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sinnabarmoth · 4 months ago

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Tribute for the Dragon (15/18)

Pairing: Dragon|Sylus x Fem|Reader

Summary: With the rut drawing to a close, you and Sylus look to the future for what this means for you both.

Content Warnings: Adult language. Minor breeding kink. P in V.

Length: 3k

Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (16) (17) (18)

Read on AO3

You soon realized that dragon ruts were not for the faint of heart. The next week of your life was the most exhausted you had ever been. Every single day, multiple times a day, Sylus found you wherever you were and fucked you within an inch of your life. He had cooled off a little, able to push aside the lustful haze to offer you some respite the longer it went on.

But that first day had been the most feral he had gotten. You hadn’t left the hoard room until late into the evening and that was just because you absolutely needed more food than what he scrounged up from the kitchen between rounds. Thankfully the entire rut didn’t need to take place in the hoard room so you at least got the cushion of the bed back to make things a little more comfortable.

You were also shocked at how sweet he was during the whole thing. Despite how rough things got and how filthy he spoke, he would always be there to help ease you back down. And if you really didn’t want to have sex, if you were just too sore for anymore he didn’t push you.

In between rounds you’d lay together and talk about what your future child was going to be like. “And you’re sure I’m not going to end up laying an egg?”

Sylus chuckled. “Yes. You won’t lay an egg.”

“But the woman who birthed you--”

“Was cursed and her womb magically altered to be able to lay a dragon egg. You are not cursed and because I am at least half human you should have a normal live birth.” Sylus assured you, “Although, the state of the baby is uncertain.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, when I was born I looked almost entirely human except for my eyes and as I got older the scales and tail and horns grew in. The children will most likely be the same way. But I do not know what all they may grow. Some might have horns and tails and wings and scales, others may not. Maybe one grows horns and scales but no tail. Maybe another grows wings but no claws. I cannot say for sure.”

“At least I don’t have to worry about little claws or horns complicating things when they come out.” you touched your stomach. You looked back at him. “Do you want to try one more time?”

His smile sharpened. “You bounced back quick this time. Alright then, come here.” He sat up in the bed. He pulled you across his lap, your back pressed to his chest.

He receded the armor around his hands with a small groan. “Sylus, I know it hurts you don’t have to--”

“I want to be able to play with your pussy a little before hand. The pain is temporary and not important.” he dipped his now clawless hand between your legs, the soft pad of his fingers swirling over your clit.

You reclined your head back on his shoulder as little blips of pleasure heated your body. “That’s it,” he said, “Always so responsive to me.”

He removed his hand from your pussy and sucked the juices from his fingers. You whined at the loss but you only got a dark chuckle in response. “Do not worry, little bird. You’ll get my hand and much more back in a minute. But right now, I need you to do something.”

He caressed your arms and lifted them up and behind you before curling them around his horns. “Hold onto these while I play with you and do not let go. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” he sighed, feeling how tightly you were gripping his horns.

You thought he was going to go back to your pussy but instead he moved slowly, his hands gliding up and down your body at a lazy pace. He traced every dip and curve with his hands as if memorizing every inch of your body by touch alone. His mouth kissed down the column of your neck and to your shoulders. When his mouth landed on the faint mark of your mating bite he suck his teeth into your soft exposed skin. Arousal pooled between your legs as he continued to caress and tease you.

You could feel him getting hard underneath you. The hard ridge of flesh was hot and curved back to rest on your folds. You tried to grind against it but he pulled your hips back to keep them still. “Not yet.” his breath was hot in your ear, “I want you ready to burst when I put it in.”

He continued to strum your body, plucking at your most sensitive spots but without any of the relief you sought. It seemed wholly unfair that he could be so patient during a rut. Wasn’t he supposed to throw you to the bed and fuck you until you were screaming in a fit of lust filled rage? How come he was teasing you?

“Someone’s pouting.” he turned your face to his. “What do you want, little bird? What can I do to make that frown go away.”

“You can put your dick in me. That’d be a nice start.” you batted your eyelashes at him. “Please master?”

“Calling me master while I’m in rut,” he growled, biting your neck again. “Do you think that a wise decision?”

“I think it’ll get me what I want.” you smirked. “So please, will you put your dick in me and breed my pussy, master?”

“That dirty trick won’t work forever.” Sylus muttered angrily as he lifted your hips up.

“I just need it to work now.”

“Becoming my mate made you such a brat.” he hissed as he lowered you down onto his cock. “There, you have your precious dick snug in that tight little pussy. If you want it bred though, you have to work for it.”

“But--”

“You expect your master to do all the work? That’s what you’re here for. Now get moving but don’t move your hands. Keep them wrapped around my horns.” he cupped your breasts and pinched and pulled at your nipples.

You began shaking your hips, pulling yourself up and down on his lap. His cock slid against your walls, sending bursts of ecstasy into your brain while he played with your breasts. He had sufficiently worked you up enough that you felt like you could come right then.

“You feel so good, wildfire.” he moaned into your neck. “This is exactly where I want you forever. Fucking yourself on my cock, trying to make me come. Cause that’s what you want, right? You want me to come. You want me to come inside you and breed this pretty pussy of yours?”

“Yes!” you clamped down on him tighter. “Yes Sylus! I want it! I need it!”

“I know you do.” he groaned, drawing in a sharp breath as you sped up. “You make me wanna come, wildfire. Just keep bouncing yourself on my dick.”

One of his hands trailed down your stomach and found your clit, adding to the sensations that were already overloading your body. “I won’t come until you do.” he said. “So if you want my cum you have to come for me, wildfire. Come on you master’s cock and he’ll give you what you want. What you need.”

“Ha…ha…ah fuck!” you forced your hips to move faster, chasing a release so close yet just out of reach. Your hands were cramping holding onto Sylus’s horns. The tighter you held them the heavier his breathing got.

“Sylus…” you whimpered. You were so close. “Sylus please!”

“Right here. I’m right here.” he craned your head back to kiss you. “You can do it. Just come for me.” he rubbed your clit faster, his other hand squeezed your breast.

“Sylus!” you moaned against his lips as you both came. He smothered the moan with another kiss, panting against your lips.

“So good. You are so fucking good, wildfire.” he pressed a kiss to your jaw.

Your arms fell to your sides as you relaxed against him. He rubbed at your shoulders, relieving the ache that had grown there. He moved you back so you were laying side by side on the bed again.

You took several deep breaths to center yourself, grounding yourself by nuzzling into Sylus’s chest. “Hey, not that this hasn’t been a lot of fun but how much longer is this rut going to last? I’m getting exhausted.”

Sylus rolled his eyes. “You were the one that tackled me into bed this morning, not the other way around.” he reminded you. “I think you forget that your libido is just as bad, if not worse than mine can be.”

“Fine. I admit it. But really, do you think we’re any closer to knowing if I’m pregnant or not?” you stared up at him with wide eyes.

“Oh my sweet little bird,” he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “If you had let me speak this morning instead of dragging me back into bed I would have been able to tell you that you already are.”

“What?”

“You’re pregnant. I could smell the change this morning. That’s why I originally came in here. I was going to tell you after you had a chance to wake up a little more.” he was smiling the widest you had ever seen him.

“I’m really…” tears sprang to your eyes. “We’re going to have a baby?”

“Yes, we are.”

You wrapped your arms tight around his neck. It was happening! It was really happening!

Oh gods it was happening…you were…with a… You were going to give birth to a little dragon baby. Oh gods. This was actually happening! It wasn’t just a fun roleplay in bed. It was real. You had a little dragon growing in your womb.

“You look panicked. Are you alright?” Sylus asked. “I thought you’d be happy.”

“I am! I am ridiculously happy!” you assured him. “I’m also kinda terrified. In a few months we’re going to have a baby. We’re going to be parents and be in charge of another life. I mean, how do we even do that?”

“We’ll figure it out.”

With your pregnancy confirmed the rut wore off. You were thankful for the respite but now your mind was filled with nothing but preparations for the baby. You weren’t even showing yet and all you could do was make lists of things that needed done.

“Where is the baby going to sleep?” You asked Sylus one afternoon as you sat at the kitchen table, a list of things that needed done in front of you. At the top of the list was make a nursery.

“I suspect they’ll sleep in our room until they’re old enough to move them to their own room. There’s a lot of empty rooms in the mountain. We can fit a whole brood of hatchlings in here.” he kissed the top of your head and went about grabbing a bowl of stew from the large pot over the fire.

“A brood? Exactly how many kids do you want to pump into me?”

“I was thinking at least six or more.” he said with a shrug.

“Six!” you shouted.

“My ideal is nine since it’s a lucky number.” he took in your dumbstruck expression. “What?”

“You are insane if you think I’m going to birth nine kids.” you couldn’t even comprehend having a family that large. “I’ll give you three.”

“Seven.”

Was he haggling the number of kids you were going to have? Fine then. “Maybe four.”

“Five?”

“Four.”

“Alright, four.” he set another bowl of stew done for you. “Make sure to finish that. You’re eating for two now.”

“I know.” you set the list aside. “I need to go into town and do some shopping later, as well as tell my father and friends the news.”

“I’ll take you down whenever you’re ready. Are you nervous at all about telling them?”

“A little. It’s only recently that father came around to you and I’m not sure how he’s going to react. I hope he’ll be happy with the idea of being a grandfather at least.”

“You’re giving him his first grandchild, he’ll be thrilled no matter what.” Sylus assured you.

You grabbed some coins from the hoard room and left with Sylus for the village. Your first stop was to find your father and tell him the news. Sylus walked with you to the house but stayed in the background as you talked to your father. Your father was shocked at first but was soon smiling and congratulating you and Sylus both on your upcoming bundle of joy.

“I’ll have to get started working then.” he said, “I’m going to make a mobile for you to hang over the crib.”

“That sounds wonderful, father. Thank you.” you hugged him again. “I actually came into town to commission the woodworker for the cradle as well as buy some fabric and yarn to make baby clothes. I also need to find Tara and tell her. I know she’s going to be thrilled too.”

“That she will be. Congratulations, sweet pea. I can’t wait to meet them when they’re born.” he gave you a kiss on the cheek and you were on your way.

You left to run your other errands. Sylus was still by your side, looming in the corner wherever you went like a shadow. The village had really come to like him but he was still rather uncomfortable with the attention. He looked like he was going to fly away when you told Tara the news about your pregnancy and had given Sylus a huge hug in her excitement. She had promised to do a reading for your pregnancy as soon as possible and tell her mother so she could make you a perfect baby blanket for the little one.

Your last stop after the fabric shop was the woodworker to commission the cradle. There were some other people there that saw you come in with Sylus and froze. The woodworker looked up though and smiled. “Ah, what can I do for you today?”

“Hello, I came with a very special request. Mind you, I won’t need it for a couple months so take your time but what I really need is a cradle.”

“A cradle?” the woodworker smiled. “Oh my dear girl, you’re having a baby?”

“Yes. Yes I am.”

“Another mighty dragon in the village. What wonderful news.” the woodworker called to Sylus, “How big of a baby do we need to plan for?”

“A regular sized cradle should be fine.” Sylus said. “They shouldn’t be much different from a human baby.”

Sylus looked to his side where a man that had been waiting in the shop was staring at him. You didn’t recognize him immediately but it was a decent sized village, you didn’t have every face memorized. Sylus didn’t seem to appreciate the man’s staring and glared at him. “Do you have something to say to me?”

The man shook his head and took off. While most people in the village were used to Sylus there were some who still didn’t entirely trust him. It was an inevitability but hopefully in the years to come everyone would come to recognize him not as a threat but as a neighbor.

Once everything was done and finished you stopped by to say a final goodbye to your father and returned to the mountain.

You set what you had bought down and started getting preparations ready for dinner. While you were cooking you kept hearing Sylus walking back and forth past the kitchen. What was he doing now? While dinner simmered over the fire you went out to find him.

It was then that you noticed there was a carpet under your feet. That definitely hadn’t been there before. Where had it come from? And there were more carpets! They made a trail down the corridor and into your bedroom. Sylus was in there unrolling another carpet and layering it with the others.

“What are you doing? Where’d all the carpet come from?”

“Ah, yes,” he stood up, “I got to thinking that when the baby is born it’d be best if they had something soft to crawl around on so I’ve been finding whatever rugs I could from the hoard room and laid them out. I may also need to go around the walls and smooth them out so if they run into them they don’t get cut.”

It was endearing watching him worry and fret about how to make the mountain safer for your baby. You hadn’t even been pregnant a month and he was already doing so much. You walked up to him, your feet squishing against the plush carpet, and hugged him. “I’m so glad that our baby is going to have you as a father. I really am.”

His arms closed around you. “I’m the lucky one, really. To have a child with you. Knowing that this child is going to have you as their mother.” he knelt down, his face inches from your stomach. “Your mother is so good, little one. And I am going to love and protect you both for the rest of my life. I swear, nothing bad will ever happen to you so long as I draw breath.”

He kissed your stomach. You ran your hands through his hair, holding him there as he rested his head against you. “I can’t wait to meet our little one too.”

#love and deepspace #lads sylus #lads mc #sylus x mc #sylus x reader #dragon sylus #lads dragon au

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eevees-hobbies · 10 months ago

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HIHIHI may I request some Sakura please, your greatness 🧎‍♀️ who despite his tough boi act, absolutely worships the ground his lover walks on and showers them in love (before, during AND after sex) oooou it’s rotting my brain i need him to cuddle me stat

Author’s Note: Ah, so you’ve come to me with a Sakura request, I see. And a cute one like this, too? I get it, anon…I do. I get it because you and I are a lot alike. Sometimes you like the idea of Sakura bending you over and delivering loud, nasty, toe-curling backshots to you as he talks shit in your ear (same, same), but other times you crave a different version of him. You crave a soft Sakura, a comfortable Sakura, a tame Sakura that doesn’t flinch when you touch him but instead leans into your touch and looks at you with absolute devotion, right? Me fucking too. So you want broken-in, house-trained, and domesticated, Sakura? My pleasure.

Content Warning: Fem!ReaderXHaruka Sakura. Business (fluff) in the front & party (smut) in the back! Smut will be below the last divider. Sweet Sakura, who shows you love through some love-language type things. And then intimate love-making. You make love while half-asleep (mmm). Tame smut. Eve mentions Bridgerton again because there is now continuity in my stories, and I’m not sorry about it (don’t ask me about the show; I’m on season 1, episode 3, but I love the idea of it). Minors Do Not Interact.

Word Count: 2K

Divider by Saradika. Banner by me.

Sakura had watched you all day, and he hated what he was seeing. You two had planned a beach day on a rare day off for him and a light work calendar day for you. But when the universe hears about plans, it often laughs aloud and offers a wrench.

He couldn’t quite understand the intricacies of your work-from-home job beyond that shit was hitting the fan. You sat dutifully in front of your laptop, answering constant pings coming from god-knows-where and from god-knows-who to the point that Sakura felt he could time them perfectly.

Ping

…

Ping

Yup, perfectly timed.

And with each call or message you answered, he saw your shoulders rise closer to your neck, the tension making you hunch in a way you’d certainly feel later.

And he couldn’t help you with whatever the fuck KPIs or logic models were, but he could help you in other ways. So, he grabbed his keys and set out for the day.

As your workday concluded, your fingers found the bridge of your nose in an attempt to massage away the tension migraine that was rearing its head. Not only was today stressful, but as you looked around your empty apartment, you found Sakura to be gone. You hoped he wasn’t upset about not going to the beach, but you’d understand if he was.

As you stood out of your ergonomic office chair to stretch, ready to open the refrigerator to cook something up quickly, the door to your tiny abode opened.

You let out a breathy laugh—Sakura is blocked from your line of vision, and only a few single tufts of black and white hair peek over the various restaurant and grocery bags in his arms. As you croon your neck to watch him struggle his way inside, you also see that he’s carrying a bouquet of flowers with an unmistakable logo tucked firmly under his armpit.

He’s grumbling as he sets the items down on the kitchen island; something about hating living so high up, but you can’t bring yourself to dial in on his ramblings as you read the names of your favorite places on the bags.

“You got us ramen, kitten?”

“Yeah. Miso with extra beansprouts like you like, with some Gyoza on the side. It’s probably cold since it’s like climbing a fuckin’ mountain to get up here, but I can heat everything back up.”

He begins removing food, snacks, face masks, popcorn, and drinks from the bags. Your heart pangs with remorse at even thinking he was upset about your inability to go to the beach. Sakura is complicated, but he’s not childish.

“Also, Umemiya said something about the flowers, but you might have to text him about that. I zone out when he starts talking plant-talk.”

“Same,” your arms find his waist, your cold hands sneaking up his shirt and rubbing at his prominent v-line as you wrap yourself around his whole person. “Thank you for this. I love you so much.”

Sakura blushes, a personal trait he’s tried to stop fighting long ago. “Sure, but go ahead and sit on the couch. New episode of Bridgerton tonight?”

You rub your palms together excitedly, “I’ll get the fuzzy socks, kitten!”

After getting through half an episode of Bridgerton, Sakura noticed you were fighting a losing battle with your sleep needs. Heavy eyelids and your head growing slack on his shoulder were all the signs he needed to turn off the TV and scoop you up in his arms.

“Bath,” you mumble against his chest.

“Bath,” he offers in return.

“You sure?” he mumbles against your lips, “your eyes are barely open.”

“Mmm, but my legs are open, baby. See?” You wrap your thighs around his midsection, trapping him in and pulling him closer.

The heat radiating from your clothed cunt is undeniable, you’ve probably wanted him all night, and fuck, he felt the same way.

Sakura’s lips trace the curve of your jaw with gentle kisses and flicks of his tongue until his face is nestled in the crook of your neck. Your pulse is calm—so slow that he wonders if you managed to fall asleep until you shift under him and let out a sigh.

“Sakura...need you.”

“Yeah, babe. You got me. I’m right here.”

As he pulls the seat of your underwear aside, the slit of his cock already giving way to shiny droplets of precum, he sinks into you with a sigh escaping his lips at the familiarity of you. He can’t help but think of all the ways he loves you. Moments like this make him feel like the best version of himself—someone worthy of being loved and giving love.

He briefly presses his forehead into the valley of your breasts, letting your slick walls adjust to his girth. You’re wearing one of his white tee’s and smell so unmistakably like him that he’s positive you put on his deodorant after your bath. The thought of being so connected that you dress and smell like him while still maintaining your own smell makes him want you more.

His cheeks rub against your breasts, soft and heavy even through the pesky fabric, and because even one barrier is a barrier too many, he is now lifting the shirt over your head and tossing it to the corner of the room.

His cock twitches at the erotic sight of you, fully naked except with your panties shifted ever so slightly to the side, puffy pussy lips wrapped around his cock, and hole stuffed to the brim with him. He’d call it a fantasy if this weren’t his real life.

His feather-soft touches—reserved only for you—cascade from your stomach down your hip before the idea of not moving and not making love to you becomes too unbearable. His hand grips one of your thighs, and he pulls his hips back slightly, dragging the length of him against your silken walls and then forward, your pussy so wet, so creamy, and welcoming for him.

In his mind, he’s giving thanks, thanks to the shitty universe that finally felt enough pity for him that he was blessed with you.

He has to steel his resolve, however, because when he begins to think like this—think about how lucky he is to have you, to be buried inside of you—he’s prone to lose himself to you far earlier than he’d like and he wants this tryst to last.

“Haru, feel so good.” your words are slurred and dripping with the slow drawl that comes with sleep, but your body is deliciously reactive for him. The creamy sounds of his cock mixing with your thick slick fills the room so lewdly and loudly that it makes both your cheeks heat up as your love is audibly personified.

“You do, too. P-pussy feels amazing.”

He loves you so much his heart hurts. His other hand finds yours, entangling his long fingers with your own. And the way you rub at his bruised knuckles, fresh from a fight, doesn’t go unnoticed by him. Even in your half-awake state, you still care for him and want to ease his discomfort.

He slots his lips against yours where they belong, wishing that he could give you a more heated kiss, the kind that you like where he lets you suck on his tongue, but this is perfect, too.

You open your mouth, ready, so willing to accept him. He’d never say no to you, and he’s not going to start tonight. His tongue eagerly slips into your warm cavern and is immediately greeted by yours as he traces and flirts with it.

God, the taste of you is perfect.

If he could drink every bit of your saliva, thick and minty, he would.

Sakura pulls back, his chest aching a bit as he does so, but this question is important.

Breathy, soft whispers from a mind and body that is so lost in his lust for you can’t stop him from checking on your well-being. “Is this… you ok?”

“Mmmhmm”

His thrusts are steady and deep, practically slow, as he pulls out until the head of his dick stretches your tight hole to the thickest part of him. He’s then languidly pushing back in, savoring you and how you feel around him. He knows the feeling so well, yet it feels novel every time.

His eyes watch your face as your brows furrow; your tongue darts out past your lips to moisten them, the way your mouth falls open when he grinds the tip of his dick against your g-spot.

You’re so beautiful.

His hand travels down and finds your clit. His thumb gently pushes the hood back, flattening the pad of his thumb he gently flicks at the sensitive bundle of nerves. You’re so warm and drooling with want from him that he lets out a whimper.

“I love you.”

Your breathing quickens, but you lap up his words like they are a scarcely available resource. When Haruka Sakura tells you he loves you, he means it.

“Love you too, Kitten.”

“I want to make you cum. You think you can be a good girl for me and cum?”

“Yes, baby, I’d love that. Almost there, please don’t stop, Haru.”

“No, never.”

He leans down and takes a nipple into his mouth, moaning as your fingers rake through his hair. Every part of you is his favorite, but your breasts hold a special place in his heart. He sucks on them maybe a bit too eagerly, but you don’t seem to mind; as he pops each nipple out his mouth, they glisten with saliva and stiffen into needy peaks.

Your pussy is clenching him more now; he can tell that you’re close, and he loves that he can do this for you.

His thrusts have picked up slightly in speed, but they’re harder—communicating more want—the headboard now bucking against the wall and making consistent banging noises. As your cum splashes out of you with every flick of his hips, your inner thighs and his abs being coated in nothing but your slick, you pull him down flush against your soft body.

You see your orgasm before you feel it like fireworks exploding in your brain and setting off each pleasure sensor as your eyes dilate. You get that wonderful lightheaded feeling that comes with taking too many rapid breaths in a short amount of time.

Sakura moans as you clench around him, your walls gripping the head of his cock and massaging that sensitive spot on the underside of his dick. He can feel hot, white streams of his cum pouring into you, filling up every inch of you until your walls are painted white with his seed. He gives you a few more final, deep thrusts to ensure that his nut is deep and buried in what’s his, his thighs trembling at the idea of you being stuffed to the brim with his love, making him absolutely weak.

“Mmm, pervert. Did you just nut inside of me?”

He pulls away, leaning across the bed to grab a towel that’s settled nearby—first to clean you up, dabbing at your folds and thighs, and then himself.

“Sorry, should have used your face for target practice. Go pee so you don’t get a UTI.”

He helps you up; your eyes are still half-open as he guides you to the bathroom. As he hears the click of the door and the sound of a steady stream hitting sitting water, he turns to continue his routine.

Sakura grabs the previously discarded white tee, places it on the bed for you, and then heads to the kitchen. He grabs a glass of water and a granola bar, just in case, and places both items on your side of the nightstand.

He looks down at the sheets and briefly considers changing them; streaky, white, wet stains stand out as evidence of your lovemaking, but he hears the sound of water coming from a faucet, and he doesn’t want to hinder your sleep any longer.

You exit the bathroom, rubbing your eyes and yawning.

“Here,” he says, getting up with the shirt, pulling it over your head and down your body, and then guiding you back to bed.

You snuggle up next to him, and you drift off. Typically, Sakura might spend this time staring at you, wondering what you’re dreaming about as your face gives way to adorable expressions in your sleep, but this time, he joins you in your slumber instead.

#anon fulfilled #wind breaker #windbreaker smut #sakura haruka smut #haruka sakura smut #haruka sakura x reader #sakura x reader #sakura haruka x reader #haruka sakura #anon #request

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e-hibiscus · 1 year ago

Text

Pairing: Himeko x reader

Warnings: NSFW, sub!reader, dom!character, finger.ing, use of y/n (like once)

Author’s Note: I write because I finally got my own Himeko | Not proofread

Minors DNI! | NSFW! under the cut

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The express crew have gone off on their next mission. Leaving just you and Himeko aboard the express with the exception of the conductor. The two of you retreated back into the Navigator’s room for some quality time with one another.

Himeko always lends an ear, offering her support to each and every member of the express. Your appreciation for her focus on the well being of others was rewarded by you lovingly going down on her, not that you minded in the slightest. When Himeko’s face becomes as red as her beautiful locks it's a sight to behold for anyone. You always want to make sure she’s as comfortable as she can. The two of you are always taking things slow and intimate with sensual and delicate touches with linguid movements. This time was no different in that aspect, but tonight she rather focused on your pleasure first.

“y/n, dearest,” Himeko holds your face gently with her hand, “you’re such a good girl for me, would it be alright if I have you as my treat instead?” She hums softly, brushing aside a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “If not, we can cuddle in bed instead.” Your hand comes up to meet her’s, gently guiding her hand to your lips to kiss it. The smile on her lips grew fondly. “I would love that Himeko.” The words were murmured against the palm of her hand. “You know I’m always more than happy to give you everything.”

The two of you help each other undress until a cascade of clothes turns into nothing but pools of clothes on the floor. Himeko is ethereal even more so now without her dress on. She’s absolutely stunning and you couldn’t take your eyes off her. Even after seeing her like this time and time again, you’ll never get used to her beauty.

A soft chuckle escapes, moving over towards you and gently pushing you down on top of the bed. Her lips nipped at the sensitive skin of your neck. You sigh as she takes her time sucking and biting at your skin, gradually gliding her hands lower and lower until she slots her hand between your thighs.

“You’re dripping, love.” Himeko’s fingers run along your slit leaving you stifling a moan which the navigator simply cooed out. “I want to hear from you. Tell me how good I make you feel so don’t keep in your noises.”

Himeko’s fingers drew tantalizing circles around your clit. Her pace slows while she gathers your slick on her fingers. Running her delicate finger against your folds, Himeko pushes it into your velvety walls.

“H-himeko…” Your plea was silenced with Himeko’s lips against yours. She’s smiling against your lips as you allow her to guide you through the kiss.

“You’re so, so eager.” Himeko gently finger your needy hole— the size not nearly enough to satisfy the burning desire you feel in your core.

“Mmm.. I need more.” The breathy whine escapes, just audible enough for her to hear. Adding a second finger, she thrusts them into you.

Himeko speeds up her movements. Her fingers spread themselves out scissoring your pussy while moving in and out.

The way Himeko’s fingers brush against your g-spot has you gasping. You can’t catch your breath. Your toes curl up and hips rock into her hand. Himeko palms you clit as her fingertips brush against your sensitive walls.

Golden eyes peers upwards, watching your reactions as she nips at your chest. Your eyes rolled back while Himeko curled her fingers just right. Your pussy spasms around her fingers as you slide into an orgasmic bliss— thighs trapping her hand in place while your back arcs towards her.

Himeko doesn’t stop spreading her fingers. Each action sends shivers racing through you while you ride out your orgasm. Her slender fingers pull out while she hums softly in her chest. You lay there panting as your body relaxes in the sheets; your entrance slick with your release. Through your half-lidded gaze, you watch as Himeko brings her fingers to her lips— savoring the taste of you. “We can do one more after some rest, alright darling?” Himeko approaches you with a gentle smile. She closes the distance to place a kiss on your lips as her arms wrap comfortably around you. A hand draws circles on your back, lulling you into sleep as your naked bodies intertwine.

#himeko x reader #hsr himeko x reader #himeko smut #hsr x reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut #🌺.hibiscus writes

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rhiawriter · 3 months ago

Note

Omg!! I read that you’re writing Jon/Dany again and my brain exploded into a million microscopic pieces?? No idea if that’s normal, but who cares? Not me, I only care to ask, if you feel up to it, if you wouldn’t mind sharing some more infos? Or a tiiiny sneak a peek? Would it be cannon? AU? Continuation of the saga? Istg, the fact that you are writing JonDany again is giving me life!! 😍🎉

Aw, yay! Glad you're excited! This is actually a lost part of the Crow Flies South Series. I always planned to write an entry about Jon and Dany fighting at the Wall as lord commander and queen, but I never wrote it. I've been re-reading the books, and it inspired me. I particularly miss Night's Watch Jon, and it's been very fun to write.

Here's a little snippet of the forbidden lovers:

“Just because I sleep alone doesn’t mean you should have to,” Jon said.

“I don’t have to, my lord, I chose to.” Daenerys took a step closer to him. “Why do you not believe me when I tell you that if I can’t have you, I would rather have no one at all?”

Jon suddenly found it difficult to breathe. She was standing close enough that her hair tickled his cheek. He wanted to brush it back from her face. He wanted to touch her so badly that it hurt. He had expected to have to watch her move on to someone else. That would have been hell, but this was its own torture—the queen offering him her loyalty and denying herself pleasure because of him.

“We’re in this together, Jon Snow,” Daenerys’s breath landed hot on his cheek.

“I didn’t ask you to deny yourself, Your Grace.” Jon felt a familiar guilt settle over him that the queen had fallen for a man she absolutely could not have.

“You did when you denied me of you.” He lifted a gloved hand, wanting to touch the hair that escaped from her fur cap, but he restrained himself and buried his hand in his wolf’s fur instead.

He licked his lips before he spoke. “You promised you wouldn’t seduce me.” For he knew she would succeed. He ached for her, like he had never ached for a woman before. If she came to his bed this night, he would not have the will to send her away. He would pull her under his covers. He would slip his hand under her furs until he found her tight heat. She would be wet and ready for him like she always was when they gave into their mutual desire.

“So, I did.” The queen took a step back from him, with a wicked grin. “And I am a woman of my word.”

He should feel relieved that she had stepped away. Instead, he clutched Ghost’s fur even tighter to stop himself from pulling her back towards him.

“I used to sleep with my handmaidens, you know,” she said casually and conversationally. “At least I could share the warmth of other girls. But I’ve had to dismiss them.”

“Why?” Jon asked.

“I’m embarrassed to touch myself with them next to me, my lord. And I touch myself every night, while I think of you. It’s the only comfort and pleasure I have these days.”

She continued to walk back to the keep, while Jon stared after her.

#my fics #next crow flies sneak peek #jon snow #daenerys targaryen #jonerys fic #jonerys #asoiaf fic #ask me anything

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johnwickb1tsch · 1 year ago

Text

A Yandere Tex Johnson x Witness!Reader x John Wick Imagine Part 7 by:

@treedaddymcpuffpuff @sweetwolfcupcake @johnwickb1tsch and @tammykelly

Warnings: So many dead doves! Do not eat! Unless you like dead doves, that is. You're in good company here. 😘 Violence, sexual content, blood, murder, kidnapping, possessive behavior, dubcon, yandere sh!t...it's all here! Please take care! 😘

ALL CHAPTERS

Treedaddymcpuffpuff:

They take you outside. They take you outside.

“Which house is this, John?” You lay your head on his shoulder, and he kisses your hair.

“Mexico.” The fact that he feels comfortable telling you where you are speaks volumes about trust.

Either that, or he’s confident you won’t get away. Ever. And he’s absolutely right. He can outrun, outmuscle, outwit you at any point. Not to mention he’s got a clone with the same capabilities.

Part of it is this; the fact that you can’t run or hide without your boys finding you. The knowledge of being owned and tracked and possessed wholly.

The other part, the one you lie to yourself about - you have to, really, for the sake of self preservation - is that you’re completely in love with them. Smitten. Consumed. Captivated and bewitched by your captors. You don’t want to run away most days.

Especially not when you’re pressed between them and being pampered and kissed and played with - sweet, awful pleasure the only thing you can focus on. Absolutely drunk on the balance of rough and soft, light and dark.

Tex is good with his mouth - of course he is. That silver tongue can do more than talk you into a writhing, soaked mess. As much as he adores helping John edge you for hours and making you sob in frustration, he likes it a little better when you’re overstimulated, babbling and bargaining, only able to chant his name as he makes you cum endlessly.

John is… different. Slower. More patient. Builds you up and down, watches and listens, observes - tilt of his head, tiny smile, “pretty girl likes that a little too much, huh?”

He’s sickly romantic, the kind that only exists in Hallmark movies. Always thinking of you, grabbing flowers and little gifts while he’s away. Bringing home trinkets from Paris and Brazil and even bumfuck Ohio. Obsessed with kissing you, holding your hand, calling you beautiful and pulling you closer and ruining your little heart.

Even when he’s rough, fucking you into the couch cushions at an almost inhumanely pace and mottling your cervix and hips and ass with bruises - even then he is rubbing your back, brushing your hair off your shoulders and littering sweet soaked kisses on your skin, praising and sweet-nothinging and groaning that you’re his, his, his.

Tex presses himself into the other side of you, skin sparkling and scratchy from salt and sand, and hands you a beautiful iridescent pink seashell. “Get in the water.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” you tell him, grinning, brushing sand off his cheekbone.

He chuckles. “Nah, but Johnny is.”

They both pick you up and drag you into the clear ocean ripples while you laugh and scream, take you out past where you can touch so you have to cling to them.

Sometimes, though, you want to run. Taste freedom and independence again. You want to feel needed instead of always being so needy. You miss volunteering at the animal shelter, working in the little book shop.

Sure, the boys want you. Sometimes, too much. Sometimes, you have to use that lock on your little cozy nook room to shut them out because you’re so overwhelmed and overworked. But they don’t need you, can’t really gain anything from you; not like the sick, dirty cats or the elderly women who forgot their reading glasses and need help finding a particular selection.

After you’re done playing in the water like children, laughing and splashing and getting sun drunk, you find yourself wrapped in a beach towel and cat napping on the big couch by the bay window.

“Wanna wake her up?” Tex asks John, plopping down beside him and offering an open, frosty beer.

“Let her sleep,” John says, flipping the page of his book and taking the drink.

Tex grins. “Aw, I don’t think she’d be too disappointed after she realizes I’m sucking on her little clit.”

John shuts his book, puts it on the stand.

“What?” Tex groans like he’s about to get lectured. Just like you’ve become used to them, they’ve become used to each other. Sometimes it’s a recipe for disaster. The first day you were alert enough to wake up and eat and drink after the bullet, they got into a fight. And not a verbal one.

It was actually terrifying. You thought Tex was going to meet the pearly gates when John curb stomped his already beaten face, so you had jumped in front of him to stop the next smash of a foot and earned yourself torn stitches and bloody bandages as a reward for the sudden movement.

“We need to figure out what we’re doing, Tex.” John looks over at you, watches how the sunlight bastes your shoulders and glows on your pretty skin.

Tex is looking at the same thing. “I’m not leavin’ er, John. And she sure as hell ain’t leavin’ me.”

“She needs to make that decision.”

“My ass. You think she’ll be safe out there? Think just cuz you put a bullet into father and son that sister and mother won’t come knockin next?” Tex takes a long pull on his bottle and leans elbows on knees. “You can go if you want, but y/n is stayin’ with me.”

John gives him a dark look. “You know I won’t let you, Tex.”

Tex laughs cruelly, leans back and spreads his arms over the back of the couch. “Then you’re gonna have to fuckin’ kill me.”

“John? Tex?” Your tinny voice cuts through their tension, immediately gaining full attentions. You hold out your hand to them, eyes half lidded, smiling softly. “Come lay with me?”

They sandwich you between their big heated bodies, curing the goosebumps brought on by the conditioned air. It reminds you too much of the cold steel room where Bradford kept you on ice, so you start to cry. Again.

It’s become such a common occurrence, now: one or both of them cradling and shushing and rubbing your back as you sob on their chests or laps. You cry more often than not. Sometimes you’re able to hide it, but not right now when you’re sleepy and vulnerable and so close to them.

Tex kisses the tears off your face. “Hey, honeypie, it’s alright, c’mon, I gotcha.”

“We’re right here, y/n.” John brushes the hair off your shoulders and kisses your salty sunned skin. “We’ll protect you.”

“Nobody’s gonna hurt you again, m’kay?” Tex tilts your chin up and kisses your head.

You wonder how in the hell they’re still so empathetic to your plight - any other man would be annoyed, telling you to let it go, reminding you that you’ve already cried about it a zillion times before. But not Tex and John. Never your boys.

They say they’ll protect you, but if they’ve already failed to do so, doesn’t that mean they can drop the ball again? Doesn’t that mean anyone could just come and plummet you into an unbridled world of violence and torture? What if they leave? What if they decide they don’t want you anymore? You’re helpless here - can only rely solely on the two people you’re cuddled between and it’s making you spiral into an internal inferno of chaos and doubt.

You feel like you’re losing your fucking mind. You feel powerless.

You fall asleep in their arms, fresh tears drying on your puffy cheeks, holding onto Tex’s waist, legs wrapped around John’s calves.

They wake you up for dinner, and you’re in a shit mood again, all venom no honey, squirming out of the cuddle pile, glowering and losing your towel in the process.

Before you can grab it back, Tex snatches it, holds it away, grinning.

“Give it back,” you tell him, trying to take it but only succeeding in pressing your belly into his beard.

He nips your skin and blows a little raspberry, and you screech, pulling away before a puckish arm can coil around your waste.

You groan, cover yourself, shivering on the cool wood floor. “Fine. I’m going to take a shower.”

“Need some help?” Tex asks.

“I can manage.”

You can feel his eyes on your ass as you walk away.

Do you feel bad about being bitchy? A little bit. Although it never really deters Tex. As much as he complains about your attitude problems, he gets ten times more impish when you have them. You just wish you didn’t find him so incredibly damn hot while he’s handling you like he would an angry hamster.

While you’re showering, whatever John is cooking smells delightful. It wafts around you, mixes with the hot steam of the shower, makes your stomach clench in longing. Hangry, then, maybe.

Pressing on your ribs wrong while you’re lathering still gets you groaning in pain. It’s taking a long time for this shit to heal, and it makes you wonder how exactly John can just take one and keep going like it’s a normal Tuesday. Your first few days of consciousness were agony. Morphine, IV drips, rolling the wrong way and screaming, John’s hands always two seconds away from wrapping around Tex’s throat.

“Please stop fighting,” you had asked them, woken not by their bickering but John’s low, guttural growl.

Four hands immediately on you, soothing, cooing, feathering over your skin like it was made of glass. You sort of felt like the oblivious kid in the divorce. They were so mean with one another, but always so soft with you. It was when you asked them to get along like they had been before that they actually started to try.

Honestly, though, them actually getting along means your undoing every single time. There are no upper hands to be had against the two when they share one common goal, and usually you’re the one begging in the end.

Your tiny crumb of power, whether you like it or not, is contained in feminine wiles, and sometimes you use it just to spite them. Especially since they can’t be rough with you because you’re still healing from said nasty bullet.

You pick out a pair of cheeky lace and silk panties and grab some cotton shorts that make your ass look great to pair with them. To literally top it off, you slip on a shifty tank top that leaves little to the imagination.

You check yourself in the mirror, turn around a few times, smooth your hands down your tummy and legs, bite your lip to plump it up a little bit. Fuck the shorts. You slide them off and leave yourself in the panties and tank top.

Now, you’re ready.

You feel like the vulnerable bunny walking into a cage of chained Dobermans. All eyes on you. You press the issue, bend down in front of them to pick up something John dropped.

You think maybe this will be the night he actually fucks up and maybe burns a piece of chicken, and, oh, wouldn’t that scratch your ego just right.

You press into him, lean your weight against his solid mass because you know he can handle it, and put the towel back onto the counter. “John Wick leaving a rag on the floor?” You tsk. “Sloppy tonight, eh?”

He raises an eyebrow down at you.

You tuck a rogue hair behind his ear, pausing to tickle your finger over the sensitive shell, and then turn your attention onto Tex.

He’s all hooded eyes and bobbing Adam’s apple while you saunter up to him and fix the collar on his shirt. “Not you too,” you sigh, grinning his devil’s grin right back at him.

“Playing a dangerous game, rattlesnake,” he tells you, tugging softly on the bottom of your top.

You try to remain composed, take the seat beside him. “Sure, Tex.” A little eye roll.

“Someone wants to sit funny for a few days, huh?” He grabs the bottom of your chair and tugs you closer.

“Are you forgetting who took a literal bullet for your ass?” You ask him, pursing your lips and batting your eyelashes.

John chuckles.

“You’re about to take more than that for me—”

John surprises you both. It’s hard to get used to his constant stealth mode. He sets hot plates down in front of you, then takes his own place at the table. “Y/n, we need to talk.”

“Great, I love hearing that.”

He shoots you a stern look that reminds you he’s not Tex, and you back down, spiky fur softening.

“Things have settled down. No one is out for your blood anymore. You’re safe to settle down somewhere new with the bounty and start again.”

Tex’s head twists so hard you hear his neck crack. “You sonofabitch, what did I say, huh?”

John levels a glare back. “She needs to make her own decision.”

Tex slams an open palm on the table, makes you jump and yelp. “I’m gonna—”

“Stop!” They both turn attention to you. Tears well on your bottom lashes, shoulders shaking in anger. “Really? All this time spent and you’re just gonna let me go? And act so—” you resist the urge to scream, but end up with a softer version of it -“fucking aloof about it?!” You whip around to face Tex. “And you, you fucking big bully, you just make all my decisions for me, huh?! Treat me like I’m incapable of thinking for myself.” Your yell drops to a quiet quiver, salty liquid spilling down your cheeks. “Both of you never even stopped once to ask me what I wanted. You’re both too concerned with using me. Like I’m some fuck toy who doesn’t have any say in…. In anything. And now you wanna end it?” You look back at John. “Just like that?” You shove your plate away. “I’m not your fucking chew toy.”

You stand up and walk out the door, slamming it for good measure, stomping and sobbing, following the sound of dark ocean waves. It’s pitch black out here, the only light provided by a shy, foggy moon. Still, you walk. You walk until your feet get sore and tired and you have to sit down on the sand and ruin your cute underwear.

They don’t come after you, which you think would satisfy you, but, instead, it makes you even angrier. They don’t give a shit, and that’s apparent now. They don’t care and they never did. You selfishly hope there are more Bratva members out here with your name in their pocket just so you can prove a point.

You sink into warm sand and sob on the dark beach, cresting waves drowning out your pathetic cries.

Johnwickb1tsch:

It is late, by the time you return to the villa. You are listless and tired from crying. You see a single lamp on inside the house, but you don’t want to see them yet. A part of you yearns for them, even after your fight, like a missing limb, but the other half of you can’t stand the thought of facing them. They’ve been so sweet after your ordeal, and yet you know they’ll probably have cooked something diabolical up for you, for daring to show your true feelings about it all.

You are covered in sand. It really does get into everything. At the poolside you strip down, using the outdoor shower to rinse off. The pool is infinity style, affording a view of the beach beyond. Subtle lighting around the courtyard throws the various tropical plants in dramatic shadow. Kroton, monstera, palm trees, organ cacti and prickly pear, and a pink bougainvillea bush that is almost as big as the house. You love the garden here. You love this house, if you’re being honest.

You dive into the pool. It’s not very often you get to have it to yourself. Usually one or the other of the boys is shadowing you. Pulling at your swimsuit, stealing kisses and sending you to pieces in one way or another. You resent it, the effect they have on you, even as you’re not sure you can give it up.

Floating on your back, naked as a jaybird and looking up at the stars, you wonder what your life would even look like now, without them. Could you ever be content in the real world again, knowing who and what you left behind? Women would sell their souls to have just one of your assassins in their bed—and here you are, complaining that you have two.

If that’s not human nature in all its absurdity, you don’t know what is.

“Fuck,” you sigh. You want to scream it at the sky, but you don’t want to wake them, if they in fact are sleeping, and not sitting up in the shadows waiting to ambush you.

What do you want, actually? What would really make you happy?

It’s a question you’ve never been terribly good at answering for yourself, and that was before the shit got weird. You love animals. You’d enjoyed volunteering at the shelter. You imagine turning this beautiful compound into a fucking zoo of creatures who were discarded by people, if the boys gave you half the chance. That probably wouldn’t fly. And what if you all have to flee again? What would happen to the babies? It wouldn’t be responsible.

Then you think about what they might say, if you proposed conducting an actual relationship. Living in a place where you could come and go as you please, and not be kept in total isolation. Go to the fucking store without a hulking shadow of a bodyguard by your side. Get a cup of coffee, go to the library. They could come and go too. Dinner at seven. How was your day, honey? Well I popped a low-level state representative who wasn’t getting the picture from 600 yards, then I picked up my dry cleaning.

Ye gods. You have to keep reminding yourself that this is not normal.

“For a minute there I though we’d caught ourselves a mermaid.”

The silence could not last, of course.

You right yourself to tread water in the deep end, looking up at Tex standing at the poolside with his muscular arms crossed. His face is thrown half in shadow, his eyes glittering like obsidian orbs; why does he have to be the most handsome man you’ve ever seen? Next to John, of course—but they’re practically fucking twins, even if they won’t admit their physical similarity.

When Tex starts to pull off his t-shirt you pipe up, “Sure you want to do that? Mermaids are famous for drowning men.”

Tex pays you that wolfish baring of teeth, kindling a familiar fire in your belly. What is wrong with you, that you so love to fight with this dangerous man? He always wins. Every fucking time. And yet you keep coming back for more. Maybe you’re the crazy one. Doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results, and all that…

“Them’s big words, from a gal who can barely touch the bottom even in the shallow end…” he teases.

“Fuck you.” You splash at him, but he’s already shimmied out of his shorts and is jumping in with you. It’s a pleasure to watch him glide through the water, truth be told. Long of line, bare skin, sinewy muscle—it makes you mad all over again, how the sight of him moves you. He surfaces an arm’s length from you, spitting water playfully into the air while pushing his dark hair out of his face. When he reaches for you, you splash him in the face.

“Don’t touch me. I’m still mad at you.”

He makes a show of wiping water out of his eyes, even though he’s already soaking wet.

“Cuz I’m such a bully, huh? Always tellin’ you what to do?”

“Yeah.”

“C’mere, you little rattlesnake.”

It’s like arguing with a brick wall, and his grip on your arm won’t be dislodged. You already know this—but you kick out anyway. Your foot finds his ribs; the push of it makes your side ache. The “oomph” you get out of him in answer is almost worth it though, and for good measure you do your damndest to dunk him.

“Goddamn, woman,” he curses, spinning you in his arms so he can drag you to a part of the pool where at least he can stand.

“Let go of me.”

“Can you just listen for once?” There’s a surprising earnestness in this request that makes you still in his arms, all ears.

“Yeah?”

He gathers you to him, your back to his front, and the warmth of his bare skin against yours in the water with his arms around you is a distracting thing.

You wait, but he’s not forthcoming.

“I’m listening?” you prompt impatiently.

“I’m thinking.”

“Think faster.”

He laughs in the bend of your neck, though there is an edge to it. He grazes your cheek with his teeth, but he doesn’t bite down. This man has an oral fixation worse than a puppy dog. You’re never sure if he wants to kiss you, or eat you.

“I’m no good at this,” he finally admits.

Well that’s the understatement of the century.

“You know, the more you think about what you want to say, the more time you have to convince yourself of a lie?”

The sound he makes behind you is more growl than sigh. “Fine. I’m fucking crazy about you, alright? And the thought of being without you feels like feeding my heart through a woodchipper.”

Hearing this makes you go dead still in his arms. It was not the thing you expected to hear from this man, ever. Suddenly you feel hot all over; there’s a ringing in your ears, your heart is in your throat. You remember what Bradford said about Tex. Psychopathic narcissist. Which means, from a text-book standpoint, that he will say anything he has to, to manipulate the people around him to his liking.

But goddamn, if it didn’t sound like he meant it just now, when he said he cares about you.

Does he mean it? Can you trust a damn word that comes out of this man’s mouth?

Do you want him to mean it?

You don’t fucking know. And you’d better say something back fast, or you’re going to be in a world of fucking trouble.

“I am…quite fond of you as well, for some reason.”

This makes him snarl, pinching your side that didn’t take a bullet. “Ow! Ok, ok!”

“What was that? Last I checked, people don’t jump in front of a bullet for someone they’re just fond of.”

“Fine. In a split-second decision…the thought of the world without you in it seemed intolerable to me.”

This, however, does not appease him.

“You just can’t say it, can you?”

“Why should I? You’ll punish me either way. I lose no matter what, in this game.”

Tex flings his arm in a wide gesture, sending crystalline drops of water flying in an arc towards the house. “You call this losing?” he demands hotly, and now you sense you’ve succeeded in truly making him angry. “Holed up in a mansion in Mexico with two men who love you more than life itself? We were ready to die for you, when Bradford took you! Don’t that mean anything at all?”

You’re so mad that the last part of that statement hardly registers with you. “Holed up? I am your prisoner. John says he loves me but he’s ready to let me go. You say you love me but you won’t give me the freedom to live. Your dicks are very nice but I need something more than sitting around the house waiting for the two of you to pounce on me!”

“What do you need?” The question is so calm in comparison to you and Tex’s yelling that the both of you fall silent. John has joined you, standing like a tall shadow at the edge of the pool, the yellow lights at his back illuminating him like a fiery halo. In that moment for all the world he resembles something that just materialized from the fires of hell.

“Freedom,” you answer before you have time to think about it, or before Tex can stop you. “I don’t like being kept in a cage.”

John is still as a statue, only his hair stirring in the salty breeze coming off the sea.

“And the two of us?”

Tex’s grip around your waist tightens, vibrating with tension, as though he’s scared of what you’ll say. He doesn’t shut you up though, silent for what may be the first time in his life, waiting for your answer.

“We can work something out.”

In the depths of the shadows, you almost miss the slight curl of John’s lips at the corners. “Well, that’s nice to hear.” You can’t tell if he means it—or if he’s just amused by you.

You watch as he strips out of his clothes to join you in the pool, and you know…nothing has really been settled, and you only sort of feel better about your situation. Talk is easy. What they actually decide to do with you? Remains to be seen.

Yet when John cups your face in his big hands, kissing you so sweetly you start to tremble—in Tex’s arms, his hot mouth upon your neck, his long fingers gliding down your belly to dip between your legs—maybe it’s all a problem that can wait until tomorrow. Or next week.

Or next month.

You do kind of like it here, with them.

Sweetwolfcupcake:

There's a ringing in your ears as you blink. Looking at the phone screen. Apparently, you now have a new bank account, a new identity and a whole new life.

A life without them in it.

When John brought up the 'coversation' last month, you had an outburst.

But now, when he has made all the decisons on your behalf, made all the arrangements to ship you the fuck out of his life-- of their lives, you sit in silence.

The conversation began a few...minutes ago? You aren't entirely sure. Because you are busy trying to keep your breathing normal and not let your tears show.

If they can take decisions for you, discard you like nothing.

They do not deserve to know how easy it has been for them to shatter you.

"One of my friends will drop you to the airport. From there, contact this man, he'll lead you through the security."

John speaks as if he is dealing with any other person as he slides a paper with a name and number on it, even a picture. He sounds strange to you now.

Indifferent.

Stoic

Unreadable

And of course, Tex makes no appearance. You have not seen him the whole day. You should have seen the signs. But you naively thought he was running some errands.

What a dumb litttle woman you have been.

Stupid.

"Finally got bored of me?" You don't know if its your voice, or your eyes but something vulnerable and readable flashes in his eyes.

"I am doing what is right for you." He has the guts to look and sound sincere.

You fist your fingers and let out a slow, quivering breath, trying to keep your voice stable through this.

You realise that you are in love with them.

You are so in love with them that even breathing hurt, looking atnthe screen showing the promised 2.5 million made you feel like a protstitute.

So you really were their 'expensive' whore.

Tex's words ring in your head.

"And when did you decide what's right for me?"

Your voice does not come out as strong as you would have liked, but you want to pat your back for keeping it from cracking. For keeping the tears from filling your eyes, for keeping yourself from breaking down and for letting it show that your heart now is in pieces - tiny but sharp pieces - pieces that would go unnoticed - but make one bleed.

"Because I know that it is for the best." He asserts.

Your giggle is unexpected, but it somehow helps. "Oh, yeah?" you shake your head. "Now you decide what's best for me?"

"(Y/N)---"

"When can I go?"

Enough of this game.

You do not want to hear anything else, you do not even want to look at him, at them. If Tex isn't here yet.

Good.

You think spitefully. He should not show his fucking face!

Anger, restentment, betrayal, heartbreak and helplessness-- everything amlagamt into a dangerous fusion that oddly numbs you. But you know that this is the silence betfore the storm.

They do not even deserve to see your outburst. You will not give them the satisfaction of any reaction at all.

There is a charged silence from his end. And when you finally manage to glance up from the screen. You almost curse out loud.

You don't know what he is thinking. But it does not seem any good.

"You think---"

The ringing of the phone becomes your saviour. You think you actually felt the growl on your skin seconds ago. Why else would there be goosebumps on your skin. Why else would your heart be thumping?

When he picks the phone, he keeps his eyes on you, but you revert your gaze back on the phone screen. Oh, you now have a new phone as well. A parting gift from them. It feels more like a return gift.

'Hey party's over, you can go hom enow, and yes, thank you for being our little plaything. Here, a return gift. Happy Journey!'

You almost laugh at your own mental mimicry.

----

John's friend arrives within an hour. You have packed your bags mechanically, but you've meticulous about it. Nothing of you would remain with them, and no part of either of them shall go with you.

The shirt you've been wearing for so long that it now basiclaly smells like you?

It actually belongs to Tex, you remember, because he would always joke about you robbing his wardrobe every time he would see you in it, only to rob you out of your breath the next moment.

So, the shirt is left in the empty closet.

The two-in-one shampoo that saves time? It s John's, so it is left on the counter.

You shove down the sob itching to emerge and steele yourself. Tex is still nowhere to be found.

Bastard.

You load the bags at the back of the car. Only two bags. Funny how your life has been alterned permananently, you are to 'start afresh' and all you've got are two bags to begin with.

Oh, and a fat bank account.

The man and John speak in Sapnish, John does most of the talking for a change. You just want to get in the car and sit down.

But you stop, somehow. Soemthing tells you to turn around. Something in you is sure that Tex is here. You know it is most probbaly your silly heart, still whimpering like the stupid fucking thing it has been for so long. You want to finally listen to your mind. But as soon as you hold the handle to yank the door open, a painful tug at your heart makes you freeze.

Listen to your fucking brain for once!

See where your stupid heart has got you---

Fuck it!

You turn around, almost hoping to see Tex, so much the image of him standing a few feet away flashes before your eyes even before you turn around.

But there in no one behind.

The fiery hope fizzles into cold nothingness in you.

No one is standing there, hoping to see you, no one is there, rushign to stoip you, to stop John. To stop this.

There is no Tex.

You scoff lightly.

But you promise yourself that this is the last time you make a fool out of yourself by listening to your heart.

You should have seen this coming. But you were just a lonely, love-starved, pathetic little woman, weren't you?

Yanking the door open, you get inside the car. The man, John's friend, joins shortly after, taking the driver's seat.

He greets you in accecented English, and you reply politely, despite the effort that it takes to be civil with anybody at themoment. You feel John's eyes on you, but you refuse to look his way.

"Can we go now?"

You ask the man, barely keeping your voice from cracking. The man nods and starts the car, but only after approval from John. You bite your lips, keeping your tears at bay-- its not easy, but you have turned into an expert in bottling up emotions at this point of life.

John's ears are ringing, and his eyes are blurry as he watches the car taking a turn, completely disappearing from his sight. He blinks, relenting under the stubborness of his tears. One tiny drop finds an escape to his cheek. Silently, he turns around.

Tex is standing a few feet behind him. He has been there ever since you walked to the car with her bags.

He simply did not have it in him to face you. So whene you turned, he hid behind a wall.

John undertands Tex, and he knows that Tex would never forgive him for doing this.

But John likes to tell himself that is the better of the two when it comes to 'doing the right thing'. Angels do not belong with devils. They're cursed, doomed beings, destroying everything good that touches them, defiling that they touch.

You don't deserve that.

John tells himself for the nth time. Maybe, if he convinces himself, it would be easier to make Tex see his reason one day.

He watches as Tex silently walks back inside the villa, slamming the door shut behind him.

Tammykelly:

You would sit and stare at the walls of each airbnb for hours. Hours would turn into days, days - into weeks. You were losing count at that point, having learnt that a passing minute could turn into lingering eternity when every day was just a routine of waiting. So patiently waiting for the impossible, you weren’t sure you were breathing.

And you were hoping they’d come bursting right through each door, as it would crack open under sizzling fire and stand agape, akin to the gates of oblivion, forever sucking you into the whirlpool of tarnished hopes.

But they never came, always teasing you with a fog of a visit in your dreams, so flawlessly unattainable, even in the thicket valley of your own mind. You could practically feel their presence, looming somewhere behind you. And yet when you did turn your head, you’d always be greeted with only shadows, playing dirty tricks on you.

And what came to fill that befuddled void was an unstoppable force of burning tears and searing pain you carried in your chest every time you’d go on a new road trip across Europe.

Eucalyptus trees, turquoise sea, passing by the road, birds flying high, sometimes matching the speed of the car.

It wasn’t them leaving you feeling discarded that made you mad. It was the fact that it was the decision made for you. The taken away chance for you to fight for your own freedom and liberate yourself on your own terms.

Crowds of people laughing, dancing, cheering, a few couples kissing and hugging slipped by your sight.

And who would’ve thought that the freedom, once forced upon you, tasted like emptiness, and boredom turned out to be second to the suffocating loneliness. For now, instead of being caged in the glass house, you found yourself waking up every day to the ringing sound of the cage that was your own subconscious, slowly erasing parts of you.

The excitement of the first few days would always vaporise into the thin air, the towns, the mountains, the forests, the beaches - everything turning into a never ending lane in between the world you daydreamed about behind the world you were escaping. For freedom, with no one to share, became a burden just for you to carry.

This is probably what they wanted, you’d think every day, staring at yourself in the rear mirror of your rental car. For you to hate your own company and long for their so bad you wanted to curse your own existence.

They’d always play a game of push and pull with you, giving you everything that you wanted in a controlled amount - just enough for you to feel satisfied and less than enough that you keep coming back for more.

You drive the car down one of many hills of Italian Riviera, onto an empty secluded beach, then stepping into the nauseating midday sun accompanied by the loud crying of cicadas. The scorching sunlight and eucalyptus shade being the only things that kiss your skin, as you leave your sundress discarded in the backseat. Soft sand embraces your feet, slowly guiding you to the warm crystal clear blue water, letting you escape deeper and deeper in, until your bikini is fully wet and your chin touches the surface. Your eyes close, your breath in synch with your heartbeat fueled by the fleeting thoughts.

You exhale one last time, emptying your mind, and let the Mediterranean sea swallow you whole.

- a flashback -

You feel your head come above the surface, air filling your lungs, and then late noon sunlight graze your wet hair, as you walk out of the turquoise pool, emerging slowly, your eyes locked on the dark chocolate ones that devour each curve of your body, too distracted to notice you calculating your steps. You reach the pool bed and grab the towel, drying yourself, the sunlight shining over you in the most flattering way, making the man beside you hardly resist pulling you onto his lap. You feel his arms find their way around you in a firm embrace, and in a swift motion, the towel is discarded somewhere on the floor, droplets from your bikini are now falling down onto his skin.

“Hey”, you say softly, making yourself comfortable, at the price of his discomfort.

“You’re a fuckin’ goddess, you know that?” - Tex’s lips fall on your chest and trace a line up to your jawline.

“Never noticed, no”, you tease, your fingers on either side of his face, making him look up at you. A little naughty butterfly sets an array of flowers blooming in the bubble inside your heart, as you watch him study you with the eyes full of a promise to devour you right then and there, meticulously edging you on, before the other hawk comes for his piece of the prey.

Having nowhere to run means you’ve got nothing to lose.

You kiss him deeply, feeling his arms pull you flush against his chest, before you pull away right when the scales are about to tip not in your favor.

Your gaze penetrates his dark irises, igniting more fiery canons he throws your way in a form of his fingers digging deeper into your hips and waist.

Out of the two, Tex is more impulsive. And impulsivity means a behavioural pattern. And where’s a pattern, there’s a loophole. And where’s a loophole, there’s a way out.

Your ears catch his voice before your brain registers it.

“What?”, - Tex chuckles, making your resurfacing back to him speed up its pace.

“Nothing”, - you whisper, your fingers touching his cheekbones.

A small smirk turns into a wolfish grin, as he continues: “It’s never nothing with you. You told me once, we are nothing more or less than what we choose to reveal. So tell me, what’re you hidin’, my rattlesnake?”

Him leisurely drawing absentminded circles on your hips makes your chest rise and fall a bit deeper, as if setting off in-built alarms. You lock your jaw and let go.

“Sometimes my mind still wonders back to that kidnapping day”, the circles stop, “as I remember watching you and John obliterate the enemies, I kept thinking how graceful you two looked, as if almost entranced in a dance, deadly one at that”, his jaw plays under your fingers, “as time passed, it made me wonder, what more can you do for me?”

You notice a flash of darkness sparkle through his gaze, as if a shadow of a thick lone storm cloud approaching, but never leaving, with lightning brewing deep within.

Tex growls: “Oh, you’re so spoiled,”your cheeks flush a deeper tone, “we’re ready to kill anyone for you, is it not enough?”

You can’t keep your eyes off his, so you reply: “Although I do appreciate the thought, it’s not”, his eyebrow twitches, “you know, it’s easy to break, to kill and to bring destruction to the doorstep of anyone who dares to encounter you. But you know what’s hard?”, you let a pause escape into the abyss, “sacrificing and living”.

His head tilts, “we’re both willing to sacrifice our lives for you”. You pull away.

“I know, you do, but that’s not what I mean”, you tell him, “getting killed in the name of love is easy. But giving up what you love is not”. The hairs at the back of your neck stand up, for your heartbeat quickens at the look, emanating from his narrowed eyes.

“What are you talking about?”, he asks lowly.

A shallow breath escapes your lips when you feel tears pool in your eyes, before you can speak again: “You keep dancing with the death because you were born to be its angels. You love hunting, because you were born to be hunting dogs”, you let yourself run your fingers through his raven locks, feeling your chest tighten, “but you know better than anyone that death always catches up to you, you can’t outrun it”, your eyes wash over his face, “hounds get shot down too”.

You feel a vibration of his laughter echo through you, as Tex’s voice softens: “Well, that’s one way to call us old”.

You smile bitterly, feeling a single tear roll down your cheek. “Oh, you don’t think your employers just gonna pat you on the back and thank you for your service, do you?” Tex’s fingers wipe your cheek gently, butterflies in your belly forming a growing gurgling sensation of an upcoming avalanche, “the difference between a dog and a man is that dogs can’t talk, they act on instinct”, he watches your eyes search his, “either way, both of you will always remain a liability. There’s no grace in dying and no dignity in fighting a losing game”.

Suddenly, you hear another deep voice quietly respond, sending shivers down your spine, as its owner steps into the light, away from the shadowy greenery.

“So, what are you saying?”, you hear another pool bed creek, as John sits down.

“Devils are forever bound to Hell”, you feel an instinctive urge to wiggle out of Tex’s grip and let your feet touch the ground, “so don’t fucking drag me into it. Make your choice”, you tell them, both men now looking up at you, their laser sharp pitch black eyes staring right through you, goosebumps arising on every inch of your body.

“You know it’s not that simple”, Tex says lowly, earning a glare from John, which he shrugs off. You raise an eyebrow.

“Is this your final answer, Tex?”

He doesn’t reply.

You don’t take your eyes off Tex, while you hear John’s voice pierce through you: “We’ll always choose you”, making you slightly step away.

“Doesn’t seem that way”, you reply in a tone that matches his and turn around, speed walking back to the mansion.

You immediately feel the AC blasting, while you pace your breathing, as you step inside and walk into the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of water with shaky hands. You glance into the window, watching the boys’ backs, as they lean closer to one another, whispering secrets not meant for your ears. Secrets that the tree shades will evaporate and never reveal.

You feel your hand clasp the glass harder, your vision focusing on the blurry reflection of you, tears making your silhouette on the window glass even fainter, as water slips past your lips and down your throat.

- the present -

As you look away from your reflection in the bar window, lazily skipping over LA street view, you put the glass down, the burning sensation in your mouth tingling pleasantly.

So much for fighting to be a puppet master when in the end it’s always been their game, for they were the ones who invented it. Haunting you. Taunting you. Tainting you. Akin to the glass in front of you, stained with your fingerprints and lipgloss.

Fuck, your breath fogs the glass.

You hear the bar doorbell ringing, letting the late night air in, and, after a few seconds, a bar stool a few sits over scraping, as the person sits down. You look up from the glass and into the mirror behind the illuminated shelves that hold liquor.

You suddenly feel like your stomach is flipping somersaults, as if air was knocked out of your lungs. For when you watch the stranger’s reflection, you can’t help but notice the singularity of similarities, wondering whether you’re seeing double.

How many Jesus-looking handsome devils are there?

You forget that it’s not polite to stare and he pretends not to pay attention to it. After a few seconds you inhale again, as if starved for oxygen, your heartbeat overpowering the loud music in your ears.

You fail to see a scrawny middle-aged guy sitting down next to you, missing his chatting up and lewd looks, as he’s checking you out. Finally, your eyes lock with your mirrored ones, your jawline hardens, as you try to move away from the noisy stranger. As you take a sip of your drink, he tries to snatch your hand, which makes you jolt and snap your hand back, throwing him a deadly glare. Instead of taking the hint, he grabs the back of your stool and spins your seat, so you’re facing him.

“Fuck off”, you hiss at him.

“You’re so rude”, - the guy moves closer and you - further from him, your skin crawling with unpleasant thoughts, “someone’s gotta teach you manners”, placing a hand on your bare lower thigh, above your knee. You exhale with a smirk on your lips, before grabbing his palm, curling your fingers and digging your nails into the centre of the thinnest part so hard that bloody creases appear, making him yelp. Fingers of your other hand wrap around the thumb of the hand you’re clawing in, and you’re not shy to painfully bend it in such a way that if you put more force to it, it’d break.

“Remind me again, what was it about the manners?”, you whisper, dangerously low, the guy’s cries drowning in the music. His other hand claws at your arm, as he calls you names. You yank his hand hard, as he does the same in his direction, which leaves deep scratch marks, then grasping his collar, your wide crazed eyes staring into his drunk red ones.

“Don’t try me”, you growl, “I will bite”.

“You crazy fucking bitch”, the guy grabs you with one hand, his glossy eyes filled with rage, his hot breath fanning over your face. As his other hand moves to slap you, you turn to the side briefly, noticing dark obsidian eyes staring right at you, when the stranger’s hand wraps around the guy’s wrist.

“Don’t be rude to the lady”, he says to the drunkard, as you let go of the guy. You lean back, watching the stranger’s eyes glow, akin to jet-black nothingness of the dark matter in space.

“Who the fuck are you?” the guy asks the stranger, who turns his attention to you:

“Is he bothering you, angel?”

You nod, your gaze never leaving his, making you feel an almost familiar sense of security, as you fall deeper into the bottomless fiery pits of his eyes. Before the guy can say a word, the handsome stranger is forcibly throwing him onto the ground, then casually asking the bartender to call the security, ignoring the guy’s threats to call the cops. You watch the stranger squat in front of the drunk guy and tell him to stay quiet, which he doesn’t listen to, making the first one roll his eyes.

You hear a sound of his fist colliding with the guys head, knocking him out. The stranger’s black eyes find yours, pulling you into the intricate labyrinth that is his curious gaze.

“Happens all the time”, he explains, his presence close enough to make you feel the heat of his body, but respectfully away that you don’t feel like he’s intruding your personal space. All thoughts completely leave your mind, as you don’t think you have it in you to divert your gaze, especially when the security drags the drunkard out onto the street.

You feel blood flow to your cheeks when the man’s eyes study you with the same intensity you once knew, making your stomach turn and throat dry up, as you absentmindedly reach for your drink. You force yourself to look away, blinking the fog of memories clouding your consciousness, as if a waterfall washes away the imprints it once knew. You let the pretty devil read your body language, not paying attention to him sitting down next to you, as you look through the window, into the depths of the night, for a split second thinking, indeed, you’re seeing double.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost”, the man’s voice reaches you, once again the illuminating black hole of his irises not letting go of you, as if the sound and space around you are nonexistent anymore.

“Maybe I did”, you reply, pleasant tingles all over your body mixing with barely noticeable shivers, coating your flesh, your mind fully in control of your thoughts and actions, despite several cocktails.

You break the thick silence between you: “Do you, like, have a twin or something?”

“No, why’d you ask?”, - he responds, his gaze slowly increasing the heat of your body.

“Sorry, you just remind me of someone”, you apologise, hiding the truth behind the sip of your drink.

“Are you running away or looking for them?”, - the stranger asks.

“I dunno. Maybe a little bit of both”, your lashes flutter.

You feel him lean closer, the speed of your heartbeat rising.

“What’d you do if you saw a ghost?”, he whispers, your eyes lock on his again.

You bite your lip, thinking for a second, and tell him: “Well, it’d depend on where I see them. If I saw them in my apartment, I’d ask why the fuck they’re here rent free. If I saw them in a Church, I’d probably meet Jesus right then and there. If I saw them in an alley, I’d probably punch them so hard I’ll send them back to where they came from”.

Your eyes find his playful smile so enjoyable for some reason, when he teases: “You’ve got spirit”.

You mirror his expression: “No, just a whole lotta anger”.

You both let a pause vapour into the air and then he speaks again.

“So, which one is it?”, he asks, searching your eyes.

“Well, I’m here and they’re there. End of the story”, you let out before another beat passes by, as your mind and heart fail to create any excuse not to keep up with him.

He tilts his head, his short messy hair falling all over his forehead. “So, what brings you to the city of Angels? Business or pleasure?”

“Haven’t decided yet, maybe both”, you say, watching a wolf-like grin appear on his lips, a smirk you know all too well, which makes your heart sting just a tiny pinch.

“Looks like you need someone to do a whole lotta deciding for you”, - his eyes glimmer with a shade of darkness you can tell brings no good but a cheeky pretext for more.

“Excuse you, you don’t think you have anything you can offer me, do you?”, you match his smile with one of your own.

“Depends on what you’re looking for”, the man replies, watching you feign curiosity.

“Depends on what you have to offer”, you raise an eyebrow.

“So you do want something from me”.

“Huh, maybe the question is what don’t I want”.

You feel the heat of his body on yours even stronger when he moves closer.

“Maybe the question is what can you offer me?”, he asks, earning a glare from you. The counter meets with your arm, as you lean on it, your body now facing his.

“What are you looking for then? Business or pleasure?”, you throw one leg over the other.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, angel. It could be something you can’t give me”, he leans back, looking down at you through his lashes.

A pause washes over you two.

“What, cat’s got your tongue?”

“No, I’m thinking”, you tell him.

“Think faster”, he urges.

Deja vu much?

You exhale, smirking: “Fuck off. You’re a prick”.

“You can’t expect to receive something without giving something in return. So, that makes you…a…what?”, he waves his hand absentmindedly.

“A fucking saint”, your voice sounds as a matter of factly.

“Quite the opposite, actually”.

“Yeah, you ever see a saint doing charity work?”

“I’ll let you know when I see one”

He’s so devilishly handsome it’s annoying.

Your jawline moves but you don’t dwell on the feeling of rising heat under your skin.

“So, what is it that you want”, you ask flatly.

“Stick around and find out”.

“Nah, I’ll have to check my calendar first”, you pretend to think, “hmm, I don’t think so”.

You catch a tiny sparkle of interest grow bigger in the eyes opposite yours, though he doesn’t move a muscle, buying into your pretence when you both can feel the underlying truth on your fingertips.

“Can I buy you a drink”, his low voice vibrates through a thin layer of deceptive indifference. You note how his eyes are the opposite of the ones that embody icy coldness laced with a warm hue that you’re used to. His irises are so warm with a glint of a cold breeze, blowing through them.

“No, but you can pay for mine. I don’t drink much, especially with scruffy strangers”.

The man waves to a bartender who’d just come for his shift, you hear the voice of a man behind the counter: “Good evening, John”.

Oh, so help me God

“Put the lady’s drinks on my tab and get me a glass of Ardberg”, he turns to face you, “name’s John Constantine. You’re indebted to me now”.

“For a fucking drink?”

“Three, to be exact”

You laugh.

Guess you’re not escaping the devil tonight

“You’re such an asshole, John. So what is it that you do for a living”

“I hunt”

Fucking Hell

“And then I help the souls leave this realm”, he continues.

Even better

“Like, with a bullet or a prayer?”, you draw circles on the glass ring.

“A little bit of both”

“That pays well?”

Constantine smirks: “One does what one can”.

“You like it?”

“Not at all”

“Why’d you do it then?”, you ask quietly.

“To atone for my sins”, your eyes can’t help but notice an almost sad glimpse appear in his irises and then switch off back to a playful hint. He watches you look at him with wide eyes.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

You nod, expectantly.

“I don’t do bullets these days”

“So, you’re like…Killer Preacher? Fiery Priest?”

“Haven’t thought of it like that. But yeah”, he replies, as your heartbeat almost makes you nauseous, the ephemeral sensation of being watched from a place you can’t see making your ears turn red, you almost don’t hear him finish his sentence, “I’m not a killer. On God”.

You force a giggle: “Sure”.

Constantine’s eyes loom over yours once more, taking in every micro expression of yours, when he suggests: “You’re sure you don’t want a drink?”

You look him right in the eyes when you take his drink from his hand and down the rest he hasn’t finished yet, then saying: “Yeah, thanks. It’s been nice knowing you, John Constantine”.

He quirks an eyebrow: “You drank my shit and you’re leaving?”

“Yeah. I’m done with killers”, your heels make contact with the floor and you begin to walk away.

“Be seeing you, angel”, Constantine throws your way, neither of you turning around, as you reply: “No, you won’t”.

You go outside and light a cigarette with a trembling hand, staring into the darkest part of the alleyway, fear slowly subsiding and blood pumping in your veins with a newfound purpose of hot radioactive anger.

There’s a Nietzche saying, “and if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you”. For you can sense that two pairs of eyes are locked in on yours, shining in the darkness.

John notices a venomous smile playing on your lips and a hint of glowing in your eyes, not from the street lamp but rather the thoughts brewing in your mind, as he’s gripping the wheel tighter, the pain causing him to feel more grounded. Tex feels like they’re both staring at the reflection of them, him and John hiding in the shadows, you - right there, embraced by the light, forever favoured by the bold fortune. For “he who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster”. For you turned out to be a true angel in the city that is the land of the devils.

Just as you throw the cigarette out, your ears pick up the sound of the doorbell before you hear footsteps approaching you.

“Well, you sure took your sweet fucking time”, you tell Constantine, offering him a cigarette.

“Aw, don’t tell me you’ve been waiting for me”, he says before popping a piece of gum into his mouth, as you put the pack into your purse.

“No way in Hell, ew. It’s just taxis take for-fucking-ever here”

“Waiting for the ghost?” he sits down next to you on the bench.

“Yeah. I think I’m going ghost hunting tonight”.

“There’s more than one, I take it?”

You nod and continue: “And I also think I’m gonna take you up on that offer and let you humour me”.

His eyes glow with the same hue as yours: “You’ve figured what you can give me?”

You smirk: “Yeah. I got a debt to pay off, after all, third time‘s a charm, remember?”

“4, in your case”

“3 and a half”, your firm voice claims.

Constantine leans closer, grinning, his gaze devilishly capturing yours in a bargain your body could never deny.

“Thought you were done with killers”, he growls, his quiet voice making shivers roll down every inch of you.

“I guess not tonight, no”.

“Why a change of mind?”

“You look like you’ve been through Hell and back”, you let him get closer until your faces are just millimetres apart, not caring whether your other devils are watching or how they’re feeling anymore.

“Damn, I’ve been called worse but, wow, my God, angel”.

“I wonder what gives”, you tease, letting a Tex-like accent slip past.

“Mhhmm, what makes you say that?”, Constantine’s eyes urging you to lean back, as you recross your legs.

“Because I know what Hell feels like”.

“Well, I am most certain you did not wait for a sympathetic shoulder to cry on”, he purrs, placing his big warm hand on your knee.

“No, I did not”, you send a small smile his way, allowing his hand to travel up your bare thigh, “I don’t want ghosts following me anymore”.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about”, he says, his watchful eyes boring into yours, your heart flutters.

“Who are you to tell me what I do and don’t know”, the sound of your whisper hiss-like.

He smirks: “Okay, do pray tell”, his gaze never leaving your irises.

“I know what devils look like because maybe Hell is other people”.

You let distant sirens be the only sound filling the street.

‘So, you’re running away?”, Constantine breaks the spell, as you feel his skin on yours clearer than ever, ignoring the alarming temptation to stare into the darkness again and seek answers that’ll keep you up at night.

Instead, you tell him: “You keep calling me angel like it means something. I’m far from that. I’m no angel, and I think you’re no devil”.

“Are you sure, little dove? Appearances can be deceiving”.

“But the eyes never lie. And see, you can’t be really running away, when it wasn’t your decision to leave. So, I’ll take my chances”.

Abruptly, all of his warmth leaves your personal space, when he leans back and tilts his head: “You’ll have to pay if my head gets bitten off”

“Make sure to keep it on your fucking shoulders then”, you retort and pull him by the tie.

- 6 months later -

Constantine rolls over, though one of his arms still around you, both of you flushed with after sex glow, rocking messy hair. There’s a pack of unopened cigarettes on your nightstand, he reaches out over you and grabs a pack of gum, offering one to you first and throwing the next one into his mouth. You get up from the bed, Constantine’s eyes following your naked form. He rolls his eyes upon seeing you turn around and cutely blow him a kiss, before the bathroom door clicks shut and he starts to get dressed.

After a while, as the scent of coffee fills the apartment, he hears the sound of you walking across the room, the chair scrapping against the floor and cricking, as you sit down at the table with a towel wrapped around your hair, opening your UCLA mock exam book. He looks up at you from the two cups he’s just poured and sets one in front of you, his eyes glowing.

You glance up, thanking him.

“Last push?”, the corner of his mouth quirks up a little.

“Yeah”, - you set the cup back down, “God, I really did forget what it feels like to be this nervous a week before the exam”.

“You’ll do great, this is just an entrance exam for the undergraduate program, how hard can it be?” he teases, “plus you’ve already gone to college”.

“Yeah, you know I never graduated. Also shut up, genius, see if you can take it”, you mock him before burying your head in the book. Suddenly, you hear a phone buzzing on the table, looking over and seeing it’s Constantine’s, the screen lighting up with a call from “Angela”.

“Your girlfriend’s calling”, - you muse, sliding the phone to the man.

“She’s not my girlfriend”, he states, his eyes not leaving yours, as he ignores the buzz.

“You should take it”, you tilt your head up, as a shadow falls on your face, feeling Constantine’s hand somewhere behind you, “seems important”.

“She can wait”, you feel a whisper pass over right above your ear before he leans closer and his lips find yours, the scent of coffee and gum mixing on your tongues. You break the kiss after a while, lightly smacking his chest.

“I gotta study, John”, you pout, ignoring his wicked grin.

“I know, just giving you a little motivation”, Constantine downs his coffee and winks at you, before walking over to the sink to wash it.

“Ew”, you say, though your eyes follow his movements, as you bite your lip, smiling. As he turns around with a cheeky smirk on those gorgeous lips of his, you roll your eyes.

“Get me something to eat, will you?”, you ask.

“On it”, he laughs, “be right back”.

“Don’t be too long”, - you take a sip of the coffee, as he’s leaving the kitchen. Just as you start revising, you hear his voice calling you again.

“Hey”, you look up, “I’m proud of you, angel”, Constantine smiles at you.

“Get outta here, already”, you throw a cramped paper ball his way, your chest filling with butterflies, making you giggle, as you set your eyes back on the study paper.

You hear the doorbell ringing and Constantine telling you: “Don’t get up, I’ll get it”.

“Thanks, cutie”, you reply, dodging the said paper ball.

After a door click, strange silence greets the air, turning warm LA air icy cold.

“What the fuck”, you hear a voice that makes your blood freeze. “Who the fuck are you?” a deep voice repeats.

“I’m John. The owner of this house. And who the fuck are you?”, Constantine replies and you hurry to the door, your eyes taking in the scene of two men, standing almost chest to chest, about to come unleashed upon one another in a deadly dance of bulls.

Your eyes then lock on dark obsidian ones that spew fireballs.

“Y/n”, the man with long hair, holding a huge bouquet of your favourite flowers, exhales your name softly. Before he can utter another word, you are right up in his face, punching him in the nose, as hard as you can, making him stumble back with blood now dripping down his lips and chin.

“What the actual fuck?” the man exclaims, clearly he didn’t expect such a warm welcome.

Your eyes lock with Constantine’s.

“Nice one”, he high fives you, as you smile at him,“that’s one of the ghosts, I assume?”

“Number 2, actually”, you reply, calmly watching Tex look at you with confusion but his bloodied fingers wrapping around the bouquet, knuckles white, his eyes growing darker with each passing second.

Constantine’s eyes peel off yours and assess Tex.

“Can’t say it’s a pleasure to meet you, asshole”, he says and you almost feel a breeze pass you, as he launches forward.

A screen freeze frame:

Constantine’s fist raised, the other grabbing onto Tex, Tex’s hand with the bouquet about to collide with Constantine’s face.

The angle pans to you.

You look into the camera, amused, yet terrified.

Shit

Treedaddymcpuffpuff:

You take the blood speckled flowers and put them in a purple glass vase by the window where the filtered sunlight can illuminate and nourish the pretty stained petals. The silky roses and lilies - what a combo - invite you to run your fingertips across them and smell the heavy sweetness of the cluster.

After you take your time with the flowers, you go to Tex, sit beside him and dab at his swelling face with a cool washcloth. John watches this display with a barely contained scowl, hip against the counter, cigarette pressed tightly between his lips, bag of frozen peas pressed into his own blooming bruise - you had insisted he blunt the freeze with a rag so his skin didn’t get damaged.

“I’m sorry,” Tex says, and it makes you pause. Takes you aback.

“What?” It’s really the only thing you can manage. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him say he’s sorry and genuinely mean it. However, the enchantment is short lived when you realize that his repentance is probably a ploy to get you pliant and small for him again.

“I said I’m so-“

“I heard you, Tex, but come the fuck on. You actually think that shit is gonna work?”

Ah, there’s that punchable, handsome, toe curling half raise of his mouth. “It was worth a try.”

“You want another black eye?” You ask him.

“You know I’ll take anything you wanna give me, rattlesnake.”

“Die in a fire.” Despite harsh words, you’re still cleaning the caked blood off his face. You think that says way more about you than it ever could about him, but you’ve learned not to question yourself too much nowadays. If everyone else is resigned to being immoral, selfish douchebags, then why shouldn’t you be?

“I miss you.” This is his reply as he sports an almost infatuated expression on his face. He looks like a love sick puppy, and you kind of don’t mind it. Submissive suits him. Begging, strung up to the headboard, cock angry and purple, dribbling fat liquid pearls onto his belly, still having the audacity to be cheeky even while he's so desperate he’s humping air.

“You thinkin’ about me, huh, darlin?” He blows you a kiss and you scowl. Still, your face is hot, hands shaky, breath uneven. Curse this man for his ability to make your cunt throb traitorous in zero point five.

“Where’s John?” You deflect.

“I’m right here.”

You turn to Constantine. He’s got the full icy bag pressed to his face without a buffer again. Remedying his disobedience with a sigh, you snatch the veggies, slap the washrag back on, and then place them to his cheek gently. “You’re gonna get freezer burn.”

He holds you steady on tiptoes, broad hand pressed into your waist, leans down to kiss your top lip. “Who’s John?” He asks.

“A friend.”

Tex snorts. “You know, I’m startin to think ya like him better than me. Every time we have a homecoming, the first words outta your mouth are always ‘where’s John?’”.

His poor imitation of your voice, if you’re giving him credit, actually does make you giggle. “That’s cuz I do like him better than you, Tex.”

You can’t see the way he shoots Constantine a heavy stink eye. “Clearly. Now come’er, you missed a spot.”

Instead of glaring at him, you smile, grab a coke from the fridge and lean into the counter to sip on it. “It’s cute that you still think you’re the boss of me, Tex.”

His grin turns into a sneer. “What? You think just cuz you got a little bodyguard now, I can’t still slap that pretty buxom bottom all red and raw?” He flexes a bulky hand as testament to that, and you hate yourself for shrinking a little bit. Half out of fear, half because your insides give a violent boil of desire that you’re afraid both these men can feel despite distance.

Constantine, in true fashion, rolls his eyes. “Where did you find this guy? The bargain bin of Tractor Supply?”

“Close. A diner in Ohio.”

“Hey, I was the best lookin’ guy in that Diner, thank you.” Tex is back to his usual lazy grin, tipping an imaginary hat.

“You never change, do you?” You ask him, shaking your head.

“Momma didn’t raise a quitter,” he shrugs.

You can try to deny it all you want, but you did miss Tex. That dangling piece of your heart - held by only a tearing thread of muscle - reattached when you saw his beautiful face, leaving you warmer and sturdier and… fuck. Happier.

It’s not your fault. He should be outlawed for the combination k.o. of those handsome features, deep honey voice and annoying, endearing wit. His black hair has grown disheveled and wild, stubble thickening into a wiry mess that you want to tug at. Constantine is always clean shaven, and, god, you miss having constant rugburn between your thighs.

And those hands. Jesus, those big, beautiful, chunky hands, all bruised from beating Constantine into the ground. It wasn’t a fair fight. Although of similar height, Tex’s burly stature overpowered Constantine’s lithe frame. If it wasn’t for John knocking Tex back a couple feet with a burst of black flame, he’d look a lot worse right now. And it’s a good thing he did it sooner rather than later, because you were just about to attempt to pull Tex off of him.

However, that pulse of dark magic created a brand new set of problems. Because Tex now has a, to quote John Constantine, “worrying” symbol burned into his chest.

“The sixth seal of what?” You ask John as he digs through his messy desk of papers and odd collectibles. Occult bobbles and silver trinkets, brown stained parchment from careless papercuts, a few extra lighters. Finally, he rips a book from the bottom of a drawer.

“Saturn.” He flips through, reads faster than you can think, comes dead stop at a page with the identical marking on Tex’s chest. “Oh.”

“Oh?” You say, leaning over him and trying to read Latin. “What does oh mean, John? I’m worried here.”

“Pentacle of Saturn. Creates a magnet for demons and dark hearted creatures.”

“Meaning?”

“Howdy Doody is fucked.”

“I heard that!” Tex calls from the kitchen.

After a hushed discussion with John - well, it starts as a discussion. “So, take it off him.”

“I can’t. I need help.”

You fix him with a stubborn look, grab his t-shirt and drag him over. “So, get help.”

“What’s in it for me?”

You kiss him hard, lick your sharp tongue into his mouth and press him back into his office chair as he tugs your hips down into his lap.

You’re not nice about carding your fingers through his thick hair, and he gives the same treatment while he palms your thighs and ass. You tug his velvet mane back to reveal the long pillar of his pale throat and nibble at his pulse, making him groan and shift under you.

Your cheeks only burn a little bit while you smile down at him, hand still holding his head back. The other heel of your hand puts a little pressure on the thick bulge in his pants, and he bucks into you.

You chuckle. “Would you ever tell me no, John?”

His voice is sandpaper, thick with saliva, it induces a violent shiver from your head to your toes. “Only if you asked me to.”

You pat his flushed cheek, kiss his sensitive swollen bruise. It’s like this more often than not. Ever since that day in the alley where he pressed you into the cold damp concrete and fucked your eyes into the back of your head, you’ve been clinically diagnosed with ‘can’t keep your hands off eachother’ disease.

Whereas Tex and John would only give you what they thought you deserved - held you under a tight thumb and always made sure you were the one licking boots and begging for thread - Constantine can’t fucking resist you. He’s at your beck and call, completely enchanted despite being the magic user in the relationship.

Having a man like Constantine at your feet, by your side, it’s a heavy drug, and a damn miracle if you don’t end up fucking like feral beasts a few times a day.

A heavy, interrupting knock on the front door pulls you from his lips. You feel his baby hairs stand on end, skin prickle in goose flesh, watch his eyes curtain black. He’s a thrumming ball of dark energy, a black void meant for consumption. It’s his bodies malefic defense against black magic. It puts your heart in your ears.

“Fuck.” He picks you up, outer calm betrayed by a sickly nervous sweat beading on his skin, and sets your feet on the floor.

“Are we about to die, John?” You reach out to grip his forearm, and the look he gives you makes your blood cold.

“I need you to go out the back door.” He pops open his weapon cabinet and shoulders a big rifle out. “And I need you to get away from here. Fast.”

“John, I don’t-“

“Do it. Fuck.” He rethinks being demanding, grabs you with one hand and presses his forehead to yours. “Please, Angel, I need you safe.”

You’ve come a long way from that sniveling, scared girl kneeling in gravel with a 9 mm barrel pressed to your temple, but John is right: despite your fierce independence and growing sense of self worth, you have no tools to fight against whatever monsters are knocking at his door.

“What about Tex?”

He kisses your head. “Can he shoot a gun?”

“Yeah?”

John cocks the rifle. “Then he can hold his own.” Your attempt to follow Constantine’s request is very short lived. Turns out, demons are smarter than anyone gives them credit for. As soon as you make it over the threshold, you’re grabbed up. Four men, occult symbols written permanently into their flesh, heads shaved bare. They grip you by the throat and the wrists, but you still have your feet. You lash out, catch one in the groin, and as he stumbles back you have enough leverage to palm another’s nasal bone into his skull.

Then, you run. Gunshots echo behind you, and, of course you’re worried about your own skin, but what about Tex and John? What about them fighting off even more of these brutes? The desperate thought almost gets you to turn around.

Suddenly, your legs seize up, and you land face down on the pavement. It’s like you’ve been paralyzed, rolled over by tons of crushing weight. Your lungs tighten and breathing gets exponentially harder. You feel your bones creaking under the stress of an invisible steam roller. Gravity is a thousand times sharper down here.

A little kick to your thigh is child’s play compared to the boulder crushing your chest. “This is Constantine’s bitch?”

“Yeah, I know, underwhelming.”

You don’t exactly mind the insults - you’re being suffocated by a slow, unyielding force and that seems to be the more pressing issue.

“Kill her?” You didn’t hear the first part of the sentence because your eardrums were popping painfully.

“Yeah.”

And, actually, death would be preferable to suffering like this, feeling like you’ve been shoved into a 3 inch underwater steel drain pipe, like every breath you take is the last one your lungs can handle before they explode.

The weight lifts, air filters through your throat, your body spasms back to life. You can move again, breathe again; it’s painful and glorious. You turn around, and there is your dark angel. In the flesh. Hair nestled back behind his ears, collar tucked neatly on his shoulders despite the dark brown stains slashing through it.

You forget that you’re supposed to be mad at him, especially when he’s looming over a pile of bloody bodies - saving your life once again.

“John?” You breathe.

The stoic expression you fondly remember is contorted in agony. He holds his hand out for you, and you let him pull you to your feet.

It only takes you a stunned few moments to remember that he abandoned you after using you for months on end like a rag doll.

You rear back and slap him hard across the face.

You give yourself kudos - he does flinch a tiny bit. Then, he’s on you, cradling you to his chest, soothing hands rubbing over your head and back, big deep rumbles shaking his broad chest. You lash out with your hands, hitting and scratching, screaming at him to get the fuck off you and that you hate him and that you wish he were dead, but he is unfazed. A force to be reckoned with. Just like you remember him.

He cradles you calm, holds you like he’s never going to let you go again - you have no idea - and, in the same way that Tex repaired a piece of your broken heart, John’s embrace stitches the entire thing back together in some visceral, risky surgery that leaves you agonized and whole again.

Your tears stain his jacket.

#wicked johnson fic #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick #john wick x y/n #yandere john wick #tex johnson #tex johnson x you #tex johnson x reader #john constantine #constantine 2005 #constantine x reader #john constantine x reader #constantine x you #john constantine x you

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grossrottie · 3 months ago

Note

Can you give any of your favorite Proship Crowfeather ships?

Or just your favorite ships for him in general?

Hellooooo!! I’d love to!!

However first off I should mention that Proship doesn’t stand for ‘problematic ship’, as I think you’re using it in that manner.

Proship is a mindset of Kink Tomato (Your Kink is Not My Kink and That’s Okay/YKINMKATO), Ship and Let Ship, and Don’t Like/Don’t Read. It means that you believe that what people do in fiction doesn’t matter, and that it’s what you do in real life to real people that matters.

However if you’re asking about Crowfeather ships that include age gaps, shipcest, power imbalances, etc (aka things that sometimes are often considered a ‘Dead Dove, Do Not Eat’ topic, aka things that require tags in order for people to be aware of what they’re reading and so that it can be searched for or avoided, depending on someone’s comfort level), then I do have some!!!!!!

My absolute favourite Crowfeather ship is:

Crowfeather x Breezepelt. Age gap and shipcest with an abusive element.

When I was reading Crowfeather’s Trial (was that his novel’s name???), I was so thrilled to read about how eager Breezepelt was to get respect from his father and how angry Crowfeather was with everything to do with Breezepelt. Breezepelt wants a daddy father so badly and yet Crowfeather doesn’t even look at him. If he does, it’s to glare and insult and swat at Breezepelt with an unsheathed paw. Nightcloud gives Breezepelt some mother’s love but Breezepelt still wants Crowfeather. He wants to be needed, to be wanted, to be loved, to be appreciated, to be something more than just a second-best attempt at glue for a failing relationship. He knows that Crowfeather and Nightcloud don’t really love each other like they both wanted to. He knows that he isn’t the son that Crowfeather wanted. He tries his best but he is always lesser than he should be. That’s why he went into the Dark Forest’s ranks; finally given a chance to be respected, finally looked at with something other than disdain. But he still missed his father. He still wants his father’s love.

I would KILL for Breezepelt to confront Crowfeather or to try to suck up to him. Doing everything he can to be loved or for Crowfeather to look at him and smile. Ooooh maybe Crowfeather realizes and can’t decide whether to reject it or use Breezepelt’s affection for something. Filling a void, perhaps, or using his own son for pleasure and relief after a hard day. Maybe even making it more toxic by continuing to swat and hit Breezepelt despite their growing relationship. Being extra cruel to Breezepelt in public while finally giving Breezepelt what he so desperately needs in private.

Crowfeather isn’t a very upstanding tom, and I could very much see him bowing to the urges and desires of a toxic single father without a partner or person to relieve his stress with. Feeding into Breezepelt’s desires and offering him just enough to keep him close. Maybe making gradual comments about how much Breezepelt reminds him of Nightcloud. Maybe even using feminizing language to coax Breezepelt to be something Crowfeather would prefer.

My next fav Crowfeather ship including common ‘dead dove’ elements would be…hmmmm.

Honestly, I think that any element of Crowfeather x the Three would be delicious.

Whether or not the Three are aware of their relation/heritage, I could see it being pretty neat!

Perhaps they see Crowfeather at gatherings and begin to admire him from afar, noticing the way that Crowfeather watches them. Careful, slightly squinting, but with a prideful glint to his eyes that the Three feel a deep urge to see more of. They don’t understand why they feel that odd connection, but some part of them wants more.

Perhaps Hollyleaf is curious of Crowfeather and wants to know if there is some Starclan connection that ties them together.

Maybe Jayfeather detects the weird energy and thoughts of the strong Windclan cat across the clearing. He’s clever, and he has the added benefit of being able to dip into another cat’s thoughts to see their intent. But he can’t detect the details. He can’t detect why Crowfeather is so interested in him. He’s wary but curious. Maybe he meets Crowfeather one day and Crowfeather praises Jayfeather/paw for something. Complimenting his talents, appreciating how good Jaypaw is at his job and with his clan. Giving Jaypaw a bit of positive reinforcement that he really needs during his apprenticeship. Jaypaw’s clanmates underestimate him constantly. But this odd Windclan cat looks at Jaypaw with respect and consideration, admiring his good qualities and not dismissing him just because of his temper or his blindness.

Lionblaze might totally jump at the chance to prove himself to an older, more experienced warrior—even if he isn’t from Thunderclan. He has the desire to get respect from Crowfeather and he doesn’t know why. But yet something calls him to that makes him want to prove himself.

Crowfeather is very aware of their relation and he isn’t sure how to deal with it. Maybe he keeps it a secret and gets to know his kits in more…personal ways. Withholding their heritage so that he can get closer to his kin…perhaps in an inappropriate way. After all, they all seem to crave his attention, so why not indulge them?

…he doesn’t stop to consider that their blood-relation is what draws them towards him.

ALSO hmmm I bet I can think of another Crowfeather ship. But nothing is coming to mind just yet!

What about you, anon? What are your fave Crowfeather ships?

#Crowfeather x breezepelt #Crowfeather x Hollyleaf #Crowfeather x Jayfeather #Crowfeather x Lionblaze #rottie.ask #wc #proficwarriorcats #age gap tw #shipcest tw #power imbalance tw #unhealthy relationship tw #abuse tw #what else omg #OH WAIT #brief mention of:#feminization tw #ilysm anon I love rambling so much #and CrowBreeze is one of my absolute top fave ships!!!!

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silverofthunder · 1 year ago

Text

— (show) how you love me —

Papa Emeritus I (Primo) x GN Reader || 🔞

!! mention of past abusive relationship(s) !!

summary: Bit by bit you had started to see and feel the beauty of loving someone and being loved in return.

content: 950 words, smut, romance, hurt/comfort (kind of), NSFW

I tried something different with this fic and I think this turned out really good. I absolutely loved writing this! And well, it seems like smut has corrupted my mind, haha. I don’t usually write much smut but I guess Ghost fandom has done its job and here I am. 🙈

You were tangled in bed, Primo's lips gracing against your neck, leaving soft kisses along your heated, sweaty skin as he slowly thrusted into you. Your hands were spread to the sides, fists grabbing the sheets as your mind and body took the pleasure Primo was offering.

Your eyes were fluttering shut as Primo hit the right spot within you and your back arched, the sweet tingle of release starting to build up as he hit it repeatedly, with a skill that you still were amazed by. More often your sex wasn't hurried – it could be and had been – and it was something you hadn’t used to with previous partners.

But you loved it with Primo – how you took the time exploring each other's bodies, every mound and valley, memorizing every detail and storing them like they were most precious things in your life. And they were, in a way.

You loved to come apart bit by bit, the slow pace making everything sweeter, though it also had that part where you felt like hanging on the line between not enough and just enough. Primo's hot breath ghosted over your skin as he spoke softly inbetween kisses, praising you and sharing how you made him feel.

His hand traveled down your body, finally giving attention to the place you most wanted it. Your breath hitched and you let out a pleased hum as he started working on your lower body while keeping the steady pace of his thrusts. His other hand cupped your cheek and he captured your lips in a kiss.

Your hands left the sheets, wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer and his attempted chuckle vibrated against your mouth. You knew you could be a little eager sometimes but Primo never thought it to be a bad thing – he loved when you showed how much you wanted him.

As you parted in need if air, your gazes met and you smiled at Primo, pleasure drunk with swollen lips. His eyes held so much emotion that your hazy mind couldn't even register all of those but you still felt it everywhere within you. Tears started itching your eyes as Primo finally sped up his pace a little.

Your nails dug into the skin of Primo's neck, gasps and moans escaping from your lips with every movement. You were getting close to release, the tingle within you growing, and you wanted to chase that. But you knew you didn't need to. Primo's lips pressed a light, breathy kiss right below your ear and the he spoke with a hoarse voice that made you shiver.

"Let go, mi amore."

And it was all you needed to come undone. The release shook you so sweetly – it felt like the most warm embrace that was meant for you and you only. Lines of vulnerability and safety got blurred, a few tears falling free as your mind got clouded by the extasy.

Primo finished soon after, burying his head into the crook of your neck, breathing hotly against your skin. You waited until you regained some ground again, breaths finally evening out. Primo moved to lay beside you and you settled your head on his chest straight away, ignoring the stickiness between your legs.

You focused on the sound of Primo's heartbeat, moved your hand onto his chest, running your fingers though the hairs covering it. Primo pressed a kiss of top of your head, wrapping his other hand around you and you sighed contently.

Silence filled the room and you drew some patterns onto Primo's chest with your fingers, a happy smile gracing your lips. The sex itself was beyond great but it was these moments afterwards that you valued more – when you could just lay there in a bliss-like stage, free your mind of everything and just be.

You had known the ugliness of falling in love with the wrong person, experienced something no one should ever have to go through. Yet Primo had showed you that falling in love could also be a beautiful thing, something that gave you energy instead of just taking and consuming it. Your soul wasn't drained anymore, the life was flowing within you like water of a fresh stream among the forest.

You weren't a play thing anymore – this time you didn't have to fear that you would get thrown out when the other would get bored or when you would be taken against your will. There was no more pain of any kind, only gentle and loving touches and soft spoken words.

You might be a little bend and broken on the inside but Primo had showed you that despite all the flaws you were worth loving. And bit by bit you had started to see and feel the beauty of loving someone and being loved in return. The demons of your past would always be there with you but with Primo by your side, you could fight against them and keep them as far as possible.

And while you might have not fully believed in the existence of soulmates, that was the closest thing to how you could describe the bond you shared with Primo. It had become a solid force that you knew wouldn't break easily. It wasn't perfect by any means, it got little cracks every now and then but you wouldn't have had it any other way.

For the first time in years you could say that you were truly happy, your world now full of colors instead of the dull gray shade it had been before. The chained bird within you had been finally able to break out from the cage, spread its wings and fly to the freedom.

#primo x reader #papa emeritus i x reader #ghost band fic #ghost band fanfic #jen writes fics

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sunnyrealist · 10 months ago

Text

Chapter 48: Be Vulnerable with Me

The Sun, the Moon, and All Our Stars

Summary and Details…

Previous Chapter Recap/Context: Sebastian and Kate have decided to move in and officially begin their life together. He checked out of the inn where he had been staying for the final time and packed his belongings into a trunk. In this chapter, the two of them unpack, and Sebastian tells Kate all about his family as they view old portraits.

Pairing: 25-year-old, post-Azkaban Sebastian Sallow x 24-year-old Kate Mayflower (my OC), the assistant librarian at Hogwarts

Content warnings: In general, this is rated 18+, so minors should not read or interact with this story. This chapter doesn't have any smut, but there is a discussion about using an excessive amount of potions to sleep/escape trauma and recounting memories of lost loved ones.

Art credits: @hogwartslegacypics provided the screenshot in the background, and @giselsann-opencommissions perfectly depicted these mischievous little munchkins. Giselle is an absolute pleasure to work with and has provided all of the drawings for the story. I cannot recommend her enough if you're looking to commission some art!

The full chapter is available below the cut; it can also be found on AO3 (link is posted below). Please leave some feedback if possible, especially if you like what you read! 🥰

Chapter 48: Be Vulnerable with Me

It’s well past lunch time, and Kate hurriedly puts together a lunch of roast turkey sandwiches with crunchy carrots and cucumbers on the side. At the table, Sebastian absolutely wolfs it all down, and she has to put together an additional serving for him.

“Tomorrow, we’ll go to Feldcroft, yes?” Kate asks. “We’ll visit the cemetery, and perhaps you can show me where you lived.”

A sensation of panic erupts inside of him. “I don’t think we should actually go into Feldcroft. I… I’m not sure that the villagers will be friendly to me. Surely, they all know what happened to my uncle.” He imagines apparating there, watching anxiously as Feldcroft’s inhabitants begin to whisper to each other warily, close their doors quickly, perhaps even summon a local Auror out of fear. His heart couldn’t take it. “We should just visit the cemetery. It’s far enough outside of town that we shouldn’t encounter others. I don’t want to… cause a commotion or involve you in a difficult situation.”

Kate studies him and accepts his suggestion. “I guess we’ll avoid the Floo network and apparate, then.”

The next few minutes pass in comfortable silence as they finish their meals.

“Let me take care of the clean-up,” Sebastian offers, standing and gathering the plates.

“Thanks, dear. In that case, I’ll just be outside with the laundry.”

When Kate eventually returns, she finds Sebastian on the loveseat, engrossed in one of the books she had nicked for him from the Hogwarts library. Flicking her wrist to magically turn on the gramophone, she and Sebastian both smile as soft music begins to play. She continues on her way to the bedroom to fold the clothes and put them all away.

“I’ll help you in a little while. I just want to finish this chapter,” he calls out.

Several minutes later, Sebastian enters the room and finds Kate a bit flustered. It was simple to put her laundry away, but she doesn’t know where to put any of his garments. Together, they conduct a magical extension charm to construct a closet, and Kate transfigures two wooden bowls into doors. He comes to a happy realization - this spell isn’t one that can be taken back, and she hadn’t had any second thoughts about creating the space for him.

Sebastian levitates his trunk into the bedroom, and little by little, everything gets placed in his brand-new closet. Some of his clothing has seen significant wear and tear, and Kate makes a mental note to try to mend some of the items when he is at work next week.

Though he had previously warned Kate that he didn’t have much, she is still surprised to see that it was not necessary for Sebastian to magically extend it. The bulk of its contents were clothing; the rest, now, are miscellaneous items like his broom, razor, toiletries, a case filled with various potions, several dragonhide-bound journals, a quill and ink pot, and some old photographs, which Kate requests to view later.

In the bathroom, Kate organizes the potions, adding them to her own store, organized by type. Some are new additions to her potions cabinet: his contraceptive potion, an invigoration draught, and a few antidotes for poisons and ailments. Kate is familiar with but has never seen such a large quantity of Wiggenweld potions, sleeping draughts, and Dreamless Sleep potions. She eyes them curiously as Sebastian enters the room.

He immediately stiffens upon noticing what is left in his potions case and tries to distract her. “What shall we do for dinner tonight?”

“I’ll decide later,” she answers quickly, then studies his face as she asks, “Sebastian… do you typically not sleep well?”

The chestnut-haired man hesitates, not wanting to admit the truth - that he uses the potions as a crutch to avoid being plagued by insomnia, nightmares, and the phantoms of his past. “Well…”

“We’ve been sleeping together for almost a full week now, and I’ve never noticed you having any difficulties, so why do you have all of these draughts?” His eyes dart around, avoiding her gaze. “Seb… I need to know these things. We’re going to live together now. Someday, we’ll be married.” She takes his hand. “Please tell me. It’s alright. You can be vulnerable with me.”

Sebastian sighs in resignation. “You’re right... I should be honest with you. It’s just… difficult to talk about.” He takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “I struggle to sleep. I have frequent nightmares and night terrors. When I’m alone with my thoughts and can’t fall asleep, I can’t help but relive the past - all of my mistakes, what I experienced in Azkaban, what I’ve had to do for the Kelpies… It’s so hard to manage it all. The draughts are my way of… well, avoiding further misery. I… In truth, I- I rely on them heavily.”

Nodding solemnly, she considers her words carefully. “Anyone in your place might struggle, love. You and I… together, we are going to get you some help from a Mind Healer. Using sleeping potions so often isn’t…” She trails off, unsure of how to say what she means without offending him.

“I know it isn’t healthy,” he admits quietly. “But other than sleeping with you lately, nothing else works. At least my sleep is undisturbed when I take them. I have to be able to function during the day…” He runs a hand through his hair, clearly distressed and starting to panic. His voice becomes shaky, his words spilling out quickly. “Look, K- Kate… I- I understand if you think it’s t- too much to deal with. You don’t have to stay with me - you don’t-”

“Seb, sweetheart - no.” Kate brings his hand to her chest, slipping it under her blouse and placing it over her heart. “Do you feel that - my heartbeat?”

He nods shakily as his fingers tremble. He closes his eyes for a moment, focusing on the steady rhythm of her heartbeat and the warmth of her skin.

Kate gazes into his eyes, speaking calmly and seriously. “My heart beats… for you, Sebastian. I’m here to stay. It’s not too much for me, I promise. We will get help for you. I just need you to be open to the help.”

Sebastian’s shoulders slowly start to relax, but his hand remains over her heart. “I’ll try,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll t- try to be open to help. For you. For us. I don’t want to keep living like this. I… really do want to get better.”

She reaches up to caress his cheek.

There is a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “Being with you… already makes me feel safer, more at peace than I’ve felt in the past decade.” He inhales and exhales slowly as a calming mechanism. “I- I’ll do whatever it takes to get better.”

“I believe you. Just remember, I’m not going anywhere. You can tell me anything.”

The two of them return to the bedroom and finally move the trunk, still containing various miscellaneous items, inside the closet.

“Now, can you show me those pictures?” Kate asks eagerly, grinning. She settles herself on the bed, sitting up and clutching a pillow against her abdomen.

“Sure,” he replies, opening the trunk once more to fish out the photographs. He holds them close to his chest, as though they are precious and fragile. Before revealing them to her, he explains, “When I got out of Azkaban, I accessed my parents’ old vault in Gringotts. There wasn’t much there - certainly no money or valuables. Just a few mementos that Solomon couldn’t sell. I found these portraits and some journals that had my parents’ research.” He lays the pictures on the bed upside down, and then goes back into the trunk to retrieve some of the books, also placing them on the bed.

“What exactly did they research?”

Sebastian smiles, exhaling through his nose as he sits down next to his girlfriend. “Just about everything. They were experts in their fields. My da taught Magical Theory at Hogwarts, and my mum taught Defense Against the Dark Arts. They both researched heavily - especially during summers. Before they died, my mum was studying…” He grabs one of the blue notebooks, opening it and flipping through the pages. “Well, her work is quite varied. Healing Muggle children from werewolf attacks, non-traditional teaching methods for nonverbal offensive and defensive spells, and… erm… the Unforgivable curses.” He pauses, clearing his throat. His Adam’s apple bobs.

“So… your mum was also interested in the Dark Arts,” Kate notes.

“It was her job,” Sebastian quickly responds. “She had to know all about them. She… She and my da… they didn’t look at Dark magic as completely bad… just as regular magic is not always completely good.”

Kate nods, feeling as though she’s put him on defense. She tries to make up for it. “I suppose that is true.”

“My da traveled often for his research. He actually… believe it or not, studied reincarnation at one point in India. In fact…” Sebastian’s eyes narrow. “I should read his journals again, now that we know about our past lives. Perhaps I could pick up his research where he left off…” He trails off, looking thoughtful and determined, before continuing on. “My mum and da teamed up at times, too. They focused a lot on defensive magical theory and trying to find an engaging way to teach it to students. They also spent a good deal of effort… researching love as a form of magic in its purest form.” He smiles. “You know… they were… honestly, madly in love.”

Sebastian reaches over to the photographs and flips the first one over. Kate grins, her eyes scanning over every little detail. It’s clearly a portrait of his parents on their wedding day. Sebastian is the spitting image of his mother, who appears to have lots of freckles and soft curls. Her wedding gown is fashionable for the era; she wears a veil and carries a simple bouquet of roses and baby’s breath. His father has dark hair with a mustache and beard, and he holds and gazes at his wife in complete adoration. They look so cheerful.

“I remember how they would read together at night, holding hands,” Sebastian murmurs. “They’d whisper sweet words to each other, and much to my dismay as a young lad, they would kiss often. They supported each other fervently, and they loved working together. Our house in Aranshire was filled with books, and the cellar was their official workspace. Anne and I were told that if they were in the cellar, they were not to be disturbed unless there was an emergency.”

Kate reaches out to touch Sebastian’s hand. “That’s so sweet. How did they meet?”

“At Hogwarts,” Sebastian answers with a grin. “They were academic rivals. My mum was in Ravenclaw, and my da was in Slytherin. They had classes together over the years, and they were always competing for top marks. Supposedly, it all changed when they were assigned to work on a yearlong project in Potions class their seventh year, and they realized how similar they actually were and became friends… and then, it turned into love. When they graduated, they got married straight away. Anne and I didn’t come along until quite some time later.”

“Do you think their Potions professor put them together as partners on purpose?” Kate giggles. “I feel like I would do something like that if I was a teacher… just to see what happens. The drama. But I can’t imagine Professor Sharp, for example, ever doing such a thing…”

Sebastian laughs at the thought. “No way would Sharp do that.”

“What was your mum’s name?” Kate asks.

“She was Selina Ware,” he replies. “She had a brother, but he died in his twenties in a work accident, so I never met him. The entire Ware family line - they all passed away before I was born. That’s why Anne and I were forced to live with Solomon, my da’s brother.” He looks into the distance, stony-faced.

“Hey. Let’s focus on the good.” Kate squeezes his hand. “Leave your uncle out of it. Don’t let the bastard weasel into your happy memories. I’ve heard enough about him to know I would have hated him.”

Sebastian laughs out loud, surprised by her reaction, and he leans over to kiss her cheek. “You have no idea how much I love you.”

The next picture is one of Anne and Sebastian as young children, likely around seven years old. Kate grins in delight as she sees their coordinated sailor-type outfits. Both of them look incredibly mischievous - Anne more so than her brother. She has a cheeky smile on her face and a slingshot in hand. Sebastian carries a book - no surprise there.

“Oh gods, you were adorable!” Kate coos. “Look - you were missing a tooth! And your hair was so curly…”

Sebastian huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, my mum could never get my hair to behave. It was always out of control. Honestly, my hair’s always been like that. Now, I just keep it shorter, and it seems to be more manageable that way.”

Kate looks even closer at the photograph, examining the setting. “Where was this taken?”

“In front of our house in Aranshire,” Sebastian answers.

“Seb… If our children are even half as cute as you were, I’ll never be able to say no to them,” Kate murmurs. “And Anne - what a beauty! And how interesting - her hair doesn’t look curly at all…”

“She took after our da,” Sebastian explains. “My mum never had a problem putting her hair into braids or other styles. It was always my hair that was the issue.”

“Did they put you and Anne in matching outfits all the time?”

“No. They wanted us to have our own identities outside of being twins,” he says fondly. “We only matched when we were really young, when there was an occasion for it, like posing for a photograph.”

When they view the final portrait, Sebastian puts his arm around Kate. This is a family portrait, and Mr. and Mrs. Sallow appear to be more than a decade older than in their wedding photo. His mum wears her hair pulled back with a hat, and her outfit consists of a jacket, white blouse, and a matching skirt. Sebastian’s father wears a formal suit with many pieces. They stand behind the twins with their hands on their shoulders. Sebastian is wearing a collared shirt with a bow tie, suspenders, and breeches with tall stockings. He is grinning from ear to ear, showing all of his teeth. Anne is wearing a floral dress that flows just past her knees with a bow in her hair.

“How old were you here?” Kate queries, her focus fixed on all of the little details.

“Around ten years old. I remember this was taken shortly before they passed,” Sebastian recounts. “I remember that our parents were so excited for us to get our Hogwarts letters. It was practically all Anne and I ever wanted to discuss. They knew we were going to do so well in school.” His eyes soften. “Since they were professors, they were aware of the curriculum and had us read some of our textbooks in advance so that we could get as much out of our education as possible. I devoured those books - so did Anne. In fact, we sometimes fought over the textbooks. We also knew our way around Hogwarts because our parents would bring us there once in a while during summer.”

After some time, Kate murmurs, “What a tragedy that such brilliant minds could be snuffed out by a gas leak from a lamp.”

“Yes,” he replies softly. “A silent killer. I… I wish there was something I could have done, but it was too late when Anne and I found them. If… If I had been close by, I might have heard it go silent…” He stops talking for a while, attempting to put aside his typical, go-to negative and unproductive thoughts. Focus on the good. “I… I guess for me, it’s a reminder that nothing is promised. We have to treasure all of the time we are given with our loved ones. And, Merlin, we spent so many happy years together in Aranshire. I miss them so much. All of them.”

Kate pulls Sebastian close, kissing his hair.

A sense of warmth and contentment fills Sebastian’s soul as she continues to study the photographs in depth. It’s been a long time since he allowed himself to really reminisce about family - at least, the positive aspects of his childhood. Seeing Kate so engaged and wanting to learn as much as she can about his mum, da, and Anne, a newfound appreciation grows within him. He relishes the moment, nuzzling into her chest as they bask in the comfort of each other’s presence. There is a profound tranquility in their connection - a sense of being understood and accepted completely. He knows their road ahead may not be easy, but he is more sure than ever before that they can overcome anything as long as they stand together.

“Do you… think they would have liked me?” Kate wonders quietly. “Or might they have envisioned someone very different for you?”

Sebastian considers her question for a moment and shifts, sitting up. “They would have loved you, Kate. You embody so many of the qualities my family valued deeply - intelligence, loyalty, an open mind… And your ability to see the best in me is… well, something truly special. They would have recognized your kindness and the way you uplift me. So… yes, I genuinely believe they would have approved of you wholeheartedly.”

Kate doesn’t respond right away, feeling a bit emotional. “I wish I could have known them.”

“I know,” he replies. “I wish you could have known them, too. They would have adored your joyful spirit and your warmth. But maybe… Maybe, in a way, they know you now. Every time we share memories and make new ones, perhaps they are with us.”

A tear slips out of Kate’s eye, despite her attempt to blink it away. “That’s… the best way to think of them, Seb. I’m sure you are right.” She finally places the portraits on the bed beside her. “We should frame these. They should be displayed in our home.”

“You’re right,” he murmurs. “They should be cherished, not locked away in my trunk.”

Kate’s eyes light up with an idea. “Let me pick out frames next week.” She looks into the depths of his eyes. “I know I will never really meet them, but it’s important to me that your family has a place here, too.”

Sebastian’s eyes are locked on her, a mixture of awe and gratitude in his expression. “Thank you, Kate. I… can’t fully put it into words, but it means the world to me that you care so deeply about honoring my family’s memory.” He places a soft kiss on her forehead.

“And we can add our own portraits someday,” she adds. “Did you know that a photographer just opened a shop in Hogsmeade?”

“I wasn’t aware of that,” he replies, his interest piqued. “Did you… have something in mind?”

Kate blushes a little. “I mean… I guess I thought it might be nice for us to pose for a portrait together.” She looks a little pensive - dreamy, even. “I might like to keep a picture of you in a locket, if I may be so bold.”

Sebastian reaches out to tuck some hair behind her ear, his touch gentle and his smile genuine. “The thought of you keeping a photo of me in a locket… is incredibly endearing, my sun. I dare say I may like to keep a picture of you on me as well.”

“I’d like you to be near my heart always, so that I can feel your presence… especially when you’re on these dangerous missions,” she explains, lifting her hand to his cheek. “You have no idea how much I am going to worry about you.”

“Trust me, I know your worry is genuine,” he acknowledges plainly. “And I can’t promise you that I’ll be completely safe - not with the nature of my work. But I will always do my best to come back to you in one piece. Carrying your image with me will be a constant, heartening reminder of what I’m fighting for.”

“I just wish your work was not so dangerous. I wish… you had a choice.” She looks down for a moment, her eyelashes fluttering, before glancing back up at him again. “Sweetheart… we need to get you out of there.”

“I know, but it just isn’t that simple,” he replies, threading his fingers in hers. “The DMLE isn’t exactly keen on letting me walk away. I have a contract to honor, and they have leverage over me… because of my past.”

Kate nods solemnly. “But then… What can we do? How can we end this contract? There must be a way out that doesn’t involve you going back to Azkaban.”

“There are some possibilities,” he says quietly. “But none of them are pleasant. I don’t want to worry you any more than you already are. Just know… I’m exploring every avenue to earn my freedom.”

Staring at nothing in particular, she is silent for several moments. “I trust you, Bash. I know you’ll figure out a solution. The Kelpies must be brought to justice, and I am confident you’ll be the one to do it. You’re… cunning, resourceful, and determined - and I love you for it. You’ll succeed - I just know it.”

“I won’t lie to you, darling. It’s going to be a tough fight. But knowing of your unwavering support and faith in me gives me strength. I won’t give up. Our future together is too important.”

“Is there anything I could do?” she genuinely inquires.

Sebastian’s heart swells with gratitude at her offer, but his countenance turns serious as he considers her question. “It’s important to me that you stay safe, first and foremost. Really, the most helpful thing you could do, Kate, is simply be here for me, provide a safe haven where I can feel comfort and solace. That alone means more to me than you can fathom.”

“Right,” she responds, looking aside and biting her lip. “I can do that. I just wish I could do more. I would do anything to help you, Seb. Truly.”

Sebastian gently takes hold of her chin, turning her face towards him once more. He leans in to press a gentle kiss to her lips. “Darling, you do more for me than you realize. You give me strength and resolve and hope. And I know you would do anything for me… That’s why I have to protect you.”

Kate leans in and kisses him again, lingering. “I want to protect you, too. You’re everything to me, my moon. It just isn’t fair - I wish I could free-”

She suddenly sits up, hearing a loud tapping coming from the kitchen. “Oh - it must be an owl with a letter.”

Sebastian lets out a small sigh, carefully untangling himself from her embrace. “Stay here, love. I’ll go check it out.”

He makes his way to the kitchen, where, indeed, an owl is perched just outside the window, hooting. After opening the window, he unties the letter from its foot and watches it fly away. The envelope is addressed to Kate. When he flips it over, a flicker of recognition comes across his face as he notices the seal of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

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