#ill rip your flesh off

[ethearepity]

getting characters that i dont want on my for you bc i follow people makes me explosion

[angelsworks]

Goldilocks and the Four Bears

I haven’t written for the cod fandom yet so all the 141 might be terribly out of character. In fact I haven’t written for a while. I appreciate all the people that still read my work and continue to support me. I hope you’re all doing well :)

Poly!141 x reader

Masterlist -> Here (will be made later :))

Warnings: 18+, mature themes, descriptions of torture, injuries and mistreatment, etc

Summary: After escaping from your last mission that had gone terribly wrong, your stumble through the woods leads you to a log cabin.

It was snowing. Fucking snowing.

Any belief in a deity had been long since crushed after the last few months. Well you thought it had been months. Your captors (a small but deadly terrorist group) had failed to provide you with your own calendar and clock. Much like how they had failed to provide you with new clothes to replace your own, that had been ripped and torn and become tattered to the eye.

It was stolen clothes you now wore as you made your escape. Trudging slowly through the already six inch snow, your thoughts trailed to the fresh snow adding to the existing six inches. The size 12 pair of boots were rubbing at your heels with increasing vigour. Leading you to contemplate if bruised skin could blister or not. The guard you’d killed as part of your escape had been good for one thing. Or three things actually. The ill-fitting boots, a loose pair of combat trousers and long sleeved compression shirt.

As you made your way through the terrain you felt a cold chill steadily working it’s way up your trouser leg. Slowly, spreading across the flesh, affecting any skin that wasn’t in direct contact with the trouser material. It made you wish you’d waited for a guard more similar to your stature. While the compression shirt was better than nothing, it was still thin. The flimsy seeming material now doing little to ward off the cold.

Maybe the sudden awareness of the less than ideal weather conditions wasn’t down to your stolen clothes, but the sudden loss of adrenaline. How long had you been running now? Well trudging desperately through the snow, making your way further and further into the thick forrest and fauna.

It was hard to try and map where you’d been, what direction you’d walked in and where you’d come from. It was all white. Every tree looked the same. Every incline became and decline and you’d become disoriented.

Months of abuse, of torture, ofpain. All ignored for a few short hours as you willed your aching body forward. Through trees and snow and stone. Through anything that would put you at a greater distance from them, from Miasma.

They hadn’t transported you. At least you were mostly sure. When you blacked out, you woke in the same dingy cell, on the same dingy floor. Only covered in more bruises or cuts. So you hoped you were where this all started. In Slovenia.

You’d done solo missions before. It was easier that way. One man in, one man out. No one to turn on you or leak information. With Gunner in your ear, nothing ever went wrong. Until it did.

Your objective was to gather intel. To stay under the radar before formulating the next attack. While sneaking around you’d learned just how large their operation was. In turn you’d also learned just how large their base was.

The small outpost hid underground levels. That became clear after your covert operation was blown and you were dragged down to the very heart of the multi-storey building.

Each day (if that’s what you could call them) gave you no indication of the time of day or how much time had passed. They made sure of that. In fact it was the first time in months you’d seen the light of day.

The light that you noticed was now fading apparently, as you looked desperately up into the sky. Grey clouds had rolled in, covering the majority of the sky. The sun was still peaking out from the dense overcast that was rolling further forward. Soon the sky would be covered and the snow fall would quicken.

A few miles back you were struck that no one from Miasma had followed you. You’d expected armed guards to be shooting at you and angry dogs to be tearing at your ankles. Yet you’d had no chase.

Maybe they knew you would get nowhere in the climate. That you’d be weakened by the terrain and from the violence you’d endured. They were right of course. But you didn’t let it stop you.

Even now as you’d gone further, you still felt the burning desire to survive. Granted it dwindled under the ache of your body and the never ending valley of white before you. But you wanted to live. You wanted your revenge.

The final rays of the sun had been clouded and the snow started to pick up. At least your footprints would be covered under the fresh snow. Not that it mattered if all your footprints lead to was a frozen corpse.

Flexing your fingers, you found yourself wishing for gloves. Your toes were long past numb and every injury you’d endured felt like it was waking up. Old cuts that had turned to scars felt fresh, bruises that had yellowed felt like they’d returned to their starting purple colour. Your felt heavy. You felt dense. You felt tired.

Your desire to drive on had dwindled now. The once raging fire was now only a candle. A candle that was down to its wick. The wax around it long since melted and now it was to its edge. Trying to burn the glue that chained it in place. The image made you crave warmth even more.

Was this it?

All the work you’d put in over the years. From a child you had trained for a mission you didn’t fully understand. A mission that belonged to someone else, to Gunner. He’d turned you into a soldier, his perfect soldier.

Is this how his perfect soldier died?

No it wasn’t.

So despite your blue fingers, numb toes and foggy mind, you push on. Just a little further, you tell yourself. Past these trees, past this stream, past more trees.

Your doubts evaporate when you come upon a clearing. You find a decent space boarded by snow dusted trees from all sides. They stand tall, seemingly acting as natural walls to protect those inside. The grass is covered in undisturbed snow. It’s thick and white and makes you smile.

None of it matter though because sitting in the middle of it all if your salvation.

A log cabin.

You consider the sight to be a mirage. Created from and low blood sugar, dehydration and desperation. But you trudge on, almost to a stumble speed, as you reach for the door handle.

It’s unlocked.

Despite any moral compass telling you that breaking and entering or trespassing is wrong, you ignore it. You’re hurt, aching and this is a last resort.

You close the thick wooden door behind you. Taking note of the copious locks it has. When you move inside the cabin you find that no one’s home. As quietly as you can on stiff legs, you sneak around the house. Trying to wake up the instincts you’d been trained on.

Enter a room, check your surroundings, check again. Don’t assume anywhere is empty. Threats could be hiding around any corner.

So for each room of the ground floor you do just that. Open door, check the rooms, move on. From your searching you’ve found a large living room, a kitchen, a dining room, a toilet some sort of office/drawing room. The decor gives you no clue as to who’s house you’ve invaded. There are no pictures of people, no personal possessions. It feels surreal. And wrong.

To start with you go back to the living room. Using the large fireplace, stockpile of logs and matches, you start a fire.

Again, better sense would tell you to avoid such an action. To avoid alerting anyone of your presence here. But you decide to put sense aside in a bid for survival. If you didn’t get warm soon you were sure you’d be frozen soon.

Next you go to the kitchen. You rifle through the cupboard in an attempt to find something edible. To your surprise you find the place to be well stocked. Even going as far as having fresh milk in the fridge. The sight confuses you. Send alarm bells ringing in your ears.

There are products in the fridge that are in date. Fresh products. Yet no one is home. It doesn’t make sense.

As you empty a can of soup into a pan you realise, it doesn’t need to. You’re happy to play stupid and see this as all some sort of blessing, some miracle.

While the soup cooks you fill a glass with clean, cold water. Relishing in the taste of something fresh. When you’ve downed the first glass you refill it again. This time with an intention to make it last longer.

After the first spoonful you find that you like vegetable soup very much. Almost burning your mouth as you devour it in a few minutes. Immediately it feels as though you’ve been recharged. The warmth from the fire has spread throughout the ground floor, your fingers have warmed around the bowl of soup and your body no longer feels related to a glacier.

The sky only darkens as you sit by the fire. Basking in the warmth and taking a moment to rest for the first time in months. You don’t imagine ever leaving your spot on the floor. But the promise of a bed upstairs has you moving your legs in that direction.

Before your ascent to the second floor, you strip your clothes and hang them on a drying rack you found to the side of the fire. Now left in the nude.

Upstairs you find multiple bedrooms. All almost identical, except for one at the end of the hall. You assume this is the Cabin’s master bedroom as it’s slightly larger than the others. Inside there’s a wardrobe full of clothes, a full length mirror, a TV, some sort of game station, and of course the larger than most bed.

In the mirror you catch sight of yourself. The cuts of course stand out first. From the slight turn you can muster in your neck, you can see large welts and thin cuts, bruises and scrapes, all littering the previously plain skin. From the front and behind, your legs look like a Jackson Pollock original piece.

Capturing various purple and blues surrounded by smaller splodges of green and brown. With the occasional black blob or two to really contrast the overall tone of the piece.

As a child you had a strange infatuation with your bruises. Likening them to a sticker or badge of achievement. They were easy to come by during training. A strange part of you liked the way they looked on your skin. They acted as a log book of the hits you’d taken, the falls you’d taken, any sort of impacts you’d had. They made you feel strong, maybe even proud too.

Staring into the mirror at your body again, it all seems worthless. You knew you were strong before. You didn’t need months as a prisoner to prove it.

You take a few steps forward to properly look at your face. Who stares back must be a stranger. You haven’t let your eyebrows be this out of shape since you were thirteen. You didn’t have that scar above under your chin before. Your eyes were always so bright and vivid. Not lifeless or hollow or so lost.

With newfound energy you take yourself to the nearest bathroom. That just so happens to be the en-suite in the bedroom. It doesn’t surprise you. Nothing about this abandoned, well stocked cabin does anymore.

Instead you shower in one of the nicest bathrooms you’ve been to in a long time.

At first the water has you freezing. Not due to the temperature but because of the fire it lights on your back. Every scrape, every cut, every burn now being cleaned. The cleanse sets your body alight. In a way you feel the heat is helping you to heal. Granted, all you have to show for it is a mixture of blood and grime, floating slowly down the drain. But it’s more than that.

It’s the last few months being scrubbed off your skin. Your wounds and ailments being shown that this is the end. They can heal in peace. You can heal in peace.

So you take your time. Using any products you can find; shampoos, conditioners, body wash, face wash. You’ve acquired a new razor, fresh from the packet. It’s amazing what a difference shaving your legs and various other places can do to your mood. You’ve always preferred removing the body hair. Afterwards the feeling of smooth legs under a thick duvet made all the work worth it.

The final step, bar drying yourself, was brushing tour yellowing and plaque ridden teeth. The minty taste in your mouth feels unfamiliar but it welcomed nonetheless. Wiping your tongue across the now almost pearly-whites you’re happy with how smooth they feel.

Now showered, shaved and dried, you make you way into the bedroom. Finding the wardrobe and drawers to be filled wit strictly masculine clothes. You pick out a pair of boxers and one of the large white t-shirts to sleep in. The shirt dwarfs you in size, looking more like a dress. Not one that you would wear outside though. Not with the black boxers showering through the material, or your hardened nipples making an appearance.

With your towel back in the bathroom and the lights off, you crawl into bed. Letting out the loudest sigh your sore throat could muster. Then quickly falling asleep on the linen.

It was snowing. In fact it was a fucking blizzard.

A barrage of white, dagger-like snowflakes pelted against the four men. The lack of light and the dense haze of the storm made it impossible to see where they were going. They were all thankful for the less than modern compass. Hidden away at the bottom of Jonny’s bag. When he acquired it was unknown. But the four were grateful nonetheless that the Scott had the dated equipment in is kit.

After their week long training they were ready to fall asleep on the nearest surface. The blizzard they now faced was an unexpected one. Nothing on Price’s radar Gad alerted them to such a storm.

They’d just finished their survival training in the mountains when the first snowflake formed. During the rest of their descent it had only worsened.

As the snow around them thickened they trudged on. Becoming more aware of the weight of their kit, ache of their muscles and chill in their bones. These men were tired, hungry and cold.

After more miles and more words of encouragement from Price, Gaz was sure they were close to the safe house now.

Laswell had been kind enough to let them use the safe house after a particularly gruelling training exercise. It would be the closest thing to a holiday the 141 would get this year. Before the worst of the storm it had the Scotsman joking that he would build a snowman outside. An idea quickly shot down by Ghost in the interest of remaining vigilant to an enemies surrounding the house.

While snowmen were out of the question, snowballs were not. Something Ghost found out, twice, in the back of the head. Turning to see an innocent looking Gaz and Soap.

“You’ll regret that when we’re back on base and you two are on shit duty” the balaclava wearing Brit grumbles.

Soap sighs dramatically, “Oh come on Lt. Dinnae be like that, it was only a joke”.

The threat prompts Kyle to add, “It was all Soaps idea, think he should get shit duties on his own.”

Soap gasps feigning offence, “You bleeding clipe, don’t come knocking on my door when you want someone to warm your bed tonight.”

The comment causes the younger man’s face to heat up and laughs to come from the others.

“That if we get there in this blizzard” the captain quips. Trying to keep morale, but refusing to ignore the sinking feeling that they’ve missed the safe house completely.

“How far now?” Gaz asks, determined not to start pestering like an insolent child. Yet equally determined to have a proper meal and get out of his cold clothes.

“Two klicks north, then we should be there.” Soap tells him, loud enough for the others to hear in the now whipping winds.

“It was two klicks north last time someone asked Soap, are you sure you’re reading that right lad?” Price finds himself asking. Despite his rank, his military expertise and all his training agains the elements, it doesn’t make him immune to the cold. Immune to looking forward to sitting by a fire with a cup of tea in his hands.

Laswell wasn’t one to be stingy with safe house stock. From previous safe houses he’d been to that she had set up, they’d been a home away from home. Proper bedrooms, running water, stocked shelves. Price found himself ready to welcome anything that had four walls, a roof and could shelter him and his men from the storm.

“Two klicks north Captain, I’m sure”. Jonny confirms.

Sure enough, through the dense curtain of blizzard, light emerges. A gentle glow against the black nights sky. The closer they get, the clearer the house becomes.

A log cabin.

A big one at that. The sight is inviting enough to bring a smile to the men’s faces.

“Laswell’s outdone herself this time, fuckin yaldy” soap practically exclaims. Pushing forward to the front of the pack, in an effort to get in first.

“Hold it Jonny,” Simons voice is quiet through the mask, but harsh enough that the others can hear.

Ghost points to the chimney, “someone’s here”.

Sure enough as the others look up, they too see the plumes of smoke, gently rising from the brick chimney.

“Another team captain?” Gaz finds himself asking, while reaching for the know hidden in his thigh holster.

Price finds himself doing the same, “No, we’re the only ones in the country.”

The tension in the air is thick, rivals the thick snow pelting down on them. The four of them stand motionless, a short distance from the front door. Covered head to toe in winter gear, a layer of the snowstorm attached to anything it can stick to.

“Right, there’s only one door. I’ll lead. We’ll secure the ground floor first. Stay silent, we do this quietly.” Price commands. The men nod, moving to grasp their various knives. Following their captain as he moves to the front of the cabin.

With an almost inaudible creek, Price turns the handle of the door. Pushing the oak forward, grateful that it seems to glide over the wooden floors. Allowing him and his men to breach the property without alerting its inhabitants.

Price enters the living room first, signalling for the others to spread out and search the rest of the floor. He does indeed find a crackling fire, yet no one man’s it. The warmth is welcomed, but for the time being he ignores any desire to sit near it and warm himself.

His attention moves to the drying rack set up beside the fire. Upon further inspection of the items he finds combat trousers, a compression t shirt and a pair of large boots, size 12 he gathers from the label on the tongue. The clothes are still damp to the touch, leading him to infer that the intruder arrived a short time ago.

The badge on the arm of the shirt catches his eye. He rips it off the Velcro and examines it up close. An unknown insignia, contractor perhaps? Some new found terrorist group? Price doesn’t know. It’s not one he’s come across before.

Simon searches the kitchen. The space is a decent size, dark too. He blends into the shadows as he checks the space for any sign of life. He finds a empty soup can on one of the worktops. Turning to the sink he notices a single glass and pan siting there.

Once finished in his search he creeps back to the living room. Finding his captain there, along with a stoic looking soap and serious looking Gaz.

Price raises his hand to Simon, showcasing the fabric insignia to him. With cold eyes Ghost runs over the stitchwork. Mind running through the possible groups it could be associated with.

“Any ideas?” Price asks in a hushed voice.

Ghosts silence is a loud enough answer for the group. No

“Whoever they are haven’t been here long. Their clothes are still damp. Large boots, size 12.” Price goes through the details he’s uncovered.

“Men’s?” Gaz asks.

“Most likely”.

“There’s a pan in the kitchen. They’ve had soup. Only one glass.” Ghost reels off.

“We don’t know who we’re dealing with, could be anyone. Stay vigilant. Be prepared for a fight. I’ll take the lead upstairs. Shout if you find anything.” Price commands.

The team follow him single file up the stairs. Weapons at the ready as the sneak up the steps. Footsteps light on the wooden floor.

Price takes the first door, Gaz the second, Ghost the third and Soap the last door at the end of the hallway.

While three of the 141 find their rooms to be empty, Soap stops in the doorway. After almost silently twisting the door handle and letting it slide open, he stands in silence. What he didn’t expect to find was a girl sleep in the master bed, a pretty girl to be exact.

The Scotsman finds himself lost for words. He expected to have to fight someone of his stature. Maybe larger. He expected to walk away with a bruise or two. He feels lost on what to do. Should he wake her? Should he leave her?

Meanwhile the others have gathered in the hallway. Sharing a concerned glance at their teammate.

“What is it soap?” Ghost asked quietly.

“It’s a lass. A bonnie lass at that.” He tells them. Wonder in his tone as he stares at the sleeping girl. Watching as her chest rises and falls at a steady rate. Completely unaware of the four men that have entered the house.

The men collectively frown, walking further to investigate themselves. Sure enough, after they pass the threshold of the master bedroom, they too stand frozen. A girl. Not a man, or group of men. A girl, sleeping in their bed, in their log cabin.

Completely unaware.

[missaengg]

Kitten, You're Beautiful

Day 5 of Kinktober: Visions of Temptation hosted by @xxsycamore Featuring: Love and Deepspace | Sylus x f!reader Tags: mdni, smut, fluff, mild hurt/comfort, mild angst, mirror sex, comfort sex, established relationship Prompts: Mirror Sex | "Let's see how long you can last." ao3 link here.

Your clothes didn’t fit anymore. Sighing, you pinched the fat above your tummy, grimacing at how much more flesh was caught between your fingers than before. The floor-length mirror in front of you reflected your entire body, clad only in ill-fitting underwear, back. You hated it. You hated what your body had become, the soft dimples on your thighs, the extra cushion around your waist, the jiggle on your upper arms.

You angrily sighed, eyeing the clothes you ripped from your closet lying on the floor of your bedroom. You tried on almost every item of clothing you owned. Nothing, absolutely nothing laid on you correctly. The waistband of your jeans pushed up the fat on your hips into a hideous muffin top. Your crop tops showed too much of your swollen belly. Your blouses strained against your chest and shoulders. An aggravated, disapproving growl erupted from your throat, and you dug the heels of your hands into your eyes to stop the tears prickling your eyelids from falling.

This was so stupid. You knew all of it was so stupid. You could just buy new clothes. But seeing how small your clothes had gotten made you feel hideous and bloated and unattractive. It made you hate yourself.

“Kitten?”

A familiar voice drifted through your bedroom door. You quickly reached for one of your boyfriend’s sweaters he left behind the last time he was over, a soft, cashmere pullover that used to at one point hang loosely off your body. 

“In here, Sy,” you called out, covering yourself as fast as you could, ashamed to let him see you like this. You suspected he knew something wasn’t quite right, especially because the last time the two of you were intimate, you insisted on turning off the lights. He didn’t push though because that’s what he did. He always waited for you to tell him when you were ready.

Sylus poked his head into your bedroom, his silver hair brushing against the top of the door frame. His brilliantly vibrant, crimson eyes brightened when they saw you, but wavered when they noticed how red your eyes were and what appeared to be the remnants of a scowl on your brow. “Kitten, are you all right?” he asked, his concern for you obvious. 

You weakly smiled at him, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I’m fine.” You took a deep, shuddering breath in, kicking yourself for how poorly you were hiding how shitty you felt, especially when you saw Sylus’s eyebrows pull together. “Really, I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine to me.” Sylus leaned forward until he was level with you, tenderly placing a palm against your cheek. 

You involuntarily pulled back a hair at his touch, eyes averted towards the ground. “Nothing, really. I’m fine.”

His frown deepened, especially when you pulled away from his touch. He peered at you intently, his crimson orbs searching for a sign of why you were so upset. “Sweetie, did I do something wrong? Because if I did, I–” “No!” You sighed, roughly yanking your fingers through your hair. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just that I… I…” You trailed off, feeling ashamed at why you were so upset, at having to voice what was upsetting you. You could feel Sylus looking at you, that warm, sweet, concerned gaze of his that made you feel warm and fuzzy. But right now, all it did was make you feel more shame, more self-loathing.

“Sweetie?” His thumb wiped away the tear that fell from your eye. 

God, you loved him when he was this sweet. You hugged yourself tighter, intrusive thoughts running through your head whispering that he would be repulsed by the change in your body, that he would fall out of love with you, that he would leave you if he knew, that he would find someone slimmer and more attractive than you.

“My–” You licked your lips, blinking to keep more tears from falling. “My clothes don’t fit anymore,” you whispered in the tiniest voice you could muster while still remaining audible. 

“Oh,” Sylus quietly uttered.

“I– I look awful,” you hoarsely whispered, tears brimming in your eyes. As the tears began to fall, you buried your face in your hands, unwilling to let him see you ugly cry, snot running and all.

“Kitten…” Strong, but tender hands gently moved yours out of the way allowing him to wipe away your tears. “Kitten, look at me.”

You reluctantly raised your head, flinching at how much he was taking in. He grasped your chin, and very gently leaned in to graze his lips against yours. You melted, desiring the comfort of his warm embrace. Your anxiety spiked when he pulled away.

“You’re beautiful.”

You frowned at him. “No, I’m not. I’m ugly, and you’re going to want someone younger and prettier and skinnier than me.” Sylus clicked his tongue, displeased at how quickly you dismissed his compliment. He spun you around so that your back was against his chest and the two of you were facing the mirror. He placed his hands on your shoulders, bringing his lips close to your ear. “To me, you are the most beautiful woman in the world,” he asserted, staring straight into your eyes in the mirror. “And I will not have you disparaging her. If you don’t believe me, then I will have to show you just how beautiful I think you are.”

A delicious tingle ran up your spine when he placed a wet kiss behind your ear. 

“I don’t care what size you are..”

Another tingle when he nipped your artery.

“You are the only woman for me.”

His hands slid under the sweater you were wearing, the friction of his calloused palms hot against your soft skin starting a smoldering fire deep within you.

“And I will never, ever let you forget it.”

His hands were kneading your soft flesh, the ragged breaths he was expelling erotic in your ear while his mouth feasted on your neck. You found yourself melting into his embrace, relishing the way he grabbed at you, feeling his bulge press into your back.

“I want you to see how much I love you.”

Sylus tugged his sweater off of you, throwing it behind him and bringing you back into his arms quickly. You instinctively raised your arms to cover yourself, but Sylus caught your wrists before you could. 

“Don’t. I want to see all of you.”

Your nose wrinkled at your reflection, at the imperfections you wished didn’t exist. You yelped when Sylus roughly bit down on your shoulder. 

“Kitten, I said none of that now.”

Sylus hooked his fingers into your underwear and pulled them down, taking his time, grazing his fingertips along your leg as he did so. You squirmed at how exposed you felt, seeing yourself on display both in the mirror and in his hungry, heated eyes. He squeezed your breasts.

“This is mine.”

You gasped as his hand slipped between your legs, stroking your slit from front to back, slipping a finger in. Your body involuntarily clamped down onto his finger. He trailed kisses along your shoulder, wrapping his free arm around your waist so that you were tightly flush along his back while his finger curled inside you. You threw your head back onto his shoulder, eyes closed, your chest heaving faster. 

“This deliciously wet pussy is mine.”

You felt Sylus shift behind you, the arm around you momentarily disengaging so he could release his erection. 

“This gorgeous body is mine.”

After sliding his length against your folds to lubricate himself in your slick, he slid in, taking his time burying himself fully in your warmth. The breathy moan falling off your lips caused Sylus to feverishly groan. Sylus moved against you slowly, enjoying the way your walls dragged along his shaft. Your eyes flickered to the sight of your union in the mirror. You could see the flush spread on your boyfriend’s face, the drunk look of pleasure glazing over his eyes. He looked positively intoxicated by you. 

Sylus noticed you watching him in the mirror. Breathing heavily, he nuzzled his nose into your hair. “I love you,” he murmured, tickling the spot where his lips rested. “I will always love you, no matter what because you are beautiful. Inside and out. Your size doesn’t dictate that. Do you understand me?”

You felt the prickle of tears along your eyelids again, but this time it was because of how adoringly Sylus cradled you in his arms, at how safe he made you feel, at how much his love for you felt like a gentle, spring rain on your heart. You nodded, unsure whether you could speak without erupting into full-blown tears.

“Now, kitten, let’s see how long you can last with my dick inside you.” You shivered, anticipation fluttering down your back, knowing you wouldn’t last very long. That devilish smirk he flashed was going to be the death of you, but you didn’t mind because he was your Sylus and you were his kitten, and that was all you needed in this world.

[lunarsworld]

pleasure doing business with you

pairing: business man!clark kent x reader warnings: smut under the cut, unprotected p in v, cursing, exhibitionism (slight), office nasty a/n: lowkey buns but trust i’ll be back full force soon

you rocked back and forth on your feet as the elevator went up, up, up. you swiftly shook all your nerves out of your body as you went upstairs to join some meeting your assistant scheduled. only issue was? you fucked your boss, aka clark kent, last week and haven’t seen him since. or well… about to see him now.

you step off the elevator against the cold marble, earning loud clacks underneath as you approach the large door. its presence somewhat loomed on you, taunting you. you sigh before stepping foot in the room, avoiding all eye contact as you walk to your assigned chair. however, somebody is sitting there already with a look of disdain on their face. you look up towards the head of the table to find an open seat next to clark. you huff as you rush over to your seat, feeling how clarks eyes never drop from any part of you. as you sit down, he leans a bit closer, “feeling alright?” you roll your eyes and begin to open your folders. “i’m feeling just fine mr.kent, thank you though.” you say with a smile, brushing him to the side.

clark smirks at you, recognizing your demeanor flipping as he turns through his pages. the meeting starts normal, talking about the next big steps with random things that you tuned out. you stare at the wall across from you before you feel a creeping hand on your thigh. it startles you, making you jump, until you realize it’s clark. you look at him with panicked eyes, unsure of what to do. his fingertips slowly inch closer to your inner thigh, gripping and playing with your warm flesh. you buck your hips up accidentally and immediately fix your posture again, trying to avoid any sight of the interactions from underneath the table. clark slowly dips his fingers underneath your skirt and into your panties, running rough fingers quickly onto your core. you try your best not to make any noises, but its even harder for clark. all he wants to do is praise you, remind you how absolutely soaked he gets you, remind you who you belong with.

the attention swiftly gets thrown back to him though as he pulls his fingers out of your aching cunt. he closes up the meeting for everyone, dismissing them back to their desks. “not you” he says, calling you out like something he owned. once the door slams for the last time, he sighs. you step closer, “yes sir?” and just like that you broke clark kent.

he swiftly spun you around and tugged up your skirt. he stops for almost a second to admire you in your red lace thong, pressing light kisses on your neck while he pressed his raging hard-on against your ass. you sigh at his lips on your skin before a loud ripping noise is present. you look to the floor and your brand new thong is there, in half. you whine at him with a pout, “but sir those were new!” he quickly aligns himself to your dripping hole, the feeling of not being inside you becoming too much to bear. “ill buy you a million,” he groans as he slides into your warm pussy. the way he rams into you, well it’s almost as though he’s going inhumanely. your moans are stuttered and loud as he brings his fingers to your front, rubbing your clit, while his other hand played with your tits. “fuck! mr. kent!” you moan, tears welling up in your eyes at his sheer size stretching your hole. “so fucking tight for me, holy shit. pussy was made for me.” he groans. you throw your ass back on him, chasing your high as you continued to clench around him.

your orgasm hits you like a truck, moaning loud profanities and gasps. clark feels himself grow closer and rushes to pull out when you sink yourself back down on him. “please mr. kent fill me up. wanna be full of you.” you moan as the pleasure becomes too much, his pace still rapid on your clit. and just like you dont need to tell him twice he lets out whimpers. “such a fucking good girl for me, honey. gna make you mine.” he groans, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. after he comes, he stays buried in your pussy, thrusting every once in a while making sure you were full to the brim. “i should probably go, i have an appointment soon.” you say shyly, pulling back down your skirt and grabbing your things. clark doesn’t try to stop you though. although he wants to, wants to keep you there forever, he knows it’ll happen again next week. and again. and again. it also helps him feel better to know you’re walking around crooked with his cum in you. you turn back towards him with a wink before leaving, “thank you, mr. kent.”

and he’s rock hard again.

[solardrop]

bite. (lost wip #001)

aaron hotchner x reaader

summary: an abandoned hotch smut with some biting tags: smut 18+ MDNI. unprotected p in v, undiscussed biting, hotch is probably ooc here but its like 5 sentences of writing what do you want from me word count: ~0.6k a/n: . Not proofread!! Really was just me trying to practice smut writing, this is months old and i like it but not enough to keep writing it i think sklfdjhl. I may post some more dead wips because I don't think ill be able to write something new unless i feel free of old ideas.

You don’t know what’s worse. The rough chafe of your nipples against the lace trim of your bra, or the mind melting slow tease of his cock between your folds. The pace he set riling you up all over again, yet still far from enough to send you over the edge once more.

He continues his torture despite your whimpers, pressing a large hand to the center of your back, pushing your chest deeper into the plush comforter. You groan in frustration, earning a small laugh from the man above you. 

“Can’t you be a little more patient? you’ve been so good for me”

 He lines himself up with your clit, the soft touch of the sticky head electrifying your entire body. He circles your bud once, twice, taking his time to wind a bigger reaction out of your body. Each firm circle has your center clenching, begging for the fullness and warmth of your lover. 

You can be good. You’ve been so good. You had the sore throat and knees to prove it. You didn’t even try to touch yourself while he was battering your throat, instead occupying your hands with the familiar weight of his balls as he shot his first load in your mouth. How much longer did you need to wait?

You try to raise your hips to ask him as much, but the lustful focus of his on your cunt eats your words. Hotch grabs a handful of your ass, spreading the flesh apart. You bury your face into the pillows at the obscene sound of your pussy as it parts for him. Your inner lips remain clinged together from your wetness for a moment. But he quickly runs his thumb along you, groaning at the feel.

“Aaron. Fuck- Please.” you croak. 

Your protest must finally reach his ears because he finally notches himself at your entrance. Circling once, twice before pressing into you.

It's slow at first, the stretch ripping an embarrassing whine from the back of your throat. He pulls away from you just as carefully, gripping the back of your knee and shifting it higher, reangling your hips abruptly before fucking back into you.

"Fuck-" he huffs out a breath above you, "You're just perfect aren't you?"

He lays into your back. Thick arms caging around you as his hips pick up a heavier pace. Your body jolts with each thrust. How can every time be just a little harder? Just a little deeper? It almost too much, the way Aaron's delicious warmth wrapped around you as he bullies your cunt. You can feel a bead of wetness kiss your clit as it rolls down from where you're joined. You screw your eyes shut and try to suppress the short gasps bubbling from your lips.

"Silent now? Bit off more than you can chew?"

He noses along your jaw, breathing in the salt of your skin. Goosebumps bloom across your skin. You open your mouth to berate him for his incessant teasing before a striking pain blooms from your jaw.

The bruising left from sinking his teeth into the flesh there would stress you by daylight. But right now, the only thing you're focused on is the white hot pleasure and pain searing through you.

You squirm and shake, trying to match the pace of the man behind you. But a strong arm anchors your hips back in place. Hotch rolls his hips, grinding into you as if his cock could fuck its way any deeper inside of you as he kisses along the new marred skin.

[sahisan]

★ summary: wanderer x fem!reader. wanderer becomes a whining mess while you're making love.

☆ cw: nsfw. sex with feelings. you two are making love instead of fucking (i tried). wanderer is called kunikuzushi, kuni. wanderer is a whiny, whimpering mess while he tops you. could be read as fatui scara too if you'd like. 647 words.

☾ a/n: ngh. a small present for y'all since i'm ill again.

you swear to god you forget how to breathe when you hear wanderer's whimpers.

they come from his throat, soft, shy, like he can't fathom what he's feeling right now. his hips stutter as they press against your own, and his chest rises and falls in deep intervals. the grip he has on your hips is bruising, like he is holding onto you for dear life as he plunges his throbbing dick into your warm cunt.

"o-oh archons..." he groans, burying his nose in the crook of your neck and continuing the slow roll of his hips into you. its also dizzying how his tip bumps into your cervix and his pelvis rubs on your clit. indigo locks of his hair are sticking to his sweaty forehead and god, he's trying his best to suppress his moans by biting his lip, but its clearly not working.

wanderer looks so beautiful in this moment, his eyes closed, his jaw clenched, the way he holds himself up above you. the sheer pleasure etched on his face is enough to make your heart flutter.

"i can't... i can't take it anymore," he whispers hoarsely into your ear, his breath hot against your skin. he starts to thrust faster now, his hips moving in a rhythm that matches the pounding of blood in your ears.

he doesn't want to hurt you, but the look in his eyes contradicts him. he wants this. he wants to hear you scream and beg for more. to see the pleasure and pain etched on your face as he takes you higher and higher until you come apart in his arms.

his hips are moving more erratically now, each thrust making a smacking sound against your wet flesh.

"i- i don't wanna... i don't want to stop..." he moans, the look in his eyes almost pleading as he thrusts deeper into you. his hands grip your hips harder, leaving red marks that would surely bruise later.

"k-kunikuzushi- kuni, please..." you whine, not even knowing what you're asking him for, but the way his cock twitches, becoming painfully hard inside you - even when it seemed that there was nowhere harder for it to be.

his name on your lips feels like a bandage ripping off an open wound. it sends a shiver down his spine and makes him groan even louder. but it's not just the sound of his name that makes you tremble. it's the feeling of him inside you, the way he moves, the way he fills you up so perfectly...

wanderer's fingers dig into your hips harder, pulling you closer to him, making every thrust more intense. his other hand is now holding onto your waist, keeping you steady as he fucks you relentlessly, pace becoming uneven. he wants to be gentle, he really does, but this feeling, the way you feel wrapped around his cock, its way too much for wanderer.

he looks up at you, eyes wide and filled with a mix of lust, love, and small tear droplets in corners of his eyes. you feel so good around him that the poor boy can't help but almost cry. his lips part slightly, as if he wants to say something but can't find the words.

"i- i- fuck... [n-name]..." he whines, his voice cracking slightly in embarrassment or frustration. he looks down at your flushed skin, the way your breasts bounce when he thrusts into you, the way your wetness glistens against his cock. "you're so perfect."

he lets out a groan of frustration, but keeps moving slowly. he can feel his orgasm building up, like a storm brewing. and he wants to hold onto it. he wants to prolong this feeling for as long as possible.

"i-it feels so good," wanderer whispers, his voice thick with desire. "i don't wanna cum yet... but i can't help it, [name], i just can't."

[kingkat12]

unbearable (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, handjob, alcohol, graphic imagery, angst, mention of drugs, physical violence (almost), asshole teenage boys

summary: Roman had heard your no, respected your wishes, but now you were wondering how big of a blow it truly was for him to get his sexual advances rejected-- why was he blowing this so out of proportion? was something else maybe going on in that brain of his?

word count: 11,054 (am i on the brink of insanity maybe)

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°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･seven minutes in heaven masterlist

a/n: sorry for the wait!! school is driving me nuts... BUT SO IS ROMAN!!! GRRR, enjoy!!!<333

Vladimir Nabokov, the author of Lolita, once wrote to his wife; "I love you, I'm waiting for you unbearably,"

... Waiting for Roman was unbearable, too.

Shatteringly unbearable. Images of wanting to ball up into a contortion of nothingness haunted me, and the need to become a single entity of anger and despair clawed wounds into my skin. I kept imagining I would grow extra arms to help my body become a circle, an ouroboros, but not stopping at the tail-- a snake eating itself to death.

If I could eat myself, I would. Not like an apple, not with gentle nips-- no, I would sink my teeth into my flesh and tear, rip, pull with all my might. Pull, pull, until I was nothing but a gushing wound. 

This is what Roman was driving me to. 

Is this a bearable state to be in? Constantly?

If I were to ask myself that question once more, I would answer that I no longer thought anything at all. I refused to. My brain stopped working properly the first time I saw him, anyway. Therefore none of my actions actually mattered. They had no consequence. No consequence at all, just like Roman probably saw his actions.

I should've listened to him the night we got together; "I shut down," he'd said. "I retaliate when I'm angry." Maybe I needed to be diagnozed with selective hearing? It was starting to seem as though I shut my ears whenever he spoke, only listening to the muffled sound of his voice as my pupils formed into pulsing hearts. 

Still, it seemed I wasn't the only one with selective hearing. If I closed my eyes, I could live through the moment I tried to tell Roman I wasn't up for having sex with him last night. It was like he didn't hear me, didn't register it; but in hindsight, it didn't feel like it was with ill intent. 

... Maybe this hearing thing actually needed to be addressed. Maybe we both needed a trip to the doctor's office to tell them we couldn't hear or think properly.

While we're there, I think I'd also like to have him referred to a therapist of sorts. Maybe he could learn how to communicate properly and not run off into the night when he doesn't get laid?

Oh, well-- a girl is allowed to dream. Get a little lost in her head. Sometimes, that's necessary. Especially in moments like these;

I spotted Roman beneath the bleachers with some of his friends, leaning against the metal structure. His hair was styled in the usual heartbreaker style, and the two upper unclasped buttons of his shirt allowed me to glance at the small area of exposed skin-- I spotted the vial of my blood around his neck, and the longer I stood here, I remembered how soft he was to the touch; especially when he was shirtless and on top of me. I hated how I was thinking about him like a dumb cat in heat. Still, I couldn't take my eyes off him; Roman seemed so carefree, laughing with his friends, unaware of how ridiculously handsome he looked. 

He should be jailed for walking around looking like that. For life, preferably. 

My eyes focused on the way he lazily balanced his cigarette between his fingers, taking slow, careful drags as he listened to his friend talk in the heat of the weather. Now, Roman was as different from yesterday as humanly possible-- I could still see the quiet, retreated version of him he had become last night after the rejection. The one that had practically thrown a fit about not getting laid, which quickly spiraled into what I could only categorize as a mental crisis. Had he been so shocked by getting a no that he had shot himself into existential dread? 

And why was his first conclusion that I didn't want him at all?

For a girl who just said she refused to think, I sure did a lot of it. I decided that enough was enough-- I needed to talk to him. Roman was my boyfriend after all, I should be able to do so.

Still, I couldn't remember the last time I felt this small as I made my way towards him, anxiously clearing my throat before I tapped Roman's shoulder. I hadn't managed to put much strength into the tap, and I was almost worried he wouldn't notice me--

One of his friends chimed in with a nasty grin, motioning for Roman to turn around; "Pretty girl, six o'clock," 

Roman turned his head to me, and it was clear that he hadn't expected to see me. His smile fell a little as he pulled his cigarette away from his lips, making sure to exhale upwards and away from my face. I spotted my hair ties around his wrist-- knowing he still wore them gave me a sense of ease. "Hey, sweets," Roman teased, casual as ever. "The catwalk ain't here, you gotta go down to the city center for that."

I rolled my eyes, watching the smug smirk form on his face as the rest of his friends snickered. Why was he acting so... normal? "Rome, we need to talk,"

"Well, fuck," he mumbled, turning to his friends with a playful shimmer in his green eyes. "It seems I'm in trouble, guys." It was as though he was egging them on as they all collectively ooh-ed, his loyal spectators, his royal servants. 

I didn't like this side of Roman. Jock-Roman. There were many sides of him I didn't like, actually. Or was it maybe that I didn't like myself for liking him at all? This was becoming more of a mind-fuck than expected. And if we were to play mind games, I knew where to strike; "Roman, either you fucking talk to me like a grown man, or I sit down in Daniel's lap during lunch today. Your choice," 

His head turned towards me with nearly inhuman speed, no trace of any humour on his face anymore. The sudden change was chilling-- I would've shivered, had I not expected it. The oohs only got louder from the group of boys, and I watched Roman's eye twitch as he threw his cigarette down to the floor, stomping it. Still, I didn't break eye contact; I had read somewhere that dogs battled for dominance this way. Since when were Roman and I no better than dogs? 

Roman turned to his pack; "Scram," he said, nodding for them to leave. 

They were gone within seconds. 

He turned to me, a tired look about him. "Talk, then,"

"No," I placed myself before him, watching his green eyes follow me. "That's not how a conversation works. One person says something, and the other one responds. Would you like to try that out, maybe practice a little? It seems you didn't do enough of that in elementary school."

Roman scoffed, rolling his eyes as he stuffed his hands into his front pockets. "How sweet of you,"

"What can I say? I'm patient like that,"

"You'd be good with kids,"

"How great that you're acting like a child, then," I sighed, realizing that I needed a different strategy if I wanted to get anything out of this conversation. For now, Roman remained silent, probably holding back a long string of curses. I took another step forward, and I was immediately embraced by the scent of his cologne. Fuck, how I loved the expensive smell of Roman. Still, I knew I had to get myself together; I let my eyes soften as I looked up at him. "You haven't answered any of my calls or messages... I don't get what's going on in your head. I'm simply trying to understand, but you're just running away. Again."

Roman's eyelids hung heavy over his eyes, lashes fluttering lazily as he met my gaze. He let out a loud sigh; "Maybe I just need space? Did you ever weigh that option?" 

"... Do you want space?" This was so damn confusing. "You wanted to be as close as humanly possible last night, though?"

Roman scoffed again-- was it a laugh? He didn't say anything as he looked away, possibly to think. Like this, I spotted the vial again; I let out a relieved breath. To be honest, a part of me was worried he'd take it off. 

Finally, he spoke; "I need some time. Time to think,"

"Think about what?" This was making my heart speed up. "Roman, you're worrying me."

He shrugged, still not meeting my gaze. "Just... time. Is that so damn hard to give?" 

God, how I hated his tone. Hated the way he spoke to me right now, hated it all. It pushed me to say my deepest fear out loud; "If you're seriously breaking up with me because I didn't want to sleep with you with my parents on the other side of the wall, I sure hope you think very, very carefully,"

"What?" Roman seemed to snap out of it, finally looking at me. His brows were drawn together, confused; "I'm not breaking up with you. Aren't you breaking up with me?"

"What?" 

"... What?" 

We both looked at each other with bewilderment. It seemed we had both come to very, very different conclusions. 

"Roman, I'm not breaking up with you?" 

"... Why not?" 

"What?!" It felt like my brain was actively melting-- I groaned, rubbing my temples. "What on earth do you mean, why not?"

"I don't know!" Roman's brain seemed to be malfunctioning as well. He kicked off the metal of the bleachers, his mouth opening and closing as he frantically tried to find the right words. His hands were pulled out of his pockets, flailing; "Fuck, I'm confused! I'm gonna-- gonna hyperventilate, so I need to go. Need to-- Yeah, I'm leaving."

I couldn't believe how fast he took off. I hadn't seen anything like that before. Roman wasn't even running, he was simply walking with very, very long steps, and that was enough to be out of reach for me within seconds. 

I wanted to scream up at the sky-- what even was that conversation just now? The urge to drive my head into the bleachers became overwhelming, unbearable, but I opted to simply kick the structure instead. 

That was a miscalculation on my part. I hissed as the blow to my foot sent jolts of pain up my spine, and I winced as I suppressed the need to jump around on my other foot and look like a clown in the process. I cursed, leaning against the cold metal as I tried to steady my breathing.

This day was not going very well so far.

And it certainly didn't get any better when I heard the shuffling of small footsteps along the grass nearby. 

I should've known-- Letha stopped a few steps away from me, her blonde hair moving away from her face with the passing breeze. I blinked through the pain multiple times to make sure it really was her, that she actually had the nerve to walk up to me again. Sadly, I didn't have Roman to hide behind this time. But she looked so sweet with her hands clasped behind her, along with the unsure little tilt back and forth on her feet; "That didn't look very pleasant," Letha mumbled.

I didn't want to entertain this, yet I did. "What, the kick?"

"Well, that too," Letha's trying smile nearly broke my heart. I hated that we didn't know how to talk to each other anymore. "I meant the fight. Is he acting out?"

"... He's not a child, he's not acting out,"

"Didn't you just call him a child?"

"... He's my boyfriend, we're allowed to fight!" I gnarled. "And who the fuck are you to talk to me about this? How much of that conversation did you hear?"

Letha looked like I had just kicked her. "I always do my homework on the bleachers. You guys chose to fight right beneath me,"

Fuck. "You should've moved, then!--"

"It usually helps to dig into what set him off. And then, when you think you have the answer, rip it apart and look through the pieces," Letha's green eyes bore into mine, shimmering with traces of dimmed hope. "I have no idea what you're fighting about, but I've known Roman my whole life. That's how he operates, and... that's all I wanted to say. Hope I can be of some help."

An awkward silence fell over us like a damp blanket-- this was uncomfortable. Nonetheless, I stilled. A part of me recognized that Letha would've been the first to know of my problems with Roman, had we not had a falling out. Had she not iced me out, made me an outcast, turned all my friends against me, and practically shoved me down into the dirt. I would've confided in her, asked her for guidance, support-- I grieved our bond all over again. I gave in, shrugging; "Okay. Thanks,"

That seemed to take a weight off Letha's shoulders. As we stood in silence, simply gazing at one another, until her eyes slowly landed on my necklace. Roman's blood. It dawned on me that it was too late to tuck it beneath my shirt, and I awaited some sort of grief from her about it if she recognized what it was--

"Oh," she breathed. "It makes a little more sense, now."

"What does?"

"If he wears your blood around his neck as well, then it all makes perfect sense,"

"What does, Letha?"

The look she gave me sent a cold set of shivers down my spine. It was ominous, like I had been marked by death. Letha shrugged; "Of course he's... on edge, then,"

The chase was getting frustrating. "Care to go on, or are you just going to keep saying cryptic shit?"

"I can't!-- It's hard to explain!" Letha's shoulders slumped in defeat as her inner turmoil streaked her face. "Just imagine you're really, really broke, but you have a hundred dollar bill hanging around your neck... and under no circumstances can you use it." Her eyes nearly drilled holes into mine. "Would it not drive you crazy?"

Why did it sound like she was insinuating that Roman was a?--

No. 

No.

I didn't want to hear this. I didn't bother to give Letha a proper answer before I kicked off the metal of the bleachers, glaring at her as I passed her. "Stay away," I hissed, harshly nudging her shoulder. "Fuck off back to Barbieworld or wherever it is you came from."

As I marched back to the main building, I found it nearly impossible to steady my breathing. My heart was beating rapidly in my chest as I grasped the vial of blood around my neck, rubbing it between my fingers as my mind raced. 

It was only when I finally got to class and slumped down on the last free seat that I could think back to last night with a clearer vision than before.

The Avoidable Vampirism - The Upir had kept me up long enough to see the sunrise. I wanted to blame it on the author for writing such a captivating book. 

Still, the one thing I hated about literature such as this, was that it never actually said anything straight-forward. It always had to be a nonsense passage with lots of filler words and even more dancing around the actual message;

"Blood's effect on a upir is as much psychological as it is physical. Upirs tend to escalate small arguments in hopes of an eventual physical struggle, a battle that may wound, without properly understanding why. This may lead to a strong sense of insecurity which often settles in the upir's mind and festers, only drawing them forth to the dark road the curse wants them to venture."

That's what was written in the passage about upirs and blood. Nearly impossible to understand, and even further confusing, right? The worst must've been the passage that was written like a self-help book. Did the author seriously think upirs were real?

... Did I?

"And what happens when a upir is exposed to blood, you may ask? There are levels of control which range from person to person. Some may have gotten accustomed to the smell from having cut themselves in earlier years, and some may go into a spiral which is often misdiagnozed as mania in urban psychological trials. But some upirs are so assimilated, they can do experiments with blood or carry vials of it with them wherever they go— which is an inclination that should not be encouraged. The more the upir is around blood in a constant flow, the more the irritation festers, the anger boils, and the innate aggression settles."

And this is where I had to stop. I remember putting the book down to stare at the moon in the distance, wondering why on earth I had fallen into a loophole like this. I couldn't believe how many similarities I could draw between these supposed upirs and my boyfriend-- what did that say about Roman? He was possibly edgier than I had initially thought.

The more I thought about the similarities, the more insane I felt. 

... I needed to return this book to the library. 

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

"The both of you are like two rabid raccoons fighting over scraps in the New York City sewers," Peter grumbled, lazily sweeping the floor with his broom. 

I blinked, no longer rolling up cables as I turned to him. "... Do you have to use the craziest metaphors? And why is it always an animal?"

We had been assigned to clean up after an assembly later that same day, a task I had been able to evade up until now. So, when I spotted Peter also being forced to do this, we both huddled up in the corner of the auditorium backstage and started doing the most mundane tasks with the least effort to pass the time. However, it seemed he had been informed of my petty fight (or whatever the hell this was) with Roman, which was why he was back to making animal metaphors again. "Rabid raccoons..." I mumbled, reaching for a new cable to roll up. "Why the New York City sewers? Why raccoons?"

Peter shrugged; "Uh... Because raccoons are cool?"

Well, that's the thing with boys, isn't it-- there's pure static noise in their brains. I sighed, suppressing a chuckle as I continued my task. I glanced over my shoulder to make sure the teacher wasn't catching us slacking off before I turned back to Peter. "Did Roman maybe mention that he thought I was going to break up with him over this?"

"Yeah," Peter also looked over at the teacher just to double check. "I told him it was nonsense, but he's spiraling. He's also gotten obsessed with the idea of joining a raw meat eating contest."

It was impossible not to roll my eyes. Boys. "Seriously, what is up with him these days? Please, bro-code aside, what the fuck is happening?"

I was sure the stupid upir book was the reason my heart jumped when Peter's gaze went straight to my necklace. It almost felt like he was wordlessly trying to hint something-- no, I needed to get this out of my head. 

Still, it chimed in my mind like an old clock;

There are even some upirs that are so assimilated, they can do experiments with blood or carry vials of it with them wherever they go— which is an inclination that should not be encouraged.

Should not be encouraged.

Should not be encouraged.

Peter's voice snapped me out of it-- "I think he's just going through withdrawal,"

"Withdrawal?" I echoed, turning my full attention towards him. That didn't sound good. "What do you mean, withdrawal? From what? He hasn't stopped smoking, if that's what you're talking about."

It seemed to dawn on Peter that he had said something he shouldn't have. His brown eyes widened and he cleared his throat, no longer sweeping the floor as he stopped in his tracks. "You don't know?"

"... You're killing me here,"

Peter sucked in a sharp breath, nodding to himself in defeat. "I would make you promise not to tell him I told you, but I bet you'll want to talk to him about this, so I won't even bother," His grip around the broom tightened; "So... Roman and I used to do coke together. A lot." When he didn't get a reaction, Peter grew visibly nervous. "It used to be the usual thing at parties. Roman always had a stash, and I'd join in from time to time... And he hasn't had a hit for a while, probably since you two got together, so all of this is probably just a part of the withdrawal."

Oh. I had forgotten about this. I blinked, tilting my head to the side as I gazed up at Peter with furrowed brows. Was that supposed to be a big reveal of sorts? Did he seriously think I didn't know that they used to do drugs? That I hadn't seen the both of them leaning over tables, snorting lines as I passed the room to check whether Roman was in there with a girl or not? This confirmed that they didn't notice me that one time I walked in on them in a bathroom while Roman was making the lines neat with his credit card. "Ah, so that's what that was?"

Peter's eyes widened; "... What?"

"The stuff you two were always snorting," Shrugging, I watched the look on his face distort into one of shock. It hit me that he hadn't known the true depths of how obsessed I used to be with Roman, and that I needed to get myself together before I revealed anything further damning; "Peter, I have a little something called vision. And a brain, for that matter. You guys aren't slick."

"We... aren't?"

It was impossible not to laugh, and I reached forward to nudge his shoulder. "Not in the least," To be honest, I was relieved to hear that Roman was coming off drugs and that my ridiculous upir-suspicions had been untrue. Maybe I could finally put all of that behind me and return the stupid book?

... Please. I was afraid I was going crazy.

He scoffed, moving away to continue sweeping the floors with a grumpy look on his face; "Anyway. That's the only explanation I have for you concerning what's up with him, but it's only an assumption. Maybe you should take a step back and let him come to you when he's done freaking out?" Peter glanced at me, almost as though he was plotting something. "Actually... I think I have the perfect thing to take your mind off this."

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

I regretted it the second I said yes, and I regretted it even more right now.

I had never been the biggest fan of parties, mostly because I was used to constantly getting smacked in the face with the truth that Roman was a bit of a whore (an understatement). So as I stood on the front porch with Peter later that night, surrounded by his friends as I listened to them talk about football (I wasn't paying attention, so I wasn't actually sure of the subject), I couldn't help but feel that same dread as before. I knew that Roman was my boyfriend now, that he wasn't upstairs with some random girl at this party, but the smell of alcohol yanked me right back to the memories. Actually, he wasn't even here at all.

Clutching the empty can of my finished drink, I gently yanked at the hem of Peter's sweater to catch his attention. "This isn't helping," I mumbled, meeting his big, brown eyes. "I feel bad being at this party without Roman... If he finds out, he's going to think I'm here to cheat on him or something. He's insane like that."

Peter sighed, rolling his eyes as he pulled me aside from the group. "Look, you need to relax, okay? I have it all under control,"

"You... what?"

His mouth pulled into a straight line, realizing he had said too much. Again. "Remember what I said about Roman not being here?"

Oh no. Peter had watched too many rom-coms. "For fuck's sake," I breathed, feeling my heart speed up. "Please don't say you told the both of us to come here?"

As annoying as the situation already was, Peter only made it worse by grinning in my face. He shrugged, brushing the severity off; "Last time I saw him, he was playing beer-pong,"

I was two seconds away from wrapping my fingers around Peter's neck and strangling him to death. "So Roman is running around this party drunk, and maybe also high on coke again while he's ignoring me?" Now, I was even closer to ripping my hair out of my follicles; "Oh, what an amazing idea this was, Peter! What a genius you are, this is just fantastic!"

Peter huffed, placing a condescending hand on my shoulder, squeezing it. "He's not high, okay? Just go find him, preferably before he falls over in the pool. I've let him marinade for long enough."

I grimaced-- "Marinade?" I needed to learn to stop trying to decrypt whatever Peter was saying. It never made sense, anyway. "First of all, fuck you. And second..." I took a deep breath, realizing what I was about to do; "... Wish me luck."

My head started pounding to the same rhythm as the song blasting through the speakers when I made my way inside and waded through the crowd. I hated that I was in this situation in the first place, hated that I hadn't spoken to my boyfriend in about twenty-four hours, but most of all...

I hated Roman Godfrey.

I hated the way he made me feel, hated how crazy I had become in my pursuit of him, hated, hated, hated him. However, amid my rage storm, I got a whiff of the scent of cinnamon cigarettes-- that brought me out of the inferno. I could recognize that, mixed with Roman's cologne, anywhere. I instinctively turned, realizing I had passed by the door to the kitchen, and I could be sure my eyes nor sense of smell were deceiving me as I now stood frozen, staring up at my boyfriend's broad shoulders. 

Roman's back was turned to me, but I could see that he was playing another round of beer-pong with a couple of friends scattered around the table. He hadn't noticed me, and I made sure he wouldn't. Still, the one person that caught my eye, was the girl by the counter next to where Roman was standing. I hid my body around the corner, peeking in past the door to catch another glimpse of the girl--

Fuck. It was Jessica. The girl Roman had flirted with to make me jealous the same day I told Letha I had feelings for him. Everything about her made me sick; the way she was dangling her long legs off the counter, staring up at him with literal hearts in her eyes, and how she twirled her blonde hair around her pinky as she tried to catch his attention with multiple calls of his name.

Roman seemed calm, unbothered, until he finally acknowledged her with an annoyed hum. It was only when he turned to face her, having just finished his turn in the game, that I saw that he was now pulling a cigarette out of his signature red box. I let out a shaky sigh of relief as I spotted my hair ties still hanging around his wrist, but I didn't get much time with my comfort before Jessica spoke up. 

Her voice was so painfully nasal; "So are you really seeing her?"

Roman's brows drew together as he balanced a cigarette between his slender fingers. God, how I missed his hands on me. "Who?"

Jessica said my name, followed by a pout. "If it's true, then that's really fucking unexpected. I have English lit with her, and she doesn't seem like your type,"

Had I not been desperate to hear Roman's answer, I would've grabbed the nearby lamp and bashed her head in-- alcohol didn't seem to have the best effect on my thoughts tonight. Still, Roman didn't react much, now patting down his pockets for his lighter. "Yeah, I'm seeing her. She's my girl,"

She's my girl. It echoed in my head over and over. My girl.

However, Jessica didn't seem too pleased with this revelation. She rolled her eyes, letting go of her hair; "She's not even a cheerleader," 

"And? I'm tired of you lot," 

"Romie, come on!" The nickname nearly made me puke in my mouth, effectively wiping my smile off my face. I watched as Jessica proceeded to reach out and put a hand on his arm, pursing her lips like a dumb fucking bimbo-- "I don't think a girl like that could handle you... sexually."

Ew! I wanted to slam my head against the door. Would that relieve the pain of hearing this conversation?

But Jessica continued; "Everyone knows she's been crazy about you for some time now. Everyone except Letha knew, actually, but that girl is more gullible than a lamb! But you must be aware that your girlfriend thinks you walk on water? You're dating the epitome of your fucking stalker. But does that turn you on, maybe?"

Roman blinked twice before brushing Jessica's hand off with a silent scoff (finally). He found his lighter in his back pocket, lighting his cigarette as he rolled his eyes. "Shut your filthy whore mouth," he grumbled, cig sitting between his lips. When he was done lighting it, he held the lighter out dangerously close to Jessica's face-- "I'll burn your disgusting extensions right off."

She didn't seem too phased by it on the outside, but I could see the slight tremble in her hands as she now gripped the counter. Was this how Roman talked to other girls? How had I not noticed this before? "No need," Jessica said, gulping. "I can see you're taking her... seriously." She cleared her throat, letting out a shaky breath as Roman moved away. Jessica didn't have much time with her usual clean air before he blew the smoke from his cigarette in her face, and she quickly fell into a coughing fit.

I realized what I was watching when Roman smiled with evil glee at the sight of her pain. The version of Roman he used to be. It felt like I had opened a portal back to two months ago, before anything between us had happened and he was running around stabbing people with needles to get a rush.

"Of course I'm taking her seriously," Roman said, letting the cigarette rest between his lips. "I actually like her this time, unlike anything I've ever felt for you. She's sweet, and you're like... maggots crawling out from the depths of hell compared to her."

... Ouf. 

Jessica didn't seem to be taking this very well. Her blue eyes hardened, traces of tears welling up in her eyes as her grip on the counter tightened to the point where her knuckles started to whiten-- "You're lovely tonight, as always," she mumbled, hurt. Her voice grew bitter; "But where is your girl, then? Did you leave her at home to come here alone? 

Roman exhaled the smoke through his nose with one quick breath, turning to his friends when they called his name. He was thrown the beer-pong ball, and he effectively ignored Jessica's questions to play his turn in the game.

His lack of answers seemed to give her hope that he might stray. Jessica sat forward on the counter, drying any traces of welled-up tears as she lit up. "Oh, Romie," she purred-- I nearly threw up in my mouth again. "It's nice to see you don't change."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Roman turned to her, brows drawn together. 

Jessica sighed, once again reaching out to rest her hand on his bicep. The worst part was when she gave it a little squeeze and her eyes locked on him-- fuck. "One girl will never be enough for you. You're aware of that, right?" She moved further to the edge of the counter (could she not fall off already?), batting her lashes; "If you're here tonight because you're not satisfied, I know a few ways to... satisfy you."

That was it. This was sickening. Had I not been so nervous to hear Roman's response, I would've lunged forward and slammed her empty head down to the floor. However, I could only press my body against the wall I was hiding behind, listening to the dampening of my breath as my heart thumped harshly against my ribs-- this was torture. This was complete and utter torture. 

I'm waiting for you unbearably.

Unbearably. 

This was unbearable.

It felt as though my chest was caving in on itself, threatening to make me a ball of nothing again, until Roman finally moved; gripping Jessica's hand with two fingers, he removed her off of him as though he was disgusted to even be touching her. "Are you maybe a little hard of hearing? Perhaps you hit your head really hard when you were younger, I have no idea, but I'll make it nice and comprehensible for you, okay?" He exhaled another cloud of smoke, fogging up Jessica's face as he leaned in dangerously close, lowering his voice as he spoke; "I don't want you or your cheerleaders, and I never will again. Never."

I was two seconds away from fainting out of sheer happiness-- my cheeks reddened. This was everything I had ever hoped to hear from him, and my anxieties floated out of my body with my next sigh of relief. I was ready to step into the kitchen and save Roman from this situation, hoping he'd be happy to see me now that he'd had this conversation about his feelings for me, but my plans were abruptly stopped when I heard a familiar voice call out my name.

My anxiety zapped itself right back into me as I froze to my spot, waiting for the wall to swallow me whole, never to be seen again. No, no, no!

I could only watch as Daniel approached me, giddy as ever with a beer in his hand. Were the Gods above playing tricks on me, perhaps? It was clear that he was drunk, and he tried to get his blonde hair out of his eyes repeatedly as he now stood before me, a broad grin on his face. "Well, don't you look nice," 

Why was he speaking so loudly? I was afraid Roman would hear and come out to check if his suspicions were correct. "Thanks," I mumbled, anxiously wavering back and forth on my feet as I pondered whether to flee or not. "Look, Daniel, you shouldn't--"

"What, talk to you?" He leaned down a little, his mood immediately shifting as he said my name once more like venom. It was clear in his eyes that he had come up to me with an argument in mind. "Don't tell me the rumours are true and you're actually with that guy?" 

Oh, how little I wanted to have this conversation. I so desperately didn't want to. Not with Roman at hearing distance. "Yeah, I am,"

Daniel snorted, rolling his eyes as he pulled back with a pretentious chuckle. With the way he was swaying, I could see that he'd had at least five beers or so. It explained the disgusting ramble of words that ensued; "Shit... Didn't think you were brainless like that. You're just a dumb fucking slut just like the rest of them, aren't you? Can't believe I ever thought you were different... Nice guys truly finish last, don't they?" 

Nice? I grimaced. Did this guy genuinely think he was nice? I was shocked to realize I even thought so of him at one point. My lips parted in shock; I hadn't heard him talk like this before. This was nauseating. Still, I knew I had to snap back-- I was about to speak up, protect myself unlike how I had handled myself during the whole Letha-mess, but I didn't get a chance to. 

I didn't even have to look to know who was now standing in the door to the kitchen, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed over his chest. Roman's eyes narrowed, locking in on Daniel's with a chilling look; "What did you just say to her?" he said, voice low, dangerous.

Daniel's smirk was immediately wiped off his face. "Fuck-- Fuck off, Godfrey. This is none of your business," 

"None of my business?" Roman echoed, tilting his head to the side as he feigned confusion. "Nah, that's not how this is gonna go down." He stepped away from the door, nearing Daniel with threatening steps. "You get a little drunk, and suddenly forget you fucking crumble at the sight of me? You're shaking, Goldman, but you have balls enough to insult my girl?" 

Now that Roman had pointed it out, I immediately saw it. Daniel's hand had a slight tremble as he clutched the can of beer harder with his next words; "You know she could do so much better than you, right?"

I held my breath, watching Roman's every movement. At this point, I was scared Daniel had hit too big of a homerun on that insult. 

I wondered when Roman would-- oh, there it was. With one last step forward, he managed to yank Daniel forward with a choking grip around the collar of his shirt. I felt my breath escape me with a gasp, unsure whether to intervene or not. "Roman, don't!--"

It was too late. Roman wasn't hearing me. Selective hearing. "If you wanna go, Goldman, then we're gonna go!" he raged, tightening his grip as he yanked Daniel forward like a ragdoll. "Don't be a fucking pussy, fight me if you're so keen on walking around with a black eye!"

I was both mortified and scared as I watched Daniel's face turn a peculiar shade of purple. I had never seen such a prominent look of fear in my life. His hands were clawing at Roman's as he sputtered incoherent squeaks, and after five seconds too long, Daniel was let out of the death grip. It took even less time for him to sprint out of our sight. 

Roman turned to me, brows still drawn together in fury. He was catching his breath, and he was not yet out of fight mode when he practically barked at me; "And since when have you been at this stupid party?!" 

"Ask Peter!" I squeaked. "It was his plan, all of it! He wanted us to talk!" Watching the confusion spread in Roman's green eyes, I cleared my throat before I continued; "Actually, I want us to talk as well... Could we please just?--"

Within a split second, he was gone. Gone. I stood by the wall, lips parting in complete and utter confusion-- how had he managed to disappear like that? Run off like that? Suddenly, my mind shot in a passage from The Avoidable Vampirism;

The classic traits of a upir:

Enhanced strength

Heightened senses

Mesmerization

Unnatural speed

-- No, stop it! I had to physically smack my head to snap out of it this time. Roman wasn't a fucking upir, he was just in withdrawal as Peter said! 

... Right?

The alcohol was certainly not helping my state right now.

As I stood glued to the wall like the biggest wallflower known to man, I pondered the question that had haunted me all day; why was Roman so scared to talk to me? After I had heard how he spoke of me to Jessica, and how he had just called me his girl to Daniel along with the whole fight for my honour, it surely couldn't be a question of his feelings towards me?

This seemed to be an evening of many flashbacks; Letha's words were suddenly ringing in my ears-- "It usually helps to dig into what set him off. And then, when you think you have the answer, rip it apart and look through the pieces,"

... Fine. Let's start.

What had set him off? It was clearly that I didn't want to sleep with him last night, right?

Okay-- Now I had to rip it apart and look through the pieces.

"Aren't you breaking up with me?" he'd asked earlier today. Roman seemed genuinely confused that I wasn't there to dump him. Had he really expected me to discard of him so quickly over a simple miscommunication? 

Then it hit me that Roman might be crazy enough to have avoided me all along because he thought the next conversation would be the one where I'd finish the job. 

With a loud groan, I started my search around the party. Idiot! I was going to find this man no matter what. If I had to pin him down and scream some sense into him, so be it.

He wasn't downstairs— I could exclude that after a quick swipe of the floor. I somehow managed to make my way through the dense crowd on the stairs, now checking every room. To be honest, I was terrified of walking in on something I didn't want to see, but a tiny part of me thought it might even be good for me to see just a snippet-- I didn't know much about real sex, anyway. Still, I let out a relieved sigh when I scoured all the rooms without having violated my vision. 

But my relief didn't last long. I allowed my shoulders to slump as I came to a halt, realizing I had circled the upper floor with no trace of him. The deafening music was starting to hurt my ears, and I was about to cover them when I suddenly heard a loud bang coming from the closet to my right followed by a breathy, angry shit. 

Oh my. Gotcha. I approached the door with careful steps, holding back a beaming smile as I knocked twice; "Roman...?"

I heard him shuffling around, a short groan following; "... Nope," 

It took a lot of concentration to not burst out into a fit of laughter. It felt as though all my anger left my body, unable to concentrate on anything other than how ridiculously cute he was when he was drunk like this. "Can I come in?"

"... That's what he said,"

"Come in? I think you might've gotten it a little twisted,"

I could almost hear him rolling his eyes; "Who are you to argue, virgin?"

Enough was enough. With a small creak, I opened the door to the closet--

Oh.

This was certainly not the sight I expected to see. Roman's green eyes immediately found mine, big with embarrassment. There he was, splayed out on the floor of the tiny closet with a hot pink crop top on his head. I assumed it had landed on him after he fell over, and I tried to take a mental image for later amusement. 

I was about to laugh-- However, as I closed the door behind me and stared down at Roman's flushed face, almost the same colour as the ridiculous pink crop top, I just melted. Easy as that. All the pent-up anger, all the frustration I wanted to take out on him, it all liquified into molten lava and became one with the earth.

What a mess he was. What an absolute, utter mess. Roman's green eyes were big, huge even, as he stared up at me, his breath coming out in small, ragged heaves. He looked terrified of my next words, like he was bracing for a good verbal beating--

I crouched down, making space between his long legs that practically took up the whole closet. With careful movements, I pulled the crop top off his head and cupped his pretty face; "Rome," I cooed. "You thought I was going to break up with you?"

It felt like I was talking to a child. I was aware I risked Roman exploding on me for taking that tone with him, but I figured he was too drunk to really sense it. "Yeah," he breathed, keening against my touch. "Makes sense that you'd want to."

Fuck, he was unbearably cute, like a lost little puppy. "No, it doesn't," I murmured. Why was it so hard for him to understand? "I'm not breaking up with you. Is that why you've been avoiding me today? Were you worried I was going to do that?"

Almost like a child, Roman nodded. "I just... don't want to lose you. But I fucked up again," he whispered, practically pouting. "I was so mean. Last night and today."

I stroked my thumb over his cheek, watching his response to my attempts at comfort. Something told me he hadn't been held like this before. "Roman... You're not losing me any time soon, and you were obviously a little hurt too. I guess it's a... vulnerable thing to initiate. You're allowed to feel what you feel,"

"But it was wrong,"

"What was?"

"My feelings," he mumbled. "It's just-- I'm not used to caring about a girl like this. Previously, if I didn't get my way, I could leave with no repercussions. But this time, it hit me about ten minutes later on the highway that this was you and not some random girl. You. And I was just so consumed with the urge to... ugh, I don't want to say it out loud, but you know. It gets unbearable at times. I haven't wanted anyone like this before, I just don't know how the fuck to behave!"

I was sure my cheeks were burning. Holy fuck. "Ah... I see," My knees got tired from crouching, so I sat down on the little free space left on the floor. "Look, your feelings aren't wrong. They never are. Your feelings are your feelings. But what I don't get is that I told you I wasn't up for... sex simply because my parents were on the other side of the wall. I would totally be up for it if they weren't. Did you not register that, maybe?"

"I don't know, but... it's not really about the sex. I guess it got me wondering whether you're just a little shy, or if you secretly don't want to be with me anymore," Roman took my hands into his before his gaze shied away. His voice lowered into a barely audible whisper as he closed his eyes and leaned his head against the nearby wall; "You didn't once say you wanted me too. I guess I just concluded you didn't want me at all."

I fought the instinct to freeze. I saw his point, recognized his anxiety (and severe attachment issues), yet I needed to point out one very simple truth;  "But... I'm crazy about you. You know I want you,"

"No, I don't," he breathed. "You make me feel like a fucking rapist."

"A... What?!" I gave his hands a harsh squeeze-- "Roman, what are even you saying?"

He scoffed, eyeing me with his head still leaning against the wall. Hiccuping from all the alcohol, he spoke; "I'm always on you like a fucking dog in heat. You never initiate, and I'm constantly worrying whether I'm taking advantage or not. And to make that clear, that's not what I want to do,"

All of this was beyond shocking to hear. Was this maybe also the supposed withdrawal speaking? "Rome, you're not taking advantage. Not at all! I'm just... shy, I guess?" I brought one of his hands up to my mouth, pressing my lips against his knuckles. "I never thought you needed to hear me say it too. I'm sorry."

Surprisingly, Roman pouted-- "Say it, then," he whined. Had he been standing, I was sure he'd stomp his foot like a toddler.

I couldn't help but smile. I liked whiny-drunk Roman. "Say what, Rome?"

"Spit it out,"

"Would you stop running away from me then?"

"... Yes,"

I took a deep breath, suppressing a nervous giggle. Roman's green eyes drilled into me, holding me still as I tried to find the courage to say it to his face. It was nearly impossible, and I felt my cheeks flush a rather peculiar shade of pink, similar to Roman's alcohol-flush. And also the hot pink crop top. I was definitely stealing that one.

I let go of Roman's hands, crawling over to straddle his lap. My arms draped around his neck, and he shifted as he looked up at me with those gorgeous, green eyes of his. My Roman. "You already know I'm crazy about you,"

"Yeah, you tree-carving freak," 

"Hey!" Now, it was impossible not to laugh. Thankfully, he laughed with me. "But sure, I'll take it. I carved our initials into a tree, and I'd do it all over again. And you know why?"

Roman's eyes practically sparkled; "Why?"

I lowered my face to hover right above his, feeling his hot breath against my parted lips. "Because I crave you. Carnally," I whispered, watching his pupils rapidly widen. "What am I if not yours? Yours to take, yours to claim, yours to... fuck."

Roman's signature smirk was back, shinier than ever. "Now, now, don't be shy with it," he purred, his arms snaking around my waist to pull me flush against him. "Say more."

Fucking hell. There was certainly no space to hold back any longer. "Yeah, you want more?" I had to bite back a smirk of my own. "Don't be a fucking brat, then. Kiss me if you do."

Roman's eyes widened, not expecting me to say anything remotely close to that. Still, his lips parted as his smirk morphed into a blinding grin. With one smooth move, he ran one hand up into my hair, pulling me in for the shortest, sweetest kiss known to man. "I'm impatient," he said. "Go on."

"Brat," It felt nice to finally say that out loud. From the first time I had a proper conversation with him, that word had been stuck in my mind. 

Roman rolled his eyes, letting me laugh into the needy kiss that followed. It didn't take long before I melted, relishing in the soft pillows of his lips against mine, the feeling I had longed for ever since he stormed off my roof last night. "I want you," I said, mouthing my words into the kiss. "So bad. So, so bad."

Roman moaned-- "More,"

My hands went up into his hair, fingers reaching for the tips of his dark locks to press him further against me as the kiss deepened. I had never felt this desperate before in my life. Still, I somehow found the strength to pull away; I got an idea. "No. We're playing a little game first,"

Roman groaned, glaring at me as he rested his head against the wall. "For fuck's sake," he mumbled. "Now?"

"Now," I placed my hands on his chest, unable to hold my laugh. My little idea was genius. "Have you noticed where we are?"

"... At a party?"

"Where?"

"In a closet?--" Roman's words came to a halt as his eyes widened, and a knowing grin spread across his plush lips. "Oh my."

I hummed, pressing my fingers into his chest. Right now, I was sure I had adopted the classic Roman-smirk; "Up for a round of seven minutes in heaven?"

"... Isn't it a little blasphemous to play without the bottle?" Roman proceeded to laugh, rubbing circles into my thighs. "Actually, fuck yeah. I’m up for it.”

"Seven minutes," I purred, grabbing my phone and putting on a timer. "You once said that seven minutes with you were enough to show everything I needed to know about being with you in that way..." 

To be honest, I had no idea what had come over me. Was it perhaps the alcohol? But the intrigue shimmering in Roman's keen eyes told me all I needed to know-- I watched his pupils expand as the hands I had rested against his chest started traveling down his body. And Jessica thought I couldn't handle him sexually? Hah! "It seems it's my turn to show how it would be with me, no?" 

Roman's lips parted, staring up at me in disbelief; "If you're just teasing me now, I'm going to die on the spot. I swear. My death will be on your hands,"

I could only laugh, biting down on my lip to lower my voice. "Don't you dare," I said, slowly reaching for the clasp of his belt. 

Watching the widening of Roman's big, green eyes never failed to amuse me, especially not now. "Baby," he breathed, his lips curving into a smile. "Don't fuck with me, I swear--"

"Am not," After unbuckling Roman's belt, I decided to tease him by trailing my hands away from the zip of his pants, my fingers ghosting over his hard-on. It seemed the excitement was getting to him already, and to my surprise, I could feel him hardening beneath my palms. 

The loud music was so far away now, just as everything else was-- My mind was even further away, possibly residing on the planet Neptune, because how the hell had I managed to convince myself I knew how to do this? 

Fuck it-- it can't be that hard, right?

Certainly not harder than Roman was now, anyway. 

This was an enigma to me, all of it. I could only go off instinct; and just as I was about to slide my hand beneath the band of his boxers, Roman grabbed my hand. "Hold on," he breathed, bringing my palm to his lips. "Step one is to never go anywhere dry." His green eyes locked on mine, not breaking eye contact as he placed several wet kisses against my palm, slicking it. Shivers ran down my spine as I felt his tongue swipe along my skin, because fuck, this was intense-- my breath hitched. Roman's soft laugh rang in my ears as he let go of my hand, giving back the control. 

Fuck. My heart was pounding. Were my hands shaking? I had no idea-- it felt as though I had blacked out for a few seconds, and when Roman pulled me into a heated kiss and brought me back to my senses, my fingers were gently brushing against the hard tip of his cock. 

I could feel Roman's breath hitch just slightly against my lips, and it immediately made my cheeks burn. What the fuck was I doing? I so desperately hoped no one would walk in on us like this, me straddling him with his dick in my hand. That would certainly only taint my reputation further-- no, actually, fuck that. I wanted to stay connected like this forever, Roman's soft lips moving against mine with a need I didn't remember in him. 

It took a lot of willpower to break the kiss even just for a second, but it was too damn fucking dark in this stupid closet. I watched as Roman's lashes fluttered, how his chest raised in heaving motions, how the vial of my blood rested against the peak of his sternum-- I decided to go for the wish to kiss him right there. 

Roman's skin was so unbelievably soft. There was no flavour to it as I swiped my tongue against his collarbone, not even a trace of alcohol from his perfume, and this was the moment it dawned on me that this might be my favourite place to kiss him. I didn't often have access, but when I did, I could feel the soft raise of his shoulders with his every breath-- and fuck, how I loved his shoulders. I finally wrapped my fingers around his length, deciding not to toy with him any longer. 

He let out a shaky breath just as I sucked down on his collarbone to leave a mark; Roman was long gone now. His head lolled to the side, his breath escaping him with a short huff. "Fuck," he whispered, bringing his hand up to twist into the nape of my neck, pulling me away from him to press the soft pillows of his mouth against mine in another hot, needy kiss.

This was certainly a big difference to the last time we had played this game. We had barely kissed properly, and our lips had only grazed each other compared to whatever this was. I couldn't believe how unbelievably scared I had been the first time.

I smiled into the kiss, remembering our first. 

Roman cursed against my lips, his hips bucking just slightly into my grip around his cock. With his free hand, he placed his on top of mine, guiding me to pick up my pace.

I realized my heart was almost thumping to the exact same pace as the music downstairs-- "Is this okay?" I whispered, relishing in the short breaths of pleasure spilling from his mouth.

Roman shot me a look, although it didn't look as intimidating as he probably intended; with his lids halfway closed, the hunger for me shone through. "You know damn well,"

It was impossible not to smile. God, I was so crazy about this man. "Rome?"

A hum.

I leaned in closer, pressing a sweet kiss against his ear; "I want you so bad," I whispered, feeling his breath hitch as I kissed down his jaw. "I need you to know that. Rome, I always want you." Never in a million years did I think I'd ever see him like this, panting beneath me, pre-cum spilling from the slit of his cock. Never in my wildest dreams. But he had driven me near mad with his stupidity these past twenty-four hours, so I had no problem bringing him down to the depths of vulnerability with me-- finally, we had switched places.

Roman's hands traveled up my thighs, giving my ass a proper squeeze as he groaned just slightly; "Want you too," he breathed, letting his head rest against the wall as I worked my digits around his length. His lips parted, his eyes shut as his lashes fluttered just slightly; "Always. Always want— hah, want you. You know me."

Had I not been so taken with the sheer beauty of him right now, I would've swooned. I was shocked I hadn't fainted from how hard my heart was beating, anyway. "I adore you, Rome. Do you know that?"

A small yeah was Roman's only reply, his head rolling back and forth, thighs clenching, cock twitching. He was close. His next words were rushed, quick; "Fuck, where do I...? Fuck--" 

"Don't think about it," I murmured, my free hand running gently through his hair. Slowly, I reached for the pink crop top nearby; this was my only solution at the moment. "Just enjoy."

Roman practically whimpered; "Shit, shit, gonna--"

I watched as he threw his head back, panting hard as he spilled into the top. I felt his warm cum running down the inside of it as I stroked him through his high. "Fuck, fuck--" Roman was rambling at this point, failing to steady his breath through it.

My lips parted, feeling as though I had bitten into the forbidden fruit. The image before me gave me a high, unlike anything I had ever had before. It was probably similar to the feeling Roman used to achieve through cocaine use. I took another quick mental snapshot, knowing this was a sight I wanted to keep for later-- only in case of emergencies, of course. I couldn't help but feel a little proud that I had figured out how to do this stuff to him.

Roman blinked twice, his mind slowly returning to his body. He laughed a little at the sight of the hot pink crop top, shaking his head. "Damn," he breathed. "I'm a little horrified I didn't last seven minutes."

Oh, silly boy-- "Nah, I'm glad you didn't. My hand would be cramping up," I leaned forward with a soft giggle, kissing the tip of Roman's nose as he let out a sigh of relief. "And I also proved my damn point."

He blinked up at me as I pulled away. "Which was...?"

The timer rung-- "Seven minutes are more than enough," 

"Right. That's my line," Roman tucked himself back into his jeans with a huff, laughing softly in a state of denial. "Definitely didn't expect this tonight... Good job." The corners of his mouth slowly curved upwards as he placed a sweet kiss against my cheek. "I'm just so damn glad we're not breaking up."

I had forgotten about that situation for a few minutes, and being reminded of it again was like being slapped out of a nap. "Of course we're not, Roman," I kissed the tip of his nose as I rolled up the crop top-- that felt wrong on all accounts. "If you get all manic about something like that again, please don't shut me out. I nearly went mad."

Roman's pupils dilated further as he reached for the vial of my blood around his neck, twirling it around his finger. "Yeah, we can't break up... Or else that poor tree would've been vandalized for nothing,"

I rolled my eyes. He was never going to let that go, was he? "Alright, that's enough," I mumbled, watching as Roman brought the vial to his lips to press a short kiss against my blood-- it felt odd but intimate. Was he maybe still a little drunk? "Let's get you home, okay? I'll drive your car." With shaky steps, I got up from his lap, bunching up the crop top in one hand. 

Roman hiccuped-- drunk. It was confirmed. "I don't want to," he whined. 

"Come on, Rome, we can't stay in this cramped up fucking closet all night!--"

"Well, what are you gonna do? Throw me over your shoulder and carry me downstairs?"

For fuck's sake. It was impossible not to laugh at that mental image. "We can't stay here any longer! Peter's gonna think we're fucking somewhere, and I certainly don't want to be known as the girl that has sex at parties!--"

"My mom is out of town," Roman said, effectively cutting me off. "Sleep over."

My eyes widened. I knew what that meant. Clutching the damp crop top in my hand, I felt the green of his gaze swallow me whole; "Come on. It'll be fun," Roman got up from the floor, tilting his head a little as he slowly inched forward, making my back hit the wall with the two only steps there were possible to take in this closet. He continued; "Nothing has to happen, but I just... I want to roll around in bed with you in the morning. No interruptions, no parents, nothing. Just us."

I was shocked I didn't become a puddle of mush on the floor. "Just us?"

"Just us," Roman breathed, leaning down to press a short kiss against my lips. But what came next was unexpected; "... And my pet tarantula."

"What?!"

Roman only laughed, his pupils widening with pleasure at the sight of my terror. Some things never change. "Just kidding, baby," he purred, placing a hand on the small of my back as he opened the closet door. And before I had the chance to properly step out of it, he leaned down to whisper against my ear; "It's actually a giant centipede. Lovely pet."

I nearly squirmed out of his grip, shivering. "Please tell me you're joking!" 

Seriously, when will I ever learn? Roman continued to laugh, waving to a few people who passed us by in the corridor as we walked down the hall. "Of course I am,"

"I'm not leaving with you if you have some creepy animal there, I swear!"

"Fine, fine!" He kissed the top of my head, and I felt him smile against my hair. "There are no scary animals there... Just me."

Before I had the opportunity to answer, Roman groaned loudly as he glanced at the crowded stairs when we approached, rolling his eyes. "Ugh, why do people always crowd the goddamn stairs?" He turned back to me; "I just need to find Peter and swipe my keys--"

"Why does he have your keys?"

"... I was threatening to jam them into the side of this guy's head earlier, but that's not important," Roman shot me a charming smile as though he hadn't just said that. "But just hold onto me, okay? I'll wade us through." 

So that's what I did; I clutched onto Roman's hand, feeling his long fingers wrapping around mine as he made way through the crowd, occasionally turning to greet a few people he knew. I was so damn ready to get to his place, to lie down on a bed, and get away from this loud music. Still, a part of me knew we wouldn't be able to stay away from each other tonight, and I felt my chest swell with warmth at the thought of what might happen. What would happen.

But just as I was finally relaxed again and the two of us almost made it down the stairs, I felt another hand on my shoulder the same second Roman turned away to say hi to a friend of his. I turned, gasping just slightly at the shock of a cold touch, and the rest of my breath followed as it dawned on me who I was facing. 

Letha's green eyes were wide, almost as though she had seen a ghost. For a second there, I thought she could read my mind and understand why I was clutching onto a damp crop top. It was still warm-- why was I finding that hot right now? God, I was going insane. But I knew that the sight of Roman and I together would never be a pleasant one for Letha, so I stared back at her with the same bewilderment-- why had she stopped me? 

Letha's following words were almost icy to the touch, hollow to the ear; "Was I right?" 

It felt as though my world stilled. Time stilled. Just for a second, I felt as though I could wade my free hand through the coldness of her phrase, and I could wave away the mirage. She was concerned, curious. Had she genuinely wanted to help me get through this fight with Roman? 

I realized that tonight might be a night of many firsts. My first handjob, my first... time (possibly), and my first step of forgiveness. "Yeah," I breathed. "You were. Thank you." 

Letha's face softened as a relieved sigh escaped her, nodding her head slowly. It had been a long time since the last time she had heard those words from me. "Any time," 

Had Roman not squeezed my hand, I was sure I'd continue standing there, just staring into the eyes of my previous best friend. They looked so, so similar-- Had Letha not been blonde, I would've mistaken them for siblings. Snapping out of it, I turned to my boyfriend who was too busy scowling at his cousin to notice how calm I was about meeting her. "Let's go," he mumbled, repressed jealousy dripping from his voice as another squeeze of my fingers ensued. 

"Yeah... Let's,"

(a/n: thank you so so much for reading!!! mwah!!)

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[cherryclitgirl]

The Gods II

Pairings : Maegor x reader

Warnings : abortions, child loss, young pregnancy

Notes: brief mention of y/n

The days following the Death of king Maegor’s oldest son and heir where filled with sorrow. The two men responsible for the cold murder were caught fleeing Kingslanding with Aegon’s head on a sack. Maegor’s wrath was inevitable, putting multiple members of the faith to the blade, torturing the head of the kings guard for failing to protect his son. He tortured the two men to death, but it was still not enough. No one dared to step in his way. Adding fuel to the fire, the queen mother Visenya died of a sudden illness. Allowing dowager queen Alyssa and her two young children Jaehaerys and Alysanne to flee from Dragonstone, in return Maegor tortured Viserys to death.

He did everything but comfort his wife. The young girl was consumed with grief, she refused to eat or sleep since the death of her son. She grew paranoid of the shadows, believing the gods would come for her remaining children. When they slept, she didn’t. She would sit in bed clutching Aegon’s toy dragon, when she closed her eyes she could still hear the sound of her son’s muffled cries. The sound of the flesh cutting under the blade, her poor babe. Ripped off her arms so easily. The death of her brother Viserys only made her grieving worse. She began to neglect her motherly duties, as well as her children.

Baelon being the second oldest did not understand why he could not find Aegon. Rhaenor would cry for hours for no apparent reason in the arms of his wet nurse. The new born Rhaella having grown accustomed of being breast fed by her mother would not accept the milk from her wet nurse.

Queen Ceryse having be shut off by Maegor and the young girl, tried multiple times to speak with her. But the young girl refused to speak with anyone. That was until she managed to sneak into her room with the wet nurse who begged the young girl to feed Rhaella.

She saw the young girl standing by the large window holding Aegon’s funeral shroud. The burning of the body had yet to be done, as no one dared to intervene the grieving of the young queen and the cruel king.

Queen Ceryse did not know what to say, how to start. She stood watching the young girl for a moment. She didn’t have the courage to tell the poor girl that it was she who went to Maegor. Despite trying her best to deny it. It pained her when Maegor married his niece. It pained her even more when girl fell pregnant quickly. Seeing the girl bear four healthy children was a stab in the heart for Ceryse. Sending her away with Visenya was the least she could do. It gave her time to be with Maegor and pray that she would fall pregnant. But now her actions, her greed, her jealousy had consequences. “ The gods punished us, they punish me” she thought as she snuffled and wiped her tears away.

She didn’t have the heart to tell the poor girl she had completely forgotten to tell the guards to stand by the door. “It was never my intention to cause harm to you or your children “ Ceryse sniffed softly. The young girl had been condemned to punishment far beyond her understanding. Ceryse gulped and continued talking “I had every intention on telling the guards, protecting the sanctity of you and your children was my first priority”. Not matter what what Ceryse said, she knew it would never be enough. The girl was not at fault. She was innocent.

The young queen slowly looked back, “What they did-“ she said wanting to hold the poor young girl. “It doesn’t align with my personal beliefs of the faith “ she spoke hoping to sooth the girl. The young girls eyes fell on Ceryse’s necklace.

Ceryse clutched her necklace, she regretted wearing seven pointed star necklace, after all was the faith militant that killed Aegon. The young queen said nothing, but beneath those hurt and red eyes, was just a girl, who lost both of her of her brother, her son, and whose mother and sister were nowhere to be found.

Ceryse slowly walked to the girl “What you saw that night” she sighed softly trying to reach and hold the girl “when you came into Maegor’s room-“ The young girl gently shoved Aegon’s funeral shroud into her arms. “This is for my boy” she said walking past Ceryse.

Meagor insisted that both his son Aegon, and his mother Visenya were burned at Dragonstone at the same time. Many lords of minors and great houses traveled to the Dragonstone, although very few were present during the burning of the bodies.

Baelon stood by his mother watching the body of his brother burn away into ashes. His mother held his hand tightly. Baelon felt his mother’s grief, his heart clenched watching her cry. He’s only response, was too cry was as well. Baelon the bitter the history books would call him.

- - - - - - -

Alyssa had fled to Storms end with Jaehaerys and Alyssane.They were promised to be housed and welcomed by Lord Rogar shortly after fleeing . Rhaena had fled with her daughters shortly after the death of her husband Aegon. Alyssa had yet to receive word from her and her whereabouts. Her second daughter was but a walking corpse of sorrow and grief trapped in the hands of Maegor. Viserys had been tortured to death by Maegor. Her grandchild murdered in cold blood.

It was what they did to her sweet girl that pained Alyssa. Her poor daughter a victim of a crime she did not commit. She watched when Maegor took her to marry. She was there when her girl of ten and five gave birth to her first child, only to return months later pregnant again and again. She watched and could not save her.

She could only pray that Jaehaerys would take the throne. Save his sister and her children. Allow them to be free from Maegor’s grasp.

Alyssa exited the wheelhouse she had managed to pay for. The guards of house Baratheon stood with their Lord Rogar. She looked up as the rain began to fall on her face. A sight of freedom, a bitter sweet freedom. Unfortunately her daughter could not experience it. Oh her precious y/n, how much she adored the rain. She would’ve enjoyed dragging Aegon and Rhaena into the courtyard to play in the falling rain.

Before Alyssa could take step another step towards Rogar she fell to her knees. The hard rain fell on her;mixing with the salty tears that rolled down her cold cheeks. She could only remember times where her six children were together. Sitting at the long table together as Aenys wished for it to be. They were contented. A happy family, a good family. Maegor took that from her.

She cursed his name, desperate and angry she cried, her nails clenching into her palms. She wished for nothing more than to run, get her daughter and grandchildren and give them the freedom they deserved.

- - - - - - - - - -

In 45 AC shortly after the construction of the red keep and a year after the death of three year old of Aegon. Baelon Targaryen at just four summers old was officially named heir of the iron throne and prince of Dragonstone. A large tittle for a small boy who did not understand the it’s great significance. Soon after the announcement Maegor took his wife to her chambers. Her arm wrapped around his they walked past Ceryse. Her relationship with the girl had become strained and unpleasant.

“Baelon will marry Rhaella” Maegor firmly told as he left his wife’s bed. Y/n sat up from the bed lifting the sheets up to her bare chest. Her long silver hair covered her shoulders, weakly guarding her naked body “She’s barely one ” she muttered.

Maegor looked back at her “Let her be promised to him from a young age” he replied coldly. “I have let you name our children, let you pampered them with love, so they grow weak and feeble. He spat moving closer to the bed. He sat down close to her “You have no say on the matters “ he said firmly.

“Why keep me here then” she asked him. Slowly she was regaining the strength that was once taken from her. Although she still mourned the death of her son, the constant overlooking of those who surrounded her made her regain what she once lost. Her desire to fight. Not for Maegor, not for the crown. But the her children.

Maegor looked at the girl for a moment, his hand twitching to reach over and tighten itself around her neck. He liked her better when she did not question him. But something had changed in her, he knew it , he felt it. It had taken him off guard when she first rode him. He still remembered her hands on his large bare chest. The way she looked when she moaned. She was not just riding him to please him, she was doing it to please herself. Something in their marriage that had never happened. She was no longer callow and afraid , she took him for her own pleasure. For every night that he spend with Tyanna or Ceryse he would spend ten nights with y/n. Ultimately, he stopped visiting them. Solely focusing on his young wife. She would take him good. facing him , on her back, on her knees, his cock down her throat, the things that made him proud.

He didn’t answer her question. The silence between them felt long and unease. He pulled the silky sheets further up her bare chest.

He stood up and began butting up his breeches “You have been faithful, despite the circumstances you remain at my side, that’s why I keep you here”. He reached for Blackfyre and held up to her, the sharp end pointed at her. “I assume even when I’m gone you will carry me in your thoughts”. Unfortunately he was right. Despite her being deathly afraid of him and after years in his cruel grasp.She developed fidelity and compassion for him. Strongly believing he would protect her. Maegor knew this, he used to his advantages. Fueling his wife with lies and deceptions. Believing she had no one else to turned to , knowing she would do anything for her children. Maegor believed she will do anything to have Baelon on the throne. He offered her a seat in the small council to serve as his advisor. This did not go over lightly with Tyanna, but to her misfortune, Maegor did not care. He wanted her close, manipulate her as he always wished. Maegor left her chambers leaving her covered with the sheets of their aftermath, alone in the large empty room. Despite her enjoying their intimate moments the constant act of enjoying his company felt foreign to her. But it was necessary for her survival. Although the developed feelings of safety and compassion for him were strong. Something inside her opposed them.

The morning shortly after he left her trusted maid drew her a bath, and carefully cleaned and washed her. The warm water kissed her skin as the sponge glided down her arms and on her back. Her maids soft fingers caressed her scalp with gentleness, soothing away her turbulence. Kiara was her most trusted maid.She was gentle and attentive, appointed by grand maester Benifer himself. Kiara was fiercely loyal to her queen .

“Does my queen wish for a moment alone?” Kiara asked her as she brushed the last of her hair. The queen looked at her maid through the mirror and nodded “please “ she said softly. Kiara nodded, she made sure her queen had everything she needed before bowing and leaving.

She was to await someone, who always came after a night with Maegor. Moments late the door of the chamber opened, y/n looked to see Grand Maester Benifer standing by the door holding a something covered with a small cloth. He looked back the door as it shut and made sure no one was looking as he unveiled a small round cup with a lid. “Good morrow your grace”. He bowed his head at her and slowly walked to where she was. His wary expression was noticevale as he placed the cup on the table. “Good morrow grand maester” she said watching him place the cup on the table. The tea’s vapor dancing on top of the cup. “As requested “. He watched her slowly take the cup and smell it before she drank it slowly. She never enjoyed the taste of the sour taste, it burned her throat as she drank it, pausing here and there.

“If I may your grace” he spoke solemnly “ This happens to be the third one you’ve taken” he said in a hush voiced. “If the king find outs.. this is treason, killing potential heirs-“ Maester Benifer was cut off by the y/n who placed down the cup. “I’m aware…grand maester, but the king has three healthy heirs” despite her justification, the act was still immoral and distasteful to some. “ But his desires are not mine…this is my choice, my right “ she said firmly.

Grand maester Benifer nodded and looked down “What you do for your children your grace… it’s admirable…your labour will not unheeded go ” he promised her. He covered the cup with the cloth again. He had brewed the tea for her, and advised her when to take it. He was well aware of the risk that came with aiding the queen, but he would take that risk and more.

Unfortunately for him, and for the young queen it was not Maegor’s wrath they ought to be afraid of. For the gods tend to not be satisfied with only one son.

[valneedsvalium]

𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓦𝓮 𝓗𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓕𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭 𝓐𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓦𝓪𝔂

pairing: will graham × dolly!reader

find the series masterlist here ꨄ︎

overview: will graham never planned to like you - if anything, you were suspicious, with those wide, doe eyes and oddly childish way of behaving. the only girl found alive amongst the rotting corpses of her dead mama and papa? he's bound to be suspicious, but you pull him in like bait.

warnings: mentions of sexual abuse, reader has childhood trauma and unexplored mental illness, gore - pls tell me if i've missed anything!

the first thing that the neighbours complained about was the vile smell. 'it's the mould, im sorry. ill call someone,' you had said, shifting from foot to foot, eyes wide, anxious. but it wasn't mould, was it?

your cheeks had become sallowed over the week. body oddly thin, brows permanently creased with worry. the neighbours visited again and again until they called the local authorities. your excuses of 'mama and papa ain't home' became unbelievable, but how would you understand that? there was something strange, the townspeople used to say about you, when you were a girl. you didn't like to interact with the other school children - they didn't like you. mama thought it was your fault, she'd lock your bedroom door at seven pm, 'worried for your safety,' as if the middle-of-nowhere texas was unsafe. the most that happened was a hitchiker coming through your town.

it was odd, the way your daddy would hike up your gingham skirt and press strange, unwanted kisses to your cheeks before they strayed to your jaw, then your neck. it was your fault it had to happen, he'd tell you. your mama knew, and after, she'd pet your forehead with cooed admonishing words.

you'd first understood it was wrong when you sat on a tree with your friend, emmeline jacobs, and asked her if her daddy ever kissed her. she'd snorted and looked at you like you were stupid. 'yeah, when i was eight.' the two of you were fifteen, at the time, and only much later did you realise you knew less than your parents made out that you did. you were not smart, you felt rather dumb, instead, like a lamb that has known it's entire life being prepared for slaughter. you did not know your wrongs from rights or your goods from evils.

so, when your papa had handed you a mallet to make the chicken for the night and your mother had dutifully boiled potatoes over the gas stove, you had stood in the doorway, watching him slink off to the lounge and sit in his armchair, old and worn, much like him. the television was turned on, playing a hunting channel. bear hunting with halloran james. the mallet hung limply in your slender hand as you watched him rest a hand his stomach with the kind of lazy 'masculinity' that made you feel uncomfortable in your own skin.

you'd crept behind his armchair, quiet, brows pinched together in concentration, and stood still, contemplating, before the mallet had swung with a surprising amount of force for someone with little muscle mass. the crack heard before the sickening squelch of flesh sounded more appealing - it sounded quicker, more painless than the sound of oozing blood and squishy tissue - but then he was turning his head sluggishly, groaning in pain, eyes hazy and unfocused, and you'd wondered if you'd done it right, so you swung again. again. again, until your mother ran into the lounge, screaming, pleading with you to stop and attempting to rip you from your fathers now-deceased body.

your mother never had the gall to hit you - apart from that one time you had come home late from school, skipping merrily with one of your friends who later seemed to dissapear from your life like everyone else - although, when she wrenches you away from his body by your shoulders, her hand gripped your jaw with an unusual type of agression, hissed words coming out with drops of saliva that made you recoil.

she was next to fall. you don't even remember prying the knife from her left hand - she'd cut her right, and had to struggle with something you did not, or at least, that's what she said - and forcing it between the curved cage of bone that resided in her chest. she'd fallen back, head hitting the corner of the table.

perhaps it was a psychotic episode - something your teacher had said when you used to go to high school - but you felt far too calm for that. strangely in control, despite the way you could hear the ebb and flow of your own blood in your veins or the way you could not bear to sit in the living room with the bodies. you had found residence on the kitchen floor, mother and father out of sight - if you saw them, you might have vomited the minimal food you'd had before dinner.

two days passed before you found it in yourself to stand on shaky, unstretched legs and lean on the counter. you felt as if you had underslept and overslept all at once - head groggy and eyes tired.

the police weren't equipped to handle the issue - or you, for that matter - and it went to someone else. when officer kepler peeked through the window, she realised she had less stomach for police work than she'd thought. the someone else gave it to someone else, and it ended up in the hands equipped for what you'd done - what would remain on your hands for the rest of your life.

a week later, you still could not bring yourself to lay eyes upon the now rotting bodies - come to think of it, you dont know how you'd stood the putrid smell coming off your mother and father or brought yourself to walk past the living room without looking at the bloated, stale corpses. people in navy waterproof coats had dealt with the weak locks on the front door and flooded the house and a part of you felt dead, unsure of what to do or what to say. it felt as if you could not physically bring yourself to speak.

'i didn't do it,' were the only words you'd uttered, tucking your legs to your chest and subconsciously sinking your teeth into the skin of your knee.

paramedics checked you, lifting your eyelids in a way that made you squirm, but perhaps what made you more uncomfortable - or perhaps it was the breath of relief that you let out that discomfited you - was when a man sunk down next to you. he was average height, with curly brown hair and brows that seemed to be constantly pinched in worry, or perhaps concentration. your mother would have called him 'rustically handsome.'

"my names will graham- can you tell me what happened?"

do not plagiarise - @valneedsvalium 2024.

[weclassygirl]

scheme

⋆˙⟡ sauron x fem!elf!reader (witch) ⟡˙⋆

summary: reader meets her shadow in the flesh as two riders enter Eregion

warnings: some blood (fake wound)

word count: 2,8k

author’s note: he's finally here! might take a moment before i update (i need to rewatch season 2 for him), but the next chapter.... ugh i can't wait to post it. enjoy! (previous part -> deception)

He doesn’t, for weeks he doesn’t reach out, does not even give you a sign he’s alive. You wish you could rip him to shreds once you see him again even if his very essence would slip through your fingers.

Celebrimbor notices you’ve become distracted, your work becomes sloppy, where once was attention to details and strive for perfection now lay curses under your breath when another piece of work is ruined. 

He comes to your side and places a hand on your shoulder. “Rest.” 

You turn to face him, the hammer still in your hand as well as the chisel. “I have to finish—“ he places your tools down, you don’t protest.

“You’ve been working yourself to the bone and your mind is not where it’s supposed to be.” you sigh, he’s right even he does not know the true reason. You take off your apron and put it on the stool before leaving the forge. 

You wander to the gardens and around Eregion trying to clear your head. You try to see past the trees, behind the horizon, maybe he’s out there. Wishful thinking. 

You’ve heard of the attacks on the Southlands, men fighting against orcs and the destruction it placed over the land. They call it under a different name now. Out of the corner of your eye you see horses, a rider clad in armor and a man. A messenger, probably. Eregion always had news to answer and these days it seemed more than ever. 

You come back to the forge after a while despite Celebrimbor’s refusal. You needed to occupy your mind, the blade you’ve been working on was nearly finished. You’ve been mixing metals to try and combine them into a nearly ethereal glow, mithril was far out of your reach. You’ve helped with the construction of the tower, not like the might of the Dwarves but your work has been appreciated. 

Elrond came before spring to help Celebrimbor and he secured it when Prince Durin sent his for forces to Eregion. The secrecy has been languid, you knew what Celebrimbor was hiding, he knew of mithril, knew that the very light of the Elves was fading, yours included. You felt it, more than the others, you considered Sauron’s offer to bound yourself to him completely but called yourself a fool for such thought. This is not the time you spoke of, you know it, see it as behind a mist, the future of Eregion and all Middle-Earth. Glimpses that always end with fire and blood.

A guard comes into the forge and calls out your name. Your head whips around as you look at him. 

“Your assistance is needed in the healer's quarters.” he informs you. 

“What of the Warden?” you ask, surely the master of healers would accommodate to the unexpected guests who arrived through the gate, should one of them be injured.

“Busy with other matters.”

You sigh but put away your tools once again. “Very well.” you say and follow the guard. 

You didn’t mind healing others but sometimes the injured or ill irritated you to the point your started to regret you were acknowledged as a healer in the first place. People came to you with the smallest cut or barely a cold, a proper herb and warm water would do most of the work.

When you arrive in the healer’s quarters your feet feel stuck to the ground at the sight of the person in front of you. 

“Galadriel?” you couldn’t believe it. “I thought you left for Valinor.” 

She’s clad in armor, her face dirty and sweaty from the journey. If she stayed in Middle-Earth you hoped she only heard the good things you’ve done while in Eregion, you do not wish to have her as an enemy.

“Fate decided I stay here.” she responds. She looks you up and down, the scars visible from your days under Morgoth, however no black fingertips. The darkness hasn’t consumed you or so she thinks. “I’ve heard of your progress here.” 

You feign flattery. “Yes, I owe it to Lord Celebrimbor.” 

“It’s impressive how much you swayed from darkness, not many can.” 

You chuckle slightly, oh if she only knew. 

“Yes, well, my punishment here proved to bear fruits.” you respond and you remind yourself why you’re here. You look her over. “Are you injured? I’ve been summoned as a healer rather than a smith.” 

“My friend is, if you could tend to him.” she starts walking down the hall and when you enter the room you see him, his face so familiar to his but you don’t want to make false assumptions. 

She tells him who he is and you turn to her with a question on your face. “King of the Southlands? How is it your path crossed with his?” you come closer to the man on the table and lift up the bloodied piece of clothing, he grunts as the dried blood tears away with the fabric. When you look to Galadriel her eyes tell you everything you need to know. Her task in Middle-Earth was not yet complete. 

You inspect the wound and Halbrand watches you carefully, you dare not to speak. Is it him? After all this time? Should you voice your thoughts? The questions plague your mind. 

“I’ll leave you to it.” she says as Elrond comes closer, you’ve conversed with him while he remained in Eregion and helped Celebrimbor in securing the work force to assemble the Great Forge. He’s been travelling constantly between Eregion and Khazad-dûm, the High King deceived him of his purpose here at first but the alliance between Dwarves and Elves grew. 

When they are out of your sight you look to Halbrand. An interesting name he has chosen, so many meanings, every single one fitting his image. Admirable, shadowed, exalted. You nearly laugh under your breath.

“Is my state that amusing to you?” he asks and the corner of your lips rises. 

“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” you’re still unsure if you can speak freely in front of him, he may just be a face that he saw once, that felt suitable for him to wear when appearing in your visions. You tear the fabric that laid on his wound, you discard it and grab a cloth with warm water. “What has happened?”

“Enemy lance, six days ago.” he responds and grunts as the cloth makes contact with the wound. You wonder if he truly sustained the hit or it was another illusion. You were certain the red blood was.

“Is it truly like they say? Turned to dust and ashes?” you ask, curious as ever.

“The Southlands?” you nod. He watches as you tend to him, grabbing a bit of Elvish herbs, athelas and mixing them in a mortar. The paste thickens with each turn and you put it aside to grab other herbs needed. After a while, he gives you the answer. “Yes.”

You grab an herb and bring it up to his mouth. “Chew on it.” you tell him.

“What is it?” he eyes it warily before taking it. 

“It will replace the taste of iron from the blood in your mouth.” you don’t answer his question directly but he listens. As you smear the paste you mixed up he smiles under his nose, the sight doesn’t go unnoticed by you. 

“Most people would be in pain and yet you react as if it’s a common cold.”

You’ve seen people wither in anguish from a single touch of Elvish medicine before it took its desired effect, it’s strange for a common man to not react to it. Perhaps he wants to show that he’s stronger than many. You go to the table to gather a clean dressing when you hear his response, so silent but makes you freeze in your steps. “Now I’m the first to give myself to you at my deathbed.” 

Was it him or your persistent shadow speaking? Could you distinguish the two now? The voice so familiar but not muffled like many times you’ve heard it, this was real, raw.

You turn to him but his sight is already set upon you. Any evidence of pain gone from his face as you step closer to the bed with a bandage in your hands. You search his face for any sign of falsehood and he awaits your reaction. You smack the piece of cloth you were holding onto him when he grabs your wrist and pulls you closer. You lock eyes but yours slip down to his lips, he notices and smirks. It feels as if he’s drawing down to him, if he did you could just…

“Violence goes against what you should stand for.” he taunts and lets you go. You glare at him, you told yourself you would rip him to shreds the next time you see him. 

“I should let you bleed out.” you retort, he looks down and gathers some of the red blood from the wound.

“So it’s a convincing illusion, I take it?” he smears it on his fingers and it turns pitch black. You huff in annoyance. 

“You’re insufferable.” you clean your hands in the basin, leftover herbs floating in the water as you dry your hands. You hear him shift on the bed.

“Are you not glad?” he begins to get up and stalk closer to you. 

When you turn he’s met with your brows raised and laugh on your lips. “Glad? I believed you to be dead.” you deadpan.

“Did you mourn?” he asks.

“Would you care?” you bite back.

It takes a moment before he responds, his voice soft. “Yes.” he stands right in front of you and takes your hand. The illusion you cast is perfect, leaving not a speck of dark that would have peeked from it. He inspects it, so much power that could come from them. “Don’t hide it.”

Your anger starts to disappear as he holds your hand. You never thought that you would see the day where he’s in the same room as you, in the flesh and not a black mass. “Defeats the point if I don’t.” you look up at him with question. “Why Eregion?”

“You’ve gained his trust, I intend to use it.”

“For what?”

He smiles. “Everlasting peace over all Middle Earth.”

You pull away from his touch. 

“Under your rule.”

His answer comes quickly with no hesitation as if his mind is already set upon it.

“And yours.” you’re confused. He bound you to him, not completely but alas, you did not expect that answer. He looks to the entrance, listening if anyone comes by before looking down at you. ”Our paths are already intertwined, tangled whether you wish to cut them. I do not intend to let your talents go to waste after I’m done.”

His words compel you, a malicious intent behind them and yet you fall for them like the stars from the sky. 

“A power over flesh?”

He nods. “I owe it to you, this idea, this scheme.” 

You don’t have the time to respond when you hear someone walking down the halls, as the master of the healers enters, you step away from Halbrand or rather Sauron to you. 

“Your Majesty, you should be resting.” he says as he sees him standing next to you, the blood on his fingers red.

“I needed to test my strength.” he lies swiftly and goes back to the bed. The Warden nods at you and tells you that he will take over. You bid Halbrand goodbye and glance at him one last time before leaving. 

Not a day passes when you hear him talking with Celebrimbor. The workshop was quiet in the morning and you needed to gather your notes. The High King ordered every Elf to be moved to Lindon, one last gathering before your time passes.

You did not expect for Sauron to take actions so quickly but it does not surprise you. 

“Might there not be some alloy to amplify the qualities of your ore?” he asks Celebrimbor as he hands him the piece of mithril.

“Well, that is… an intriguing suggestion.” you remark as you enter. You nod in greeting towards both of them and walk closer. Halbrand takes his eyes off of you. 

“Call it… a gift.” Celebrimbor inspect the mithril in his hand before you stride to your work bench. Notes scattered, splashes of ink spilled on the table. 

“You should be packing for Lindon.” he tells you and you gather whatever you can, some of the ink making it’s way onto your hand. 

“I needed to grab my notes, shame to let them go to waste.”

Would any Men take them after you have passed to the Undying Lands? Would they appreciate them?

“You’re leaving?” Halbrand asks you, surprise in his voice. 

You look between the two men. “High King’s orders, as much as I would like to stay. I have no choice but to obey.”

It pains you to say it, a witch following orders of a King, but the ruse must hold. Celebrimbor’s mind seems to be at work, Halbrand’s words resonating with him. It is then he remembers that you may not know who he is. 

“This is Lord Halbrand, King of—”

“The Southlands, yes we’ve met.” you interrupt. “Galadriel sent for a healer at hand and I was the only one available at the time.” you look to Halbrand. “You should be resting.”

“No use if I’m bedridden when your people need aid.”

You arch an eyebrow. “You wish to help?”

“If you allow me.” he directs these words to Celebrimbor and he smiles as he looks between you two.

“I believe we can work something out.” 

The three of you part your ways when he caughts up with you. The halls are empty, occasional guard posted but nothing more, the vines flow down the vast architecture surrounding you.

“I never realized you’ve made quite a name for yourself here.” he expressed as he started walking next to you. You nod occasionally at the guards as you pass through, some other smiths you work with. 

When out of their sight you speak. “It was demanded.” you stop in your tracks, both of you now standing on the parapet connecting two buildings. “Would you let an Elven Witch roam around your kingdom so freely? Her darkness poisoning the very air you’re breathing?” your voice low should anyone listen to your conversation. He studies you closely, eyes softening in his low-man form.

“You, yes. Another I might consider throwing over the walls.” he remembers why he joined you. He has an occasion to properly talk to you, no visions to hold him back now. He goes back to his first statement. “People talk.”

You look down at the few Elves roaming in the courtyard, Fëanor’s statue illuminated by the soft light of the morning. “And what have they said of me?”

He leans against the balustrade. “An Elf once cast out by her people, called Morgoth’s servant despite doing it to survive and when fled chained once again by her own kind. Fulfilled her punishment here in Eregion and started to move away from darkness within her, became a trusted Elven smith and a healer where her work only blossomed.” he looks down to the ring on your finger, worn out by time however you never corrected it, the broken stone still held. He says it like reading a passage from a book, you don’t turn to look at him. Your voice barely above a whisper.

“They trust you so easily.” you’re almost jealous and he knows. 

“They have not come to know me like they did you.” he reassures you. Once they do they will cower in fear.

You turn to face him, you sense the scheme within him. “You plan to use mithril. For what kind of weapon?”

“Not a weapon, it shouldn’t be too obvious. Something far more precious.” he looks down at you and smiles. “You’ll see, I believe it will be to your liking.”

“You think that Celebrimbor will let you into his workshop, a low-man?”

“Why wouldn’t he? I suppose I left a good impression.”

“Ah, of course.” you shake your head and smile under your nose.

The silence weighs between the two of you, some guards pass you by and the morning sky shines mercilessly. You start walking away from the parapet and into the streets, the small crowds surround you as you go by the merchant stalls, tall towers and small courts. 

“It’s refreshing. Seeing you here, feeling your presence, it’s… stronger.”

“Few hundred years had made their mark.” you respond and stop by a fountain, the water hums in your ears. 

“So did I.”

You look up at him and try not to roll your eyes. You admit he gave you tremendous help but the years you’ve spent in Eregion fell upon your shoulders. You knew you had to endure your stay a little longer, for his sake and yours. 

“Thank you.” you find yourself whispering. He knows you well enough to give you a small nod in exchange.

“Do not think that I will release you of the practice over your craft.”

You smile, this is what you needed. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

next part -> bewitched

[take-it-on-the-run]

Rosyln

Dean Winchester x FreshlyTurned!Reader

It was supposed to be a simple hunt. Something to get the three of you back on your feet after a year of thinking Sam was dead and no contact between you and Dean.

Word Count: 2.1k

Tags: Vampirism, the reader is turned, angst, hurt/comfort, soulless Sam is slacking, blood, vivid descriptions of smell and pain, vomiting, illness comfort, Samuel Campbell (yes he is a warning he sucks), brief mention of the reader killing Dean

Characters: Dean Winchester, Soulless!Sam Winchester, FreshlyTurned!Reader, Samuel Campbell

Anonymous requested: "hi <3 wasn’t sure if I could request this or not, feel free to ignore if you don’t feel comfortable doing it, but can I request a hurt/comfort fic with dean :) like patching up an injury or smth, thank you !!!"

Read it on AO3!

A/N: Bon Iver + St. Vincent title. Okay, I'm going to preface this by saying this went a little off the rails from what the request asked for, and I hope that this is still generally within the realm of hurt/comfort. Thank you for the request anon, and if you don't think I quite hit the mark, I'm sorry. Other than the haywire writing, this was a ton of fun to write, and made me brush up on my season six lore. Every mistake is my own, heed the tags, and enjoy!

Dean Winchester Masterlist | Supernatural Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist

Blood ran down your chest and stomach, coupled with a hot, searing pain that pulsated from the side of your neck.

The barn you were in was slipping in and out of vision as you tried to focus on a small crack that ran through a few of the ceiling boards.

The reality of your life coming to an end in a barn on the outskirts of a small Midwest town crashed down on you.

It was supposed to be a simple hunt.

Something to get the three of you back on your feet after a year of thinking Sam was dead and no contact between you and Dean.

Rush the vamp nest, take them out, and torch the place for good measure.

It was a fairly simple plan, given the things you three had gone through over the past years. Ghosts, demons, and the damn devil himself. A plan that would’ve gone through perfectly if Sam followed through on his end.

You were supposed to go through one of the top windows, Dean through the front, and Sam the back.

You found two vamps up in the loft, swiftly cutting through the head of one before the other kicked you straight through the loft’s railing, landing on your back a floor below.

Before you could get to your feet, he was on top of you, yanking the machete in your hands and throwing it across the room. He brought his grotesque mouth to your neck, all sharp needles made of bone. The metallic smell of blood caked to the back of his teeth wafted over your senses.

You could feel the muscles in your neck drawing taught as his teeth attempted to rip out the soft flesh between your neck and shoulder. You tried pushing him off, but the harder you pushed, the more his jaw would close. The only thing stopping him from ripping your throat clean open was Dean running behind him and holding the vampire’s mouth open like a wild animal.

Through your drowning ears, you could hear Dean yelling for Sam to come kill the monster on top of you, but no such relief came.

You didn’t know where Sam was, but you knew Dean had a choice to make.

Either let the vampire’s jaw go, letting him yank your throat apart as he scrambled for a weapon to kill it, or continue yelling for his brother who was yet to be found.

Your eyes met his briefly through the struggle of his vice grip on your attacker. You could see confusion, followed by regret, flash in his eyes; like you were telling him it was one way or the other.

As strong as Dean was, you knew that he wasn’t strong enough to wait for Sam and still have the energy to hold the vampire on you.

He knew it, too.

You closed your eyes when you saw his hands starting to move away from the vampire’s jaw before they slipped off and he was out of your sight.

You didn’t blame him. It was a tough call to make, and if the roles were reversed, you were sure you’d make the same choice.

That’s the life, after all.

You were barely conscious enough to recognize Dean dragging you away to prop you up against a wall with a grunt. You heard the rotting door of the barn get kicked open, and you blinked your eyes open enough to see Sam finally make an appearance with the med kit that you stashed in the Impala.

“Where the hell were you,” Dean spit at his brother with venom. You heard Sam’s voice, but the words were garbled and you couldn’t put together what he was saying.

Your voice rattled a moan without your control, like a ghastly breath escaping your lungs in an attempt to cling to life. Their voices came to a hush as Dean returned to kneeling at your side.

“Hey, hey sweetheart,” his hand cupped the side of your face while the other remained pressed harshly on the gaping wound in your neck, “I need you to focus on me. Just keep your eyes on me, everything’s gonna be alright.”

You knew you were at the end of your blood tank; in reality, it was a miracle you were still awake at all.

Fuck.

You moved your jaw, Dean’s hand riding on the side of your neck in an attempt to keep the wound covered.

In no human realm should you be awake or alive in this moment.

But, as Sam shoved thick pads of gauze into Dean’s hands, you felt the world stop as a new smell cut through the one of your blood.

A deep, unsatiated hunger, as if you hadn’t eaten since the moment you were born, dawned on your tongue. It didn’t pile in your stomach like normal hunger; it coursed through your body, wracking you with the urge to find the source of the smell.

Dean.

The smell was coming from Dean.

You forced yourself away from him, kicking against the rickety floor of the barn as he looked at you in shock.

“What are you doing? You’re going to bleed out, please, I know it hurts, but…” his words died in his mouth as you slowly stood to your feet, feeling around the site of the wound. Your hand moved on your skin, slipping in your blood but not dipping against the gaping holes you knew should’ve been there.

“I need you two to back up away from me, please.” You stated as calmly as you could. Something was clicking in your jaw, and you guessed it was the new teeth forcing their way through your gums.

The two of the brothers stepped away, Sam a little faster than Dean, as you dug your nails into a wooden beam to stop your feet from moving.

You watched them from a distance, whispering to each other with occasional glances your way.

Dean took a step towards you, his hands in front of him cautiously as you firmly planted your feet to the ground.

“Sam says he and Samuel may know how to deal with this, he thinks they might have a cure. I’m going to grab the guy that turned you,” he turned to the body slowly, keeping eye contact with you, “and we’ll need you to come with us. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

You craned your neck to look around before your eyes were burned with the light creaking through the walls. It burned like the sun had come down to Earth and set it on fire, swirling up to your brain and distorting your thoughts.

“Dean,” you heaved out, planting your hands firmly over your eyes, “I don’t think-” your brain felt too light to form more words. Everything was too bright, too fast, too much.

Your body buckled at your hips as you heard one of the pair approach you. Hands lightly pressed at the backs of your legs, and you were swept off your feet.

When you woke up, you were sat upright in a chair, alone in one of the many rooms of the Campbell’s compound. You recognized it as one of the rooms dedicated to the many monsters the Campbell family took in; the barred door locked from the outside.

You gasped, holding back a gag as you tasted your rancid breath.

“Y/N?” You heard someone call out your name from down the hall, and you scrambled to the bars, wrapping your hands around them.

“Dean?” You called out with a weak voice. The owner of the voice turned down the hallway, revealing Dean’s broad figure walking swiftly to you.

He knelt in front of the bars, gaze sweeping over you, taking in your ragged appearance.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and steady. “How are you feeling?”

You laughed bitterly. “Like something chewed me up and spit me out.” The words felt strange coming out of your mouth, as if each syllable scraped against your throat, raw and foreign. You tightened your grip on the bars, the metal cold against your clammy skin.

Dean nodded slowly, glancing down the hallway where Sam and Samuel’s muffled voices were discussing… something. Something about a cure. A way out of this. But you could tell by Dean’s face that the chances weren’t great.

“Listen, they’re working on it,” he said. “Sam and Samuel think they might be able to stop this, to reverse it somehow. You just have to hang in there.”

You met his gaze, searching his eyes for any sign of certainty, anything that might give you hope. “And if they can’t?” Your voice was softer than you’d meant, but you had to ask. The hunger clawing at your insides was getting stronger, more insistent, and it terrified you more than anything else.

He exhaled sharply, pressing his forehead against the bars. “Then we deal with it.”

You felt a shudder run through you, half from fear and half from the hunger that twisted your insides at the scent of his blood. “Dean… you don’t get it.” You tried to explain the gnawing feeling, how you could practically taste his blood just by being this close. “I’m not safe, not like this.”

Dean’s jaw tightened. “Then I’ll find a way to make you safe. Whatever it takes.”

Just then, Sam and Samuel came down the hall, carrying an ancient-looking book and a glass filled with a thick red liquid. You guessed it had blood in it, by the smell, but various other scents in the drink made you want to double over. Dean turned, his face hardening as he looked at them.

Sam cleared his throat, glancing at you behind the bars. “We… we think this might work. The cure’s based on a blood transfusion from the vampire that turned you, mixed with some ingredients Samuel and the family found.” He met your eyes, his expression somber, with a blankness in his eyes. “It’s gonna hurt. A lot. But if you can make it through… there’s a good chance we can turn you back.”

With a nod, you stepped away from the door, allowing Samuel to unlock it with a key he pulled from his pocket. Dean stared at you intensely as Sam crossed the threshold into the cell. He handed you the cup and quickly stepped back out of the room.

Before either Sam had a chance to close the door again, Dean stepped in.

“What are you doing?” Samuel asked, creaking open the door so Dean would have the chance to leave.

“If this has the chance to kill her, I think we owe her enough to not let her die alone in a cell like some damn dog,” Dean said harshly.

Sam looked as if he was going to say something, but Samuel silently closed the door and locked it.

“Dean,” you groaned out, the ache of your new sharp teeth erupting past your gums making it hard to speak, “you shouldn’t have done that.”

“I know you, and I know that out of all of us, you’d be the one with the most control to not eat me alive.” He said wryly, sitting against the wall opposite of you as you leaned against it.

You smiled despite the pain radiating throughout your body. The drink in your hand smelled like blood mixed with something bitter that sat in the back of your throat. You looked a Dean for a moment, before raising the cup a little in a ‘cheers’ motion and starting to slam the liquid down.

It burned like the first time you drank booze, but there was no warm and fuzzy feeling when you finished. You coughed roughly, dropping the cup and leaning over to sputter your inside up. Dean moved to you within a second, hand holding your hair out of the way as you finally opened your eyes to see what was escaping you.

Blood.

Blood shot from your lips over and over, the only relief found in the form of Dean’s hand gently rubbing your back as your body purged the vampirism straight from you.

You didn’t know how long you spent ridding the disease from your body, but it was long enough to create a puddle of blood that soaked into the jeans you were wearing. You brought your nose away from the smell, not realizing that the hunger in you had finally stilled. Every inch of your body was stretched and burning, but the smell that Dean carried with him was finally gone.

He leaned back against the wall again, bringing you against his chest as he whispered near-silent words of encouragement and comfort. The two of you sat in that cell for what seemed like an eternity, not bothering to call out for anyone to let the two of you out.

[jyoongim]

Hello! I absolutely love your work! If it’s not too odd to ask but I was wondering if I may make an odd request- given Alastor is a cannibal- may I have some drabbles within your own comfort level of the reader with a painful disability impacting their arm offering it to Alastor as both a gift and request of pain relief for the reader? Even if in hell characters can reconstitute themselves it would be an interesting dynamic especially if it was just a normal thing between the two.

warnings: self cannibalism! Fluff, Alastor eating a piece of you. Bodily harm! Disabled!reader

You groaned as you felt pain shoot down your arm. You thought when one died, you’ll be relieved of your earthly pains…clearly not.

And the fall to hell did not help.

You tried to soothe the painful tingle that ran through your arm, but to no avail.

The only relief you got was when you cut the damn thing off. Though that didn’t last long as your arm always grew back at some point.

”Alastoooorr” you sanded finding the demon in the kitchen. it smelled like he was cooking.

He hummed in response as you took a seat at the table.

”hmm what is it my dear?” He asked

”wanna split some of my arm?” You asked, wincing at the sharp pain.

He was quickly by your side, a clawed hand dancing up your arm. “You know ill never decline such a offer dearest”

you sighed, narrowing your eyes at him playfully “dont just rip it off this time please”

he shrugged laughing as he picked up a cleaver.

”Oh but it so much more fun that way”

he rolled up your sleeve and gave a soft lick to your shoulder “remember to breathe”

You shut your eyes on impulse and hissed as the steel sliced through your flesh.

You smiled as the pain went away and wrapped a towel around the bleeding wound.

You poked at the limb that caused you so much grief, mentally growling at it.

Alastor picked it up and tossed it in a bag. “Feel better?” He asked. You nodded, rolling your shoulder blade and happy to not feel that nagging sting you were so use to.

”much thank you”

this was a normal for you. Asking Alastor to rid you of the petting limb whenever it decided it didn’t want to function properly.

”should i chill it for later?” You shook your head “No go ahead ill just take a finger”

It was interesting seeing the demon enjoy a piece of you. He didn’t dig into it like some savage, instead you watched as he deboned it, before taking a bite.

”I think you like it more than i do” you joked, nibbling on your own finger.

Alastor smiled “why of course! You taste better than even the finest meat my dear”

”I always enjoy getting a bite out of you”

[lunajay33]

Just a Taste🖤

•🕷️💋•

Summary: Reader knew lusting after him was wrong, him being her gym teacher and all but when she comes across him again when the world ends she can’t resist

Pairing: Negan Smith x f!reader

Warning: Age Gap, 18+

•Masterlist•

I know it’s wrong but god I want him so badly, sure he’s my gym teacher but a girl knows how to appreciate an attractive man, the way he’d smirk when I’d sass him back or the way he’d help me with warm up stretches, pushing his body so close to mine I’ve become addicted to his cologne , but what could I do he’s my gym teacher, sure I’m 18 but a girl can dream

The day of my graduation I finally found the courage to approach Negan, walking right up to him behind the bleachers as it was an outside celebration, a cigarette lit as he huffed out a cloud of smoke, I never was one for the smell but being around him I couldn’t get enough now

“Hey angel, shouldn’t you be celebrating with the others?” He smirked as I stood next to him

“Hmmm I’d rather be here with you Mr.Smith” I said batting my lashes seeing his smirk widen making my knees weak

“Is that so baby girl? I’m sure you don’t wanna waste your time with an old man like me, what the guys your age don’t satisfy ya?” He asks as he blows smoke in my face

“Mmm no one makes me feel the things you do”

“Holy shit darling you’re one hell of a minx, never seen this side of ya before but god is it refreshing” I took the cigarette from his hand taking a slow drag feeling the smoke envelope my lungs

“Maybe you deserve a little graduation gift don’t you think Angel?” His lips mere inches from mine as he sucked in the smoke I breathed out

“I think I do, I’ve been so good” right as our lips were about to touch screams and chaos erupted all around us

Pulling apart I notice blood all around people ripping the flesh of my fellow classmates and some people that were still lingering around from the graduation, I felt a tight grip around my waist pushing me in the opposite direction of all this mayhem

“What is happening Mr.Smith?” I asked running with him right next to me

“Don’t know sweetheart but we gotta get the hell outta here”

We got close to his truck when a group of walkers got in our way splitting us up, having to run in separate directions, I tried getting back to him but neither of us could risk it with the amount of chompers around

“STAY ALIVE! ILL FIND YA SUNSHINE” he screamed as we got pushed further and further apart

I ran and just kept running until I got back home, my family was gone they didn’t even wait for me, the realization dawned on me that I had to do this alone, so I gathered a bag and filled it with clothes, the food that was left over in the pantry and getting anything that could be used as a weapon in the garage

I changed into some more appropriate clothes for this crazy situation that this town has found itself in god knows where else

“Okay you’ve got this, all you’ve got to do is survive just survive somehow” I tried encouraging myself as I slung my bag over my back and drove off out of town having no clue where I was heading

Gas ran out quick leaving me to wonder on foot through the Georgia woods thinking it would be safer than the roads, after 2 months of wandering having to fend for myself, running scarce of food and killing and walkers that came near leaving me exhausted and covered in blood

Finally I came to a break in the trees leading to an open field with a farm house in the middle, not a walker in sight, I sighed in relief feeling like I’ve finally found a break even just for a little while, I got to the house noticing tents set up, still early in the morning the people set up here must still be sleeping

“Who the hell are ya?” I heard a gruff voice behind me, I turned frightened noticing a man with a cross bow pointed at me, he had scruffy hair and a scowl

“Oh umm I’m sorry I’ve just been walking and I came across this place I just wanted a break, I was gonna ask…..I just need rest even just for today please” he looked me up and down before lowering his bow, his expression softening

“Come on I’ll show ya around”

Thankfully that day it wasn’t a one day rest and the group embraced me as one of their own, Daryl became like an older brother teaching me how to hunt, always watching over me, Maggie always went out of her way to check up on me and she’s become like a sister, I got along with everyone else as well but Daryl and Maggie meant the most to me

When the farm fell Daryl saved me from being torn apart, the 9 months on the road after that looking for a new home they always made sure I got a bit of extra food

Finally we found the prison and we had a while of peace, sitting on the railing of the watch tower looking out over the yard when Daryl came and sat next to me

“Ya okay?”

“Yeah just thinking about stuff”

“Like what?”

“The day everything happened it was my graduation day, it felt like my life was just starting and I had my whole life ahead of me, I even had a guy I finally got the courage to confess to in a way, I was so excited and god I had wanted him for so long and just like that it was ripped away from me, I still hear the last words he said to me before we were pulled apart, he said he’d find me” I sighed feeling the weight of what could have been weighing down on me, I still think of Negan all the time, the way he’d wear a black top showing off his tattoos that always had me clenching my legs in class, how his arms would flex when he’d help me stretch, or when the smell of cigarette would come my way I remember taking his and feeling his lips brush against mine

“Don’t give up peach, he might still be out there, I’ll make sure ya have a future”

“Thanks Daryl”

When the prison fell I was lucky to escape with Tyrese and Judith and the two little girls until we came across Carol, with carols help we saved the group from the cannibals, reuniting with my new family, the we were on the road again until we got saved yet again and found a new home in Alexandria, everything was going well, Maggie was pregnant, we had a home that was safe with food, I always wanted to help the group with what ever problem arises but Maggie and Daryl kept me out of it, always saying I should stay in Alexandria and help things run smoothly

So when the group came back bloodied and empty of emotion I was confused

“What happened where Daryl? Where’s Maggie is she okay?” I asked Michonne as she seemed to be the most put together of the group

“We shouldn’t have left you in the dark, we’ve been up against another group they cornered us they….they killed Abraham and Glenn, they took Daryl, Maggie is at hilltop hiding out and getting the help she needs with the baby” my world felt like it was crashing down

“What? No this can’t be true, we need to get Daryl back”

“There’s nothing we can do”

A few days went by when that group that took some of my family away arrived in the streets and Alexandria

I ran out of the house seeing Daryl in ratty clothes standing at the gates, I looked next to him and it was him…..Negan was talking to Rick my heart started pumping fast and I gasped catching the attention of him, his smirk he had dropped as the attention of everyone around was now on us, he dropped his bat to the ground and before I knew it I was running to him jumping in his arms feeling his strong arms wrap around me and squeeze me tight

“I told you I’d find you sunshine” he stated he still smelled of cigarette and that cologne that had me want him to finally take me right here right now

He set me down back on the ground squeezing my waist as I ran my hand along his cheek

“I’ve been looking for you, ever since that day, god I’ve craved your lips, your touch, I ain’t letting you go again Angel”

“Y/n? What are you doing?” I heard Rick ask from behind me

“Oh she’s mine done Ricky, been waiting to have her, should’ve never let you go that day”

“Y/n he killed Glenn and Abraham he’s the one that imprisoned Daryl” it dawned on me that this was the leader of the group that took people away from my family

I looked over at Daryl seeing how hurt he was

“Negan can I talk to you in private please” he placed his hand on my lower back and led me away from the clashing groups

“What is it baby?”

“This is my family, they’ve done so much for me, Daryl has saved me and protected me more times than I can count, if it wasn’t for him I would be long dead, and I wanna be with you, god do I wanna be with you but I need you to let him go, please I mean you still have to give me my graduation gift” I said smirking as I looped my fingers in the waist band of his jeans hearing him groan

“Fuck Angel I can’t believe I’m saying this but I’ll do it for you, he can go but you’re coming back with me, I’ve needed to feel you for too long, go say your goodbyes” he smirked as he slapped my ass as I walked back towards the entrance

“Daryl I’m so sorry I didn’t know, he’s going to let you go” he finally looked at me and pulled me into his arms

“Ain’t yer fault ya knew none of this, I can’t say I’m happy about this being the guy that ya told me about, but ya gotta do what makes ya happy, I’ll talk to the others” he said as he pushed me off back towards Negan

“I’ll see you soon Daryl”

Getting back to the sanctuary Negan showed me around until we got back to his own room, it was nice, the nicest room I’ve seen since before everything happened

“I can’t wait anymore Negan, I need you, please. I need you to fuck me” I whined as I felt him close behind me his hands brushing down my hips

“Whatever you want baby” he groaned into my ear as he started unbuttoning my jeans pulling them down as I was quick to rip off my shirt leaving me in my black lace panties and bra

“Damn look at that body” he said pushing be back down onto the bed, quick to rid himself of his own clothes, even more tattoos on his chest that had me desperate for more

“Like what ya see baby”

“God yes, please just touch me” he smirked as he started leaving sloppy hickeys down my neck to my chest, licking down my stomach to my panties, my heart was pounding, my head was buzzing

He pulled my panties down so slowly I whined my pussy aching from need

“Look at how wet you are baby and all for me, just a little taste first” he said before he licked up my pussy slowly at first before he started eating me out like he was a starved man, running my hand through his salt and pepper hair screaming his name as that pressure started building

“Fuck fuck I’m so close don’t stop” pulling away as I felt that pressure fade

“No please let me cum”

“Oh you’ll be coming angel, all night long” he laughed as he ran his cock up and down my slit jumping when he’d smack my sensitive clit

“Fuck I don’t think you’re gonna fit” he was huge, thick and long it had my mouth watering

“Oh it’ll fit and I’m gonna fuck this pretty little pussy raw” he said as he slowly pushed in feeling him stretch and fill me up to the brim it was overwhelming but god was it everything I’ve fantasized about

Hovering over me he was biting his lip his face scrunched in pleasure

“So tight, so know how long I’ve wanted this little pussy baby, to bend you over those bleachers and just fuck the attitude out of you” he said as he started thrusting getting faster and faster hitting all the right spots, quickly circling my clit

“Oh fuck I’ve wanted you for so long, god you fuck me so good” his cologne enveloping my senses, hearing him groan into my ear, feeling his cool rings run across my burning skin, everything I’ve dreamed of finally happening feeling that pressure build and build

“Fuck Negan I’m gonna cum please let me cum”

“Cum baby, cum on my cock, be a good girl come on” he said slapping my clit again pushing me over the edge

“OH FUCK” I screamed every nerve burning with desire, my sight clouded with stars, feeling his hot cum shoot inside me

“That’s it sunshine, let it go” his thrusts slowing until he finally pulled out making whine at the empty feeling

“Wow that was……mind blowing”

“We ain’t done yet baby, I’ve got years of fantasies to play out”

This was gonna be a long night

Taglist: @pretty-circa006 @somethingabouttheft @elliesr1fle @gigi0190 @livlaughlove03 @sst4r-g1rll @trishpish-blog @bewitchedbymadness

[heroesrest64]

Haunting Heroes

Other parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Chapter 9: Weary Wonderment

Chapter Summary: How many times can one person pass out in a day before it becomes a Problem?

You can read the chapter here on ao3

Chapter under the cut :)

“You know, once you get past the torn flesh and mind-melting horror of it all, you aren’t half bad to look at.” You admit, wrapped in a blanket cocoon and clutching a cup of tea that you’re pretty sure Wild made for you while you were passed out at your kitchen table. Hyrule smiles nervously across the table, rubbing the back of his neck in a boyish show of bashfulness.

“I didn’t think you’d actually pass out from seeing me. The first time I saw a ghost myself, I got physically ill, but I guess your body has a different reaction to spirits.” Hyrule hums, pressing a blood soaked finger to his bottom lip. You half expect it to stain, but you’re starting to learn that the injuries on his body are almost purely cosmetic. The blood doesn’t rub off on anything, and despite his dead eye, he can see perfectly well.

“I guess… Why did you even need to see ghosts? For like, a quest or something?” You ask, genuinely curious. Hyrule flushes, his cheeks tinged a pleasant red, and he glances away with a nervous smile.

“Haha, I actually used to have an item to see ghosts… but I lost it. I was really into magic theory at the time, so I kinda… reverse-engineered the spell into a functioning tonic.” Hyrule shrugs, like it’s no big deal. You aren’t too familiar with magic yourself, but that sounds like quite the feat of magical science to you.

“I don’t even know how that would work. Do you think you could show me how to do magic like that?” You ask, excitedly drawing Hyrule’s tome closer to your chest.

“Sure! I-“ Hyrule cuts himself off, looking to the side just as you feel a chill brush up against you. You figure Four must’ve come into the room and is talking to the ghost in front of you, and eventually Hyrule turns his attention back to you.

“Four is asking if you want to talk to the rest of us. Everyone except Time is here.”

“Ah! I completely forgot! I guess I was just happy to get to talk to even one of you, but I can speak to all of you now, can’t I?” You grin, shooting up from your seat. Hyrule begins to float away, guiding you to the office where all of their anchors are apparently gathered.

“Are you sure you can handle looking at all of us? I don’t want you passing out again…” Hyrule frets, wringing his hands in front of himself. You wave vaguely, already reaching for Wild’s tablet which has been charging in the corner of the room since you found it.

“It shouldn’t be that bad. I got used to you pretty quickly-“ You pause, finding yourself faced with the same man from the forest from almost a week ago. Long blonde hair, electric blue eyes. He even has a ghostly version of the tablet clipped to his belt. But that’s not what catches your attention. Instead, your eyes stray to where his right arm should be, only to find a bloody stub. Your throat constricts, bile rising in your throat, and you take a moment to just- breathe.

Apparently the injuries can get worse than a lightning strike through the eye. Wild extends his remaining arm, clutching at the air between the two of you as if to try and catch you. You appreciate the effort, taking his hand and letting him lead you safely to the floor.

“Are you okay? Should I grab you some water?” Wild asks, squeezing your hand in reassurance as you take in a couple more breaths, trying to make sure you won’t throw up while trying to answer him.

“I’m fine- just startled. Are you- okay?” You ask, and immediately regret it. Of course he’s not okay. He’s dead.

“Oh, this old thing? Y’know, getting my arm ripped off probably isn’t the worst injury I’ve gotten, but I guess the blood loss got me in the end.” Wild jokes, leaning back on the balls of his feet, grinning as you try to process his words. He got his arm ripped off. And he’s joking about it.

It’s so absurd that you can’t help but laugh. Luckily, Wild and Hyrule join in, and you move to stand back up to continue finding the anchors in your office.

“Luckily not all of us have such ugly injuries,” Hyrule hums while you walk to where you left Twilight's rock.

“Don’t talk like that… You guys died. Of course it’s not going to be pretty. Even so… You guys are,” You pause heat pooling in your cheeks as you consider what you were about to say. Were you really about to call them handsome after seeing them for only a couple minutes?

To be fair, they truthfully were very handsome, looking almost rugged due to their injuries, but with a charm you were beginning to suspect was a trait all heroes carried.

You only got more of a confirmation when you picked up Twilight's rock and were met with the disheveled man, his nearly brown hair tousled, some slight scratches on his cheeks but otherwise looking less injured than the other two. You do notice his shirt is torn around the shoulder, and when you carefully circle him, there are claw-like gashes raking down his back.

It must be something about seeing the killing strike that sets you off, because immediately after seeing the wounds, you feel your knees lock, and you’re pretty sure your vision goes white for a second. Your doctor will be having words with you if you ever tell them about all of the fainting spells you’ve been having.

“Might wanna slow down there, darlin’. Maybe we should take a break. I don’t want you hurtin’ yourself.” Twilight drawls in a country accent that suits him a little too well. You hum your agreement, pocketing his rock, and are a little surprised when he doesn’t disappear. Does the potion work as long as the anchor is on your person? You suppose that makes sense to a certain degree.

“Why is you anchor a rock, anyway? Everyone else has like cool books and swords and stuff.” You point out, and Twilight looks off to the side like he’s debating whether to tell you or not.

“It’s not just a rock. It’s a Shadow Crystal, a piece of Twilight meant to curse all who touch it.” Twilight explains, and you let out a curious hum, turning the crystal around in your hand.

“Does that mean I’m cursed now?” You ask, feeling a nervous thrill shoot down your spine. That would be the cherry on top of your haunted sundae now wouldn’t it?

“Luckily, no. I can control when it activates now that I’m anchored to it.” Twilight grins, and a little fang pokes out of his smile. how can one man look so cute? Heat trickles into your cheeks, and you quickly look away, conveniently making eye contact with the Master Sword in the next second.

“So Sky is connected to the master sword… Maybe knowing what injuries he has beforehand will help?” You wonder, hand hovering over the hilt of the sword.

“He was the first of us to die that night. Killed in his sleep before any of us even knew what happened.” Twilight bites out, upset by the events. Wild sets a hand on his shoulder, giving him a reassuring look.

“He was stabbed through the chest and bled out.” Hyrule finishes the explanation, looking off to the side. Your mouth is dry, and you swallow hard, trying to imagine what the man would even look like. It sounds horrible. But to be targeted first, and while asleep, no less…

Was Sky such a big threat that whatever villain attacked them needed him dead before everyone else?

You wrap your hand around the Master Sword’s handle, picking it up almost reverently. Sky appears before your eyes, his eyes grey as slate, like a downcast day. Like Hyrule described, there’s a stab wound in the middle of his chest, standing out bright and red against his embroidered green tunic. You take in a sharp breath, but luckily don’t feel like fainting this time. Instead, you feel dread crawl up your spine and an odd sense of loss.

“Do you feel okay? No fainting spells, or..?” Sky frets, voice soft and filled with worry as he floats closer. You swallow around the lump in your throat, offering a shaky smile.

“I’m fine. Better than the last few times. It’s still startling, but I think this is better.” You swing the master sword onto your shoulder, only now realizing that it might be a little difficult to keep a bunch of sacred relics on your person at a single time. It feels a little irreverent to just wear them, but what other choice do you have?

“Who do you want to meet next?” Wild asks, sliding up beside you now that you’ve grabbed all of the known anchors in the room.

“How about Four?” You suggest, a chill brushing up against you at your words.

“His anchor would be this shield over here-“ Twilight calls out, pointing to a shield displayed on the wall. There’s a staff with a red gem on it next to it, which you suspect is probably somebody else’s anchor.

“Four was separated from the group, transported to a wintery landscape where he eventually succumbed to the elements without his equipment. For us, he was only gone for an hour at most. For him, it must’ve been weeks.” Hyrule explains, and you wince at the new information. Each death seems to be more gruesome than the last. Whoever was attacking these heroes did so with calculated intent.

Taking the shield from its wall mount, you finally turn your attention to the cold pocket inside of the room, finally coming face to face with Four. He offers a smile, skin looking bruised from the frostbite he must’ve experienced before his death. Whatever skin isn’t purpled and bruised is pale and tinted a cold blue. He looks like a frail sculpture carved from ice.

“Don’t go crying on me, now.” Four grins, ice-chapped lips tugging up in a way that looks almost painful. You know the ghosts can’t actually feel pain, but to have died from exposure and the cold in such a gruesome way…

“I’m not crying. Say, this person that killed you guys- they wouldn’t happen to still be around, would they?” You ask, jokingly cracking your knuckles. Four laughs loudly, clutching his stomach with the force of the action.

“You really think you could take him on?” He asks, grinning down at you.

“Maybe not, but I could give him a piece of my mind.” Your grin turns wolfish, and Four continues to laugh.

After a while, you turn your attention towards the staff still on display, asking if it might be one of their anchors.

“That’s Legend’s. He was hit with a paralytic pretty early on, but before he could really recover, they shot him through his throat and he bled out. Still managed to do some damage despite all of that.” Wild gives a sideways smile, elbowing the open air beside him. You suppose that’s where Legend is, and pick up the staff to confirm.

Legend looks unamused, swatting at Wild who’s still playfully jabbing at him. Like Wild described, there’s an arrow shot through the front of his throat, the sharp tip piercing all the way through to the other side of his neck. His tunic is stained with blood from the injury, and you quickly look away before you can become any more nauseous.

“Sorry, I know it’s a gruesome sight.” Legend apologizes, voice smooth, and you realize this is your first time hearing his real voice. Before, it was always chopped up lines of whatever you’d said yourself, or words taken from calls you answered on speakerphone. He has a pretty nice voice, you have to admit.

“Don’t apologize. I think you’re beautiful.” You admit truthfully. Past the blood and the bruises, he still somehow carries a boyish innocence. A playful side with a bite to it. Even if this is your first time hearing his actual voice, you know exactly how he speaks, snarky and sarcastic but capable of being serious when the situation calls for it. The tinge of a blush covering his cheeks at your words isn’t half bad to look at, either.

“Wind’s been begging for his turn. We should move on before he explodes.” Sky laughs, floating over to a pure white baton set on a small display stand. You move to pick it up, but Wild’s hand on your arm stops you.

“It might be kind of rough. He’s still…” Wild starts, turning to look behind him. You wonder if Wind is standing there. You have your own theories on Wind, his identity and how he died, but you decide to wait for your friends to explain it to you.

“There’s a basin a little further into the forest. It had rained recently, filling it up, and the rest of us were too overwhelmed. By the time anyone noticed, he was already…” Twilight chokes on his words, covering his mouth with his hand.

“We should have been there for him. Out of any of us…” Sky glares at his hands, seeming broken up about the event, and you frown, taking the baton in your hand, only to see exactly why everyone is reacting how they are.

Wind is… He’s a kid. He can’t be over thirteen, nearly a head shorter than most of the rest of the heroes. You know monsters are called what they are for a reason, but to have drowned a kid so young is still- it feels like too much. Your eyes well up with tears, and you find yourself stumbling forward, hands outstretched to hold the blue tinged child in your hands.

You stumble right through him, and that only serves to break you down more as the tears finally fall and start rolling down your cheeks as you grip at open air. There’s a sniffle from overhead, and you glance up to see Wind quietly wiping at his cheeks and runny nose as his own tears start to spill. They splash on your head, real and heartbreaking as Wind eventually falls to his knees , hugging you tightly as his tears stain your shirt- the only part of him that you can feel, but at the moment, it’s the only part that matters.

“How could they do this to you… sweet boy, you deserved better than this.” You whisper into sodden golden lockes- still dripping with water from the basin that took his life. Wind chokes on whatever his response was meant to be, continuing to cry and attempt to hold you ever more tightly, your shirt becoming soaked as his abilities run wild.

Something warm and soft covers your back, and you peek up to see the dark blue blanket that you usually wrap yourself in when it gets too cold in the office. You also see somebody new- Warriors, smiling down at you, left arm mangled and bloody splotches covering his face and clothes. He’s also wearing a blood soaked scarf which looks suspiciously like the blanket now covering your back.

“I know there’s nothing I can do about what happened… But I promise I’ll do my best to help you guys from here on.” You whisper, reaching up to wipe the tears from Wind’s face before standing fully to address all of the ghosts in the room.

“Time is gone for now, right? In that case, while we wait for him to catch back up with us… What do you guys say to a little outing?”

[sp4ceboo]

CHAPTER 5 ~ VISIONS

beneath a crimson sky masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

pairing: stray kids ot8 x afab!reader

genre: apocalypse au, dystopian, dark, adventure, action, thriller, fighting, eventual smut, romance

a/n: for someone who's terrified of any sort of horror etc i sure get the urge to write it

chapter warnings: gore, lots of vivdly described disturbing stuff, illness, starvation, hallucinations

chapter word count: 2.5k

Hissing in your ears, the shadows bear you up in their arms, whisking you so high that you thrash in their shackles, screaming for them to let you down.

The whites of their eyes show as they laugh at you.

You sob, trying to grab at the inky chains they’ve fixed around your wrists and ankles, but they turn insubstantial the moment your fingers close around them, dissolving away in curls of cold smoke to reform away from your touch. Grinning faces surround you, multitudes of strange faces you cannot explain: an army assembled to mock you.

In a flash, they are gone. Bony fingers crawl over your face. Flailing, you try to bite down, but another hand clamps over your mouth as the fingers creep upwards, digging into your eye sockets and scooping. Cold envelops you, and you spasm, back arching as sight returns to you.

There’s bloody tears dripping down your face.

You weep.

Below you, a vast crowd stretches, wreathed in flames and lined up in endless rows, so far that you cannot see their ends. Dressed in rags that they treat as finery are a man and a woman, standing at the head of the formation, their faces slack and empty. Their bodies are not theirs to control.

The woman’s blonde hair hangs limp and matted around her face. There’s a glint of something metal at her waist. It’s the hilt of a knife, snug between her ribs, and though blood oozes down her clothes and soaks into her rags, she acts as if it isn’t there. Beside her, the man sways, bronzed skin pallid and coated in a sheen of sweat; he looks not entirely healthy, as if he’d just recovered from an illness. 

A figure rides up. Even from so far above, you feel the blaze of his hate. His horse is a steed forged from an inferno, red and fiery, and you catch a glimpse of sharpened iron teeth as its lip curls, tossing its flame weaved mane and pawing at the ground, the air around it undulating with heat. You begin to tremble.

The rider’s face is terrible and beguiling. His flesh drips from his bones, sizzling where it touches the horse's flanks. You are struck through with terror as his eyes find you from where you are suspended in the wine tinted sky; they are deep and endless and full of an ocean of loathing. For a moment, you are drowning in them, and fire tugs at your limbs, ripping your skin off them and gnawing through you until it finds your heart.

A wretched sound leaves you as the rider stretches out his hand and plucks it from your chest. The worst thing is that beneath the fear and the acrid scent of your burning body, there is an unexplainable elation, planted there against your will. It swells in your chest, and you begin to laugh, laugh and laugh and laugh, as the rider brings your heart to his bloody mouth and sinks his teeth in.

Pain explodes through you, and suddenly you are back in the sky. You clutch at the shadows now, pleading for them to keep you away from the rider, pleading for them to make it stop.

Again, they laugh, a chorus of shrieks and cackles, shrill, the sound boring into your head.

Though your limbs are weak with fear, you still find it within you to struggle against them. Wordless, frightened noises leave you, for below, the rider is cradling the face of the woman, close as a lover, and she is transfixed by him. You scream, begging her to pull away, to resist, but a dumb smile crawls over her face and she drops to her knees before the rider. As she falls, he grips the blade in her side and pulls it out. She does not even twitch.

You can only watch in horror as he moves onto the man. He too kneels without a fight.

Pulling the broadsword from where it is slung over his back, the second horseman draws it and rests the flat of it on the woman’s shoulder. For a panic stricken moment, you think he will behead her right there and eviscerate her beside the man, but he doesn’t.

He knights her, then the man next.

The rider gestures at them, and together, they stand, their movements jerky as if pulled on by puppet strings. You cry out when you see their eyes - deep and murky, insidious darkness leaking from their irises into their blood woven sclera.

All semblance of humanity has been erased from them.

They are nothing more than vessels.

Cool hands cup your face.

Moaning, you lean towards them, willing them to stay there and beat back the scorching desert beneath your skin. You can hear voices, but they’re far away. Your breath comes out short and laboured.

It sounds like you’re dying.

The same cool hands ease your jaw open, and water floods your parched tongue. At first, you cough, but you choke it down, so thirsty that you barely pause to breathe. Blearily, you open your eyes, but they don’t make out anything but light and dark blurs.

“She’s drinking, thank god,” the cool hands say.

You frown. It’s Minho’s voice, flat enough that you can’t read the emotions swirling beneath it, but his words sound relieved. You can’t think why Minho would be relieved that you’re alive. The room is slowly swimming into focus, and you spot two smears of black, one a little taller than the other.

A rough palm touches your cheek. “She’s still burning up, though.”

That’s Seungmin. Turning your head, you try to claw your way to lucidity, but it evades you. The cool hands sweep a damp cloth over your forehead as you begin to register his words.

“Burning,” you rasp. “He’ll make them burn everything down.”

Minho pauses, opening his mouth. The shadows sink their teeth into you before you can hear what he says.

This time, they leave you under a reddened night sky devoid of stars. No shackles bind you, but you can sense them slinking in the corners of your vision and where you cannot see, waiting to pounce. Turning in a circle, you scan the darkness, searching for the next horror that awaits you.

The sound of horse hooves rings out. You whirl around, trying to find their source, trying to ignore the tittering of the shadows as they mock you with their derisive faces.

You blink, and then the third horseman is there before you.

She sits astride a horse so black that it had blended into the circle of shadows as it approached. It is glossy and healthy looking, yet it froths at the mouth, snapping its teeth at you. The rider places a soft hand on its flank, and it calms. She smiles at you, saccharine, and it incites so much comfort inside you that you know it’s a lie.

Her extrasolar face is cold and so beautiful it cuts you, her lacy hair like cobwebs where it hangs around her face. It drapes, dripping, over her shoulders - a veil.

There’s blood on your tongue.

You take a step back, and the gentle look on her face turns ugly. Holding up her hand, a pair of scales appears between her fingers, and she places a delicate feather, white as a lamb, in the first dish.

Though there’s nothing in the second dish, the moment she releases the feather, it hurtles downwards - the scales shriek shrilly as they move, and you watch in horror as the feather begins to bleed until it is soaked red. The rider turns to you, and now there is nothing comforting about her sharpened smile. Heart pounding, you back away, but the shadows push you back towards her, and what you believe must certainly be your doom.

She raises her hand and points at you.

Immediately, you collapse, your stomach cramping. You are filled with a sudden craving, a hunger so vast you cannot think; you merely scrabble at the floor, tremors wracking your body as you cry out, needing to fill the yawning cavern inside you. It erodes you from the inside out, so acute it burns like vile acid.

Wailing, you claw your way forward until your vision is filled with the hooves of her horse. You are weak with hunger, so weak that it is a battle to raise your head and look up at her, your mouth hanging open to plead for her to release you from the pain. No sound comes out.

Caressing the horse’s mane, she leans forward and whispers into its velvety ear. You quake as you look up at her, wondering what she said, wondering if she will take mercy on you and knowing she will not.

Whinnying, the horse rears, and you scream as its hooves slam down and punch right through your ribcage.

The combined agony radiating from your crushed torso and the gaping hunger in your stomach paralyses you, locking your muscles so tight it hurts. Your body begins to spasm, and your teeth close around your tongue. Panic spears through you as you begin to choke on your own blood.

Your skin tears, your bones cracking and popping and rearranging within you. You’re aware of protrusions pushing their way out of your back and down your arms, burrowing through your muscles and forcing them to reform around them. When you look up, the rider has dismounted her horse.

Tenderly, she touches your lips.

As if it has its own will, your body bends like a tree in a gale, and she kisses your forehead, her scarlet mouth terrible and searing against your skin, yet upon its touch, the pain in your ribs recedes, reforming you into something new.

The hunger roiling and snapping like a beast within only sharpens its claws.

“Go,” she murmurs. “Slaughter awaits.”

The world shakes with how hard you’re shivering, yet you can’t help but kick off your blankets. Someone secures them more tightly around them and you lash out, but your arms are weak and all it does is flop your hand against their leg. A voice floats down from somewhere in the sky.

“You need to eat.”

“Chan?” You groan, words slurred as strong hands ease you upright. “Changbin?”

“We’re here,” one of them says, although you’re not sure which one.

A spoon is pressed against your lips, and you hold back a cough long enough to swallow - they’ve mashed food so it’s liquid, easier for you to get down and keep down. Your head spins, the faces before you blurring. You realise Jisung is also with them, crouched beside Changbin, his face pale as he watches you.

“What did you mean before, about slaughter?”

Another face swims into view. Jeongin. You stare at him, bewildered both by his question and why he is bobbing up and down in front of you like a rubber duck caught in the crashing waves of the sea.

“I - I don’t remember,” you mumble.

Chan puts his hand on Jeongin’s shoulder. “It’s fine. She’ll tell us when she’s better.”

He says it like it’s final, like he’s sure that you will get through it, like there’s no other option. You want to believe him.

The shadows craft you a leash out of the ephemeral material that clothes them. Laughing, always laughing, they secure it around your neck, so tight that only strained gasps of air make it out of you, and drag you along with them, letting your body get broken and battered by the rocks in their path. Mud chokes your lungs, settling heavy in your chest when you inhale it, and fragments of rubbish and twigs tangle into your hair.

They’re bringing you to someone.

You begin to kick and struggle then, tearing at the leash, but it sinks deeper into your flesh, and your own torn nails leave gashes in your skin. As normal, your screams fall on deaf ears, and you writhe, knowing that who they’re taking you to will be far worse than the previous you’ve seen.

The collar of shadow rings tighter around your neck. Tighter and tighter and tighter until an abyss gapes open below you, and you fall right through, and this time even the shadows forsake you, letting you descend into the blackness as they recede from your vision. Somehow, it brings you no comfort, for they too fear he who has summoned you.

Your bones crunch and snap as you land; it is certain that the fall has ended you, and now your soul is trapped in the cage of your broken ribs, fluttering and trying to shake itself free. You cannot move. You cannot flee.

A pale horse walks towards you, yet its hooves make no noise. Fearful, you raise your eyes to see its rider.

He too is pale, and wreathed in a colourless cloak that casts a shadow over his face, yet you can see his skeletal features, motionless and terribly still within his cowl. The arc of the scythe in his fingers winks at you, even in the dark, and he uses the end of it to hook you and drag you from your body. Your bones clatter as your essence leaves them.

Death holds you in the palm of his hand, and you are captivated by the darkness within his hood. You know that this is the moment that your life rests upon.

“I have come to reap,” he says, with a voice like the slam of nails into a coffin lid. “Yet your time is not up yet.”

Again, you are falling.

There’s someone talking to you. You can see his face, see his lips moving, but you don’t understand a word he’s saying.

You don’t remember his name, nor the name of the one beside him, but you know who they are: there’s the blonde angel, his eyes earnest and worried as they search your slack face, and the dark haired prince, his handsome face etched in fear as he wipes your brow with a damp cloth.

The angel clasps your hands in his small ones, and this time, his words are audible, drifting down to you as if he talks to you from the top of a canyon while you’re tied to the bottom of the gorge, straining to hear his words. You fight to pick them out from the whisperings of the shadows, the freckles on his face swirling like constellations.

“Fight it,” he says, squeezing your fingers. “Fight just a little longer.”

You want to. You want to fight it, but the shadows creep closer, tugging at your limbs, and suddenly you’re just their puppet, them the cruel puppeteers.

You watch in horror as your own hands rear up like snakes and claw at the angel’s face.

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[godhandler]

[ #2, Lord!Sukuna x knight!reader, heian-era trueform Sukuna, d/s relationship, graphic descriptions of torture and violence as a metaphor for love, misogyny, yandere!reader, jealousy, gnc reader, 800+ words ]

pt.1 (feast)

No one wants to bring the news to you: Sukuna has taken another knight. 

One he found mid-battle, similar to you. Young Gojo-kun, a sprightly boy only a few years younger than you, possesses the Six Eyes and Limitless cursed technique. One who apparently professed his loyalty to Sukuna in exchange for training. One who sits pampered in his tent across the post-war encampment. 

That you raged back into your tent, fell down weeping, bashed your things at the walls, ripped your hair and tore your robes off screaming in anger… it was all heard by the worried guards posted in front of your chambers. Never had they seen their noble knight with veins of cold steel so. It did not calm them down when you emerged from your doors, kimono falling off your shoulders, eyes puffy red, hair dishevelled, and your hand grasped, with foreboding surety, around your sword. 

The All-Seeing Gojo-kun titters at your state. His tent is among the largest, his throng of admirers sitting around like so. His feet are slung over a makeshift throne, about 20 paces from your determined steps.

“What an honour! The Butcher, in flesh!” He mocks. “Make space, Benkei, find a seat for the mistress-in-chief’s royal ass!” He takes no notice of the audience gasping, the inconceivable disrespect for someone like you. 

10 paces. “Won’t you please us with a dance, dog? Like you do for your master? A little tail-wagging?” Gojo-kun has nothing to worry about. Not only is he blessed with God-like sorcery and the heirdom of the Gojo Clan, he has the protection of Sukuna himself. Nothing can wee old you do to him.  

5 paces. “Please, I only tease you as a friend, haha! Will you go tattle to Sukuna now?”

3 paces. “But he won’t care, will he? Not when he’s bored with his old toy. One with no cursed technique.”

2 paces. “Not when he has me, the pinnacle of jujutsu sorcery.”

1 pace. You plant your footing in front of the smug Gojo-kun– “Keep crying for him like a virgin bride, you know that he’ll never return your pathe– ” and you cut his head off in one clean flash of your blade. 

Screams, a rushing crowd, weeping maidens, enraged men. Damn, you muse. That brat must’ve really gotten to me. My hand shook so much. Because why else would a few untorn threads of muscle still dare to patch his idiotic head onto his neck? The boy is still breathing. Good.  

You drag Gojo-kun’s body, his ornate robes collecting grass-dirt, by the hair. People stand by terrified lest they catch your eye. In his last moments, you correct his previous statement: you do have a cursed technique. Pain like rats are clawing through their chest, pain like they are being skinned and broiled alive, pain like their eyes, tongues, fingers and genitalia are being torn off…You can give one such pain at the time of their death. And the way his dead eyes are crying, you know that he’s penitent. 

His body flops to the ground as his neck-muscles finally snap apart. Tsk. Now you have to carry the head in one hand and rest in another. All the way up to the master tent, where Lord Sukuna must be holding court. 

No guard dares stop you. The courtiers part in haste. Sukuna himself sits up, eyes wide in shock. Like a wolfdog bringing a dead sparrow to present to its master, both parts of the corpse are dropped, as are your knees, to the ground at your Lord’s feet. 

“I caught this rat stealing from your granary, Sukuna-sama.” What a bold-faced lie, but which fool would correct you? “I protected you.” 

Sukuna knew that you were tamed in the sense that you did your best to be tame for him. He did anticipate some ill-feelings from you when he brought the boy along, not blunt murder. Should he punish you? You certainly deserved to be disciplined; he had grand plans for the Six-Eyes. But to look into the insanity carved in your stony eyes as you pointedly refuse to call him ‘my Lord’... No, I understand now. 

This was your way of saying, if the brat deserved to survive, he would have. Your cruel mouth says he wasn’t worthy of you. Your jealous heart says I am all that you require, my Lord. 

You dragged his corpse all the way here not to profess guilt but for something completely different: you want praise. Sukuna has never denied you anything. 

“Well done, knight.” Your Lord’s voice rumbles like rocks through the silence. “We are all grateful for your service.”

You offer him a deep prostration before you excuse yourself. The next time Sukuna spots you is at the dinner banquet, merry-making and loud-laughing with your comrades, sake and deer-meat aplenty, your knight uniform shining, long hair tied neat, sword pristine as a white lily. 

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a/n: Set in the Heian era (794-1185 AD), this Gojo isn't our Satoru Gojo, to clarify that. He also never got the chance to activate his Infinity before getting his head lopped off, poor guy ig.

knight!reader primarily fights with conventional weaponry, infuses cursed energy and uses New Shadow style techniques (which they discovered and founded), cuz their CT is pretty useless in actual battle. Most people, like Gojo-kun here, think that they don't have one. they're a horrifically savage fighter, tearing enemies into chunks, hence is also called 'The Butcher'.

While the biological sex of the knight is whatever the reader wants it to be, socially they play a male role. they dress in male military uniform, fight alongside men, were given a man's education, and get duties and respect that a man of that time would get. realistically, a woman would never get the high ranking of a knight.

knight!reader is not Sukuna's mistress or anything like that. it's just mean-spirited gossip. their relations are intensely close and kinda fucked up tho :)