#i’m also not foolish enough to keep one in my house | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

feyascorner · 1 year ago

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6 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. You remember how the sunlight glistened against his skin the morning after your first night together. The longing in his eyes for the very same thing now makes your stomach churn.

It might have suit him even more than the moonlight.

With an irritable sigh, you take your blade and press the sharp end against the tip of your finger.

“What are you doing?��

“Keeping you alive,” you reply, pushing your fingertip now with a bead of blood trickling down its side, toward his face. “Drink.”

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. 6.4k words,,,tav is better than me i would've thrown hands like twelve years ago,,,I HAVE NO IDEA HOW I WROTE THIS IN LIKE TWO DAYS???? also thank you for all your comments they really motivate me to write!! so have this monster of a chapter early as thanks!!

"You'll kill them, Astarion," you mumble. "They might not have had the power to help you, but they're still your siblings. I don't want them to die hating you."

"They're not my siblings--not really. I don't care what they think of me. Hells, they could haunt me even in the afterlife, as annoying as that would be, but they're no innocents either. They've brought in as many souls as I have," he responds, his jaw visibly clenching at the thought. "I don't care if all seven thousand of them die hating me as long as you're here."

And while you feel flattered, you can't disregard the worry driving a hole through your conscience. Ever perceptive, he lifts a hand to brush stray strands of hair out of your face, his fingertips tracing your jaw. His voice is but a hushed whisper.

"You understand, don't you, my love? It would set me free--after two hundred years of forcing myself through hell--I can finally free myself from Cazador," his tone sours at just the mention of his master's name, and he intertwines his fingers with yours, drawing your attention back to him.

"It is what you want for me, no? For me to be happy?"

It is what you want. Just not like this.

Music was your way of releasing the mountain of feelings you kept locked away in your chest, waiting for the right person to recognize them for what they are. You’d hoped someone would understand the meaning behind your lyrics without you telling them outright, and they’d know what it truly meant to you. And for a while, you’d believed Astarion would be the key to this safe.

You couldn’t have been more wrong.

“While I usually entertain your certainly out-of-the-box plans, this is bordering on just foolish, I’m afraid,” Gale sighs, eyes tracing you as you pace around the house, stuffing every possible weapon and healing potion into a brown sack. Despite his insistence, you ignore him, testing the blade of a knife against the edge of the table. It’s not entirely dull, nor is it sharper than the dagger in your drawer, but it’ll have to do. “Simply charging into the tavern won’t do much good if you’ll be overwhelmed in number anyway.”

“I know what I’m doing, Gale,” you hiss, snatching an Alchemist’s Fire and shoving it a tad too hard into your bag. He tenses. “If they want to talk to me so badly, then I’m not waiting around for them to attack another one of my friends—I’ll go to them.”

“Yes, your determination is certainly praise-worthy, but can we please just sit down and think this through before running into a battlefield with a few knives? This is basically a suicide mission.”

“The wizard is right, even if it’s hard to believe,” Lae’zel announces from the corner of the room, wiping a cloth on her sword. “When I arrived, they’d already fled. They could be anywhere by now, and they’ve had more than enough time to plan another ambush if we were to charge now. We must be smart about this. I am a warrior, but I am no fool.”

“I’ll go by myself,” you say, a sense of finality in your voice. “They already showed what they’d do if someone they didn’t want to talk to approached them. I’ll just talk to them.”

Gale stares with lidded eyes. “So why are you packing so many explosives, exactly?”

“...Precaution?”

Silence befalls the room, and you take it as a sign to finish your preparations. All you can hear is the crackling of the fireplace and the rain falling against the windows of the home. The lot of you had somehow managed to stabilize Shadowheart by the time Lae’zel returned, and while she’d been conscious earlier, you insisted she rest before she consumed herself with the investigation again. You didn’t miss the way she limped back to her room with little to protest against you.

“Take the spawn with you.”

Two jaws drop at the words, the only one remaining fixed belonging to Lae’zel.

“The kainyank is living here to help. Not cause more problems for us. And so far, he’s only done one of the two things, and I’m dangerously close to turning to my blade if he doesn’t choose otherwise,” she says. “The spawn are searching for him, too. If blood breaks out, you must use him to flee safely.”

Gale blinks. “As in…use him as a body shield?”

“What else is he good for?”

While the wizard seems positively appalled, you can see the contemplation flicker in his eyes before he shakes his head. He's always been more considerate than the rest of you. “No, Tav would never agree to such a-”

“Okay.”

They both whip their heads toward you, and you avoid their piercing gazes, staring down at the dull blade in your hand. “It might help, too, if we find out why they want him. There are nearly 3000 spawns in the city—we can’t kill all of them, at least not immediately. It’d be best if we convinced them to leave, and the best way of doing that is to understand what they want in the first place.”

Lae’zel narrows her eyes. “Then you must swear it. Swear that if Astarion were to face risks, you will leave him behind. If he were to turn on you, you slice through his throat without a second of hesitation. He is there to aid you–nothing else.”

“I will,” the words feel hot on your tongue.

And so, you soon find yourself standing in front of his door, hand reaching for the door handle. There’s a slight pause right as you touch the cool metal, but you bite your tongue and shove it open, praying he’s still not as ravenous as he was a few hours ago. And much to your surprise, he appears wholly composed.

He lowers his book to his lap, eyes training themselves on you as they dart from your bag and then back to your face. The window’s wide open, bathing him in the moonlight, with dark curtains tied to the wall to keep them from obscuring his view of the city. He raises a brow. “What could you possibly want from me at two in the morning? Come here for a cuddle?”

You’re scowling again.

“I need you-”

“I’m flattered, but I fear you may stab a butter knife into my eye, so I’ll have to decline.”

“Not like that.” Your frown creases deeper at his smug grin. “We’re going to the Blushing Mermaid to find the spawn.”

“Just us?”

“They want to see us.”

“And if I refuse?”

The answer is almost immediate, cutting through the atmosphere like a knife on bread. “I hear the bloody bedrolls in the Duke’s dungeon are very comfortable.”

He drops his smile at this, and a tiny spark of pride puffs your chest. He seems to weigh his choices before snapping his book shut and standing from the bed, snatching a comb from his bedside table before pacing up to you, pocketing it behind him.

"A comb?"

He shrugs as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Well, I doubt you’ll be giving me a weapon of any sort, so I must make do.”

You don’t correct him.

As the two of you make your way downstairs, you hear your other companions speaking.

“I didn’t expect you of all people to defend Astarion,” Gale says in disbelief, still comprehensive as Lae’zel poorly cuts up slices of an apple.

“I am doing no such thing, istik,” she mutters. “I am giving him a choice. Either to pick up his dead weight and prove his life is worth more than the dirt on my shoes or die at my hand.”

The walk to the Blushing Mermaid is painfully awkward. To you, anyway, because he seems positively unbothered the entire time. Seeing him leisurely follow behind you is irritating—and it bothers you more than you’d like to admit.

By the time you survey the area around the tavern, you’ve discerned they must be inside, considering there are no ambushes awaiting your arrival. While it’s a relief, it also increases the anxiety of what lies inside the tavern itself, and you confirm your knives are at your disposal if it were ever to come to that. You sincerely hope it doesn’t. Astarion sighs dramatically for the umpteenth time as you approach the front doors, and you finally snap to look at him with a glare.

“Will you stop breathing so damn loud?”

The change in your attitude toward him is apparent, but he doesn't seem to care. If anything, he seems more pleased with you than he was before every time you shoot him an annoyed glance or something along those lines. He responds with lazy answers, but it's better than the bitter ones he gave you before.

You're not terribly surprised, though. He's always loved pissing people off for his own entertainment, and it would be an understatement to say that he's been somewhat successful with you.

“I’m not breathing, my dear. I don’t need to, remember?”

“Then what is your problem?” you hiss between your teeth. “Are you trying to wake up the entire city with your insistent groaning?”

“Must we do this tonight, of all days? Couldn’t this wait till tomorrow?”

“No!” you say in exasperation. “That gives them too much time to heal and recover from Shadowheart and Gale. It has to be tonight, just in case they do decide to fight—then we’ll have an easier time because, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s just us two!”

He sighs again, and you swear you might pluck a strand of his hair for good measure. And just as you shove past him and reach for the door, he clears his throat again. Loudly.

“For God’s sake, what?” you nearly yell.

He smiles at you, pointing at the front door. “Well, if we’re looking to avoid an ambush, perhaps we should find another way in than the main entrance. Unless my prior knowledge as a rogue proceeds me.”

You blink. You recognize the validity of his statement and feel your face flare, and you immediately march past him again—the other way this time—and search for the nearest wall you can climb up to the roof. You hear him snicker, but you do your best to ignore it.

Somehow, you manage to climb in through the window, admittedly a lot louder than him, but you don’t think it’s fair to compare yourself to him when he has footsteps lighter than a child’s. Hidden behind one of the tables, you peer into the rest of the tavern, which is completely empty save for the bottles of alcohol scattered everywhere. You turn to signal to him that the coast is clear, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

Immediately, your face drains of color.

“Right here, darling.”

He drops down from seemingly thin air, and you gasp, nearly letting out a shriek if it weren’t for your hand covering your mouth. He grins at that.

Bastard.

“There’s nobody in the entire building–at least, not visible to the eye,” he confirms, glancing around the room.

“How do you know that?”

He points at the ceiling, and your eyes follow it. “Someone decided to build such useful beams on the roof. You can see the entire place from up there. Care to take a look?”

While you would have thanked him if he had been any other person, you only march straight by him. “Don’t do anything without telling me first.”

“No ‘thanks, Astarion’?” He quirks a brow but huffs when you ignore him. “Very well then, my liege. No need to acknowledge a humble servant such as I. But I shall let you know when I’m about to take any questionable decision.”

You’re starting to wonder if his presence is worth the headache it gives you.

Pacing around the tavern, it seems all too normal. No blood splatters against the wall, no broken chairs—hells, even the booze cups look clean, which is a rarity for the Blushing Mermaid. You check each room, inspecting down to the last cups in case there are traces of blood in them, but to no avail.

It’s like there was never anyone here.

“You look like you’re having trouble, my dear,” Astarion clicks his tongue mockingly, leaning back in one of the more luxurious chairs he’s decided is his own.

“Considering the only company I decided to bring along is lounging around like a bum, I’m not surprised,” you say back, now searching the smallest cracks in the walls for some sort of secret passage. It’s strange. Even though your companions had spoken of the bodies they encountered when facing the spawn, there’s not a single speck of blood in sight. Neither is there anything outside but the whistle of the wind.

“This particular wall must be quite fascinating.”

You fight the need to groan and whip around to snap at him, but he’s suddenly just a foot away from you, staring at the spot you’d been squinting at. Gods, you hate how quiet he is when he walks.

“As wonderful as it is getting a fresh breath of air,” he feigns disappointment with a half-hearted sigh, turning to walk toward the entrance. “I believe we’ve done what we can. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d love to return to my book–”

The wooden floor underneath him creaks. It sounds hollow.

As if there’s something underneath.

“The basement,” you blink, eyes wide. “The hag’s lair.”

He stares at you as if you’ve taken too many mushrooms. “It was sealed up after we rid of that dreadful woman. Good riddance, too, I mean, I’m not particularly fond of children, but eating them, even I wouldn’t be able–”

You rush toward the very corner of the tavern, sensing that he’s following you regardless of his obvious distaste toward your decision. There, you push against a table perched on top of the basement latch and test its locks.

It’s open.

“Heavens, it reeks here. How didn’t I smell it before?”

“Of what?” You sniff the air. “I don’t smell anything.”

“Blood, my dear. Fairly recent, too, if my judgment hasn’t gotten rusty in the time I’ve spent cooped up in that room,” he pauses. “And I haven’t gotten rusty, to be clear.”

“Right,” you retort, reaching down to pull the latch open. You don’t see him do the same, and you glance at him quizzically.

“Gods no,” he says, when he realizes why you’re staring. “I’m doing no such thing that ruins these nails.”

You sigh. Loudly.

The latch opens relatively easily, but you make an effort not to simply swing it open in fear the occupants inside might be warned of your arrival. You prop the trap door open against a chair and begin your descent down the stairs, remaining as silent as possible.

The first thing you can notice is that he’d been right.

The stench of blood burns in your nose, and you immediately cover it with your sleeve to avoid inhaling anymore. You’ve smelt enough of your companion’s blood today, and you’d rather not continue the streak with the blood of complete strangers. Astarion, however, frowns.

“Such a waste,” he mumbles.

When you turn to where he’s looking, there’s a pile of bodies—poor victims, no doubt—lying over a puddle of their collective blood mixing with one another. It almost feels inhumane to leave them that way, just hours after their death, as if they’re cattle to be used.

Though, in this case, they are cattle.

“Are you sure it’s them?”

“I’m telling you it is!”

“Where’s their lyre, then?”

“How would I know that?”

You locate the source of the whispers instantly, reaching for one of your daggers as your eyes bore into the corners of the lair that are obscured from your view. Astarion steps forward before you can figure out a plan to approach them, arrogance exuding from his very body as he holds nothing but the comb tucked in his back pocket. “We can hear you, you fools. Come out before I lose my patience.”

“What are you doing?” you hiss.

“They’re only a few spawns, my dear. Nothing like Cazador—no need to be so cautious.”

You open your mouth to protest, but a woman emerges from the shadows, her eyes trained on your own as she marvels at your mere presence. You realize she’s not alone as multiple vampires begin to emerge from different corners of the room, all a safe distance away but not enough to ease the nerves jittering in your stomach. She steps toward you. “It’s really you, isn’t it?”

Another spawn steps beside her, and you immediately notice how ravenous he seems, eyes almost glistening with hunger as they bore straight into you. The woman puts a hand on his neck, seemingly soothing him, before he slumps his shoulders again, but the pure violence swirling in his head doesn’t seem to vanish. She then looks to Astarion, and the expression on her face morphs into something more akin to dread. “And you, brother.”

“Dalyria.” Astarion only stares with lidded eyes, visibly unfazed.

You instinctively scan the entire lair, searching for any differences you can spot since the last time you were here. The only glaring thing besides the bodies piled in the corner is the study desk on the other side of the room, scattered with different potions and concoctions. Behind the desk is an entire wall plastered with diagrams—most of which study the anatomy and functionality of what you can only determine to be a vampire judging from the fangs. There are also beds everywhere—though they look like they could collapse any second—and the room almost looks like a hospital.

The atmosphere between the siblings is so uncomfortable you’d think they’ll start attacking one another any second.

“Is Leon here?” you finally cut through, lowering your hand away from your blade. “I need to speak with him—technically, all of you.”

“How curious. We were hoping to speak with you as well,” she says, motioning all the other spawn to stand down. It does little to ease you. “By all means, feel free to go first.”

You take the opportunity, too exhausted, to demonstrate polite etiquette. “The spawn are causing too much trouble in the city, Dalyria. They’re killing too many people, and it’s getting noticed by more than enough people. At this rate, you’ll lose some of your own if the Fist figure out how you guys are hiding throughout the city.”

“...Yes, I’m aware.”

The resignation in her voice makes your throat bob, but you continue anyway. “I’m saying we need to get you guys somewhere more stable. Whether it be the Underdark or elsewhere, we can’t have you staying here.”

“I see,” she says slowly. “I appreciate you trying to talk this out with us, but I’m afraid I cannot grant your request.”

Your shoulders tense, and you can see Astarion shift beside you. “You don’t understand, sister. There’s going to be an outright war at this rate-”

“Baldur’s Gate is our home as well, Astarion. You, of all people, should know this,” she demands. “We have a right to remain here, and if the Fist insists on forcing us out, we have no choice but to retaliate.”

“But you’re killing the city off!” you gawk in disbelief, unable to believe what you’re hearing.

“We’re surviving,” she corrects, the corners of her lips turning downward. “Surely you can’t hate us for that.”

“Then…” you blink at her, positively appalled at her words. “Why the hells did you need to speak with me? What was worth putting my companion through hell?”

“...There is a way—for both parties to benefit.” She looks down at her hands, then back up at you. “I didn’t expect the both of you to come together. Our informants were correct when they claimed to see Astarion in your possession. In all honesty, we technically only needed one of you, but this makes things a lot quicker.”

Confused but desperately wanting an answer, you urge her to continue. Only you can see the way Astarion’s hand slips toward his pocket, where his comb lies.

“We were going to ask you to bring him to us, you see. But it appears you’ve already done the hard part.”

The dreaded intuition in the back of your mind tells you something is wrong. Very, very wrong.

“Me? What do you need me for?” he scowls.

She disregards him and continues speaking to you, leaving a sour taste in your mouth. “If you turn him over to us, you’ll never have to see him again. That is what you want, yes?”

Both you and the pale elf freeze.

“I watched as my brother nearly killed you the day of the ritual,” she continues. “I understand how you feel being betrayed by someone you thought shared your pain. And I believe this is a way to relieve you of that pain—and finally move onto a new stage of your life.”

She acts as if Astarion is the only thing holding you from moving on from the past few months of your life. And if she’d said so a week ago, you would have nothing to defend yourself with. But you’ve cut the few strings left that tie yourself to him. You remind yourself that you no longer care for him, regardless of the slight squeeze in your chest. You’ve already sworn to force yourself to disregard him, and you want to say all these things to her, but nothing comes out. So, instead, you keep your mouth sealed.

Astarion scoffs from beside you.

“For God’s sake, please tell me you’re not actually considering this. Let’s just force the madwoman out and go,” his voice attempts to stay firm, but it’s high-pitched at the end. He’s panicking.

You don’t respond to him, and he stiffens. “...My main concern is the city. If you think you can use my personal matters to convince me to just let you keep killing all these people–”

“That matter will resolve itself in its own time. We’ll return to the Underdark—or wherever it is you wish, and you won’t have to spend your nights hunting us down anymore.”

With a dry throat, you fixate your gaze on her face, desperately trying to discern any hint of a crack in her mask. Instead, you find nothing. “Why would you do that? For one spawn?”

“I’m afraid that’s for me and my siblings to know. But I can promise you that no harm will come to you if you take this deal.”

For what seems like the millionth time this month, you have no idea what to do. Lae’zel’s words flood you like a wave crashing onto shore as you remind yourself that Astarion is here not as your ally but as a shield. If things are as Dalyria says, simply turning over the man standing next to you would end this entire ordeal. You could return to your everyday life of repairing the city, learning to heal and grow from the terrors of the illithid invasion. You could learn to let people in again.

You could learn to play music again in hopes of finding the person you dreamed would understand.

Such an enticing, perfect deal. It’s almost too perfect. But you’ve learned not to trust perfection, especially when handed to you by a vampire spawn.

Astarion, who had been observing your expression this whole time, almost seems to read your mind. Or perhaps he’s just feeling selfish, ready to defend himself. “You’ve created a lot of problems for me, dear sister. I’ve gotten accused of your own murders, thanks to your pets.”

The delirious spawn, who’d looked sluggish after Dalyria’s soothing, now bares his teeth at Astarion. Dalyria attempts to calm him again, but it’s no use. The bloodthirst cannot be satiated unless there’s blood spilled on his very hands.

Astarion doesn’t seem to take a hint—or maybe he does but chooses to simply ignore it. “I’ve always known you were strange, Dalyria, but really? Experimenting with your ‘useless procedures’ on fresh spawns? He looks positively possessed, sister. He might just resort to eating you instead.”

“They are not useless, Astarion,” she snaps. “I am a doctor. I’m only curing what needs to be cured.”

“Then tell me why you haven’t managed to cure yourself of our curse? You may be intelligent in medical aspects, but gods above, you are more foolish than Cazador himself if you really think you can cure vampirism.”

“I had nobody to test my ideas on for two centuries, Astarion! Now that I do, surely I can-”

“You’re starving them, Dalyria,” he snaps, tone drastically different from the banter you shared just minutes ago. “And they’ll give into the thirst sooner or later.”

His words are the final straw.

The spawn who’d been standing beside her launches himself toward you. Before you can even register what’s happening, his fangs are at your throat, your neck tilted so it shoots pain up your side. Just as you feel your skin split at the tips of his canines, Astarion rips him away from you so harshly that the spawn flies helplessly into the wall, which crumbles under his weight. Dust flies into your eyes, and you cough, wiping at them until it clears just enough to see Dalyria staring in horror.

“I told you, Dalyria. You are no doctor, not anymore,” Astarion scoffs, eyes narrowed into slits. “And I’m afraid I can’t let you kill my liege here, as I’d much hate to be trapped in a cell somewhere underground.”

You reach the specks of blood drops forming on your neck, horrified by the close encounter you had with death just seconds ago. The culprit of your injury lies unconscious beside the cracked wall, and you wonder just how hard he had to be thrown to be rendered in such a state. You can see the other spawns’ eyes practically glow at the sight of your blood—fresh, unlike the pile of corpses on the other side of the room.

She turns to you, desperation pouring from the wavering of her voice. “Please, don’t make me do this. Don’t make us enemies. All you need to do is give us Astarion. My brother, for heaven's sake!”

You think better of it. Something that obviously pleases Astarion if the way his face relaxes tells you anything.

“May I?” he glances at you.

Surely, there are ways–more civilized ways–-than drawing your blade, but the ferocious growling from the rest of the spawn tells you otherwise. You need to find out why she needs Astarion so badly, and clearly, she’s not willing to tell you unless it’s through pure force. You despise the idea as much as you despise the predicament you’re in, but you refuse to be attacked and deliver nothing back. Just as you nod to his question, another spawn lunges, unable to resist the red staining your neck.

But it’s smart this time, choosing to eliminate any threats before turning to the full course. In this case, the only thing between you and the vampires is another vampire.

“Brother!” Dalyria shouts, horrified.

You don't bother calling his name, only barely manage to tackle Astarion out of the way before the spawn’s claw sinks into the very ground he was standing on just seconds ago.

As embarrassing as it is to practically crash on top of him, both of you wince because it’s more painful than anything. You force yourself up with your arms, and it’s then that you see even more spawn crawling from whatever shadows they hid in, and you realize you are terribly and most definitely outnumbered. By a lot.

“Dalyria, if you’re truly a doctor, do something! Stop them, godsdammit!” you shriek in her direction.

“They’re not—they were doing so well!...” she gasps before she reaches for a tattered journal and desperately files through its pages in a frenzy. “They were nearly docile before. I don’t know why–”

You feel Astarion’s hands slip out of the sack you carry on your back, realizing you hadn’t even noticed him opening it. He’s still lying flat on the ground, and you look down at him, puzzled before he laughs bitterly.

“I’ll be borrowing this for a few minutes, darling.”

You barely dodge another spawn that comes flying at you, rolling off of him and practically slamming into the wall. And before you can crawl away, your knife—in Astarion’s hand—stabs through the spawn’s left eye through the back of their head, specks of their blood splattering against your cheek.

You want to throw up.

“No, don’t harm them! Please, just let us go!” Dalyria pleads, but you’re finished being patient with her. She clearly has no way of calming the spawn, and you’re tired of being thrown around like a ragdoll in the mess that is the lair.

You yank out the Alchemist’s Fire and chuck it at the nearest cluster of spawn—around 2 or 3—and flinch as the vial collides and explodes into flames right before your eyes, blowing your hair out of your face in a gust of smoke and wind. You swear you hear Astarion cackle in utter glee at the destruction, but you choose not to dwell on it, too busy figuring out how else you could get out of here alive.

“You’re ruining the patients!” Dalyria screams, and you almost regret not throwing the vial at her instead.

“Your spawn are the ones attacking us!”

Suddenly, her face goes impossibly pale, and you hear a hiss of pain from a few feet away. Astarion winces as one of the spawn claws at his chest leaves behind a reasonably deep wound following the path of their sharp nails. Your knife is kicked away from him, and you hear Dalyria again just as he reaches for the comb instead. “Brother, be careful!”

You’re not sure if she wants you and Astarion dead or not, but it’s seriously giving you backlash at this point.

He stabs the comb into the spawn’s neck and kicks him away, and you take the opportunity to send the knife he dropped through the air.

By some miracle, it pierces straight through the spawn’s arm. Astarion lets out a breathy laugh from the floor, attention glued to your handiwork. “Ha! And to think that could have been me!”

And while you want to admire your aim yourself, there’s no time. Dalyria’s footsteps rush up the stairs, out of the basement, and you realize you need to follow moments after Astarion, who’s already fleeing up the steps, cursing under his breath. “That demented wench!”

You stand to follow after him, but the remaining spawns are already blocking your way. There are only two more, but you brace yourself for the worst, reaching for whatever remaining weapons you have left in your sack. The smoke and debris feel suffocating in your lungs, but you have no choice but to push through, praying to whatever God you can remember at the moment that this be the last time you have to fight this many vampire spawn. Or any, for that matter.

You wish you had left your fighting days behind you when you defeated the elder brain, but you suppose even that was too much to ask for.

You arrive just in time to see the sunrise.

Lying against a wall is Astarion, who you find just before the sunlight hits the part of the ground he’s on. He’s clutching his shoulder, which drips with his own blood, and showing no signs of the quick vampire regeneration. You stare down at him, face stoic as you wait for him to say something.

Judging from his condition, you assume Dalyria got away.

“Leaving me to die here would be unwise,” he scoffs. “Though it’d be rather easy to let me burn to death in the sun, I must remind you that I much rather prefer decapitation if it’s all the same to you.”

“I’ll consider it,” you reply curtly. "Can't promise anything, though."

He leans his head back, amused. The sunlight is just a few feet away now, and you wonder how long it's been since he's been outside to watch the sunrise. “You’ve always had a cruel streak in you. I just had to lure it out, sometimes, but when it did come out—Gods, you should have seen it yourself.”

“You’re delirious,” you remind him, observing just how much blood he’s losing. You remind yourself of your resentment when worry probes a small part of your heart. One that you hope dies soon. “Why aren’t you healing?”

“I haven’t been exactly feeding well, unfortunately. And days old boar’s blood can only sustain me so long, darling,” he lulls his head forehead, sneering to himself. “Now that I think about it, dying by sunlight sounds rather poetic, don’t you think? Perhaps you can make a song about my glorious death.”

He’s definitely unhinged from blood loss.

You sigh, tossing his arm over your shoulder as you deem the sunlight a bit too close now. It’s a slow process with your own body’s soreness, but you manage to drag him to a more shaded area, propping him against the wall there so that you can rummage through your sack for a healing potion. You stop when his hand latches onto your arm.

“What?” you frown.

“It won’t help. I need blood, my dear.”

“There’s none for you here.”

“The bodies in the basement,” he bites back a groan, more blood gushing out of his shoulder. “I can make use of them--give their deaths a sense of purpose."

The displeasure on your face must be apparent because he laughs.

You pause, lowering the sack onto the ground. While you’re illuminated by the sunlight now, he remains in the shadow of the building, only able to see the sun with how it reflects off of your skin. And you find that he’s no longer looking at you but looking past you into the glowing orb you call the sun. You remember how its light glistened against his own skin the morning after your first night together. The longing in his eyes for the very same thing now makes your stomach churn.

It might have suit him even more than the moonlight.

With an irritable sigh, you take your blade and press its tip against the tip of your finger.

“What are you doing?”

“Keeping you alive,” you reply, pushing your fingertip now with a bead of blood trickling down its side, toward his face. “Drink.”

His eyes widen, and the temptation is more than evident with how his mouth falls open as if he tastes your blood from a few inches away. But as fast as it had come, he tears his eyes away. “I’m not taking your blood.”

“Stop with your prideful act, Astarion. You’re going to bleed out.”

“I wouldn’t die, exactly. I would just remain unconscious until I can properly heal myself.”

You spare him a long, hard stare. He refuses to look at you, biting the inside of his cheek to ignore the scent of your blood. And it's painfully clear he's failing.

You have no idea why he's so insistent on avoiding your blood, but you refuse to spend your own time pondering it.

“Fine then.”

He watches in utter loss as you lick the blood off of your finger, shrugging. “Bleed out for all I care.”

You turn to stand, but his hand latches on your arm once more. You’re not sure if you’re imagining how warm he feels, but you think you must be. He's always been terribly cold.

“Do you hate me now?” he asks again, this time staring up at you through his lashes. “Have I finally run through your patience?”

The question remains the same as he asked you a week ago, but it feels different now. This time, you know your answer, and it feels so, so relieving. You just wish you could understand his own feelings, but his expression is so superficial you don’t even attempt it.

“Yes,” you reply blankly. “I hate you.”

He takes a moment to process your words. You have to admit it’s satisfying to say it to his face, even if your hatred for him is new. But perhaps because it’s new is why you feel it so strongly, and you silently thank it for how confident you sound saying the words. Even if they taste bitter. You think he might have some quip to respond with, but he only smiles, and as usual, it doesn’t reach his eyes.

You never want to see it again.

Without another word, he pulls you down to him, and you nearly topple over before stabilizing yourself with either of your knees on either side of his legs. He breathes against your neck, and you think he might drink from you until you feel his fingers brush against your nape. Immediately, your body freezes like a deer in headlights, flinching at his touch as your mind involuntarily forces the last memories you have of his hands on your neck.

And ever so perceptive, he notices how you recoil from his touch.

You hate your body for reacting the way it does out of fear. Not the disgust or the anger, but something much more pathetic, and you want to go back on your own actions to stop yourself from appearing so weak to him. You think he might tease you--taunt you, even, but he stops, slowly pulling away and lowering his head from the crook between your shoulder and head.

You’re unable to see his face, but his movements seem more sluggish.

Instead of going for your neck, he lifts your wrist, brushing his lips against it before sinking his teeth into the tender flesh.

Despite the initial sting, it’s a feeling you’ve grown accustomed to over time. With him, it had always felt so intimate. It’s why you can’t help but feel heat bloom across your cheeks before you remind yourself you no longer care for him. Only when you think he’s drinking a bit too long do you try to pull away, but his arm loops around your waist, bringing you even closer as the amount of blood he’s taking increases with how deep his fangs are.

You feel so cold, yet heat burns through your very blood. It makes your head dizzy, and you take it as a sign that he’s had enough.

You only manage to speak a few seconds later, breathless. “Astarion.”

He pulls away, seemingly out of breath himself as he releases his hold on the rest of your body. He runs his tongue over the access, staining the side of his mouth. He uses his finger to make sure the rest is off his face. “I know.”

He rarely feeds so messily, so you discern he wasn’t lying when he said he hadn’t been drinking well. Knowing he wasn’t deceiving you brings little relief, but it’s still a welcome feeling. Rubbing at your wrist and the two puncture wounds now residing there, you stand up and slug your sack over your shoulder. He watches you the entire time, and you hate that you can never seem to read his expressions—only one, and that’s whenever he claims to despise your very existence.

His shoulder has already stopped bleeding.

“Why didn’t you drink from those people at Sharess’ Caress?” you finally say.

“Their blood…” he pauses, trailing off, and suddenly he seems to change his mind. “...I've grown tired of it.”

“Blood is just blood, isn’t it?”

He stares at you for a moment, then laughs.

“I wish it was, darling.”

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vulpisnocturna · 1 year ago

Text

Binding Vow - Part II

Part I here

Part III here

Read on AO3

This is part II of III :)

Warnings: kidnapping, manipulation, coercion, Stockholm Syndrome, captivity, Chrollo being a manipulative asshole, obsession, slight NSFW

Word count: 6k

The lilies in the vase by the windowsill were starting to wilt. Their petals were drooping, the stems getting darker, the vibrant white of the flowers starting to become ashen. In that way, you were like them. Wilting away in a prison you were forced to call home.

But Chrollo never let you see them die. No, he brought you new flowers every week, along with all the other gifts he gave you. You did not know which ones were bought and which were stolen. Not that it mattered much.

His pathetic romanticism fell on deaf ears. He could court you all he liked, but he failed to see in that brilliant brain of his that it would not work after kidnapping someone and holding them prisoners. A golden cage was still a prison, and he could not make the canary sing by locking it away, even if he used his silver tongue on it.

Sometimes, you did not know whether he was completely oblivious or simply did not care. Every glare of yours, every time you ignored him, shouted at him or even refused to eat- he met all of your attempts at rebelling with a soft sigh and a stoic outlook, telling you he “would wait for your tantrum to quiet down to talk like adults”. Always patronising. He was always so damn condescending.

Another month had passed since the day Chrollo had tricked you into having sex with him under the guise of letting you go free and then had drugged you and left that house with you. When you had woken up, you were in a new flat, which he told you would serve as a home for the both of you for a couple of months.

He had reassured you that he would never harm you and that he would protect you, failing to understand you needed protection from him. He had also reminded you that the doors were all locked, and that he knew your life inside out in case you planned to do something foolish.

The first night in this house, you had screamed your lungs out at him, fighting him, or rather, trying to hit him with all your might whilst he restrained you. In the end, he’d tied you to the bed and told you he would free you once you learnt to be civil.

Next, you had refused to eat. That lasted until he tried to force feed you, and the humiliation of the act had made you start to eat by yourself again.

After that, you had refused to speak or even look at him. Luckily, he hadn’t tried to force himself on you, but he certainly seemed to want it. He had started to sleep in the same bed as you as soon as you had cut out the screaming and hitting, and no amount of begging had made him change his mind.

“I understand you dislike my approach, but I’m doing this to keep you safe, my love. If you can get past it, you’ll see it’s only natural that we sleep in the same bed. I love having you close to me. You are so peaceful when you sleep” he had said, stroking your upper arms as though the gesture could ever be perceived as soothing.

You always made a point to fall asleep curled as far away from him as possible, yet, somehow, you always woke up with his arm wrapped around your waist. He was stifling.

Your best moments were the ones where he’d go away to do God knew what for a few hours, or when he would be so immersed in the book he was reading that he would not talk to you for a while. Of course, he would insist on having you sit on his lap as he read, but he had settled for letting you sit with him in the living room where you wanted, which was as far away as possible from him.

You hated to admit it, but when he left, you sometimes could not help but feel lonely. He was the only person you ever saw, the only one you talked to, the only one you could go to in order to find comfort. That fact alone was enough to make your stomach churn.

But that was all stopping that day. You had decided that one way or another, you would escape. You were on the eighth floor of an apartment complex, but even Chrollo hadn’t been able to find a place that did not have windows. They were locked, of course, but you could break them if you used enough strength. It wasn’t your strong suit, but you had trained a little on your Hatsu to be able to do more damage than your muscles were capable of. And of course, you would get hurt, but it was all for a good cause. If you could make it out, then… then maybe he wouldn’t find you. If you were careful.

That very day was your best bet. Chrollo had told you he would not be home for supper and had left you some food in the fridge. You packed it and filled several bottles of water, raiding the cupboards of chocolate, biscuits and fruit. You also found some gauze in the bathroom drawer, which you took with you in case you wouldn’t be able to use your Nen power straightaway.

You had cursed your power for two whole months now, hating that you weren’t an Enhancer, that you weren’t strong or fast at all. Of course, Chrollo would still be stronger, but your chances at escaping would increase. But now, you were glad you had it: if you fell from a few stories, you would be able to heal yourself, so long as you did not die on impact.

Which was why you had gathered every single towel and sheet you could find and created a makeshift rope with tight knots. It was around ten metres, which left fifteen to twenty metres left to jump. You’d found that there was a tree underneath the window of the office, so that was where you decided to escape.

The glass was thick, and you decided to wrap your hand in a section of your rope and punch it with all your strength.

It took half an hour and the breaking of your knuckles, which had also split and gotten wounded, but you had managed to stay focused through the pain and heal them before you lost too much blood.

Now, as to your escape. The window was now broken, and you did your best in creating a wide enough passage where glass would not be likely to cut you or the rope. Next, you looked down to see that no one was around. The apartment complex was situated on the side of a forest surrounding a small town, and the office happened to face the woods. You could not see anyone around.

You had around three hours to escape and get as far away from that place as possible before Chrollo came back. You had to move quickly, find out where you were and then find a way out of there.

You breathed in, calming your thundering heart and swinging the rope out of the window after tying it to the sofa. It reached ten metres or so from the canopy of the tree beneath the window, which was not ideal, but not too bad either. You stepped on the windowsill, planted your feet and started descending.

Ten minutes later, you had reached the end of your rope. You swallowed, the wind making your eyes sting and tear up as you looked down. Legs first. You had to either grab a branch with your hands or land on your legs.

You jumped.

Your hand scraped against the bark, burning and shredding against it. The branch underneath you winded you as you landed on your side, but you managed to break the fall before you hit the ground.

You convulsed on the grass, nausea and cold shivers tearing through your body as you quivered, taking small breaths that had you dizzy from the pain.

Definitely broken ribs. Definitely a broken leg.

Your trembling hand reached to your side, and you focused on your aura, feeling the pain, mending the bone, healing the damage until it felt like a dull throbbing rather than stabbing, burning agony.

Next was your leg. It took you longer than you wanted to consider to heal all of your injuries, but when you finally got up, you were okay. You could run, even though the numerous cuts on your body had made you lose quite a bit of blood and you felt lightheaded.

You started running. The feeling of hope that bloomed in your heart was quick to burst into euphoria, even though you tried not to lull yourself into false security. Running along the path in the forest felt good, freedom felt like cool breeze, autumn leaves and the faint scent of rain lingering on the ground.

You must have run more than ten miles by the time you stopped as you got to the edge of the forest. The sun was setting on the horizon, and you wagered Chrollo would be back soon. You probably had another hour before he realised you were gone. Where could you go from here? The hills to your right looked too exposed, but so did the town to your left. He would expect you to be there. But with the amount of blood you’d lost, the fact that you’d been running for hours and the lack of shelter in the hills, you had to go to the town. Maybe you’d find a sheltered place where you could stay for a few hours, before you left again.

But you never did get to the town.

Because as soon as you got back on your feet and went to grab your bag, your wrists were caught behind your back in an iron grip. You knew that scent all too well.

Your heart threatened to burst in your ribcage, and your chest heaved, your eyes widening as you writhed wildly to no avail.

‘If I were you, I would stop thrashing, darling. I am not in a gracious mood’ he murmured against your ear, voice cold, seeping into your bones like ice. You stopped moving altogether, swallowing the heavy lump in your throat.

‘Have you any idea of what that fall could have done to you? You’re covered in blood. Did you break anything in your brilliant escape?’ he continued, and you wet your lips, your temples throbbing.

Would he kill you now? Would he simply take you back? Would he break some more bones to punish you? Tie you to the bed, or relocate you to a basement?

‘Answer me. You do not want to make this any worse than it already is’ he said coldly, releasing you and staring at you. You knew trying to make a run for it would be useless. He would catch you in seconds. And who knew what he’d do to you.

You were done. He’d found you immediately. There was no escaping him.

‘My knuckles. My ribs- my leg’ you whispered, scanning his face for any clue on what might happen to you. His jaw tightened.

‘So you counted on your power to heal you, disregarding that had you broken your neck, you would not be able to heal. Not quite well-thought out’ he said, a tinge of cold fury in his voice. You ground your teeth, deciding you would go out swinging instead of listening to more of his patronising remarks.

‘I did not have many options. I ran, because you kidnapped me. I was willing to take the risk’ you spat, and he lifted his chin, looking down at you, seemingly rigid in his posture.

‘I must say that was a rather inventive plan. I think I might have read about a character doing the same thing in an adventure book once’ he mused, recomposing himself and disregarding your words completely.

‘You clearly cannot care for yourself, darling. Look what you've done to yourself. You are so very fragile. We have much to discuss. Of course, there will be consequences, but you should know I would never hurt you. I simply need you to listen. You can come with me now without a fuss or you can make the situation worse for yourself and risk more dire consequences for your behaviour. Your choice’ he said, looking at you, his eyes softening ever so slightly as you let out a strangled sob.

Choice. Another choice that was already written in stone.

‘Just let me go. Let me free. Please’ you breathed, resorting to pleading in the face of defeat, hating the fact that you could feel the tears spill from your eyes. He let out a soft sigh, cupping your face and stroking your cheek. You did not know whether you wanted to spit in his face or let him comfort you for something he was guilty of. Because you were so alone, your heart was so wretchedly heavy.

‘Shh, shh. It’s alright, my love. You must be so exhausted. You need to rest. I’ve got you. I’ve got you’ he kissed your forehead, soothing your sobs, and perhaps it was desperation and exhaustion that made you cling to his shirt with trembling fingers. You let all of your tears of frustration, pain, hurt and anger out, sobbing in the arms of the one who had brought them to life. And he was so gentle as he held you. So painfully tender in the way he soothed you, stroking your hair, kissing the top of your head, holding you close to him.

Chrollo bent to pick you up in his arms, and you buried your head against him, not wanting to look at him and accept what you had just done and where he was taking you. What the consequences of your escape would be.

As the temperature started dropping, you found yourself seeking out the warmth of his body, feeling the exhaustion catch up to you quickly. You had finally stopped crying, but your head was pounding and your eyes were raw from the tears.

You saw a car at the edge of the forest, parked behind the building, in front of the tree and your makeshift rope. He opened the door and deposited you on the passenger seat, closing it behind you and getting in on the other side. He reached over and put on your seatbelt, locking the doors and staring at you.

‘Where are we going? What is going to happen to me?’ you asked, voice hoarse from all the crying. Chrollo slicked back the wayward strands of black hair that had escaped his hairstyle, regarding you with a cold expression, if not slightly laced with disappointment.

‘You saw fit to break the window of our flat. I called some people to take care of the mess there and get our stuff whilst I retrieved you. We are going to another place, this one is compromised now. As to you, my love... I do not know what punishment would fit this crime. Your sorrow and your tears have touched me, truly. But I must ensure you learn your lesson. You don’t want this to happen again, do you?’ he asked, turning the keys and starting to drive.

Did you want this to happen again? Of course not. His tone let you know that if you ever did this again, there would be Hell to pay. Who knew what he would do now, you shuddered to imagine what he might think to do if you tried to escape once again.

‘No’ you said quietly.

There was no escaping Chrollo Lucilfer. You had been stupid to think that you could have done so. Drunk on the idea of freedom. He might have said he would never harm you physically, but he hadn’t said anything of the sort about your loved ones. You had learnt that with him, the devil was in the details. He always twisted meanings and played with words like a musician would play an instrument. And there was no escaping his judgement.

Chrollo was not having a nice day. He had had to pull back a heist when Shal had informed him the museum had been tipped off, and had thought he would just get to go home and spend some needed time with his darling girl. He had seriously thought you had made vast progress in your interactions with him. In a mere month, he had managed to mellow you a lot, and even though it had irked him to put up with your foolish tantrums, he had done so patiently, knowing being less strict would eventually aid him in making you come around. You had started to talk to him again, even seemed content to sit with him in the living room to read.

He wasn’t too pleased you never took him up on the offer to sit on his lap, and sometimes, he wanted to pull you against him and hold you there, but he was a patient man, and he understood the perks of patience and strategy.

That was why he had been willing to compromise on not taking everything he wanted yet. He had put boundaries on what was non-negotiable, like sleeping in the same bed. After all, you were his. He had claimed you, given you food, shelter and protection, brought you all kinds of beautiful gifts that reminded him of you, made you feel good. He knew you liked the sex, too. You could not deny it, he remembered all too well how very precious you had looked writhing underneath him, begging and whining for him.

Nevertheless, he was waiting to do it again, simply because you were under the impression you had been tricked by him with the vow you had made, and that had upset you. Understandably so, but the fact that you hadn’t paid enough attention to his words was hardly his fault. However, if he was respectful of your body and did not force himself on you, he knew you would eventually seek him out. He could already see the slivers of your resolve shattering, and it pleased him to no end. The way you now let him kiss the top of your head, flinching less often when he drew you in for a hug or stroked your cheek. It was a chess game, and Chrollo knew he would win.

But now, you’d broken his trust. You’d disappointed him.

When he had come back home, looking for you, thinking you might be asleep or ignoring him as he called your name, and had eventually seen the window shattered and a makeshift rope made of sheets and towels, he had seen red. There was blood spatter on the glass, and the thought of you going so far as to harm yourself in order to escape him had made his stomach hot with rage and his chest tight with worry.

He had inspected the grounds underneath the tree he surmised you had used to break your fall, and he could see some blood, not enough to make you die of blood loss. Some drips had seeped into the blades of grass that led to the woods. Torn between cold fury, worry and admiration for your commendable resolve, for a moment, he had also thought you were truly so delightful. It was so sweet of you to believe you could escape.

He also knew you must have used your power to heal yourself, because he expected you to have broken at least a few bones. Therefore, you must have been lightheaded and weak. A fragile thing like you, alone in the woods, where anyone could easily harm you. He had been worried sick, ready to burn the forest to ashes.

It had taken him twenty minutes to scour the whole forest. When he had found you, you had been panting, holding onto a tree as your gaze shifted between the hills and the small town as though you were considering your course of action. So fragile, so impossibly delicate and fatigued, so oblivious to your surroundings. He hated how you put yourself in danger. Hated that you thought it would be better than being by his side.

Of course, Chrollo knew it was human nature to seek freedom, so he could not fault you for trying. But he was not pleased. You had put yourself in danger and broken his trust.

He had been ready to make you learn your lesson by confining you to a windowless bedroom, never taking his eyes off you, even pay a visit to one of your friends. However, the moment you had started to sob and clung to him, accepting his embrace, seeking him in your sorrow, he had been truly moved. You were truly so sweet in his eyes, so vulnerable, he just wished to hold you and never let you go.

Now, he was not sure what the best course of action would be. Should he be understanding, threaten what would happen if there was another attempt, and bask in your need to be comforted by him? If he happened to be too strict with you, it might halt the progress you’d just made. But if he offered himself as the only one who could soothe your worries and comfort you, then, perhaps, you would become more dependent on him. He wanted nothing more.

But things would have to move more swiftly, because his patience was starting to run out. If he was honest, as he had you back in his car, looking so meek with your tear-stained eyes and torn clothes, he had only wanted to move you to the back of the car and show you just how much he needed you. Just how much you truly liked him. Then, maybe, you would regret your actions. But he had to hold back.

He had nothing but time with you. And your attitude and outlook on your living situation was the most important thing right now. He had to change your perspective, or his work the past month would be ruined just because he had lost his temper after you made a mistake. You could still make things better.

‘Chrollo’ you murmured, wringing your hands in your lap. You rarely called him by his name. You rarely talked to him without him starting the conversation. He loved the way his name sounded on your lips.

‘Mh?’

‘What’s going to happen to me?’ you repeated, small voice haunted. He placed his hand on your thigh, stroking your skin gently as he drove through the empty street.

‘You did something quite upsetting, dearest. You know I would have never forgiven myself if something happened to you. I cannot let anyone, including you, harm you. I cannot trust you now; you understand that, don’t you?’ he asked, voice smooth. A part of him wanted to ask you what you thought a fitting punishment would be. But he did not do well with not knowing what you would say.

‘I won’t try to run again- just... please don’t hurt the people I care about. Please. I’ll do anything’ you said desperately, and Chrollo forced himself to restrain the urge to smile. Now, that was a pleasant development. He could utilise this. Could reap the benefits of your dedication.

‘My love, it pains me that you think me a monster. There would be no reason to visit your past acquaintances if this is a one-time mistake. But how can I trust your word? How can I be certain you will not try to run from me again? That you’ll be my good girl?’ he asked gently, keeping his voice as soft and calm as he could.

Human imagination was truly intriguing. How you had come to that conclusion in your mind, already deeming it a reality, and sought to find a way out of it by offering everything you had. It was truly endearing, and Chrollo had barely had to do anything. And now, if he spared your acquaintances, he would be seen as merciful. You would be grateful. Even though he hadn’t planned to kill them as of yet, deeming it counterproductive for your opinion of him. But if he utilised your fears against you, he could appear as a compassionate source of comfort to you.

‘Because... I know it’s useless. And I don’t want to be the reason they might... get hurt’ you said earnestly, your bottom lip quivering. It made you look so sweet in his eyes. So innocent and pure. Completely different from him, someone so fascinating he could never take his eyes off you.

‘I- will behave. I’ll do- whatever you want’ you whispered, almost resignedly, your shoulders sloping. Chrollo let out a soft sigh. You had no idea of the effect you had on him when you said things like that. It was all he ever wanted. And soon, he knew you would say the same words with care and tenderness in your voice.

He parked the car in front of the skyscraper, opening the door and stepping out, and a middle-aged woman approached him, holding a pair of keys. Chrollo took them from her, spotting Shal’s antenna sticking out of her neck when she turned to head towards the glass doors. Chrollo went back to the car, opening the door and giving you his hand. You looked at him, closing your eyes briefly before you accepted his help and stood up on unsteady legs. He took his coat off, wrapping it around you. It would not do to have you walk in the lobby with your shirt and legs covered in blood.

It was long and baggy on you, and covered your whole body. He thought you looked quite sweet in it. He made sure to lead you to the door with a hand on your lower back, not trusting your balance after the injuries you had sustained and the clear exhaustion he could observe in your sluggish movements.

This time, Chrollo had asked Pakunoda and Shal to find him a place as high up as possible, so you could still watch the sky and not get any stupid ideas. The woman led you and him to a lift and pressed the button for the fiftieth floor, the penthouse. He liked to show off with a better flat, a more luxurious one, but had it been up to him, he would not have cared much, so long as it was comfortable and had everything he might need.

The woman stayed in the lift as he led you outside, to the door of your new home. He opened it, stepping inside and conjuring Bandit’s Secret to lock the door with Nen that only he could unlock. He put the keys on the bowl on the accent table by the door, because they were as useful as a pen to you if you planned to use them to open the door.

The penthouse was spacious but decorated in a way he did not mind. Cosy and warm, with a big fireplace, a loveseat and two armchairs in front of it, bookshelves filled with books on the opposite wall. His friends had truly found him a good place to crash. The dining room and the kitchen were connected to the living room by a wall with open arches, and one side of the dining room was a full window that offered a nice view of the city. He decided to look for anything that might be amiss before you moved from the hallway, and walked through the corridor, opening the door to the bedroom and the bathroom. It must definitely be more expensive than his previous lodging, but he hardly cared or worried about that in his life.

His clothes and yours had been carried here in two suitcases, and Chrollo decided he would give you space to have a bath or a shower whilst he tidied things up. With that in mind, he stepped back into the living room, observing you as you put his coat on the armchair.

‘Why don’t you take a warm shower, darling? It will relax your muscles. I’ll be here if you need anything’ he said, and you looked down at your torn clothes, your eyes wandering around the room.

He quickly went back to the bedroom, opened the suitcases and grabbed one of his shirts and clean underwear. You could go without trousers. If he were honest, he wanted you to go without any of those cumbersome clothes covering your stunning body, but he doubted you would react nicely to it if he suggested that. He was willing to compromise.

Besides, the thought of you wearing one of his shirts was somehow even better than going without it. Something about having something that was his on you. Proof of the fact that you were his.

He stepped outside, handing you the clothes and planting a kiss on your forehead.

‘Uhm- I need... trousers’ you murmured, your face growing hot against his fingers. He smirked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

‘Do you, darling? The shirt will cover enough of you up. I’ll be in the living room. Come over when you are finished’ he said, leaving you blushing in front of the bathroom and going to the bedroom, starting to sort through the clothes and objects in the suitcase.

When you came back, he had finished tidying up and was sitting down on the sofa with a book in his hand, the fireplace now crackling with orange flames and a glass of red wine on the coffee table.

He had been right, you did look ravishing. With the smears of blood and dirt gone, his shirt on you, covering you to your upper thighs, leaving your legs exposed, he could hardly restrain himself. But tonight was not the right time to have you. No, he just wanted to hold you and see you. And perhaps taunt you a little as punishment for running away. Yes, he would definitely have you fulfil your promise to do anything he liked starting that very night.

He patted his thigh, and watched with sly amusement as you swallowed, clearly trying to find a loophole that would allow you to sit anywhere else. He enjoyed watching you rack your brains, knowing you might incur more dire consequences after you refused him the day you had attempted to escape.

It took you a minute, but eventually, you took small, hesitant steps towards him until you were firmly sat on his lap, his arm around you holding you to him. He loved your scent, loved the feel of your body against his, loved the sight of your pretty thighs. If he had been any other man, he would not have been able to exert control on his desires. But he would, because if he waited, the reward would be much sweeter. Besides, you seemed to think he would do something, and watching you squirm was delightful in it of itself.

He resumed reading the psychological thriller he’d picked up, stroking your ribs, knowing you’d mended them mere hours before. Your power was truly incredible. A power that sought to heal, remedy, one so in tune with your pure, kind soul. He found it so very fitting, so sweet. And so useful.

He could feel you shifting on his lap from time to time, and could not decide whether he wanted you to continue or to stop because it was so enticing. He decided he might do something, even if he would not take you to bed yet. After all, he had you there, glued to his body. It would be a sin to discard such a sweet chance.

He lowered his book, holding you more tightly, tilting your chin with his fingers.

‘Kiss me’ he murmured, watching you to see if you would hold to your word. He saw your pretty eyes widen, your lips parted as you scanned his face and shifted on him. Your teeth caught your bottom lip, pulling lightly on it, and he could not wait to do that himself and feel just how soft your lips were.

He had held back on kissing your lips as well, and he still remembered how worked up he had managed to get you just with that. He had a nice plan in the making, but he wanted you to kiss him first. Set it into motion.

You hesitantly craned your neck to press your soft lips on his cheek, and he let out a soft laugh, cupping your jaw.

‘Do not play coy with me, darling. You know perfectly well what I mean. Now, shall we try that again?’ he crooned, and he could see the acquiescence on your face set, compliance in the face of what you had said in the car as you leaned back towards him, closing your eyes and pressing your lips to his. This time, you did not have to be told to do it again. You knew what he wanted from you, and you acquiesced, tilting your head and touching his hair gingerly, your lips brushing against his, soft and timid. Chrollo restrained the urge to take the lead and show you exactly what he craved, because he wanted you to get there yourself.

At first, you kissed him slowly, tentatively, but then, the tip of your tongue traced the outline of his bottom lip, and you sucked it gently. Chrollo’s fingers curled around your scalp, tangling in your hair as he sank his teeth in your bottom lip, taking advantage of it to slide his tongue in your mouth. He had waited way too long to do this, but God, it was worth it.

You were addicting. He sucked and licked your lower lip, pressing his tongue against yours, tasting you, savouring the feeling of your restraint fading whenever he kissed you more passionately. A few times, he could have sworn you sought out his lips, hungry for more, battling your own desires but unable to deny them to the fullest. And it felt like a damn drug to him. He could force himself on you, but nothing could ever replace the feeling of watching you melt in his arms, so willing and pliant by the time you warmed up to his touch.

Your fingers were tangled in his hair, and his hand wandered down to cup your ass, fingers gripping the plump flesh of it, his cock already hard in his trousers. Judging by the way you were squirming and pressing your thighs together, he knew you would be wet if he touched you. And the thought alone was tantalising. He wanted to devour you, wanted you underneath him again, pretty and completely at his mercy. But he steered clear, deciding to just stroke your thighs, massage them, feel the goosebumps there as he continued to kiss you.

When his fingers inched closer to your inner thigh and you spread them for him a little, he knew he’d won. He smirked against your lips, sucking your swollen bottom lip one last time before he pulled back, looking at your flushed skin, bright eyes and tormented lips. You looked so tantalising, so compliant.

‘Have you any idea what you do to me?’ he whispered, his hand resting on your hip now. He let you simmer in that feeling, knowing that he would not have to wait much longer, he would have you soon.

He went back to his book, smirking slightly whenever you would squirm in his grasp. Oh, you must be so wound up. He wished he could help you. But this was all in favour of something better. To make you truly desperate, just as he was to get his hands on you. To have you all the time.

It did not take you long to start growing more sluggish, and before he knew it, he had finished the book and you were asleep, your head against his jaw, peaceful in your slumber. You were such a heavy sleeper, but he was also aware that you had exhausted yourself with that foolish stunt you’d pulled. He kissed your hair, setting the book down and lifting himself up, carrying you to bed. When he looked at you as you twisted in the sheets and his shirt lifted up to reveal the panties he’d picked out, he let out an audible groan.

Just a little longer, he thought. For now, he headed to the bathroom, seeking to relieve your effect on him.

You were disgusted with yourself. Disgusted with your weakness, disgusted with the effect he had on you. Yes, you’d said you’d do anything if he spared your loved ones, and you had been dreading him trying to fuck you. Having to go through it again. You had not expected him not to.

A week had passed, a week of torture. You had given up altogether on running away, especially because the door was impossible to open and jumping out the window wasn’t a viable option anymore. He had been more lenient than you’d ever imagined he could be, and hadn’t even tried to fuck you. He had merely demanded you sit on his lap and kiss him. And he had done so every day for the past week.

And every night for the past week, you’d been plagued with dreams about him having his way with you. You were horrified whenever you woke up drenched, pressure in your lower stomach, the unbearable desire to feel his touch rearing its ugly head again. Reminding yourself of who he was had become increasingly difficult, when all you could think about was how good he felt, how much his touch sparked heat in your body. And he knew it too, the clever bastard. You could see it in his sly grey eyes, in the sardonic smirk he would give you once he pulled away.

You were lonely, and you were tired. Tired of the struggle, tired of the anxiety, tired of weighing your every word, of pushing him away, of walking on eggshells all day long. It would be so easy to give in. The only thing that held you back was giving him the satisfaction. But then again, you’d already done that the time you’d slept with him. What was the point? Wouldn’t you live a much easier life if you gave in? If you stopped fighting and just let him encroach himself in your life? It had already happened, and your stubbornness and pride were only making your life harder.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. You were weak and twisted for considering liking someone like him. Someone who had kidnapped you, a murderer with no morals, a man who had no problems threatening your loved ones and keeping you captive.

But what choice did you have? What was there in the future for you? More struggle, more bile in your throat, more tightness in your chest, more pain and suffering? Or just acceptance?

He could be considerate, when you did what he wanted. And he could be your worst nightmare if he wanted to.

You couldn’t defeat him, couldn’t escape, couldn’t convince him to let you go. Your choices were to either live a miserable life of suffering, or to give in and experience something bordering safety. Something that might resemble a life one day. All in exchange for giving in to the one who had ruined your life. Somehow, the choice made itself in your mind.

Part III here

#chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo smut #yandere chrollo #hxh chrollo #chrollo x reader #chrollo hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter #yandere hxh #hxh #hxh x reader #chrollo x y/n #chrollo x you #yandere chrollo x reader #kuroro lucilfer #yandere x reader #yandere chrollo lucilfer

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jd-loves-fiction · 8 months ago

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𝐎𝐩𝐢𝐚

n. the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable—their pupils glittering, bottomless and opaque—as if you were peering through a hole in the door of a house, able to tell that there’s someone standing there, but unable to tell if you’re looking in or looking out.

✦ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Sir Gawain x GN!Reader

✦ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: smut + fluff

✦ 𝐰𝐜: 2.2k

✦ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: Minors DO NOT INTERACT thanks. also DONT USE SALIVA AS LUBE THIS IS THE MIDDLE AGES WAAAAHH

✦ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Anyway I havent written anything in a hot second, especially smut, so i might've lost my touch but this man makes me insane. Hope its still enjoyable anyway and im working on some fluffy stuff as well whoop enjoy :)

Stupid quest. Stupid forest. Stupid rainwater puddle.

You didn't see it – you were too damn busy staring into those gorgeous brown eyes of his, lashes lowered ever so slightly in a way so tender it might as well have been what knocked you over.

“Oh goodness.” Sir Gawain exhales a second after the splash, arms reaching for you a little too late. Turns out he’d been lost staring at you as well. “A-Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“I–” You start to deny it but think better of it. It’s Gawain, he’d know the answer just from looking at you. “I’m cold. And wet. And tired.”

“I see. Let’s find ourselves a place for the night, yes? The storm from last night might be coming back.” He tells you, reaching out a large hand to pull you up. You take it without hesitation.

Quickly finding yourselves a damp and dingy little cave to pass the night in, Gawain gets to work starting a fire as you shiver uncontrollably.

“You know–” He begins, fumbling with two rocks and a handful of dryish branches, looking up at you for a moment, “You look good, all soaking wet.”

The warmth of his gaze sweeps over your form, lingering on your shaking shoulders, passing by the water dripping off your linen shirt and how your arms curl around yourself to keep the heat in – heat he stokes with that cheeky look, the quickness of his breath, the biting of his lovely, soft, bottom lip…

A spark goes off, catching fire to the branches, cutting the tension like a hot knife over butter. But it does not dissipate, the fire does not cool, it merely wanes to a simmer.

“I bet you’d look even better.” You blurt out, just to get the last word in before sitting by the flames, not entirely aware of what you’ve just said and where his beautiful, hasty mind would take your words. Then again, you’re much more concerned with not freezing to death.

“Trying to warm up with wet clothes isn’t going to do you any good. It isn't going to do anything at all, really.”

“What do you suggest, then?” You sigh, knees tucked to your chest, sitting opposite the dashing young knight.

“You should take off whatever clothes are wet and let them dry by the fire.” He begins shrugging off his thick wooly cape to lay on the stone floor beside him, “And sit close to me – we can share body heat.” he adds on quickly, as if he hasn't made his intentions with you clear enough throughout this journey already.

You’re not sure when it started, when his dark eyes began wandering, when his touches started lingering, or even when you started doing the same. But it’s clear to the two of you; the want– the need too transparent to hide.

There’s more to it though, for you at least. It would be almost too easy to dive into him otherwise. Like a nymph’s bewitching calls into murky waters.

But it could never be that easy. Not with the one they may one day call King. That and his womanizinging reputation.

Expecting anything other than a purely lustful encounter out of this would be foolish to say the least, but perhaps you are a fool. Because the way he looks at you; the way he has been looking at you since– whenever you started noticing; makes you feel as if there might be a chance.

So you do as he suggests, stripping down to the basics under his unwavering gaze, shuffling over to his side and nuzzling against him.

Questions swirl endlessly within your mind while leaning on Gawain's warm body, his shirt so thin you could almost perfectly imagine what he'd look like without it in your mind's eye.

But then, those eyes, clear as spring water in their intentions, cage you in with their stare and suddenly you feel as if everything must be laid out plainly, “What are your intentions with me, Sir Gawain?”

The look on his face nearly makes you regret it, fearing you may have offended him, but surely he’s aware of his reputation – surely he must understand.

After a beat he exhales with a slight smile as his large hand comes around to your shoulder, “Are they not clear?”

“Clear as they may be, I like things to be absolutely transparent, especially when it comes to men of your… caliber.” He hums in acknowledgement with a smirk, before it slowly slides off his face, replaced with a thoughtful expression so rarely seen it could be possession.

“I understand what you mean, love. But, in truth, I cannot answer you as of yet.” At the inquisitive look you give him he begins trying to explain himself, “It is that… Well, I am to be King somewhat soon, I assume. So it would be reckless for me to act as carelessly as I once did. But then also, I do not yet know what my intentions are – beyond tonight, that is.” Your face warms slightly at his suggestive tone as his hand drifts down your naked back, “All I know, is that you intrigue me. Greatly. If anything, I know– I feel as if… once will not be enough…”

A dark hand of long, slender fingers lifts your chin to meet his fathomless stare, looking deep into your eyes and beyond that – to your vulnerable soul.

“I feel… the same.” You speak, suddenly breathless as your face nears his subconsciously, giving in to his siren call.

Lips meeting like a spark to a fire, a beginning. His hands wander over you, reverent, gentle, as yours grasp at the front of his tunic, urging him as close as humanly possible – as if close isn't nearly close enough.

The kiss grows fiercer, a push and pull of soft pink muscles attempting to gain control, before being forced to part, open around heaving breaths while eyes grow hazy with lust– no, yearning. Gawain draws back to shed that bothersome tunic before his hands attach themselves to your hips to pull you onto his lap. The ease with which he does it has you grinding down instantly, hands running over sweat-slick caramel skin.

His dark curls bounce as he tosses his head back under your movements, desperate for some control of the primal urges suddenly overloading his brain – to fuck you without mercy, to ruin you for anyone else – but no, that’s not how he wants this to go.

“God above, you're beautiful.” He breathes, hands stilling your hips to let his eyes sweep over your features slowly. The intensity of his gaze makes you squirm and the strength in his hands warms your inside more than the fire ever could.

Burying your face in his gorgeous, exposed neck you speak so low not even God could hear, “Shut up and take your pants off.”

You feel him smile against your hair, laying a kiss against it before drawing away to do as you ask, somewhat clumsily, but earnestly all the same. Sitting still on his cloak, you watch him avidly, eyes catching on every new inch of dawn-hued skin revealed.

The singularity of the moment strikes you suddenly; back at the castle, amongst duties and expectations, this would never be possible – this calm, this undemanding rhythm. You have no place to be, no one to meet, so you can just be. Together.

“Where did you go?” He whispers, caressing your face with a softness undeserving of a knight’s strength, making your eyes focus back on his features and immediately surge forward to connect your lips to his, “Nowhere important.”

Gentle as a breeze Gawain lays you back, body between your legs and arms beside your shoulders. His prominent nose brushes yours softly, sensually as he parts your legs even further, “Good. I want you here with me. For this will not be a moment you’ll want to ever forget.”

“Oh,” You chuckle teasingly, back arching almost subconsciously against his warm, wide chest while his hips start moving against yours, “You’re sure of that, are you?”

“Your reaction tells me all I need to be sure.” He replies, so cocksure you’re suddenly reminded of who he’d been before the Green Knight had showed up proposing a ridiculous game – knowing he hasn't changed completely is oddly comforting.

“You talk too much… Sir.” You grumble in lieu of remaining silent and further inflating his ego, getting a raised brow at the tacked-on title.

“But you like it, don't you? Don't lie to me, it's unbecoming.” The corners of his lovely lips twitching with the effort not to laugh. Quick as a flash, your legs lock around his waist, pulling his center down to yours and he’s forced to take a breath from between his teeth as his long lashes flutter, “Like I said; you talk too much.”

Gawain bites his tongue – there will be plenty of time to get back at you once you’re mindless and thoroughly spent – he reasons. For now, he just needs to get you there.

One large hand settles at the base of your throat as his luscious lips travel down your neck in flickers of contact that have you arching against his firm grip for more. Soft as a feather, he pulls away your undergarments as needed to kiss at your chest; sweetly at first and then so wet and sloppy you’re left gasping and whimpering, hands grasping at his strong shoulders for purchase.

Grabbing you below the knees, he gently pries your legs open while kissing down your body until you're tingling and trembling all over wishing he'd just get to it.

“Gawain…”

“Hmm? Are you going to beg? Go on.”

You pout petulantly; no you won't beg, he'd enjoy that far too much. But you can, however, tempt him into doing what you want.

“Gawain…” you moan seemingly helplessly, nails brushing his skin making him shiver in delight, “won't you take me? It's clear you want to.”

“It's clear, is it?” He chuckles breathlessly, ceasing completely to just watch you and it makes you want to smack the back of his head in frustration.

Breathing deep, your eyes move over him carefully, appreciating every inch of delicious, exposed skin so many yearn to catch a glimpse of before…

“Gawain,” you raise an amused brow, surely he noticed… “Yes?”

Oh, he's far too good at playing dumb.

You raise yourself until your lips barely brush his, brown hues watching you closely down the length of his nose before your hand boldly presses down on his stiff cock and those eyes glaze over before rolling back in overwhelming delight, “I'd call this pretty obvious.”

Hand squeezing in pulses, you're granted a low groan followed by a deep sigh, “God, you're too much. I cannot– wait.”

Gawain's mouth devours yours, hungry as a wolf, pushing down once more while his lithe fingers graze the inside of your thighs, grinning at what he finds. Cheeks warming at how your mouth chases his as he pulls back, he gives his palm a full lick before wrapping it around his throbbing cock and stroking. The flames illuminate this length of his gorgeous neck like an old painting and your tongue longs to glide over it and follow the path of his sweat so deeply you almost miss him speaking, “Will you beg now?”

You groan most crudely, far over his games and his perfect face and his disarming voice and his damned haughtiness– your hand grasps the curls at the back of his head, delighting in his whimpered response, “Take me now or so help me–,” your not proud of the way your voice wavers but you’re both past that now.

Gawain’s lips connect with yours surprisingly softly, leaning his forehead against yours and lining himself up with your center, “Shh, I’ve got you, just relax.”

A kiss to your hairline is the only warning you get before he starts pushing into you, slow as can be and yet still you cry out at the feeling in between the kisses he places to your lips to offer some comfort.

“There we go, breathe for me. It’ll feel better soon…”

“Gawain…” You moan, clinging onto him as the bite of initial pain melts into pleasure.

Sucking on your neck, his hips sway against yours rhythmically, wavering only when your nails dig into his sides while moaning desperately in his ear, “Gawain please…”

“Now–” his breathing stutters while his hips buck suddenly, pressing a collection of whispered curses from both of your mouths, “Now you beg?”

“Just please fuck me, please.”

The way his cock twitches inside you tells all you need to know on how he feels about your words.

Curls brush the side of your neck as he reaches to bite at your lobe, grunting and moaning into it while speeding up his hips so much your own moans become stuttered and desperate.

As the end nears, Gawain presses his lips to yours, nearly missing in his eagerness, and opens his mouth as if to say something but no words leave him, only a loud moan of your name ringing across the cave just as your body does the same.

Your mind is eerily quiet as you come down, blinking eyes you don't recall closing and feeling the next king breathe against your naked chest while gathering himself. After a moment he raises himself on shaky arms to gaze down at you, hand reaching to brush a stray hair from your cheek and sighing as if suddenly, all is right in the world.

#sir gawain #green knight #dev patel #dev patel x reader #green knight x reader #gawain x reader #sir gawain and the green knight #the green knight #sir gawain x reader #gawain smut #green knight smut #smut

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igotanidea · 11 months ago

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The fear : Jason Todd x fem!reader part 8

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

***

„You good?” Damian asked taking in her pale face and hurt eye expression.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She muttered, obviously lying. Even despite her experience-enhanced skills in the art of deceiving it was impossible to cover up for the fact that unwanted, unneeded and unwelcomed encounter with Jason took a huge tool on her mentality. And it lasted no longer than an hour.

An hour, that took turn from open hostility to a little unexpected heart to heart that opened old wounds. Reminding of the past mistakes, lost things and casted wounds. Ruined relationship that was doomed from the very beginning.

But even though-

They fought for it.

They fought to the best of their limited abilities, despite the world that was conspiring against them and throwing obstacles their way. Damn that tears that started flowing down her face when she started dwelling in the past. There was no denying she still held strong feelings for him, though couldn’t quite define if they were good ones or the bad ones.

“Y/N…”

“I’m fine, Damian. I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine…” she repeated as some sort of spell. A lie told a hundred times becoming a reality.

“Let’s get you upstairs first. We’ll watch some silly movies so you could stop telling me bullshit.”

“Hey! Language!”

“I’m 15, you can’t tell me what to do.”

“15 my ass. Still the same nasty little boy as always only with a fouler mouth.”

“It’s good to see you again Y/N.” Damian smirked

“Yeah, you too, kiddo.”

“You do realise you won’t be heading back home tonight, right?”

“What? Huh! You’re gonna keep me captive now or something?”

“You voluntarily got yourself in the house full of vigilantes, the heck were you thinking?”

“I could argue on that voluntarily part but-“

Regardless of what she said, it was evident that Damian has grown during the time they didn’t see each other. Not only in height, but also mentally. And it only made her realise the full amount of things she lost.

Not just the man she loved, but also priceless time with her best friends Wayne boys.

While Y/N was getting drunk and laughed with Dick, Tim and Damian upstairs, Jason refused to step a foot out the batcave as long as she was still in the manor.

Fuck her.

Fuck her help, her words, her gestures, her eyes and hair, her smile and her coming for the rescue attitude. Who the hell she thought she was?! Paw patrol?!

The anger started boiling in him again, threatening to take over.

Anger at everything, but mostly at himself for getting so vulnerable and honest with her, to the point when he asked her to fucking take him back.

Pathetic. Foolish. Idiot.

“Aghghhg!” he jumped from the chair kicking it with all the rage he had, nearly breaking the metal.

Fighting the urge to destroy all that stupid batcave – the real reason of his fucked up life and psyche. He could have been a normal boy being in a relationship with the girl of his dreams. Instead he had to die (leaving her in tears), come back (leaving her in tears), suffering from the Pit madness (leaving her in tears) and due to this fucking fear gas incident loose her again (leaving her in tears)

“FUCK!” he grabbed the chair and threw it on the floor “FUCK!” he yelled, throwing all the stuff from the nearest desk “FUCK!!!” he pulled at his hair, hard enough he could be left bald.

He had no idea what he wanted.

So fucking angry, horn-mad, charged with hands itching to punch something, someone, to destroy, hurt, kill…

Stop…

“Huh?! Get the fuck out of my head Y/N!!” he yelled in the air, his voice echoing through the empty space.

Stop, Jason…

Right. Stop. He was past his killing days. He was not a monster. Not a beast.

He changed. He grew up, matured, became a man and not a boy.

He had to get a hold of himself.

Move past the past.

If he couldn’t have her he might as well spend the evening with his crazy asses brothers, giving them his attitude, using the bad mood to banter and bicker and pick up on someone else to make himself feel better.

So he emerged from the batcave, almost in the same way he did emerge from the Pit.

Slowly heading upstairs.

To the main room, filled with surprising silence. Deafening silence that formed goosebumps on his arms and immediately put him on alert, searching for some kind of threat.

Vigilante instincts never fail.

There was some movement on the couch.

Two people, a man and a woman judging by the silhouettes.

Girl sitting on man's lap, straddling him, their hands all over each other, their lips moving together, the room filled with soft whines of pleasure and sweet whispers.

“Y/N…” the man whispered.

THE FUCK!?

Jason stomped inside without a care in the world, making the couple break the intense make-out session and look at him with terrified expressions.

“Grayson!!!” he yelled taking in the scene, his fury immediately raising head again. “Y/N!!!”

He was right.

There was someone else in her life already.

And that someone was the fuckboy - his older adoptive-brother.

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iknowher · 2 months ago

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⠀⠀⠀⠀🍬ㅤ۫ ⠀𝓣rick or 𝓣reat 𝓓ick ࣪ ᚐ ִ

art by @ baobei_bu on tmblr.

🎃ㅤ♰ ㅤ˙ㅤsum. ㅤbored before a halloween party, you summon a demon for fun. to your surprise, incubus!gojo appears, offering you a tempting choice: "trick or dick?" 👻ㅤ♰ ㅤ˙ㅤcw.ㅤsmut (18+), squirting, semen.. reader is described female, mentions about demonic rituals 😈ㅤ♰ ㅤ˙ㅤwc.ㅤ1,1k 𓉸 𓈒ㅤmy* note: the person who drew the art is so goated fr

you looked at the clock.. still a couple hours to go till the halloween party officially began. you decided the best way to endorse your time was to do a dare, of course! you went on google: how to summon demons… you figured out that it was probably fake, but it wouldn’t hurt to try. first step was to kill a stranger?? yeah no. you still had a couple of red crayons from kindergarten, and you drew a baphomet symbol. safe to say it didn’t even look remotely to what you were supposed to draw. now you just need 4 candles! good thing you hoarded bath&body candles like no tomorrow. wow, you were finally done— and the aroma spread through the whole house! time for the actual incantation… te invoco a profundus inferni… no response.. wait— is there seriously an earthquake? the whole vicinity shook around you, you were sure the earth was gonna collapse at how hard it was shaking. good thing it only lasted a few seconds. it was a strange occurrence, sure, but something else was in front of you. did it actually work?! but it was no ordinary demon now that’d be boring. you noticed a man in front of you with a sly smirk. he had white, frosty hair and blue eyes. not to mention the slutty outfit he had on. a latex bodysuit with a heart cut-out, there were no sleeves— so you could see the absolutely toned arms. his horns were a gradient of purple to black and the tip of his tail was heart-shaped. actually, you both were kind of matching— you had the same outfit, but with fake horns and tail of course. you guys were giving couple goals! anywho, his eyes dropped from your boobs heart cut-out back to your face. ‘’what? you decided to dress up as me for halloween?’’ he teased you, ‘’i’m quite endeared.’’ you furrow your eyebrows, you just found the costume at a walmart. ‘’no? i didn’t even know you existed.’’ you couldn’t help but admit he was certainly attractive, and the bulge in his probably-too-tight bodysuit was a bit too noticeable… ‘’well, human, since you summoned me and awakened me from my eternal slumber..’’ he thought for a moment, placing one finger on his chin. ‘’trick or dick?’’ you were confused, what type of question was that? normally it was trick or treat. however.. you couldn’t help but consider that he didn’t look like an ordinary demon, he had a purple and pink color scheme— instead of the normal black and red. ‘’what are you?’’ you asked blatantly. ‘’oh.. mortals nowadays… i’m an incubus.’’ what did he just say? in-cum-us? you clenched your thighs together, rubbing against your core. ‘’omg.. are you stupid or stupid. i’m a sex demon, silly.’’ he slowly stepped up to you, ‘’so, answer me.. trick or dick?’’ you gulped, looking around.. it wouldn’t hurt to do it once, and you’d have to wait for that party anyways.. so, ‘’dick.’’

now, somehow, you’re here on the couch with him on top of you. you were stripped of all your clothes, besides your horns, since he said that it was ‘’cute’’. surprisingly enough, for a sex demon, he took things gentle in the beginning. but it wasn’t long before you pleaded him to go faster. ‘’faster.. ‘s too slow.’’ he rolled his eyes, ‘’foolish.. okay.’’ he picked up the pace by quite a lot, his thick and long shaft reached every area, as if your pussy was practically molded for him. he couldn’t help but also pay attention to your tits, fondling them. you couldn’t keep in your moans, your neighbors probably heard.. whatever, you whimpered.. ‘’i’m close..’’ his smirk turned into a grin. as he started rubbing your clit, it didn’t take long till you cummed. cum x1. oh.. how did we get here? you were on your knees, begging him to let you suck him off. he agreed hesitantly, but that’s ‘cause he didn’t wanna moan more than you. your tongue licked the sides, and he already let out the most sluttiest mewl ever. you finally began sucking him off, his hand coming on top of your head to pull on your hair. sure, it did hurt, but you kinda liked it..! the tip of his cock kept hitting the back of your throat, and let’s just say your gag reflex is absolutely ass. soon enough, he let out a mewl, putting his hand on the back of your head to make you go faster. he cummed in your mouth.. he offered you a tissue to spit it on, thank god because you didn’t wanna swallow up his seed.

cum x2.. and now he was sitting between your thighs, your legs spread out and all. he wondered how many fingers you could take. he put his index finger in your hole, quickly clenching around it. your pussy reacting to him, i mean— he was much better than you masturbating to cringe hentai, you got shivers remembering. he pulled out his finger to replace with his tongue, and it felt extraordinary, you weren’t good at having intercourse at all, he already figured it out. he swirled his tongue around your sensitive nub, it sending electric currents throughout your whole body. you kept letting out groaning, till the point he had to tell you to quiet down ‘’a little bit’’. the moment he put two fingers in and hitting your g-spot.. you knew you were doomed. he was bringing you immense pleasure, till the point that you.. cummed.. well, it felt a lot different.. it felt wetter. the wetness came onto most of his face, and he was shocked, for a moment. ‘’did you.. squirt?’’ before you could apologize, he let out a chuckle.

cum x3...?

well, the story goes like this… when an incubus makes a girl cum 3 times.. he can collect your soul, in old demon fashion. you didn’t even have time to react, you sold your soul for some good ol’ sex, and now god knows what happened to you. a few hours after the halloween party began, your friends knocked on your door, i mean, you had planned to meet up with them. knock.. knock.. knock. but alas, no answer— your body was an empty husk now. all for a little dare!

TRICK OR TREAT DICK?

♡ㅤ˒ㅤ666ㅤwork by @ iknowher ,, do not plagiarize! ..ᵗʰⁱˢ ʷᵃˢ ˢᵘᵖᵖᵒˢᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ˢᵘᵏᵘⁿᵃ

#jujutsu #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen #jjk gojo #jjk x reader #jjk #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #smut #jjk smut #kinktober #oneshot #fem reader #iknowher #art by baobei-bu

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hannahbarberra162 · 4 months ago

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A Negative Outcome

Oops I accidentally a one shot that's been rolling around in my brain for a while. (Edit: but wait, there's more)

On Ao3

GN!reader, Marco (no smut).

Word count: 4.3k

Summary: You go to a pirate doctor’s office hours, hoping to get help for your ankle. You get a lot more than you asked for.

CW: All hurt no comfort. Discussions of blood.

Note: I know this isn’t really how viruses work. Get vaccinated.

You sat in the makeshift waiting room, finally finishing all the paperwork you’d been handed. Putting the pencil at the top of the clipboard, you rose and limped over to a nurse wearing a micromini pink dress and thigh high leopard print boots sitting behind a small desk, handing her the forms. They’d been way more extensive than any other doctor’s office you’d ever been to, but it was only a few more minutes of your time.

“Thank you, the doctor will be with you shortly,” the nurse said, scanning your paperwork. She flipped through the first few pages quickly, continuing to read as she took your forms with her through a doorway. You sat back down on the uncomfortable chair and took your book out of your bag, flipping it open to where you'd left off. You’d been to pop-up pirate clinics before, they were a little weird but a lot of people liked them. It was an easy way for pirate crews to make money - they’d stop on an island, the crew doctor would hold office hours for cheap, and they’d be on their way after a couple of days. It was especially beneficial to islands like yours that lacked medical resources and had to do with home remedies most of the time. It also helped pirate crews maintain good relationships with islands they wanted to come back to, instead of just looting. Some people were wary, saying it was foolish to trust pirates with anything. But you’d been to one before with Dr. Trafalgar and it had been completely fine, so you hoped for the best. You’d broken your ankle the previous year and thought it healed wrong. It was hard to walk on and hurt constantly, you were hoping the doctor could fix it, or at least confirm your suspicions.

You sat patiently, not caring about the wait time. There were a lot of people waiting, most with concerns more dire than your own. You had your novel and time on your hands, as long as the doctor saw you today you couldn’t complain. You’d heard a lot about this particular doctor, Marco The Phoenix. People raved about his medical skills and knowledge, maybe even more than Dr. Trafalgar. You thought he had an unfair advantage, since his Devil Fruit power gave him the ability to heal others. Though, truthfully, you didn’t care either way. As long as he helped you, or at least tried to, you’d be happy with the result. You sat back and waited for your name to be called. Soon, the nurse working the reception desk called your name, and you followed her through the doorway. You were surprised that you were being seen so quickly, given how non-emergent your situation was, but you weren’t going to complain.

The Whitebeard doctors weren’t operating out of a real medical office, they were borrowing a house and converted it to a clinic for a few days. You had been sitting in the living room and followed the nurse to a bedroom that now had medical equipment inside. You sat down on the disposable paper covering the bed, raising your foot alongside you. Keeping it elevated sometimes helped, but not always.

“Hi, I’m Bethany, I’ll be your nurse today.” She had a blood pressure cuff in her hand and you took off your long sleeve shirt. Bethany seemed pleasant enough as she took your blood pressure, recorded your height, and followed up on your medical history. You grew up on on an island very close to Reverse Mountain on the Grand Line. As a consequence, every virus that was endemic to different Blues came through your island. And unfortunately for you, as a kid you’d caught nearly all of them. You’d spent a lot of your childhood confined to your room, which was part of the reason you loved reading so much now, since you’d spent so many hours poring over books as you lay sick in bed. You confirmed to Bethany that yes, you'd had East and West Blue Nile virus, that you’d had Sea King flu, as well as North Blue Pox and South Blue Foot and Mouth. Fortunately, that meant you had immunity to all of these viruses as an adult and hadn’t been sick in a decade. Bethany finished up her questions and routine procedures, handing you a cloth gown.

“Go ahead and change, the doctor will be with you shortly.” You took the gown but gave her a quizzical look.

“Are you sure? My problem is with my ankle, I don’t -” Bethany smiled and cut you off.

“Marco is a thorough doctor. Change into the gown, please.” You shrugged and agreed. Maybe you’d get a physical and orthopedic appointment for the price of one. You changed quickly, not wanting Marco to catch you half dressed, and sat back down on the bed, fiddling with the hem of the gown. You didn’t have to wait long before there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” you replied. A man with a mop of blond hair at the top of his head and red glasses on his face poked his head through the door.

“Good morning yoi,” replied the physician. He was just as good looking as he was in his wanted posters, you thought to yourself. He had your papers in his hands and was flipping through them much like the nurse before. “Wow, quite the list of illnesses. How are you feeling now?” He sat on a chair that was too small for his tall stature, looking at you over his glasses.

“Pretty good. I don’t get sick anymore, since I’ve had basically every virus in the world,” you joked. “But I broke my ankle last year and I don’t think it set right. There wasn’t a doctor on the island at the time and the barkeep that did it -”

Marco looked at you askance, tutting at you. “You let a barkeep set your ankle yoi?”

“Well, yeah. There wasn’t anyone else to do it and besides, he sets everyone’s bones. I think it turned out wrong. I can’t walk that much before it starts hurting.” Marco looked at you more closely than before and you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he wasn’t thinking about your broken ankle. Marco set the clipboard down on the bedside table that was doubling as a medical stand and unwound his stethoscope from around his neck. You shifted backwards slightly, suddenly uncomfortable, though you couldn’t say why. You felt the urge to bolt and leave this room behind but you squashed it down. Marco had done nothing unprofessional so you forced yourself to relax. Maybe just being in the presence of a notorious pirate had you on edge, you rationalized to yourself. For his part, Marco didn’t react or mention anything and put the buds of the stethoscope in his ears and put the diaphragm of the stethoscope on your chest.

“Deep breaths yoi,” he said to you soothingly. Your heart was racing but he didn’t remark on it. He hummed and made a note on your paperwork then moved the diaphragm to your back. The gown was partially open in the back by design, so you felt his bare hand graze your skin. You shivered, wishing you were still in your own clothes. Marco made a few more notes and wound the stethoscope back around his neck.

“Heart and lungs are healthy,” he remarked, putting on medical gloves. Marco reached to open your gown at the back and you jumped back in surprise.

“No need to worry, just checking you for scoliosis, rashes, and palpating some organs.” You didn’t need those things, you knew you didn’t have scoliosis or a rash. But you let Marco run his fingers over your spine, check your skin, and feel your lower back and side.

“Kidneys, liver, and skin are all healthy.” Marco said after grabbing a phlebotomy kit. He opened it and arranged the vials and needles on his makeshift tray.

“I’m glad to hear that but my ankle is what -” Marco stopped his movements, looking down at you from his superior height.

“Where do you work yoi?” Marco asked evenly, putting a vial down gently. You had a feeling this wasn’t just for casual conversation.

“Oh, um. The cobbler shop.” Marco nodded.

“I see. And when customers come to the cobbler, do they get to tell the cobbler how to fix shoes? Which tools are needed for every repair?” Your throat was dry as you answered.

“No.” Marco nodded again.

“That’s correct, they do not yoi. So just like I don’t come into your work and tell you how to fix shoes, you don’t know what’s needed in this medical appointment. Right?” He said the last word with a smile but it felt like he’d just gutted you with his words.

“Right,” you echoed back to him. He’d get to your ankle when he got to it, you guessed. Marco warmed back up after his comment and prepared you for a blood draw.

“And you have A negative blood type, right? Pretty rare yoi. Only about 6% of people have it.” Marco tied off a tourniquet and was prodding his fingers at your veins, determining the best one to draw from. You’d always been told you had good veins, he would be able to stick you easily.

“Yeah, A negative. Is that a problem?” You didn’t know much about blood types. Sometimes you donated blood during blood drives but that was about the extent of your knowledge.

“No, no. Not a problem yoi. A negative is the universal platelet donor type. The platelets from your type of blood will be accepted by every other type.” He was wiping down the inside of your forearm with rubbing alcohol.

“That’s cool.” You’d never thought about it before, but that was good to know. Maybe you’d donate at the next drive, then.

“Mm, very. Hold still.” Marco stuck you with the needle, getting into your vein on the first try. Or you assumed he did, you closed your eyes for his part and didn’t feel him redoing it. You felt the tourniquet loosen as Marco took your blood. Sitting there for a few minutes, you wondered what was taking so long. Cracking open an eye, you saw Marco had a large handful of tubes he was filling. You closed your eyes again.

“Squeamish? That’s OK, a lot of people are yoi.” Marco was filling yet another tube.

“Just a little. That’s a lot of samples,” you commented, hoping he wouldn’t snap at you again.

“Almost done, just a few more.” Marco hadn’t told you what they were for, but you figured he would when he was done. Finally wrapping up, you opened your eyes as Marco removed the needle and pressed down on the puncture site with a cotton ball. “Hold this here a moment,” he told you, indicating the cotton. You did as you were told, watching Marco deposit the vials into a container. He grabbed a bandage and removed your hand, securing the cotton ball. He called for Bethany, and gave her the vials when she appeared in the doorway.

“Full workup,” was all he said to her as she walked away. Nice, it was a full physical for you. At least you’d know your numbers. “All right yoi. Let’s check that ankle.” Finally, you thought to yourself. You showed Marco your ankle and where you thought it healed wrong.

“See, it doesn’t look right. And I don’t have my full range of motion.” You tried moving your right foot to the right, but it only went over so far. Marco picked up your foot, rolling it gently. As he manipulated and poked at your ankle, you realized your foot was smaller than his hand. He started twisting your foot slowly to the right.

“Tell me when it hurts yoi,” he murmured, continuing to move your foot.

“Ow! There, please stop.” Marco noted the angle of your foot in relation to your ankle. He sighed, picking your papers back up off the stand, making a few notes with the pencil he’d stuck behind his ear.

“I have some bad news. You’re right, your ankle didn’t set correctly when you broke it. It’s called malunion and if you don’t address it, it will only get worse. More than that, if you want it to be fixed, it’s going to have to be rebroken.” You paled. Breaking it once was painful enough, you didn’t want to break it again on purpose.

“Oh, um, okay. I guess I can find someone to do it?” You bit your lip from stress as you started putting a plan together. You didn’t know anyone who could do that for you on this island, you’d have to leave the island, you didn’t have enough money right now for a trip…

“I can correct it for you but I don’t have the supplies here yoi. You’d have to come back to Moby Dick with me,” Marco said, frowning. “Normally I wouldn’t take civilians there, but this is a special case. The tools I need are there, I can take you now and we can resolve this quickly.”

“The Moby Dick? Like, Whitebeard’s ship? He’ll be there?” You hadn’t spent a lot of time with pirates, and especially not Emperors. Marco smiled at you like you were a small child.

“It’s his ship, of course he’s there yoi. If you want your ankle fixed, we need to go now.” You didn’t think it was a good idea to go unaccompanied onto a pirate ship, but you also didn’t want to live a life of pain when you walked. You hesitated, and Marco put his large hand over your knee, squeezing lightly. “If you’re worried about the pain of rebreaking, don’t be yoi. We can put you under for that part of the procedure.”

At that moment, Bethany poked her head through the doorway. “All set!” she said brightly. “No reaction, no rejection.” You were guessing she was talking about another patient’s case, since none of that meant anything to you. Marco smiled at you again, and the urge to run returned even stronger. This time, you seriously thought about leaving this weird medical office, going home, and forgetting any of this happened. Refusal was almost on the tip of your tongue when Marco gripped your knee even tighter, nearly to the point of pain.

“Let’s go. Get changed.” Marco handed you your stack of clothes.

“B-but what about all the other patients?” Surely he wasn’t dropping all those other cases for an old broken ankle?

“We have another doctor from the crew here yoi. They’ll get care too. Such a nice thought, caring about others. That attitude will serve you well. I’ll be right outside the door, let me know when you’re dressed.” You gulped as Marco left the room. You looked around, half thinking you should jump out the window. But you took off the gown and put your clothes on, knocking to let Marco know you were changed. You hobbled for a few steps before Marco scooped you up in his arms. You blushed a little at the embarrassment of being carried but you were also happy to keep weight off your ankle.

“Don’t have a wheelchair here yoi. This will have to do for now,” Marco said, referring to himself. You laughed lightly. After carrying you out of the house, Marco set you on the ground. “My turn to change,” he said with a grin. You watched in amazement he turned into the Phoenix, resplendent in blue and gold. The Phoenix was haunting in its beauty, but you didn’t have time to admire it before it grabbed you with one large talon around your middle.

“Wait, I don’t -” you didn’t get to finish your sentence before Marco took off in flight. You shrieked as you ascended to the skies, hearing the flapping of wings and watching the ground recede before your eyes. You clutched at the talon gripping you, hoping the flight to the ship was short. You felt his sharp talons pricking at your skin through your clothes, you hoped Marco knew his own strength. Flying was colder than you expected, the wind whipping at you from all directions and Marco’s leg providing you little protection. You were pretty sure Marco wasn’t planning on dropping you but you worried about it nonetheless. The largest ship you’d ever seen came into sight and you clutched tighter at the leg holding you.

Soon you were deposited, none too gently, onto the deck of the Moby Dick. It was immense and filled with dangerous looking pirates, some of whom stopped momentarily to glance at you while they loaded crates. You felt small and weak, like a sheep put into a den of wolves. You turned to see the infamous Whitebeard, sitting on a gigantic chair. He was flocked by nurses in the same garish uniform as the one on the island. Of course you’d heard of him and seen his posters. But right now he looked tired. He looked old. He was resting his eyes as his nurses attended to him. Marco’s hand landed heavily on your shoulder, startling you from your thoughts.

“Let’s check out that ankle hmm?” You’d nearly forgotten about the reason for your visit to the ship. Marco picked you up again, carrying you to the stairs quickly. The hairs on the back of your neck rose but you were a little stuck. Hopefully the healing would be quick and he’d take you back to your island. You were taken to the infirmary, to a private room. There was a lot of different medical equipment in the room, including a fancy looking machine with more tubing and empty bags hanging from it. Marco shut the door behind him and put you on the medical chair. It had padded arms with straps - you hoped you wouldn’t need anything like that.

“Before we begin, I’m going to give you two injections. For vitamin deficiencies, promoting healing, that sort of thing yoi.” Marco didn’t wait for your response, putting on some latex gloves. He took two different vials and two syringes, placing them on a metal tray near the bed. Filling one syringe, he looked at your nervous face and smiled in an approximation of warmth.

“This one is B12, you’re a little on the low side. It should help you feel better generally yoi.” You nodded, presenting your arm. You turned your face away as he gave you the injection. You didn’t know what B12 had to do with your ankle but it couldn’t hurt. Marco put the empty syringe on the tray and took the other, filling it from a vial containing a clear liquid. This time Marco didn’t say anything, just injected your other arm.

“What’s that one for?” you asked. You suddenly felt drowsy, maybe you were more tired than you thought.

“You don’t want to be awake for the re-breaking, do you? I thought it might be easier this way,” Marco replied evenly. You felt an undercurrent of panic as your eyelids drooped closed. You didn’t think you'd fall asleep so quickly or that Marco would anesthetise you without warning. But you couldn’t fight the overwhelming urge to sleep that overtook you like a tidal wave.

You woke up some time later, rolling your head around on stiff shoulders. It took a moment for you to register where you were any why. Your ankle felt great, better than it had in over a year. You looked down but didn’t see any cast, stitches or even bruising. You tried to swing your legs around and stand up but realized you were hooked up to the fancy machine from earlier, arm strapped to the padded armrest like you'd seen earlier. The machine looked like it was taking blood out of your arm. Looking closely at the bags hanging, one had a yellow liquid and the other red. You jumped as the door opened without warning.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be up so soon yoi,” Marco said, holding paperwork in his hand. You chuckled nervously.

“Yeah, I um..my ankle feels great! It doesn’t even feel like anything happened to it, just that it’s better.” Marco smiled condescendingly at you, sitting beside you on a rolling stool.

“That’s the power of the Phoenix. Your ankle is all healed like nothing ever happened.” You nodded.

“Thank you, I really appreciate it. I didn’t think I would have a positive outcome like this. But um, did I need a transfusion or something?” you asked, gesturing to the tubing coming out of your arm.

“Not exactly yoi. How appreciative are you?” Marco asked, tilting his head. You felt like you were treading on thin ice, and tried to think of the right answer. You were on an Emperor’s ship, in a room alone with his First Division Commander, you needed to play whatever games he wanted in order to get out of here.

“Um, very? I don’t know how I can repay you.” That seemed to be the right answer as the corners of Marco’s lips quirked up.

“Interesting you say that. Would you like to know a secret?” You nodded hesitatingly and Marco continued. “There’s an incredibly well kept secret on this crew yoi. Whitebeard has cancer. He’s being treated with chemotherapy and it’s going well. But his platelet count is low, he needs frequent transfusions.” You were very uncomfortable, shifting on your chair. Surely this was one of the most guarded secrets on the seas, why was Marco telling you this? Your heart sunk, you had a very bad feeling about where this was going.

“We’ve been looking for a donor to keep Pops supplied with fresh platelets yoi. It’s harder than you think to find someone in good health with an A negative blood type, the type for universal platelet donation. But it’s the duty of the son to help the father, no matter the cost.” Marco looked at you expectantly. “Not only do you have the right blood type but you’ve built immunity to an incredible amount of viruses from all over the world. It’s like the seas themselves sent you to us. While you were under, I took the liberty of extracting some of your blood for platelets. You don’t mind, do you? After all, I did fix your ankle.” Marco said, patting your hand. You felt cold sweat gathering on the back of your neck.

“N-no, I don’t mind. Did you get enough?” You hoped this was the end of the platelet conversation and you’d be free to leave soon.

“Pops is about four times your size. So we got enough for one dose, but we’re going to need three more for today yoi. Each dose takes about 90 minutes to two hours to extract from the body. Luckily, Pops had a great reaction to the first round. Said he feels better than he has in months. We're hoping your blood boosts his immunity to viruses while he recovers from his medicine. Isn’t that wonderful?” Marco was staring at you without blinking. Small wisps of blue flames were gathering around his shoulders, giving him a threatening aura.

“Yeah, t-that’s wonderful. I’m glad I could help.” You weren’t, you wanted to rip the tubes out of your arms and jump out the small window.

“I’m glad you see it the same way yoi,” Marco said, now holding your wrist tightly in his hand. “I knew you’d be open to helping us the same way I helped you. You’ll need to stay hooked up to the apheresis machine for another 3 hours. I’ll heal you part way through and replenish your platelets. That way we can have as much as we need for Pops. I even brought you the book you were reading earlier.” Marco placed your novel on your lap as you felt the blood drain out of your face. You didn’t want to be used as a living blood bag, no matter how much reading you could get done.

“B-but after that I can go back home, right?” Marco smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. He moved his large hand so it settled on your throat. He put some weight on it but didn’t restrict your breathing. He didn’t need to, the threat was clear.

“Platelets go bad after about five days yoi. And Pops needs a new transfusion daily when he’s receiving his medicine. So, no. You’ll be staying here, with us. It's only about six hours of your day, can't you do that for an Emperor? Aren't you happy to be helping someone as strong as Whitebeard? Besides we’ve already left your island, we set sail about three hours ago. ” He squeezed the column of your throat lightly, baring his teeth. You couldn’t look away even as tears welled in your eyes.

“Life is such a delicate thing. The smallest things can upset the balance yoi. One could become quadriplegic with only a tiny injury to the spine. Or you could wither away for years, given the bare minimum of food and water to maintain health. And so little is needed to keep someone technically alive. All you need is some lower brain function, could be in a coma. Little more than a breathing bag of organs, but alive nonetheless. Don’t you find that interesting?” Marco’s eyes bored into your own, forcing you to listen as his hand still rested on your throat. He was demanding an answer, demanding you understand exactly what he was saying.

“Yes,” you whispered. Marco removed his hand from your throat, cupping your cheek. He rubbed his thumb along your cheekbones, almost tenderly.

“But I don’t think any of that would happen to us, would it? We’re going to help each other for as long as it’s needed, isn’t that right?” Tears fell down your cheeks as you nodded, sealing your fate.

#x reader #reader insert #no comfort #op marco #mentioned whitebeard pirates #whitebeard crew #all hurt no comfort #tw blood #tw kidnapping

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targquill · 2 years ago

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aemond being bad at love headcanons:

summary: aemond struggles with showing affection to his betrothed, but he tries his best.

warnings: unhealthy relationships, possessive behavior, manipulation (sort of??), smut (very short)

a/n: it’s been ages since I last wrote any type of fanfiction, so I’m a little rusty. also, English is not my first language and there might be some mistakes. my requests are currently open!

Aemond knew marriage was part of his royal duties, and he intended to play his part accordingly but he dreaded the thought of dooming you to a lifetime of misery.

Even before being maimed by his bastard nephew, he was rather shy and awkward around people, but the scar on his face made everything worse by inspiring fear or disgust - often both - to whoever interacted with him.

Growing up, he preferred to be alone and there were very few with whom he had exchanged more than a few words - mostly his family, Sor Criston and Vhagar.

When Aemond went to your house’s seat to be introduced to his betrothed, the first thing that caught his attention was the shy smile on your face. It wasn’t a nervous nor an overly practiced smile, but a genuine one to match the “nice to meet you” that left your lips while curtsying. He did not allow himself to smile back, but deep down he hoped you would not grow to hate the sight of him.

Once you were taken to the Red Keep to wait for the marriage, Aemond started to ignore you. Part of him wanted to approach you, but he would rather not put that ounce of sympathy you had showed him in danger by being in your presence any longer than necessary. The prince did not know how his personality would be perceived, and he was not confident enough on his poor socialization skills to court you the way a proper lady deserved.

He would pretend not to see when you waved at him or quickly turn his attention to something else - even if there wasn’t anything else to focus on - whenever you addressed him. He thought it wouldn’t take too long to give up, but instead of showing disinterest, you looked more and more disappointed whenever he would pretend to take no notice of your advances.

Soon, it became unbearable. He decided to aim at the possibility of you not hating him, instead of deliberately pushing you away. It didn’t matter how many books he had read, none of them taught him to be nice. So many songs and tales of charming princes and their ladies, and there wasn’t one he could relate to. He was royal only on his blood and his name, but his ways were far from a prince’s. But if you wanted attention, he could try to give you attention.

The prince noticed how your eyes lit up the day he greeted you back on the hallways, a barely there nod of his head, your cheeks flushing red as your ways crossed. Aemond’s heart felt heavy for a second: Was it foolish of him to trust feelings? Wouldn’t you forget him as soon as the burning interest turned into nothing but ashes? The betrothal was settled, and something as small as his doubts were not enough to call it off. He did not want to end up in a marriage like his parents', but from a young age he accepted that it would be no different when the time came for him to be betrothed; but you made Aemond cling into the faint possibility of the Gods selecting a different fate for him.

It didn’t take long for him to sit by your side during meals, stealing a few glances sporadically. The prince still refrained to talk, but he would gladly answer any observations you pointed out - even if it was a monosyllabic answer or a mere “hum”. He felt relieved because it seemed pleasant enough for you and, oddly enough, it was pleasant for him too.

He found himself longing to see you every day, the people on the court completely faceless as his eye searched for you. There was nothing brighter than the smile you always offered him, as if all the light that filled the room was nothing but a weak ember upon your presence. Aemond had grown used to his days being dark and grim, but you lit a way out of such darkness, and he couldn't help but to be drawn into your light. You were his salvation, the gift he had received after his years of torment - only his.

Aemond couldn’t stand seeing you interact with the frivolous ladies of the court. Every time he saw you looking - or worse - talking to any other men, Aemond had to control himself not to kill them right there and then. You were too good for them. Besides, the prince felt conflicted when you seeked other companies when he finally started reciprocating your interest. How could you spend time with other people when he was right there?

He hated how he was perceived most of the times, but his scar and the overall cold demeanor could be useful - people were easily scared by him. Thankfully, his lurking went unnoticed by you while the ladies and the lads that were drawing your attention away from him grew more distant everyday and you would eventually find yourself with no other company but him for the rest of the day. Everything went smoothly until you caught him. You were trying to keep your lady from excusing herself from your presence and ended up following her gaze and founding him behind a pillar. It didn’t take long for you to connect the dots and Aemond saw your affection slipping through his fingers.

“I do not wish to be disturbed.” Aemond stared at the door he had just knocked as if it was the mightiest of opponents. All he did until that moment was to protect and care for you. He meant well, but the only thing the prince brought upon the only lady (apart from his sister and mother) he ever cared for was distress. He wanted to see that gentle smile again, but even more than that, he wanted to be the one to inspire it.

Aemond opened the door to your chambers and caught a brief glimpse of you: laying on your bed, face down into the pillows and a blanket over your body despite the heat. “I believe I owe you an apology, my lady.” You looked at him and your tear tainted face made his heart ache. “I did not intend to upset you.” You sat, legs still covered by the blankets turned to the side of the bed. “And what else could you intend, my Prince? I can’t imagine another outcome for shutting me away from everyone else.”

“I’m not good with people, with feelings.” The prince started, trying to speak his truth as clearly as possible “When you arrived, I avoided contact because I was certain you would despise me. When you didn’t, I didn’t know how to reciprocate and, as we got closer - if I even can say that, but as I allowed myself to be seen by you - I was afraid of losing you.” Aemond paused and looked at you. He walked towards you, just to get a little closer, but noticing you tapping on the spot at your side on the bed, he sat beside you. “I thought that the more you met new people, the faster you would grow tired of me. I deeply apologize, my Lady. Can we start over? Teach me how to care for you.” You gently reached for his hand and held it. “Of course, my Prince.”

Things got better gradually. Aemond would start inviting you for a walk around the gardens and enjoy some comfortable silence. He would ask you to watch him train, so excited to show his skills to you and glad to see you cheering for him. The prince would notice how you and his sister got close and some mornings were spent with Haelena and her children. He only started talking more once you spent a few afternoons with him at the library, where he would talk about his favorite books and even teach you some High Valyrian.

With the marriage soon approaching and your bond growing stronger everyday, the only thing keeping Aemond from stealing a kiss from you was his own spite. There was also the respect he had for you and your virtue, but the core of his reasoning was more lewd and selfish: He wanted to take your innocence, every single part of it, on your wedding night. Nothing excited him more than the thought of you slowly being devoured by lust, giving in to the carnal pleasure only he could give you. That was the plan, at least.

One night, however, as he escorted you back to your chambers after supper, Aemond did not expect you to make a move. He never stayed long at your door at that time, but you kept clinging to the sleeve of his coat. “I’ve learned something new in High Valyrian, my Prince.” You said, sounding oh-so-innocent for him to handle, eyes shining despite the dim lightning. “Have you been practicing on your own, my Lady?” He was happy to see you so interested in his culture. You nodded, hands traveling to play with his hair. On your tippy toes, you whispered to him:“Vūjigon issa”. He stoped for a second and you giggled at his reaction. “Do you need me to translate it to you, Aemond?”

The prince looked around quickly just to make sure no one was around before pressing his lips against yours. The fact you wanted him too sparked the flame inside of him and all his common sense evaporated. The kiss was slow and full of love, allowing Aemond to express the feelings words often failed to convey. You kissed him back with passion, allowing him to explore your mouth with his tongue and sighing heavily when his hands snaked around your waist. Aemond wanted to stay at your embrace forever but as soon as he felt your nails grasping the hair on his nape, he had to stop or otherwise he would have deflowered you right there and then. He stepped back, a smirk on his face as he beheld your flushed complexion. “Soon, my Lady, I will do more than kiss you. Look forward to our wedding night.”

The noises from the feast were loud, but the only thing you could hear as Aemond lead the way to your shared chambers was the blood throbbing on your ears. He took his time to reassure you and kissed all of your doubts away, each brush of his fingers burning your skin with desire. All your live, you heard that sex was something to be endured in order to conceive heirs, but when your husband found shelter between your thighs and explored you core with his fingers and his tongue, it seemed more like a blessing. He was gentle when entering you, but once you had adjusted he lost himself on the pleasure and fucked you hard and deep and fast, marking the skin of your neck, hips and waist. He rested his forehead against yours after he came, staying inside a little longer and left soft kisses on your face and neck. After some time, you did it again. And once more before you fell asleep in his embrace.

The married life with Aemond was a little bit more peaceful. Of course, as any other couple, arguments happened. At a particular night, Aemond had been a little too harsh with his words, something he hadn’t done in a while. You were genuinely hurt, but time made you understand your husband’s ways and how he never truly meant his cruel words.

“My Lady, I hope you are aware that I do love you.” He said, after joining you in bed. Aemond would take a strand of your hair on his fingers or brush his thumb on your cheek. “I’m learning how to demonstrate that properly. I promise you that your patience with me will be worth it, I’m trying to become the husband you deserve.”

He knew how to make your heart ache with compassion for him. There was no way you could be mad at Aemond for too long, not when you knew how hard he was trying. “My dear, troubled husband, do not be so hard on yourself. I love you too.”

#a.: writing #hotd #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen hcs #headcanon #hotd headcanon #aemond targaryen headcanons

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sorrel-leaf-vespers · 6 months ago

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Good [timezone] DoaI Sitcom AU Tumblr, have some Simon (recommend you read this post beforehand if you want context!

Alex had found a way to climb up to the roof of the house near the barn. They had been sitting up there all night, using the moonlight to try to jot down their asylum-raid plan. Clyde was getting more restless by the day, worried sick about Winfrey. Alex knew they had to get Winfrey out of the asylum soon. It might have been the only way to keep Clyde from charging headfirst into a fight they might not have been able to win. Alex didn’t doubt its abilities, but one Veldigun against countless caretakers was a fight they didn’t want to risk.

There was also the issue of Alex’s Veldigun sickness. They had noticed their fingers had started developing stripes similar to those on Clyde, Simon, and Flock. They had started having some back pain, maybe from where spines would start to grow in. They were starting to get more energetic at night and lethargic during the day. Other than that, there had been no negative side effects, miraculously. They had already discussed things with the other three- er, two, since it wasn't like the Flock could contribute much to the discussions. It was an oddity. The working theory was that Alex’s prolonged exposure to Clyde had made them immune to the side effects. There was no way to prove it, but it was enough of an explanation for Alex.

“What are you doing?” someone asked.

Alex turned around. Simon was climbing onto the roof. “Oh. Hi, Simon. I’m working on the breakout plan.”

Simon looked over Alex’s shoulder at the notebook. “Mm. I see.”

“Are you still sure you don’t want to come?”

“Even if they are caretakers, I don’t want to risk hurting a human.”

Alex nodded. “You know, I don’t know too much about you, despite the fact that I’ve been in your barn for a while. What’s your story?”

“My… story?” Simon chuckled nervously. “Well, what do you want to know?”

“Mostly about you. Why do you wear the costume?”

Simon stared at Alex for a few moments, then sighed and sat down next to them. “Well… you know what Veldigun look like. Most humans find them intimidating. Terrifying. The costume makes me more approachable. I can hide in plain sight. There are a few more... personal reasons... but it’s how I’ve been able to learn so much about humans.”

“Why do you want to study them?”

“The same reason you want to study Veldigun. They’re a fascinating species, and I want to learn all I can about them in order to understand and coexist with them. I’m vehemently against harming them, as you know.”

“Why is that?”

Simon went silent. “... I regret doing so.”

“You what?”

“There’s a question I’ve been dodging since we met. I…” Simon heaved a sigh. “Hell. You remember when Clyde called me a hypocrite?”

Alex nodded.

“It sees me as such because I did originally target humans. In my earlier days, I was wandering through these woods, starving and alone. I came across this house and this barn. I thought maybe I could use this place for shelter. It was the middle of the night, so I felt safe. I snuck into the house and started exploring. I went upstairs, and I found…” Simon’s posture shifted, making him appear much smaller. “There was a young boy in one of the bedrooms. I was young and inexperienced, and naive and foolish as all Hell, and… God, this is going to be hard for me to say…”

“You killed him?”

Simon nodded. “I didn’t fully understand the consequences of my actions back then. I was starving, and I just… without a second thought, he was gone. In the next room, I found his parents, and… they suffered the same fate.” Simon wrapped his arms around himself. “I was content for a bit, but then I got to delve into their minds, as you can figure. What I discovered about them was not what I expected. These were unique creatures, with complex lives and fascinating experiences. They were curious, perceptive, intuitive. They were… a lot like us. Like Veldigun. I immediately began to regret what I had done. I saw that humans needed to be protected. I swore off hurting any more. That’s also why I decided to settle on this farm. So their minds can remain here for as long as I can allow.”

Alex didn’t say anything. What could they even say? Simon very clearly regretted what he had done, treating it like a genuine mistake. He clearly loved humans. “So is that why Clyde called you a hypocrite and treats you like a rival?”

Simon was silent for a few moments, then nodded. “It sees humans as nothing but a food source. Though, with you entering the picture, I wonder if its perception has changed. If there’s one thing that Clyde is motivated by, it’s food. Maybe giving it a pre-prepared meal and a source of shelter got you on its good side. That is what you wanted, no?” Simon chuckled a little. “I am the protector of humanity, and Clyde is its adversary. I’ve accepted it at this point.”

“What about Winfrey? Clyde has refused to talk about them in detail, but Winfrey seems to be a pretty big motivator.”

“Winfrey?” Simon glanced around at the surroundings. “I feel bad talking about Clyde behind its back, but… yes, I suppose that Winfrey would also be a big motivator for Clyde to take action.”

“Are they close?”

“You could say that. They’re… I suppose there’s no other way to say it. They’re romantically involved.”

Alex almost fell off the roof. “They’re WHAT?”

“Yes. Winfrey is the most important person in the world to Clyde. No doubt if it didn’t have you to restrain it, it would have raided the Asylum already. And to be honest, I think we should stop the discussion there. If Clyde doesn’t want to talk about it, it may not appreciate me disclosing this information.” Simon paused. “Although, as much as Clyde and I may bicker, thank you for keeping it safe.”

“It’s no problem.” Alex turned back to their notebook. The stakes had just been raised.

Simon stood up and stretched inside his costume. “The sun is coming up. I think I’ll go wrangle the Flock and get it inside to sleep.”

“Seeya.”

“I’ll report back soon.”

Simon slid off the roof and down into the house. Alex leaned back. Wow. What an evening full of discoveries that made this mission even more important.

#doai #doai sitcom au #sitcom au #dreams of an insomniac #doai alex williams #alex williams doai #simon doai #doai simon #clyde doai #doai clyde #winfrey doai #doai winfrey #fic #au

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starryeyedjanai · 2 years ago

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Be still, my foolish heart part 4

@steddie-week day 4

familiar: 1114 words

part 1, part 2, part 3

Steve finds out that Eddie's not doing well from Dustin.

He’s been avoiding him - avoiding Eddie, who’s also avoiding him.

He didn't want to think about it, about why Eddie’s avoiding him, so he started avoiding hanging out with everyone when he knows Eddie will be there. If he doesn't see him, he doesn't have to think about the fact that Eddie doesn't want anything to do with him.

But then Dustin shows up.

He shows up at Steve's house, begging him to help. He doesn't know what’s wrong, but something is wrong with Eddie, he says.

He says Eddie won't eat, won't drink any animal blood, and Dustin doesn't know what to do.

Steve's heart is firmly in his throat as he listens to Dustin talk about how Eddie’s wasting away inside his house instead of hunting, instead of feeding.

Dustin apparently brought Eddie a squirrel he caught and he turned him away, said he wasn't hungry, but he’s so pale his skin is nearly translucent.

This is happening because of him.

He’s avoiding drinking because of what happened with Steve. Was he so horrified by Steve's reaction that he can't even stomach blood from animals anymore? Was he so turned off by the thought of Steve liking it that he’s hurting himself this way, depriving himself of the one thing he actually needs to stay alive?

It makes Steve's head spin, thinking about Eddie being so utterly disgusted by him.

But he has to help. He can't sit by and let Eddie continue to not get what he needs to survive and he hates seeing Dustin so sad, not understanding why it’s happening. So he goes to him.

He shows up outside Wayne and Eddie’s house, the new government-bought property that sits on the outskirts of town. He doesn't knock, knows Eddie leaves it unlocked when he’s here during the day, and his van is parked outside.

He barges inside and goes into Eddie’s room, feels his heart thump loud in his chest at the sight of Eddie curled up in his bed, looking pale and weak from the hunger, a sheen of sweat on his face.

He almost wants to ask, wants to know if he’s the reason for all this, if Eddie was so repulsed by Steve that he’s refusing to eat. He knows the answer, so he doesn't ask, doesn't want to hear the words come out of Eddie's mouth.

He walks up to his bed, says, “You need to drink. You can't go on like this or you’ll die. That’s what Owens said. So I can go try and find you a squirrel or something or you can drink from me, but I’m not leaving until you drink something.”

He hopes it’s enough, the threat of Steve sticking around until he eats. It has to be enough.

Eddie looks at him with bruised eyes, looks at his neck, where the marks from his mouth have faded a little. It bruised like hell the day after it happened, the skin shades of red and purple. It looked like a hickey, kind of. Like someone wanted him so much they had to mark him up. Steve looked at it in the mirror for days after and sighed wistfully for things he’ll never have. It’s faded since then, the bruise and the small marks from Eddie’s teeth. He mourned it, the last reminder he had of Eddie's mouth on him.

Eddie reaches a hand out like he’s reaching for Steve. He doesn’t say anything, but it’s enough for Steve.

He comes closer, kneels by the bed, and says, “You look awful. Please let me do this for you. Dustin’s going insane. I need you to eat.”

“I’ll eat,” Eddie croaks out, licking his dry, cracked lips.

Steve reaches out for him, helps him onto his side and crawls onto the bed beside him. He’s nervous, doesn’t want the same reaction that happened last time to happen this time, doesn’t want to further make Eddie uncomfortable.

He just wants to help. So he tries to keep a lid on the loud beating of his heart as he gets as close as he can to Eddie.

He holds his wrist out in front of Eddie’s mouth because he doesn’t know if offering his neck in this position will work. And maybe being bit there was the problem. Maybe if it’s like this, Steve can control his reaction more.

Eddie opens his mouth and Steve’s blood sings in his body, remembering the way it got pulled through his veins last time by Eddie’s mouth.

He wants this. He doesn't know how not to.

He wants to help him so much, but he can’t deny that he wants this for other reasons too. To be close to Eddie, to feel that same pleasure as last time. But he’ll be better this time, he won’t make Eddie uncomfortable.

He lowers his wrist and tries to conceal his gasp as Eddie’s fangs dig into his skin. It wasn’t just that it was his neck last time. He though maybe since he’s more sensitive there, it would be different, but it’s the same now. The same, familiar pleasure coursing through his body as Eddie closes his mouth around the bite marks and takes pulls of Steve’s blood into his mouth, gulps it down.

He hopes Eddie’s hunger and weakness will be distraction enough from how much Steve is enjoying this. Because he is. As much as he wants to fight it, wants to make sure he’s not making Eddie uncomfortable, it feels good. It’s a sharp feeling at first and then the dull pain sets in and Steve likes the feeling of it so much. There has to be something supernatural about this, the way that feeling Eddie feed from him has him feeling. Or maybe it’s something simpler than that, that Steve likes knowing it’s his blood filling Eddie’s mouth, that Steve likes the pain. He likes everything about this.

Except how much Eddie seems to hate it.

He doesn’t look like he hates it now, voraciously sucking the blood into his mouth, but Steve knows it’s just the hunger. It has nothing to do with him. Eddie’s just hungry.

He hopes Eddie doesn't hate him when he’s done eating. He just wants to help, because even if it’s maybe not what Eddie wants - if he’s not what Eddie wants - it’s what he needs right now.

He refused what Dustin brought him and he reached out for Steve - that has to be enough, enough of an excuse or a reason that Eddie will listen to and not be upset about when he’s not actively dying of hunger.

#steddie #stranger things #st ficlet #eddie munson #steve harrington #janai.doc #kas!eddie #blood cw

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soleilnomoon · 1 year ago

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Sooo.... there's no way I could ever resist submitting a request in one of your events. +_+ Been hurrying to get up from bed for this, I hope I'll still catch a slot :D so excited you're doing this!!!!

Can I please have some mangos and strawberries, with a Mai Tai (Ace)? <3 I'd love to listen to any combination of the songs #3, #9, #39, #43 (sorry, but this SCREAMS of Ace; also any variant of it, like talking to a 3rd person about it), #38 (couldn't resist the combination). OMG. It's soooo hard to choose....! There's so many combi-ideas! +_+ I absolutely love this! Thank you so much for doing this event! :D

omg hiiii 🥰️ that pic is killing me 😭😭 lmaooo *shakes u* so i rewrote this like 10x i think, but it’s finally done and i am v excited for you to read it. also i’m so happy you requested, you always pick good prompts lmao anyway, ty for being patient 😊 as u know i’m slow as hell when it comes to writing — also the fluff almost killed me!!!! 💗

3.5k words (pls pls i know i know!!!! it's not my fault, i blame ace), fem reader, nsfw, 18+ mdni; fluff (it's there i promise, somewhere) & smut (and angst that u didn't ask for <3); modern au! feat. ace being a menace as usual, reader in denial (serious serious denial) of her feelings, reader's a lil shyyy ok, public sex, (slight) public exhibition, public sex, choking, rough sex, hand job, oral (m receiving), ace being shirtless is a warning, childhood frenz 2 lovers (who am i), mutual pining, reader is foolish & needs to be honest, ace needs to calm down but he never will. idk! probably more stuff idr yk the vibes. (if u see spelling errors/grammar mistakes, no u didn't bb 💕)

a warm breeze wraps itself around your arms and legs, languid and loving — a heavy embrace that unjustly suffocates, with a light sheen of sweat that belatedly appears on your forehead. your denim shorts ride up higher on your thighs the more you move around; for some reason, you just can’t seem to get comfortable. loud music wafts from your parents’ house through the open sliding doors, the beats catchy and mesmerizing, lulling you into a much more relaxed state as you continue to lounge on the hammock in the backyard. another breeze glides along your skin, making you roll over onto your back, the rope from the hammock rough but comforting.

to keep yourself from spiraling, you close your eyes and soak up as much of the sun as possible. your lips are a little red and sticky from the popsicle you ate just a few minutes ago; it helped to cool you down for a bit, but the heat is relentless and oppressive.

after graduating from college, you left home and traveled for a few years; you’ve always had that itch, a desire to roam about freely without having anything — or anyone — tying you down. it’s why you left so quickly; it’s why you didn’t say goodbye properly; and it’s why you’ve been on edge all afternoon.

you groan loudly before covering your face with your hands.

“this is so stupid.” your words are muffled and strained, your frustration rising along with the temperature outside. it’s simple — all you have to do is casually strike up conversation with him and act like nothing’s changed.

so easy, right?

you desperately want it to be, but the universe has a penchant for bad jokes and the punch line is currently on its way to disrupt your life.

“he probably won’t even come by anyway,” you continue to mumble before dropping your hands. a frown climbs onto your lips afterwards. the idea that your parents might actually be wrong, that he isn’t going to come by like he promised he would, is all too much for you to deal with.

and suddenly, you feel like you can’t breathe; the air grows thick enough to choke on, an obnoxious thudding growing louder and louder in your ears—

but before you can succumb to your unfortunate demise, someone pinches your nose, disrupting the chaotic flow of thoughts pummeling into you one right after the other. squirming around, you stare, wide-eyed, at the last person you thought you’d see today.

despite pressing his lips together, it does nothing to stop him from laughing at you — not maliciously, but he really can’t help it. your look of genuine shock and confusion is cute. really, really cute. adorable, even. maybe it’s because he hasn’t seen you in so long, or maybe it’s because he’s been waiting for a moment like this to pop up so you both can finally have that one conversation you keep running away from.

you are wholly unprepared to see ace this soon; words rush from the pit of your stomach up to your mouth, ready to fling ace’s way without restraint. but, as always, you hold back. you’ve gotten quite good at biting your tongue, at stamping out certain emotions; it’s better, easier that way.

no one gets hurt, right?

right.

with a sly smile, ace slides his sunglasses away from his face, upwards onto his hair; you were in such a daze that you barely heard him walk over. which worked out fine for ace, because he could look at you freely without you hiding from him like you usually do — a thing he hopes you’ve grown out of in the time you’ve spent apart.

if you thought you couldn’t breathe before, you’re definitely gasping for air now. lips parted, you inhale deeply as a completely different kind of heat surges through you faster than you’d like. he pauses for a moment before gently swiping his thumb along your plush bottom lip.

an insidious thudding echoes loudly around your ears, and you realize, in fear, that it’s the sound of your heart — beating erratically at his proximity and touch. talking feels impossible, so you remain silent and stare at him in disbelief.

it feels like an eternity passes before ace smiles again, your eyes track the way his lips slowly curve upward, bringing about that familiar dimple in his right cheek. something possesses you to reach up to touch his cheek, the tips of your fingers barely grazing his skin when you realize what you’re doing. you snatch your hand back quickly, a light-headedness descending upon you right after.

on impulse, ace leans down until his lips ghost over yours, the familiarity of the gesture triggering a memory so strong that goosebumps unceremoniously prickle your skin without remorse. you remember exactly how skillful his mouth is; you remember how your limbs were tangled with his; and you remember how you almost blurted out a hidden truth that you refused to admit to. he’d gone still, nearly statuesque as an unreadable look morphed onto his face; fear of rejection had you scrambling away from his embrace, nearly out of breath as you darted out of his bedroom without looking back.

remorse finds its way to you again, but your thoughts are too scattered to properly feel it. if you don’t figure something out soon, you’ll give in to him all over again — and you simply can’t do that.

however, ace has a way of diverting your plans with his whims and spontaneity.

“hey, pretty,” he says, voice low and husky, with a hint of that mischievous and boyish charm he’s well-known for; his hand on your hip is practically scalding, his thumb coasting dangerously on your soft stomach, but you don’t push him away. a soft whimper dares to slip out of your mouth when his grip tightens and you’re so sure that he’s going to kiss you — but he doesn’t.

ace straightens up and sticks his hands into his pockets, all innocent-like, completely disregarding the fact that he’s the reason why your heart is beating loud enough to rattle your bones. his cologne lingers — a rich and heavy, spiced scent with hints of blackberry — and you get drunk from it, mind a little hazy. you’re in too much shock to feel any sort of shame, and if he wasn’t so intent on teasing you for a bit longer, he would’ve already succumbed to the temptation of kissing you.

he really just meant to say hi, but you were being cute while talking out loud to yourself, your voice traveling further than you probably wanted; it was the sight of your exposed legs — curvy and soft, skin glistening almost flawlessly under the sun — that really fueled his audacity. since you’re prone to running, he did the only thing that made sense: invade your personal space. it’s the only way to keep you still long enough to talk.

or, so he thought.

“w-what are you doing here?” you ask in a panic, moving around on the hammock, eyes widening again as you shamelessly stare at his chest. he still has that peculiar habit of walking around shirtless, which is your justification for why you keep looking at him like that — his abs look more defined than before, but you refrain from touching him again.

ace completely ignores your question and instead says, “you’re hot.” he tilts his head a bit, that sly grin finding its way onto his lips again when you stumble over your words.

“i—what?”

you sit up and climb off the hammock with clumsy and hurried movements. thankfully he has the decency to not laugh this time, but that pesky dimple resurfaces, and you have to ball your hands into fists and sink your nails into your palms to keep yourself from saying something unnecessary and embarrassing.

“why are you—” you cut yourself off, take a deep breath, and try again, “i don’t understand.”

is he joking? he has to be, there’s no way he’s forgiven you for leaving him like that; and even though he called you pretty earlier, you’re sure that’s just his way of wanting to rile you up for his own amusement.

and while you’re not entirely wrong about that, he was being serious.

he lifts his chin and motions to your chest; sweat glides down your neck and sneaks in between your cleavage. you realize, then, that he meant that you literally looked hot. pressing your lips together firmly, you decide against speaking and opt to march past him instead. you don’t get far, if anything ace only allows you to move a few feet away before wrapping a strong arm around your waist and pulling you back.

your mouth dries and you try to wiggle out of his grasp, but he doesn’t let up.

“you’re hurting my feelings, y’know,” he says quietly, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. you bite your lower lip before rolling it in between your teeth, contemplating his words. you know you’re being ridiculous, and you know you owe him an explanation — your cowardice nearly wins out, but you settle down and sigh softly.

“you’re right, i’m sorry.” for so many things, but you keep that bit to yourself.

ace only laughs again at your austere demeanor. “just kidding, i just want to be selfish right now.” something about that sets your skin on fire, although it probably doesn’t help that ace places a kiss on the side of your neck before you can respond to him properly.

suddenly, all that fight that you had — that determination to avoid him completely — leaves your body. on a sharp inhale you turn around and look up at him curiously, to see if he’s actually being serious or not; ace stares at you intently, adoration saturated in lust clouding his vision. he holds onto the back of your neck and kisses you, his tongue playfully licking your bottom lip, grinning at how sweet you taste.

you shiver and open your mouth for him as he kisses you again, slow and sensuous, your legs nearly giving out from the intensity. his hand travels down your back, its descent searing and playful; you kiss him back with fervor and enthusiasm, lips moving against his as if this is a common occurrence for you two.

his tongue swirls around yours and when his large hand moves lower to grab your ass, you nearly lose your mind. there’s an intense, unavoidable ache in between your thighs as you cling onto him desperately, whimpering softly against his lips. he told himself he’d take it slow, but the way you’re reacting to him only confirms what he’s always known: you want him just as much as he wants you.

it’s in between heated tongue kisses that ace suggests a change in location. dazed and slightly confused, you feel yourself nodding as he tugs you along with him, anticipation making you stumble over your sandaled feet. he has half a mind to just carry you back inside, but you eventually keep up with his long strides. you hide behind ace when your parents step outside, boisterously chatting with a few of their guests as they sit at the table on the deck underneath the large awning. you’re glad they barely take notice of you — they’re halfway drunk already — and ace laughs at your demure behavior, prompting you to pinch his arm playfully and shushing him. it’s your feeble attempt at sneaking by without anyone interrogating you.

when you successfully make it back into your house, you let out a sigh, embracing the cool air.

“that was close,” you say out loud and at ace’s puzzled expression, you motion to your parents outside, “they almost saw us.”

he blinks slowly and lifts a brow. “so?” ace has never been one to hide like that, so he’s unsure why you want to.

“what do you mean ‘so’?” your face burns as soon as the words leave your mouth; you’re not sure why you’re feeling bashful, but it becomes harder and harder to look at ace. maybe it’s because you’re so aroused that you’d let him fuck you in the kitchen without complaint, or maybe it’s because you can’t come to terms with your feelings for him.

or, maybe it’s a combination of both.

either way, ace doesn’t know why you care.

sighing loudly he walks out of the kitchen, fully expecting you to follow — and you do. you’re unsure if you’ve said the wrong thing; actually, you know you’ve said the wrong thing, but before you can apologize, ace pushes you against the wall, hands placed on either side of your head as he cages you in.

“who cares if anyone sees?”

he’s right, you know that; it doesn’t make it any less embarrassing. but when he presses places a kiss on your neck, you melt — heart beating faster than necessary, making you dizzy with want. you place your hands on his chest, his muscles firm under your soft touch; ace inhales sharply when you bring your hands lower, his cock stiff and heavy in his shorts, an irritating reminder that his self-restraint is dissipating quickly.

later on, when you reflect on this moment, you’ll chastise yourself about how impulsive you both were — fucking in your hallway while your parents entertain guests not even forty feet away — but for now, you just want to indulge in the fantasy and not think about anything.

ace grabs your wrist clumsily, suddenly remembering himself while halting your movements. you blink at him, confused and anxious; maybe he changed his mind about everything? maybe this was payback for the last time you were together — and, if you’re honest, you can’t exactly blame him. swallowing hard, you relax your face and opt for a more neutral expression.

normally much more forthcoming with his wants and desires, ace hesitates, momentarily, dark brows furrowed as a frown settles onto his lips.

“maybe we shouldn’t…,” he closes his eyes and presses his forehead against yours, inhaling deeply, your perfume immobilizing him temporarily before he speaks again. “you deserve better than me.”

you sit with his words for a moment but it’s not long before your hands work at tugging his shorts and underwear down. he looks at you, light brown cheeks flushed slightly when he notices the way you’re staring. you knew he was big, but goodness — still, you don’t let that deter you, and wrap a hand around his cock and slowly stroke it. ace lets out a quiet groan and it encourages you to move your hand faster.

with a soft peck on his lips, you say, “that’s not for you to decide.” which is all you’ll say on the matter. your feelings for him were too big for you to handle before, but now — now that you’ve been forced to confront your own damn self, a belated sense of clarity falls over you. it was never easy to convey your feelings into words when it came to him, but you’re very sure that he’ll understand you now.

ace’s hips jut forward when your grip around his cock tightens; he lets out a low hiss, doing his best not to be too loud since you’re so adamant about not getting caught. pre-cum spills from his slit, down onto your hand; a fascinating sight that has you sinking to your knees without much thought and replacing your hand with your mouth.

at that he moans much louder than he means to, but once your plush lips wrap around the thick head of his cock, he stops caring.

“fuck,” he breathes, leaning against the wall for support as you flick your tongue against his slit — a dangerous move, but one that you make with the full confidence that ace would, in turn, fuck you like you’ve always wanted him to.

you run your tongue down his length with gusto, as if his cock was an addictive summer treat. and, maybe it is, because you open your mouth and bob up and down his length. you use your hands for what you can’t fit in your mouth, moaning around him as you press your thighs together. your mouth is sinfully warm and wet — forbidden, almost; he grabs a fistful of your hair, holding you steady as he thrusts his hips forward.

holding onto his thighs, you slacken your jaw and keep your tongue flat, arousal building as he fucks your mouth. he knows he should be gentle, but he’s reached his limit and you’re being so compliant — he can’t really help himself. not that you mind, your panties are already damp from your slick arousal; his movements are rushed and purposeful, but you enjoy the way he’s seemingly lost control of himself.

you gag around him, breathe deeply through your nose, and ignore the tears that spill down your round cheeks. ace moans your name and your heart expands pitifully in your chest, warmth traveling all along your body. he knows he’ll never last if he keeps this up, so he pulls out of you without warning. you nearly fall over but you hold onto him, looking up at him curiously, long lashes tantalizing and mesmerizing as your tears start to dry.

he pulls you up to your feet and kisses you again with a hand wrapped around your throat; he gives it a teasing squeeze and you moan against his lips. it doesn’t take long before you unbutton your shorts and pull them down with your panties — your thighs trembling with each passing second. you wrap your legs around him possessively when he picks you up; the kisses grow more urgent and sloppier, your heart threatening to kill you mercilessly with how hard its beating.

this must be what dying feels like, you tell yourself, although when he rubs the tip of his cock in between your slick folds, you buck your hips forward and beg him to stop teasing you.

since he’s not that cruel, ace lines the head of his cock with your entrance and inches forward; sucking in a bit of air, you hold onto him tightly, and when you relax, ace thrusts into you. the moan you let out is absolutely indecent, your pussy a lewd, greedy thing that swallows his cock without much issue. with long strokes, ace knocks his hips against yours, a strangled cry slipping out of you unexpectedly. ace kisses you again and again — an attempt to keep you quiet — but soon, his strokes get shorter and frenzied as he fucks you harder, almost like he wants to incapacitate you with an orgasm.

you wouldn’t mind going out like that, especially when ace is fucking you like that, balls slapping against your ass loudly, mouth hungrily searching for his while you harshly drag your nails down the back of his neck. he doesn’t mind as the pain is minimal, and he likes the idea of you marking him the way he’s marked you.

it becomes increasingly difficult to keep quiet, but you’ve long forgotten why you needed to keep quiet in the first place. your saving grace is that your parents and their friends are more intoxicated than you originally thought and are in their own world as they laugh and dance outside. somewhere down the line, you lost your common sense — you suppose it happened when ace came to find you earlier — and because of that, you let go. your cunt squeezes around him tightly, your arousal coating the length of him; ace angles his hips and his cock reaches a spot that’s deep enough to make you babble at him incoherently.

he laughs and drops a playful kiss on your lips, his hands gripping your ass as he powers into you. a flash of white robs you of your vision, a liquid heat swirling around your lower abdomen as you cum hard with his name in your mouth. hips rolling forward, he bites your neck recklessly and your orgasm intensifies.

“oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. yes!” you chant without restraint, throat hoarse, voice raw. he breathes unevenly, thrusting feverishly into your puffy pussy, his own orgasm finding him shortly after.

ace groans as he presses open-mouthed kisses down your throat, your whines saccharine and enticing; there are so many things he wants (and needs) to say, but he pushes that aside, deciding to enjoy this moment with you instead. you pant lightly and hold onto him, heartbeat slowing until it matches his. you should probably hurry up and get dressed, since there’s no telling when someone will come through that hallway, but you can’t be bothered right now. you’re much more interested in the way ace kisses you again, leaving you breathless and terribly in love.

if you were privy to his thoughts, you’d know that he feels the same way and has felt that way for a long, long time — and sometimes he feels like he loves you a little too much. still, you feel much lighter now, sighing softly as you arch against him; the intimacy of it, surprisingly, doesn’t scare you, and now you wonder if maybe you were thinking too much about everything before. it seems that your problem has always had a simple solution, but you’re just glad that ace pushed you to figure it out. it isn’t something you’d normally do, but for ace you have a tendency to think and act impulsively without warning; he likes that side of you, and hopes that you’ll keep acting like that in the future.

#1.3k followers mini event #🔆💕🌴 feels like summer event 🥭💕🔆#milestone event #fic request #one piece imagine #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece fluff #one piece smut #portgas d. ace x reader #portgas d. ace x y/n #portgas d. ace fluff #portgas d. ace smut #ace x reader #ace fluff #ace smut #i need y/n to bffr bc!!! this man would have me on my knees WEAK #i'm a clown just like y/n; cut from the same clown cloth #ace x y/n

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cloudemojisworld · 8 months ago

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Greetings all, I have no idea what I’m talking about!

I was raised on Star *Wars,* but have recently picked up a fixation on Star *Trek.*

I’ve seen the first few seasons of Strange New Worlds and all of Lower Decks.

That is the extent of my knowledge.

(I do intend to further this knowledge greatly, but this is where I’m at, now.)

I’ve comprised a list of questions, and thoughts, progressing from most genuine to most unhinged.

Do I expect or demand answers? No! Not at all, you may simply laugh as you wish.

Enjoy:

•How do stardates work.

Also can I have a calendar.

•WHAT is the mirror dimension. (I mean it’s obviously a bizarro alternate universe thing but STILL)

•I keep hearing about a guy named Bones. I’m pretty sure he’s Scottish. I know nothing about him other than I’m gonna love him

•I’ve yet to decipher if Spock is babygirl or mothering. It’s one of the two

•How did the Gorn build working spaceships. They’re literally the ravenous dog things from ghostbusters

•Why are the good guy ships pancakes

(I don’t know how the warp core works, I imagine it’s that shape for Project Manhattan type reasons, but that’s just a guess)

•What is different about Vulcan blood that makes it green. Jolly rancher coded species

•I know it’s for a good reason, but I feel like most actual aliens wouldn’t be humanoid. Our bodies are NOT efficient enough for this to be the default

•I’m like 94% sure that Klingons are Japan and Romulans are Russia. I know the original thing was made in the 60s, and given the general adversity those two countries had to USS ships, plastering your fictional advisories with those stereotypes seems like a pretty good way to appeal to US audiences.

•also Vulcans are house cats

(Sorce: triangle ears, generally seen as uncaring, can purr.)

[Counterpoint, yet to see a Vulcan intentionally knock a glass off a table]

•Can you guys tell that Spock is my favorite

•The one and only hard stance I will take is that if Christopher Pike isn’t bisexual then they’re wrong

(Evidence: I mean, look at him. Also straight men aren’t allowed to be that sassy)

•WHAT are sonic showers.

My thought process is this:

I know that Sonic means fast because Sonic Waves, and also that hedgehog. Do they just blast you with sonic sound waves???? I mean I doubt it, but what do I know-

That’d be super loud, though. You’d have to wear hearing protection, but what about the rest of the ship? Do they just have something at a frequency nobody can hear, and the grime just vibrates off of you?

Wiggle dirt??????

I HIGHLY doubt that’s even close, but I imagine the dramatic irony is worth my foolishness.

•Is there some alien teen out there making a “21st century earth aesthetic!” tutorial.

(“Save the planet” baseball cap, with 20’s feather. Marvel tee. Pettycaot under jean skirt. Knee high tango boots. Facemask.)

#star trek strange new worlds #spock #Pike #Im so new to this I don’t even know what a baby Star Trek nerd is called #Dwarf star? Maybe? If not then in should be #uss enterprise #Nerd alert #Star Trek #baby nerd #Seriously though what are stardates

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dioslesbianwife · 10 hours ago

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Hi I think your villain headcannons are well thought out. I’m not too familiar with the other vaillains frame of thinking but I could talk for hours about Dio’s brain because I think too hard about stuff like this 💀 anyways I think your writing is great and I get excited whenever I see you post and I look forward to things in the future ^-^ (I was referencing your crushes one for some fanfic I’m writing at the time too).

My question for the villains is how would they react to snow/cold/winter? I was wondering how Dio would feel about it and I’m on the fence between not caring enough to have an opinion and hating the cold. Maybe he would like. I don’t know.

Of course! This is a great headcannon idea. Also thank you so much for the kind words :) , I’d totally love to check out that fanfic! Also you’re my first headcannon request so thanks again, tried to make these a bit longer than my usual headcannons, (totally agree that dio’s one of the most interesting characters to analyze)

Winter Headcannons for JoJo villains

Dio

Loathes the cold. He’s already cold all the time, so winter weather feels like an insult to his existence. He sees it as nature’s cruel mockery of his frigid, undead body. He dramatically declares that the weather conspires to weaken him but cannot succeed, yet refuses to step outside unless necessary.

If he has to go out, he wears the most extravagant fur lined coat imaginable, looking like a 19th century aristocrat. He treats the occasion like a royal event and expects everyone to admire his impeccable taste.

He’ll complain that “humans are such foolish creatures” for building civilizations in places where it snows.

To compensate, he’ll demand a roaring fire in every room and might even force “convince” some random person to keep it going 24/7. Complains constantly about drafts in the house, though he never fixes them himself. Instead, he demands the others tend to his comfort.

Despite his distaste for the cold, he secretly finds snow beautiful. He’ll stand by the window at night, admiring the way moonlight reflects off the snow.

Spends long winter evenings in front of a roaring fire, reading old books or sipping blood/wine.

Kars

Kars is unimpressed by cold weather. He views it as just another part of Earth’s natural cycles, just another challenge for lesser beings, and adapts without complaint.

He doesn’t feel the cold like humans do but finds snow mildly inconvenient for walking or hunting.

Secretly appreciates the beauty of untouched snow and might spend a quiet moment observing snow covered landscapes.

He doesn’t feel too strongly about cold weather though he does enjoy seeing some of the others not being at their best due to the low temperatures.

He appreciates the hushed serenity of winter nights, where everything feels still and timeless.

Yoshikage Kira

Kira finds cold weather to be peaceful and enjoys how it makes everything quiet and still. Winter appeals to Kira’s love of quiet and order. He appreciates how snow blankets the world in stillness, muffling the noise and chaos he dislikes.

He meticulously layers his clothing to stay warm, dressing impeccably for the cold, with perfectly tailored coats, scarves, and gloves. All the pieces match and complement each other.

Prefers to stay indoors and sip tea by the heater, reading or listening to music while ignoring the chaos anyone else may cause.

He despises anything messy, so slush, mud, or salt stains in the house are a nightmare for him. He’s particular about keeping the house clean during winter, and he’ll passive aggressively remind everyone to “wipe their shoes properly.”

Kira enjoys winter traditions in moderation, such as watching an old film or reading by the fire, but dislikes overly festive activities like loud holiday parties or messing around in the snow.

Enjoys watching snowflakes fall while standing outside, feeling a rare moment of calm and connection with the world.

Diavolo

Diavolo is not a fan of winter. He finds the cold annoying and views snowy conditions as nothing but a hindrance. Sees it as yet another obstacle in his already convoluted life. Snowstorms, icy roads, and freezing temperatures are just disruptions.

He refuses to dress for the weather, insisting on wearing his usual clothing, even if it means freezing.

Diavolo despises the festive cheer of the season, avoiding any holiday gatherings or traditions.

Enjoys the eerie silence of snowstorms. It reminds him of the isolation he prefers.

Doppio

Doppio enjoys winter a lot more than Diavolo. Doppio is practical and down to earth about winter. While he doesn’t love the cold, he handles it with a quiet sense of responsibility.

He’s bundled up despite Diavolo muttering that he looks ridiculous.

He probably slips on ice a lot but laughs it off quickly. Snow doesn’t tend to settle long where he’s from in Italy (as far as I know), so he’ll take advantage of it and try to enjoy himself.

Doppio enjoys winter for the moments of peace it brings. He likes sitting by the fire with a cup of coffee, catching up on personal projects or reflecting on the year and business in Passione.

Enrico Pucci

Pucci views winter as a time of reflection and spiritual renewal. He sees the snow as a metaphor for purity. He finds a lot of meaning in the season’s challenges.

He remains calm and composed, unfazed by the cold weather. If anything, he uses the season as an opportunity to deepen his faith through prayer and meditation. He may even take some time to fast.

He maintains his composure in all weather, dressing appropriately but without extravagance. His winter wardrobe is simple yet elegant.

Prefers to spend winter evenings reading religious texts by candlelight or sitting by a fire, contemplating his plans. He dislikes excessive holiday celebrations, seeing them as distractions, but he might participate minimally.

He greatly enjoys the solitude of snowy evenings as it’s perfect for introspection.

Likes the way snow transforms the world, making everything look clean and untouched. A visual metaphor for his ideals.

Funny Valentine

Valentine treats winter like it’s a symbol of resilience and pride. He gives rousing speeches about the strength of enduring cold weather for the greater good. He embraces the season as an opportunity to showcase strength and perseverance.

He’s well prepared for winter, dressing in layers of elegant coats and scarves. He oozes an air of authority even in the harshest snowstorm.

Enjoys hosting grand dinners by the fire during the holiday season, using the occasion to strengthen alliances or spread his patriotic beliefs.

Valentine dislikes the inconvenience of icy roads and sidewalks but won’t complain openly, considering it beneath him.

He’ll talk everyone’s ear off about how when he was younger, he’d shovel snow or how back in the military he’d gone through cold weather training. These things build character, strengthen the spirit, etc etc.

Secretly enjoys writing in the snow with a stick, leaving messages or symbols that only he understands.

My Dumb group Headcannons:

Doppio starts a snowball fight, having always wanted to try one, but Dio escalates it into all-out war. Kars refuses to participate but critiques everyone’s aim. Kira and Pucci go back inside. Funny Valentine builds a military grade snow fort but by the time he’s done everyone’s already gone inside.

Pucci insists on a tasteful, minimalist approach to holiday decorating, Dio adds gaudy decor after Pucci leaves the room, but Kira and Diavolo don’t want any decorations and team up to take them down.

Kira quietly takes charge of cooking, ensuring everything is perfect, while Valentine waits till Kira leaves the kitchen to make some dishes he’s personally familiar with because he’s extra like that. Dio complains if his preferences aren’t catered to.

Diavolo refuses to shovel the driveway, leaving Doppio to struggle with it while Kars criticizes his technique, explaining how easily a superior lifeform like himself could do it much faster, making Doppio’s eye twitch in irritation.

•••••••••••••

Hope you enjoyed! I love these weirdos.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #diavolo #dio #dio brando #doppio #enrico pucci #funny valentine #kars #kira #kira yoshikage #jjba headcanons #pucci #yoshikage kira

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