax. But, the minute you walked out the front door with your father, you froze.

“You were a little sharp, don’t you think? It's not terrible; it's just a bit off-key. But we can work on that next time.”

"Harvey." Your father said, not sounding all too happy. You looked up, and sure enough, there he was. “Still an asshole I see.”

"Marcus! How nice to see you too!" Harvey greeted sarcastically, nodding along. He turned his gaze to you and smiled. You could tell he was proud, even though he didn't say it.

"I thought you couldn't make it." You said, a hint of hopefulness in your voice.

"Eh, I figured why the hell not. It's not every day that my niece becomes Hannah Montana," Harvey joked, nudging you playfully. "Seriously, kiddo. You sounded great up there. You really blew it out of the water."

Your face broke out into a smile, and you rushed forward, pulling him into a tight hug. He was stiff at first, not expecting it, but he relaxed quickly. His hand came up to rest on your head, and you pulled back, a bright smile on your lips.

"Donna talked you into coming, didn't she?"

"You have no proof of that."

"I bet she had a list."

"Of reasons why you deserve the world? Absolutely," Harvey said, ruffling your hair. "But, I am glad I came. I needed a break."

"You mean you need sleep," your dad interjected, walking over to stand beside you. He was giving Harvey a stern look, but the older Spector brother couldn’t help but smirk.

"I can't believe you're still a stick in the mud. What happened to the cool dad I once knew?"

"He had to go and get an even bigger headache."

"You say headache; I say blessing," Harvey shot back, earning an eye roll from his younger brother.

"Whatever. We'll talk about it later," Marcus said, "You eating with us, Harvey?"

"If you're offering."

"Well, then let's go. I'm starving, and we can't have you pass out. Who would drive your expensive ass home?"

"Better knock it off before Katie hears you."

"She's used to it."

"Used to what?"

"Me calling you an asshole."

"Oh, yeah? What about-"

"Boys, behave." Your mother said, finally cutting into the conversation. You all turned, a bit shocked, and looked at her.

"I can't help that he's so easy to mess with," Harvey said, pointing to his brother.

"Yeah, right. Like I'm the easy target."

"Alright, alright. Come on, let's go," Katie said, putting an arm around your shoulders and guiding you toward the car. You glanced back at Harvey and waved. He smiled and waved back, falling into step beside your father.

It was a long night of bickering and laughter. A lot of it was your dad and uncle picking on each other, but it was fun. Harvey seemed to relax and not worry about anything else. He was there, and he was happy.

Maybe, for the first time in a long time, he wasn't too busy.

Not for you.