#it’s a black heart with dripping silver at the top | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aerieza · 2 years ago

Text

NEW PIERCING ☆ hobie brown

⠀ ⠀ ☆. warnings — black female reader. black coded. reader has a tongue piercing + pierced nipples. praising. backshots. male oral. nipple licking. creampie. pet names. reblogs & comments are always appreciated! ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

as you watched the new season of never have i ever from the comfort of your bed, persistent knocking on your window echoed throughout the room. without even directing your attention to the shadow in the window, you immediately knew it was your boyfriend, hobie.

"you know, i have a front door for a reason, love."

"i know, but what's the fun in that, sweetheart?" he beamed you a smile revealing his perfect pearly whites and a spikey smiley piercing above them.

"whatever makes you happy." you giggled while unlocking the window to give him access to your champagne toast candle-scented and dimly lit bedroom.

"i missed you a lot, bee." you gestured for him to enter and he climbed inside, ducking to avoid hitting his head due to his extreme height.

your boyfriend was dressed in the adorable badtz maru pajama pants you got him for christmas and a random band tee from decades ago. he dropped his tote bag adjacent to your bed and scrubbed off his black crocs.

"i missed ya 'n your absolutely leng face, love."

his heavy body walks toward you, steps creaking the floor as he quickly plants two kisses on your cheek making a loud mwah sound. he got himself comfortable fast by plopping down on your mattress, crossing his legs, and supporting his head with his arms underneath.

"i stopped by 'ere earlier, seems you weren't home."

"i was busy," you said with a hint of thrill in your tone while closing the window that allowed a chill breeze into the room. the cold air sending goosebumps down your exposed body since you were only dressed in baby pink panties and an oversized kuromi tee.

"busy, yeah? wif what exactly?"

“earlier, i did a thing." you mischievously smiled, joining him on the bed and sitting at the edge with your legs crisscrossed.

"a thing?" he reiterated while smirking, cocking one of his eyebrows up in interest. “do i wanna know?”

you nodded, crawling up the bed and positioning yourself onto his lap, straddling him with your thick thighs. he slid his smooth hands across your bare skin, resting them on your ass and giving it a tight squeeze. you shivered from feeling the coldness of his silver rings all over his fingers graze against your ass. “but you have to close your eyes."

"ah, why? i wanna be able to see your beautiful face." he curled his lips into a playful pout. "that's why i came over darlin'."

"it's just for a second. i want it to be a surprise, pleaseee?”

"alright, alright fine, anythin' for you, love.”

“but make it snappy, yeah? there’s somethin’ i need to handle after this.” hobie’s voice softened and you could feel his stiff cock slowly growing underneath your body. he shifted uncomfortably, pushing his hips up and aiming is dick right in the center of your lacy panties, desperate for the friction to satisfy himself.

"and what's that?" you titled your head a bit and grinned, moving a little closer to his face.

"you.” he spoke faintly and a low chuckle left his lips once he felt your heart rate speed up. hobie's pet names for you dripped off of his tongue were laced with an addictive substance, you never got tired of hearing them.

"we'll kill two birds with one stone then."

“what’d you mean by th—”

"no more questions, now eyes closed," you cut him off and said firmly. he raised one eyebrow slightly and stared at you with a puzzled look. soon after, his brown eyes disappeared behind his fluttery eyelids

you relocated to the edge of the bed, adjusting yourself to be in between his legs like you were a predator about to pounce on your prey. you slipped his pajama pants down just enough to reveal his well structured v-line and the top of his long shaft.

“i see we’re rocking no underwear tonight.” you giggled.

"y'know, giving me head was at the bottom of my guesses for a surprise, but it definitely did not disappoint.” he chuckled and opened his eyes, not wanting to miss the pretty sight of you on his cock.

you pulled down his pajamas even more and his thick, un-cut, and well-trimmed cock sprung out, already leaking out sticky pre-cum. you took a second to admire how pretty his dick was with your acrylics wrapped around it. he was so big, you had to hold him in both of your tiny hands.

he stared with glimmering eyes like he was in a daze from watching you trail up and down his shaft with the tip of your slimy tongue, the cold metal from your tongue piercing felt like ice to his sensitive spot. his breath immediately hitched from the cold feeling.

“f-fuck. wait wait wait.. that's different."

"what is that you got? it's fuckin' wicked, doll."

you briefly released your mouth from his cock, a string of your saliva still attached. you held out your tongue and on the very tip, a shiny silver bar protruded through your tongue with two hot pink balls on both sides.

"i liked the way yours felt on me, so i wanted to return the favor." you stared up at him with your soft doe eyes, a sly grin appearing on your face.

hobie was speechless for a second, all he could do was stare at you as you continued to take his shaft into your mouth. he muttered under his breath in sheer astonishment.

"you naughty lil’ girl."

taking hobie's full length down your warm throat, happily gagging as his tip hits the dangly piece in the back of your throat. your vision became blurry since your eyes were glossy and full of built-up tears. a single one fell down your cheek and he wiped it aside, caressing your flushed cheeks as you continued to suck him dry.

he bit down on his puffy plump lip, coating it in a sheer layer of saliva as you bobbled up and down on his cock. the room echoed with sloppy lewd sounds of slurping, spit running down your chin and creating a pool of saliva dripping down his balls. you were such a sloppy eater—you swallowed his dick like you had no manners.

"you're so fuckin' pretty with my dick in your mouth baby." he groaned, staring down at you in admiration with one of his veiny hands gripping a chunk of your faux soft locs. he used his free hand to hold onto your silk bedsheets like his life depended on it. you met his gaze and a tiny smile formed on your face from watching him squirm.

his dick was spasming under the wetness of your tongue while his moans and groans got louder. looking up at his face, you saw his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes shining down at you with need.

after five more minutes of straight gargling his whole dick n balls, with your jaw being close to locking, he carefully pulled you up to meet eye-to-eye with him. he sat up and propped himself up with some pillows and you were positioned back on his lap with your soaking panties on top of his bare dick.

while still catching your breath, you and hobie's lips interlocked and you swirled your tongue all around the perimeter of his mouth, both of your silver tongue jewelry making contact and creating a clanking aroma.

he trailed down your neck, planting wet peppered kisses on your boiling skin. the heat transferred to all of your body like wildfire. he gently wrapped his hand around your lower waist and forced you to arch your back, giving him a better angle.

he tugged your tee off in a quick pull, throwing it somewhere in the room, and watched your pierced titties drop out like he was hypnotized. he licked his lips before devouring each, one at a time. flicking his tongue on your deep brown areolas, reaching your nipples and sucking on them, feeling the cold metal warm up from his tongue.

after slobbering up and down your chest, he directed you to lie down on your stomach. placing a pillow underneath your hips to keep you elevated, making him able to go directly to your g-spot.

sliding your pretty pink panties to one side of your ass, revealing your sopping slit patiently waiting for his dick. "you ready, love?"

hobie angled his hips so that his spit-coated tip was resting on the top of your ass. pulling your panties to the side, he slipped two slim fingers inside of you with ease and curled them upwards, reaching for your sweet spot. he felt you tighten on his fingers and he palmed himself while he fantasized about switching the fingers for his dick. he lowly muttered to himself, “you’re so fuckin’ wet for me.”

you nodded while nibbling on your cotton candy lips and he slowly slid his dick inside of you, giving you time to adjust to his large length. gasping at his heavy dick stretching you out, you pulled a pillow from the top of the bed and stuffed your face into it. he hissed between his teeth when he felt how tight you were around his dick.

"h—hobie.." happy tears swarmed your eyes, you panted, clawing your nails into your sheets, your brows curling upwards while you bit down on your lip, merely drawing blood.

"you're doing so good for me, love. c'mon, i know you can take it."

hobie, balls deep inside of your pussy, effortlessly making you lay on your elbows and making your back arch. the room was filled with the sound of his sack making contact with your aching clit. he hums to himself at your soft mewls into your pillow as he gently spanks you with his free hand, caressing it after each smack.

he was never rough and aggressive with your body—he didn’t throw you around like a rag doll and do whatever he wanted with your body. with him, he didn't degrade you and call you those names either. whats better is that he knew exactly how you desired to be touched and talked to for the ultimate oorgasm.

it was never just sex—hobie made love to you. he was gentle with your body, he treated it like a delicate flower. he consistently made sure you finished, multiple times at that, before he even thought of doing it himself. he never skipped the most important part either, the coming down and aftercare.

your brown irises rolled to the back of your skull and the only audible words you were able to mutter were "h—hobie." and very whiny, "o—oh my goddd's." your french tip-painted toes curled up as he fucked you with the perfect contrast of pleasure and pain.

"turn around, love. i wanna see that pretty face of yours." he rasps in a low tone while moving all of your hair to one side and wrapping his slender fingers around your neck. he lifts one of his legs up, titling his body at an angle to reach deeper inside of your sopping cunt.

you whimpered and slowly you turned your head back to meet his lustful gaze. he thrusts in and out, in and out, and your pussy sang out many wet squelches. your whiny babbles and soft moans got louder as your pussy constricted around his dick, you could feel yourself getting closer to cumming but holding off for him.

"you wanna cum all over this dick, yeah?" he shakily says. he could tell you were close by the way your body trembled underneath him and your mouth was wide open, eyes rolling back to the depths of your skull.

"y—yes yes, please!" you cried out, your sweet and desperate mewls filling the air. he held onto you tight to keep you from running away from the urgent and precise thrusts that both of you had been wanting so bad.

"o—oh my goddd.. i'm cumming!" painting a sheer coat around his throbbing dick as the palm of your hand pressed against his abdomen, trying to push him away.

"that's it, love, get it all out." he praises as you come down from your orgasm, maintaining the same pace he brought you to your climax at. within seconds, he slows to a halt, and hobie's cock is pulsating and spilling stringy ropes of his cum, painting your inner walls completely white.

"that tongue piercing is absolutely beastly, doll."

3K notes · View notes

slut4megantheestallion · 1 month ago

Text

"Pierced Perfection"

Summary: You get a nipple piercing you decide to surprise your girlfriend ellie. Her reaction is everything you hoped for and her curiosity, so she shows you how much she loves your piercing and worshipping every inch of your body.

Warning ⚠️: smut, pussy eating, making out, nipple play, mentions of piercing, black!reader, worshiping, fxf, fem!reader.

You stood in the mirror, admiring the small silver barbell piercing that adorned your nipple. The sting had long since faded, replaced by a dull thrum of heat that seemed to resonate with your growing arousal. The idea of showing ellie your nipple piercing made your heart race - imagining her reaction had you pressing your thighs together in anticipation.

Ellie was in the living room, lounging on the couch in her usual laid-back way, a joint resting between her fingers, the sight of her tousled hair, her lean muscles, stretching against her tank top, her tattoo winding down her arm- only fueled the lust bubbling in your chest.

You took a deep breath, letting her flannel oversize and barely unbuttoned, and hang off your shoulders as you entered the room. She glanced up at you, her green eyes immediately locking onto you.

"Hey, babe." She greeted, her voice soft but curious. "What's with the look? You're up to something?" You smirked, taking a slow step toward her, your bare feet padding against the floor as you looked at her with mischief in your eyes. "Maybe." You teased.

Ellie raises an eyebrow, sitting up straighter as her interest was piqued. "Alright, spill. What's the surprise?"

Instead of answering, you reached for the buttons of the flannel shirt, undoing them one by one, slow and deliberate. Ellie's gaze followed your hands, her jaw tightening as more of your bare skin came into view. When the shirt finally slipped off your shoulders, revealing your pierced nipple, Ellie froze.

"Holy fuck." Ellie breathed, her voice barely above a whisper. She set the joint down without a second thought, her eyes glued to your chest. "When did you.....?"

"Yesterday." You said, your tone playful as you ran a finger along the edge of the silver barbell. "Do you like it?"

Ellie blinked, her lips parting as her hands reached out to touch you. "Like it? Babe, I fucking love it" Her voice dropped an octave, her green eyes darkening as she cupped your breast gently. "You're gonna kill me with this." Her thumb brushed over the piercing, careful but firm and the sensation sent a spark of heat straight to your core. You bit your lip, trying to stop squirming, but ellie noticed. Her lips curled into a smirk.

"Sensitive, huh?" She murmured, leaning forward to press her lips against your collarbone. "Guess I'll have to be careful." Her tongue flicked out, tracing a line down to your chest before she wrapped her lips around your pierced nipple. She sucked gently, her teeth grazing the sensitive skin just enough to make you gasp. Her free hand slid down your waist, pulling your body closer to hers as she kissed her way across your chest.

When your mouth finally reached the piercing, she paused, her breath warm against your skin. "Tell me if it hurts." She said, her voice husky.

"It doesn't," you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation.

That was all the permission, ellie needed. Her tongue darted out, flicking over the metal bar before circling your nipple. The contrast between the coolness of the jewelry and the warmth of her mouth was almost too much. She sucked lightly, her lips tugging at the piercing as her hand slid up to knead your other breast.

"Fuck, Ellie:" you whispered, your hands tangling in her hair.

She pulled back, her lips shiny as she looked up at you with a grin. "You're so fucking hot like this." She praises, her voice dripping with lust, "You have no idea what you're doing to me."

She guided you onto the couch, laying you down as her lips trailed down your stomach, leaving wet kisses. Her hands spread your thighs, her fingers teasing the soft skin there as she looked up at you.

"You're so fucking beautiful." She murmured before leaning down, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh.

Her tongue traced a slow line up to your slit, and you cried out, your back arching as she pressed her mouth against you. Her hands gripping your thighs, holding you in place as she worked her tongue against your clit, flicking and circling in a rhythm that had you gasping for air.

"Ellie, Fuck!" You moaned, your hands gripping the couch cushions as she sucked gently on your clit.

She hummed against you, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. "You taste so fucking good." She muttered before diving back in, her tongue sliding inside you, curling and stroking in just the right way.

Your thighs trembled around her head, but she didn't let up. One of her hands slid up your body, her thumb brushing against your pierced nipple as her tongue continued its relentless assault on your pussy. The assault had you teetering on the edge, your moans growing louder with each passion second.

"Oh my God, Ellie, I'm gonna -"

"Do it." She growled, her voice muffled against you. "Cum for me, babe. Let me feel it."

Her words pushed you over the edge, your body tensing as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Ellie didn't stop, her tongue slowing but not relenting as she helped you ride out your orgasm. When you finally went limp beneath her, she kissed her way back up your body, her lips finding yours in a heated kiss.

"You're so fucking perfect." She murmured against your lips, her hand sliding up to toy with the piercing again. "I'm never gonna get enough of you~."

#wlw #wlw x reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x black!reader #tlou x reader #tlou x black reader #oneshot #lesbian #for all my ellie Williams lovers #tlou2

251 notes · View notes

jadeshifting · 1 month ago

Text

— THE HOGWARTS YEARBOOK

　　　. 　　˚　　　　*　　　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　

the Hogwarts yearbook is a chaotic masterpiece, run by an elite squad of overachievers, gossipmongers, and a few artsy types who take their job way too seriously. the Yearbook Club is basically the unofficial Ministry of Hogwarts gossip, with photographers sprinting through corridors like paparazzi and editors arguing over the perfect font for “Most Likely to Hex You in the Hallway.” every house is represented, but the Slytherins are suspiciously over-involved, ensuring the drama stays juicy and the layout stays immaculate

THE YEARBOOK TEAM

— EDITORS-IN-CHIEF . two students (usually a Ravenclaw and a Slytherin for “balance”) who rule the team with an iron wand. they’re perfectionists, bickering over which Quidditch action shots make the cut and vetoing any “unflattering” portraits of themselves

— PHOTOGRAPHERS . they’re either snooping in the Astronomy Tower for couple pics or camped out in the Great Hall to catch someone mid-chew

— DESIGN WIZARDS . the artsy crowd who charm illustrations to move, ensuring every page sparkles with subtle animations (stars twinkle and wink on Astronomy Club photos and the like)

— COPYWRITERS . they craft witty captions, most of which toe the line between clever and outright shady

— SUPERLATIVE COMMITTEE . a ruthless crew who poll the school on absolutely everything, stirring up just enough controversy to keep people talking without outright duels breaking out (usually)

　　　. 　　˚　　　　*　　　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　

YEARBOOK SECTIONS

HOUSE HIGHLIGHTS . a spread for each house, with moodboard-like aesthetics. Gryffindor’s page has bold golden flames, while Slytherin’s practically drips with emerald and silver

— SLYTHERIN ‘AMBITION IN ACTION’ … emerald green with silver accents, Slytherin’s spread screams luxury with bite (surely it helps that one of the co-editors-in-chief is a Slytherin.) there’s a glam shot of the Quidditch team and a list of students’ most cunning moves—like that time Daphne slipped out of detention with an alibi so flawless McGonagall was impressed. the “Most Likely to Dominate the Wizarding World” section is basically a Slytherin monopoly, and the style feature highlights impeccable robes and shameless confidence. bonus? a gossip sidebar titled “whispers in the dungeon,” because secrets are currency, and they’ve got plenty

— GRYFFINDOR ‘COURAGE CHRONICLES’ … fiery red with gold accents, the Gryffindor spread practically roars with action shots—Quidditch players mid-dive, daring pranks in the Great Hall, and someone’s epic leap over a cursed stair. a “Daring Feats of the Year” section (sneaking into the Forbidden Forest again), plus a tally of House points earned through sheer audacity. Superlatives like “Most Likely to Save the Day” and “Biggest Trouble Magnet” dominate, while the “Common Room Candids” feature wild games of Wizard Chess and someone roasting marshmallows over the fireplace

— RAVENCLAW ‘INDEX OF INTELLECT’ … cool blues with bronze details, the Ravenclaw spread is the epitome of academic chic. a collage of parchment-strewn study tables, dreamy shots of the astronomy tower, and a “Top 10 Mind-Blowing Theories” list. there’s a feature on enchanted inventions created by Ravenclaws this year, plus a “Most Likely to Write Hogwarts: A History Vol. 2” superlative. the highlight reel showcases their Quiz Bowl domination, and a section called “Ravenclaw Riddles,” with the year’s most impossible questions and wildly creative answers

— HUFFLEPUFF ‘HEART OF HOGWARTS’ … sunshine yellow with black accents, Hufflepuff’s spread radiates warmth and quiet brilliance. a feature on the year’s most epic Herbology project (Venomous Tentacula that’s quite docile) and a “Badger of the Month” spotlight. the “House Unity” section is all about community moments—midnight baking sessions, garden parties, and celebrations after Quidditch wins. superlatives like “Most Likely to Lend You a Wand” and “Most Contagious Laughter” are sprinkled throughout, and the spread ends with a heartfelt note: “you don’t need the spotlight when you’re the glow behind it”

　　　. 　　˚　　　　*　　　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　

CLUBS & COMMITTEES . features like “Behind the Scenes at the Dueling Club” and a “Potions Class Outtake Reel” section featuring exploding cauldrons

QUIDDITCH RECAP . full-page action shots, player stats, and a “Best Quidditch Fall” montage (with magically looping re-plays)

WIZARDING WORLD CURRENT EVENTS . students write essays about the biggest wizarding news throughout the school year, from Gringotts heists to controversial bans on experimental charms

THE SUPERLATIVES . the juiciest section, hands down (and what you’ve been waiting for, i’m sure)

　　　. 　　˚　　　　*　　　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　

THE SUPERLATIVES

— Most Likely to Cause a Scandal

(an absolute favorite, hotly debated in the dormitories)

— Most Likely to Be Minister for Magic (or in Azkaban)

(usually goes to someone terrifyingly ambitious)

— Biggest Flirt

(complete with photographic evidence, yikes)

— Biggest Walking Detention Slip

(either breaking curfew, enchanting furniture, or ‘accidentally’ setting fire to something every other week)

— Class Clown

(when both the Weasley twins graduate, maybe someone else will have a shot)

— Most Likely to Cause a Quidditch Foul

(a Slytherin wins every year)

— Best Dressed

(a lowkey blood feud among Slytherin girls)

　　　. 　　˚　　　　*　　　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　

DISTRIBUTION DAY

the yearbooks are unveiled in a massive, glitter-filled fest of grandeur in the Great Hall. copies literally soar to students’ tables, but a few always “go missing” and mysteriously resurface for their owners with secret annotations and doodles. sparkling and enchanted ink pens are handed out for people to sign each other’s books, and notes are exchanged with equal parts sarcastic laughs and heartfelt warmth

EXTRA EXTRA !!

— rumor has it there’s a banned page each year—filled with the wildest gossip, snogging scandals, and unapproved photos. only a select few ever see it

— the Restricted Section of the library holds all past yearbooks, dating back to Hogwarts’ founding, and rumor has it they’re enchanted to whisper secrets about their featured students

— this year’s “hidden Easter egg”? a charm that makes random yearbook pages occasionally shout out personal context when you flip through. it’s hilarious and fun… until it starts oversharing about your worst Transfiguration grade

　　　. 　　˚　　　　*　　　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　

#shifting motivation #hogwarts dr #shifting to hogwarts #reality shifting #shiftblr #shifting antis dni #hogwarts scripting #shifting blog #shifters #shifting script #shifting to harry potter #shifting community #shifting realities #shifting #shifting diary #shifting consciousness #harry potter dr #hogwarts desired reality #hogwarts headcanons

171 notes · View notes

a-leg-without-fear · 4 months ago

Text

You Can Sleep Here Tonight🪻

my baby.... i love van helsing SO MUCH!!!! this movie is honestly top 10 for me

Ship: Gabriel Van Helsing x f!Reader

Rating: 13+

Wordcount: 1.2k

Warnings: violence, use of acid, monsters, stabbing, blood, bit of flirting

Series: Leg's Tuna Tober

Black quills soared over Gabriel's head as he barely dodged the onslaught. Barb after barb whistling through the air just past his left shoulder. A rough grunt coughed up his throat as he stood from the cobblestones.

He was met by the long arc of claws slashing at his chest. Arms with three, long talons hooked at the ends whirled at Gabriel. The hunter backed away on light feet. Snarls from his foe echoed around the brick alley Van Helsing had found himself in.

Lean muscles along his thigh stretched when he planted a strong kick to the chupacabra's abdomen. Its reptilian skin offered little to no rebound, its hide as thick as tanned leather. Large, black, soulless eyes reflected Gabriel's harrowed expression back at him. Three elongated teeth dripped slobber onto his boot.

A slash at Gabriel's foot made him pull away. He made a mental note to thoroughly scrub his boots later. The brick wall dug into the material of his coat as he backed up from the chupacabra. His mind raced with thousands of ways to advance this fight, to come out victorious.

The chupacabra crouching in preparation to charge dashed any swirling thoughts from Gabriel's mind. He watched, anticipation burning under his skin, as the creature readied itself to launch. One moment, two, then it leaped.

Gabriel rolled out of the path of the monster. Stones scraped along the leathers he'd adorned himself with. His head snapped up, long hair falling away from his face in strands of chestnut, as he watched the chupacabra. The creature collided with the bricks in a loud thud. Barely audible crunches crackling along the strong bones running through its body.

It fell to the ground in a heap of leathery skin and black quills. Van Helsing scrambled to his feet, gloved hands digging into his coat pockets. He backed a healthy distance away.

Finally. His fist produced a glass vial from one of his lapel pockets. Palm sized, glass clouded, filled with a viscous grey liquid. The cork plugged into the neck was primed to pop off with the slightest touch.

"Look out!" Gabriel heard you shout from the mouth of the alley. He looked up just in time to see the chupacabra reorient itself towards him, fangs dripping onto the stones. Its claws dug deep gouges into the ground as it galloped towards the hunter on all fours.

Van Helsing reared back, vial grasped in his large hand, before he flung it at the monster. The glass sailed through the air in a short arc, moonlight glinting off the projectile.

Glass shattered against the chupacabra's broad chest. The impact was immediately met with a sickening sizzle as the liquid burned into the creature's hide. Smoke poured from the rapidly growing hole in its thick skin. Yellow, stringy flesh emerged from beneath the leathery hide.

The monster howled as it collapsed to the ground. Ear-piercing shrieks and loud bellows shot from its toothy maw. Its clawed appendages thrashed around in agony.

"The stake! Now!" Gabriel exclaimed in your direction. Silver flashed as you scooped the stake off the ground, the metal rod clutched in your shaking hands.

He snatched it out of the air after you lobbed it in Gabriel's general direction. The hunter approached the monster, looming over the flailing beast like a jagged mountain over a desolate valley.

Flesh squelched when the stake was jabbed into the chupacabra's chest. One last shriek erupted from the creature's mouth, the silver finding its mark in the monster's heart, before it went deathly still. Its hide continued to hiss in the quiet, night air.

For the first time since the fight had started, Gabriel allowed himself to breathe. Acrid smoke rising from the chupacabra's body burrowed into his sinuses. He winced, standing from the creature's body and pulling his mask down before the smell got a foothold in the fabric.

"Th-Thank you," you stammered from across the alley. The hem of your dress was in tatters, thanks to the now dead creature at Van Helsing's feet, and a slash through the bodice left bits of your chest exposed. Trembling arms clutched at the torn fabric to keep it in place.

"Are you alright?" Gabriel asked, stepping around the carcass in your direction. His drying boots clipped along the cobblestones. He stopped short of where the alley ended and you stood, just beyond the entrance. Passing coaches and glowing streetlamps painted the world behind you in picturesque strokes.

"I'm fine, thanks to you. What was that thing?" you questioned. The tremor had abandoned your voice, leaving a strong timbre in its place. You peered over Gabriel's shoulder at the still-smoking body.

The hunter smirked, stepping back on his heel, "A chupacabra. Unfortunately common in these parts," he began. He pivoted to face the creature in question. He felt your stare as he walked back to his quarry, "Got reports of drained livestock and missing children in this area. So, the Church sent me to handle it. This was the last one in the nest I found a few days ago. Managed to slip away before I could kill it."

You watched with wide eyes as Van Helsing yanked the stake from the chupacabra's disintegrating body, "You do this often?"

"More often than I'd like," he replied easily. Liquid flesh sloughed off the silver when he shook the stake. Splashes of off-yellow covered the stones in a disgusting splotch of sizzling meat. The hunter remained unphased by the abhorrent display.

"What was in that vial you threw?" you asked, continuing your interrogation. Gabriel sighed as he stood, turning back around to face you.

"A mixture of boiled chupacabra quills and holy water. Only that combination is enough to burn away its thick hide. Then, one quick stab with some silver, and it's dead. Satisfied?" he explained with annoyance dripping from his tone.

You blew a sigh at a strand of hair covering your face, "I suppose I am, Mr.Monster-Hunter. You got a name?"

"Van Helsing," Gabriel answered. He tucked the stake back amongst the copious pockets lining the inside of his coat. The silver slid into place along three other stakes of similar size.

"Well, Van Helsing. Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?"

His hazel eyes widened as they met yours, "What?"

"Seeings as you just saved my life, I figure that I at least owe you a meal and a comfortable bed," you explained, shrugging.

"That's really not necessary," Gabriel said with a grunt, trying to brush past you. A push of your hand on his chest kept him in place.

"I owe you my life. Please, let me at least try to return the favor?" you pleaded. He couldn't help but feel entranced at your kind expression. Wide eyes glistening in the moonlight, plump lips beckoning him closer, soft hand pressed against the skin above his heart.

The hunter let a genuine smile tug at his lips. What harm could come from a meal? He hadn't eaten anything hot in several days. Just foraged roots and berries he'd managed to find as he tracked the chupacabras. He deserved a break, a reward for his service to the Church.

"Alright," he relented, voice barely louder than a murmur. A grin wisped across your face like a summer breeze.

"Perfect! Follow me, Mr.Van Helsing."

i want to kiss his silly face and tell him i love him

taglist: @just-a-nightdreamer @venomqueen2002 @c1eepypas1a @www-interludeshadow-com

Want to be on the taglist? Fill out this form!

#hugh jackman #gabriel van helsing #van helsing #van helsing 2004 #gabriel van helsing fanfic #gabriel van helsing x reader #tuna tober #tuna-tober #tuna tober prompt challenge 2024 #tuna-tober prompt challenge 2024 #promptober #i want to kiSS THIS MAN #i love my mans vanny so much

169 notes · View notes

sageispunk · 7 months ago

Text

Fontaine NSFW Alphabet 🖤

pairing: Fontaine x black! (fem) reader

wordcount: 4.7k (def the longest thing i've written so far)

warnings: besides a mention of gunplay (letter R-risk), i have no warnings for you <3

A/N: inspired by finally rewatching TCT after a few months of avoiding it LOL but feel free to follow my sideblog @sageispunklibrary and turn on notifs to be updated when i post!!

a: aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Fontaine is so much more gentle afterwards than you’d expected. He’s really just a big ass teddy bear–once he’s satisfied with the amount of orgasms the both of you have totaled up for the night, he cleans you up and then himself, bringing you a glass of ice cold water (you had to get him to invest in a water filter for his fridge) and maybe a quick snack before letting you rest on his chest. The two of you tend to play either one of your comfort shows until you fall asleep, or an old-school r&b mixtape is playing in the CD player with all the lights out. Either way, your ear is comfortably resting directly above his thumping heart while his fingers massage gentle circles into your scalp, his soft lips leaving kisses on your forehead as you snuggle into him.

b: body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His favorite body part of himself would be his arms, halfway due to all the work he’s put into building them, and halfway due to your own love for them. Nothing would make him feel more like a bad bitch than the way you’d watch him lifting from across the street, on your own porch, half-pretending to read one of your newest library loans. When you’d accidentally make eye-contact, he would continue with his set, almost cockily nodding his head up at you, grinning on the inside at the way your bottom lip was firmly held between your teeth. Your own eyes wide and fully taking in the sight of his sweaty body, especially those arms that were so big and so strong, and always kept your body glued to his in those late night moments of passion that you shared.

His favorite body part of yours was your tummy. When you first moved into the neighborhood, he couldn’t help but notice your natural inclination to have your belly out, in a crop top, in a bandeau, a bikini top–every time you stepped out the house, he would fight mental battles to keep his dick down in his sweats. You looked so soft, with your lil rolls and faded stretch marks, not to mention the perfect piece of silver jewelry that you kept on your belly button. When you first started hanging out, you couldn’t help but notice his eyes always lingering on your tummy, and for a moment, it made you slightly self-conscious about it. That is, until you became closer, physically, and he would show you just how much he loved your body, with his big fingers caressing your soft skin as he traced your stripes, and his lips laying gentle kisses along each curve..It was his favorite place to rest and worship.

c: cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Fontaine cums a lot. Like, a lot. You sometimes joke about getting a glass to see if he could fill it to the top. (He brushes you off but you’ll wear him down one day). He prefers to cum inside of you though, so both of you can feel his release, and especially so he can watch it all drip out of you when you’re too exhausted to move. It’s his way of claiming you, marking his territory in a sense (and he couldn’t wait until your birth control was ready to come out of your arm, just so he could watch his seed grow inside of you). His second favorite spot to cum was on your lower belly, after a good session of fucking you hard and deep with your feet touching the headboard, making you squirt over and over again until neither of you could take it anymore. He’d pull out, groaning and stroking furiously until his milky nut spilled out over your brown skin, rubbing it in with his sensitive tip as he empties out. (Bonus points if you swipe all his cum up with your fingers and stick them in your mouth, swallowing it all down while he watches you–he’d be ready to go again right after that).

d: dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Fontaine’s dirty secret is his foot fetish. He’s not super freaky about it, but he does loveee to rub on your feet when you rest your legs across his lap, and suck on your toes anytime he has you laid back with your legs on his shoulders. And when you realize he loves your cute lil feet so much, you start letting him pick out the color every time you go to the salon, which gets him even more excited to play with your feet. He knows you’re ticklish so he tries not to mess around too much, but he does love to watch you squirm as his tongue wiggles itself between toes, knowing that you could feel each spark of electricity running all the way from your feet directly to your throbbing pussy.

e: experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s experienced, like look at him, he’s had his fair share of slutting it up, but the two of you don’t talk about your past flings or relationships because they’re irrelevant, plus you both tend to get a little jealous. You’re glad for his experience though, because there hasn’t been a time where you’ve fucked and you were left without an orgasm–he typically makes you cum about two or three times before he even does. He likes to take care of you, and he knows how to take his time to study your body and pay attention to what makes you completely unravel for him, and if you have to thank all the lovely women he was with before you for all the dutiful patience he has with you, then you will. Hypothetically.

f: favorite position (this goes without saying)

Fontaine’s favorite position is cowgirl. He loves to watch you take control, to show him how much you want it. He can also see everything in this position, except your ass of course, but he makes up for that by having at least one hand firmly planted on a cheek the whole time, roughly slapping it every now and then. He can never make up his mind when it comes to watching you ride him, eyes wandering everywhere–from your pleasure-ridden face and scrunched up eyebrows, to your breasts bouncing and swaying in his face, hard nipples and beautiful dark areolas damn near making him drool down his chin, that soft tummy he loves so much, jiggling with every movement you make on top of him, and lastly–that sopping wet cunt of yours. His eyes watch your pussy swallow him whole, covering every inch of his throbbing length in your juices and cream, the stickiness dripping down onto him and coating his own trimmed base, the sounds emanating from where you meet downright filthy and almost pornographic. You love to tease him in this position, especially once you prop yourself up on your feet with your hands on his shoulders, riding slow and watching his eyes get lower as he gets closer. He tries his hardest to keep his legs from shaking, especially once you start bouncing and teasing only his tip, with a drunken grin on your face. Another reason he loves this position so much is because he can so quickly snatch that power right back from you, especially in moments like these. Planting his feet down on the mattress and gripping onto your waist, he begins thrusting up into you like there’s no tomorrow, immediately pulling screams and cries out of you and demanding that you keep your teary eyes on him the entire time.

g: goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

It depends on the mood tbh. Usually he’s more serious and quite determined to get you there, mind focused on you and your pleasure…but there will always going to be moments where the two of you try out a new position and it’s not going very well, or you’re a bit too pent up and trying to blindly undress while making out and your faces collide in a rather unpleasant way…moments like these are where he’s more likely to get a little goofy with you, smiling and chuckling at the silliness of it all. These are probably the most intimate times you have with him.

h: hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Ngl, before he met you, he was just letting it all grow out how it wanted to, thick curly pubes spreading down from his happy trail—which you love to tickle and kiss on—but he started trimming down there, not wanting the hair to get in your way when you’re busy blowing his mind away, literally. Sometimes you think he’s figured out that you actually love the way his pubes slightly tickle your nose when you get all the way down to the base.

i: intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Fontaine is very intimate, especially when the two of you are alone, in the comfort of his or your home. He always has to be touching on you—rubbing, caressing, massaging, kissing. And it’s 10x worse when you’re in the bed. Once you’ve passed the foreplay and teasing stage of your nightly passions, he can’t stand for your body to be separated from his. His big body enveloped yours, especially when he was on top, closing you in and creating a warm, safe barrier from the outside world. Holding your hands as he pinned them against the pillows, stroking deep into you with a strong and unbeatable rhythm. Eye-contact is huge for him as well, at any time of the day, in any position. Your beautiful brown eyes never failed to hypnotize him, sending him into a trance in which his only duty was to leave you shaking and spent on his bed.

j: jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Generally, he doesn’t masturbate much, he’s too busy trying to take care of business most of the time. But since you started sending daily pics to his phone of you…after your showers, in bed, during a bath, nearly anywhere you could show a lil extra skin…He never cared for having a smartphone, other than the fact that everyone had one these days, but you made a habit of texting him spontaneous nudes, he knew there was no going back. At this point, you’ve damn near Pavlov’d him with the buzzing of his phone, once he saw your name in the notifications, his dick began to harden almost immediately. It was becoming a problem, he’d have to dip out of wherever he was just to calm himself down. Driving to an empty parking lot or a quiet alley to release his frustrations into his palm, half angry at you for teasing him while you knew he was busy, but also at himself for being so weak for you. When you gave him the bright idea to get you back by sending his own vids in response…there was no turning back for either of you. And when he really wants to fuck with you, he’ll take the sound off the video before he sends, knowing how frustrated you’d get at seeing him spill his nut all over his fingers and lap without all his beautiful grunts and moans.

k: kink (one or more of their kinks)

Fontaine’s top favorite kinks: edging and breeding. With edging, he loves to be both on the receiving and giving ends with you. There’s no better feeling than when he can order you to keep your hands behind your back as you lie against your soft down pillows, while he kneels between your legs, alternating between teasing your skin with the tip of his tongue, sucking on your precious, sensitive clit, and notching his digits deep inside you to stimulate your g-spot. Never letting you cum immediately, cockily grinning and basking in your oh-so-eager cries to let go, all over his face and fingers. When the roles are reversed, he tends to get frustrated, with you, with himself, with the whole damn situation, but god, does it make the orgasm so much better when it finally comes. He gives up full control to you, allowing you to take him however you wanted–your favorite ways to edge him are with your mouth, your soft, plump lips firmly wrapped around the tip of his dick while you play with his full and heavy balls, removing all touch every time he gets too close; or when you’re on top, making good use of your gym-built Megan Knees with some speedy but rhythmic bouncing on his dick, taking in the sounds of both your gushing pussy and Fontaine’s breathy whines from underneath you.

l: location (favorite places to do the do)

Besides either of your homes, his favorite place to fuck you is his car. He loves the riskiness of it all, the possibility of getting caught in the back of his old-school Pontiac with his face buried deep in your pussy. In broad daylight. When he’s driving you around town, his hand is always on your thigh, and if you happen to be wearing one of those short skirts that you like to prance around in…there’s no keeping his deft fingers from traveling in between your thighs. And when he brings those same fingers, now glistening with your sticky release, straight to his mouth with his eyes focused on yours…the look on your face is what tells him that he needs to pull over immediately. In the backseat, no position is off limits, he makes the space work for the both of you. If no one is kneeling between the other’s legs, then you’re using your flexibility to get into cowgirl–regular and reverse–or doggy style with your ass tooted all the way up and your face in the seats, or even the infamous spider position (that one is guaranteed to bring some giggles out of you).

m: motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

What gets him going is your voice. That’s all he needs, really. That and your face. When you send him selfies and little audio messages to update him on your day, he can’t help but to smile, immediately feeling the burden of his work falling off of his shoulders. If alone, he’d shuffle in his sweats, adjusting his length, which was hardening at the thought of just being there with you. Don’t even get him started on the racy lewds you’d send him with invisible ink…immediately excusing himself to the restroom to take care of it. In person, he’s the same way– constantly staring at your face as you speak, holding strong eye contact and observing all your features and mannerisms. At first, you thought it was him trying to intimidate you or make you shy, but you realized that it’s just what gets him all revved up, you get him all amped up, simply by existing as you are.

n: no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Fontaine wouldn’t do anything that could genuinely harm you or possibly send you to the hospital. He’s typically more resistant to trying new things but anything you would want to try, as long as it’s safe for the both of you, he would.

o: oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Oh he loveeees to give, being able to look up at you as he makes you shake and quiver with just his lips and tongue is what gets him going throughout the day. The first time he ate you out, you watched with wide eyes as he ravenously slurped and sucked on your lower lips and swollen clit, with fingers simultaneously manipulating all your inner spots. You came in under a minute and once the vision was restored in your eyes, you realized you’d never let that man go. When it comes to him receiving, he pretends not to love the intense teasing you enjoy giving him, but deep down it's his favorite part. The power and confidence that spreads across your face as you watch him gasping and shuddering under your tongue and fingers is something he loves to witness. Another thing that gives him life is when you get bold enough to take him all the way down your throat, holding it there and letting the gagging sounds fill the room. When he gets you to look up at him with a mouthful of dick and a chin dripping a sinful mix of spit and precum, your eyes all low and watery…he knows that you're his and he’s yours.

p: pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

This also depends on the mood. The fast and rough Fontaine is typically reserved for moments in which he needs to release lots of stress or frustration, or he knows that you need to after a long day. He does a great job of roughing you up when he’s like this, gripping and grabbing onto any part of you just to keep you close to him, your ass, your tits, your hair…there was even that one time he pulled you closer with a hand on your pussy. This Fontaine is a bit of a sadist, he revels in the sounds of you begging and whining, finding great pleasure in the way your entire body would shudder when he spanked your bare ass. You beg him to go faster, harder, deeper, with a hand around your throat, or two. He always obliges, never stopping until the both of you are emptied and nearly passed out. Slow and sensual Fontaine is the one that shows up when he just needs you and your love. These are his more intimate times, both his hands finding solace someplace on your body while his eyes are firmly locked in on your own brown orbs. He loves to watch your face while he strokes deep inside you, his hips moving in slow, intricate waves as they search to locate every pleasure spot within your sugar walls.

q: quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Fontaine isn’t really one for quickies, unless it’s one of your midday car adventures. Any other time, if you both were that needy to get nasty, you’d just cancel on whatever you were going to do, and if you were already out, then you’d simply go home. He just loves to take his time with you so rushing through a quickie isn’t something he particularly enjoys. If anything, he would let the sexual frustration between you build up until you’re back home, so everything hits 10x better with that extra tension that needs to be released.

r: risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Fontaine is game to experiment with you most of the time, even if he is a bit hesitant. After all, you were the one that introduced him to bondage, gentle femdom, anal…and possibly even pegging (if ur into that🫣). All of which he’s enjoyed. The biggest risk he ever took with you was indulging your slight gun kink. You’d been interested in gunplay long before you met him but you never wanted to buy your own gun, nor did you date anyone with guns. When you saw his piece the first time, the dark, cold metal tucked carefully into his waistband, he could already see the raw curiosity behind your eyes. He had to teach you gun safety of course, during which he was the most serious you’d ever seen him. You set up boundaries with each other, like you always do when introducing something new in your bedroom, and once he felt that both of you were ready, he was happy to oblige you. (There is a continuation of this on Ao3).

s: stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Fontaine has great stamina, compared to most that you’ve slept with. On average, he can hold his own nut off to make you cum at least two or three or maybe even four times before he does, then once he cums, he can go 1 more time almost immediately after, especially if you’re still up and ready for more. Usually, the sex lasts for at least a couple hours, given both his and your love for foreplay. There was one night that you both had been so pent up, you managed to fuck until the sun literally came up, with small breaks in between each round of course. Still, it was the longest you'd ever had sex, and you both spent the whole day sleeping off your soreness.

t: toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Fontaine doesn’t own any toys of his own, he’s considered getting a cock ring for foreplay, but hasn’t made the purchase yet. However, he does love to use your toys on you whenever you’re at your place. The rose and dick combo for when he wants you crying and twitching, the dildo for when his own dick is recovering but you still wanna cum, your cute pink buttplug that he’ll make you wear while he trains your throat…He is not a man who’s afraid of using toys on his partner, at all. Hell, he’s even let you use your wand on his dick and balls, granted…he was tied to the bed and couldn’t do much about it, but the nut that came from it was something out of this world.

u: unfair (how much they like to tease)

Oh, he’s a huge tease. Back to you guys exchanging nudes, he’s grown to love sending his own pics and vids of himself, stroking and cumming and groaning your name, especially when you’re away and busy with work or school. And if you’ve been particularly unfair with him lately, you can almost guarantee that he’ll send you something with either the end of the video cut off, or the audio off, just to get you ramped up. One time, you were on a trip with your girls, away for only three days, which was apparently too much for Fontaine. In the middle of the second night, he wanted you to call for a nice little facetime session, but you were out in a bar with your friends, unaware of the multitude of messages and calls hitting your phone.

When you’d arrived back at the hotel, you opened up the messages and noticed one of the last ones was a video, about 5 minutes long, followed by a goodnight text. Once your friends were asleep, you snuck away to the bathroom to watch the video. He was in his car, phone held in front of him while his other hand stroked his dick. You bit your lip watching, slipping your own hand into your pajama shorts to match his own movements with gentle circles around your clit. Your eyes shifted from his dick to his slightly exposed tummy and happy trail to his plump lips at the top of the screen. He spoke so many dirty things while he jerked off for you, seemingly rambling on about what he wanted to do to you, with you, in and on you…and what he wanted you to do to him. How good you make him feel, how much he misses you, how he hopes you’re not having too much fun without him.

By the 4 minute mark, both of you were already close, trembling and desperate for a release, but you held off yours so you cum at the same time as he did on the video. The end was nearing and you didn’t know how long you could hold it off for, but the pitch of his voice was elevating so you knew he was close. You cursed as the time reached 4:35, only ten seconds left and he still hasn’t cum. He moaned out a few curses himself before a breathy I love you escaped his lips, the three words immediately causing your body to jerk. You kept your eyes glued to the screen as your fingers continued circling quickly, wanting to see him spill all over his fingers so you could cum too. You heard that familiar gasp he always does before he cums, but just as soon as that final excitement rose, it crashed, the video ending and your orgasm fading away too quickly for you to catch up.

v: volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Fontaine is not much of a loud lover until you’re in control. He’s nowhere near quiet, but any other time, he’s more focused on making you scream, his own moans getting lost in your sounds. When he’s under your reign and domination, he’s damn near transformed into an opera singer. He’s loudest when you’re edging him, and especially once you let him cum after so many missed orgasms. Deep, feral groans turn into whiny moans, which turn into cries and breathy pleading for you to give him relief. You love it when he sings for you, and he knows it. That’s why he never holds back, regardless of whichever roles you two are playing.

w: wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Using this to expand on his breeding kink from earlier. As stated before, one of Fontaine’s top kinks is breeding. He loves cumming inside of you, and even though you use birth control, he can’t help but imagine you pregnant and full of his child each time. He loves to watch his nut drip out of you, just for the visual proof that you’re all his, but something he loves more is to fuck it all back inside of you, with his fingers or his dick, it doesn’t matter. When he’s in it, he can’t help but taunt you with all the dirty thoughts floating around in his head. Whispering in your ear about whether or not your silly little pill is strong enough to beat all the cum he’s leaving deep inside you, asking you about baby names, where you should look for a new house, and how much you want to go shopping for maternity clothes…By the end, there’s nothing on your mind but the fact that you would look so pretty with a full, round belly to show everyone around town that you belong to him, and him only.

x: x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

We already know Taine is thick…thick thighs, a lil belly and some strong ass arms. He’s also fairly hairy, which isn’t a surprise considering his full beard and mustache. I’d also like to imagine him as being at least 6ft, so big and tall and strong enough to pick you up and throw you across the room. His dick…is thick but not so much that it hurts to get your lips around it, and it’s about 7, 7.5 inches fully hard, so not too big and not too small. It’s mostly evenly toned, dark brown with a slightly darker head. (Honestly, I’m gonna stop here because I’m feeling very depraved writing these details LMAO just imagine his dick how you want it).

y: yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Fontaine’s sex drive wasn’t crazy high till he met you, then he quickly learned to match your energy. When he’s busy with work, he has to literally avoid his phone so he doesn’t think too much about you, because you’re a distraction, sexually and non-sexually. Especially if you’re sending him your little pics and voice notes throughout the day, once he catches a glimpse of your face or hears your voice, there’s almost no stopping him from daydreaming about the two of you the night before, dick growing uncomfortably hard in his jeans, causing him to excuse himself from everyone.

z: zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He doesn’t fall asleep that quickly afterwards especially if he was the one doing the domming, mostly because he tries to make sure you’re all comfortable and taken care of before he even lays down. Now, if you were the one wearing him out, you just let him lie down and relax while you clean up. Either way, once you’re both clean and refreshed, cuddling and relaxing with a fan and music playing, you’re falling asleep nearly at the same time.

A/N: Sooooo, it's finally finished, sorry to you all who had been waiting on this for so long!!! Last semester was tough and ripped away all my motivation to write fr but I'm backkkk and I hope y'all enjoy reading this, lmk what you think in the comments and please like and reblog as well! 🫶🏾

i do not give permission for anyone to copy, translate, or repost any of my works. 18+ ONLY -- i am not responsible for the content you consume.

#my writing #fontaine #they cloned tyrone #fontaine x black reader #fontaine x reader #fontaine x you #smut #black reader #x black reader #sageispunk

170 notes · View notes

heartmaddie · 1 month ago

Text

magnolias, | h.iwaizumi

01; harvest moon

[104 / WHEN WE WERE STRANGERS] recommended song; Harvest Moon

July and August were the most unbearable.

Heat would crawl up his back and gnaw into his bones, sweat would drip from tan skin, and this unmistakable plague of exhaustion would overwhelm his head. With enervation, his hands squished dirty clothes into the communal washing machines. He hated Tokyo, the humid weather rattled with his head, making each task feel an unmeasurable amount more laborious.

A trail of soft taps against the wooden floor caught his attention. Curiously, he glanced behind him.

Iwaizumi had never seen this girl before, clad in a white tank top and black shorts that just reached her mid-thigh. He recognised the melody of the piece she’s humming before he recognised her. Regardless, he noticed the stark smell of incense and tobacco that lingered outside the open door of his neighbour’s apartment waft around her.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, pushing past him while clutching a laundry basket.

She looked concentrated, Iwaizumi lets his gaze travel down the curvature of her slender neck, taking a moment to admire the silver jewellery which it adorned. Something about her demeanour pulled him towards her, words died on his tongue.

She methodically dumped wet clothes into the hamper before standing up and shutting the washing machine door with her sock-clothed foot. The cicadas of summer nights conversed between them, and Iwaizumi couldn’t keep his eyes away from her.

His gaze followed her with intrigue, watching as she travelled up the stairs with her overflowing basket before slamming the laundry machine shut himself. Perhaps an omnipresent figure noticed the shift in his attention, because as his sight broke from her, the unmistakable grief of cracked plastic rattled through the air, followed by an avalanche of clothes falling down wooden staircases.

A curse fell from pink lips, he looked towards her.

“You alright?” His neck craned to find her, picking up stray pieces of clothes and holding them tightly against her chest.

“I’m fine.” She muttered back, arms already full with half the pile still draped along the steps. Iwaizumi let out a soft chuckle, offering his basket with open arms.

Her small, obligatory smile engulfed him, his heart beat faster.

“Thank you, I’ll bring it back once I’ve hung everything up.” She reached for the basket and Iwaizumi practically lurched backwards, almost toppling down the stairs in the process.

“You’re alright, I’ll carry it up for you.” Iwaizumi offered her a small smile, lips widening ever so slightly once she returns it once again, more genuine than before. “Which flat are you?”

“102.” She replied absentmindedly, stuffing more clothes into the basket held tightly across the wide expanse of his sweat embellished chest.

“102?” He feigned surprise. Of course, he already figured this out. “I live in 103.” He liked how that catches her attention, unbothered eyes trailing back towards him, furrowing almost endearingly.

“103,” She muttered quietly, almost confused. She let out a small hum, as if in deep thought. “I didn’t think anybody lived there.”

An awkward silence settled between the two of them, her attention scattered from him, clustering to her phone as pearly teeth sank into pigmented skin. Iwaizumi’s eyes trailed reverently over her, almost breathless from the heat, but something else.

Her skin glowed pearlescent from the thin sheen of moisture painting skin, chest rising and falling faster than usual as a method to circulate cool air. Minutes passed, and he tore his gaze away from her, eyes flickering towards the top of the wooden stairs.

“'Scuse me,” Iwaizumi uttered as he pushed past her. Arms brushed past each other, and he could’ve sworn that something in those milliseconds transpired. Their eyes locked once again, he swallowed the lump which had gathered in his throat.

His footsteps were heavy, the staircase creaked under him and the immense weight of the hamper. She shadowed behind him with short, manicured fingernails hovering over the cracked glass of her cellphone, teeth dug into pillowy roseate gums.

“Chamomile?” her voice rung through his head like drizzled honey on fresh, warm bread. “Or I have honey ginger and Valerian instead.”

Iwaizumi’s flat was a simple, white four wall hollow block with a small door leading to his bedroom. Sound travelled far in his living space, echoing through the emptiness.

He had never bothered to decorate the apartment further than the coffee table, couch and houseplant which was gifted by his mother once he had settled in. It was desolate and somewhat miserable, streams of dispersed morning light through linen curtains the only promising aspect of the building. Otherwise, a room with a dim light and nothing else.

He was immediately overwhelmed by the scent of incense, which deluged his body once he took a step into her apartment. Her bedroom was anything but empty. Walls decorated with variable posters, each pressed in with thumbtacks.

Music played throughout her home, making it seem almost lively in its lonesome. It was colourful, piano tucked neatly towards the back of the main area, various sheet music and miscellaneous paper surrounding it.

“Sorry, you said something?�� He was broken from his second long trance, viridian fell upon her once again.

“Tea, I asked if you wanted tea.” she leant against the wall, arms crossed as he placed the basket down with care. Iwaizumi took the sliver of a second to admire her under warm light, the silhouette of thin eyelashes illustrated on plump cheeks, his heart hummed.

“Valerian, please.” His eyes descried across her cluttered, but somewhat organised apartment, taking note of every item and photo frame which decorated the room. She was well travelled, souvenir magnets stuck to the fridge and glued there with age. He wondered how long she’d lived here for.

The boiling tea nearly burnt his fingertips, the liquid trailed down his esophagus and left a burning sensation behind, only heightened by the humid weather. She sipped with ease, placing it on the marble counter top before looking up at him again.

It was silent.

“So, you play the piano?” He asked, looking down at her with a faux apathetic expression. In reality, he was clawing at every word which fell from cotton lips, soaking each syllable up as if it were glucose.

“Mhm,” To Iwaizumi, each sound which fell from her were almost reverent. “That, and I wanna start composing too.”

He nods, eyes flickering between her and the piano.

“I remember you used to play Harvest Moon a lot, it became my favourite song.” He didn’t realise how strange that sounded until hours later.

She chuckled lightly, bringing the ornate teacup to her lips once again before teeth tugged at the wet skin,

“Yeah, I haven’t played it in a while.”

Iwaizumi’s lips twisted upwards, teeth digging into his gums as he placed the china into her sink, careful to not let porcelain shatter.

After a couple of moments of quietude passed, Iwaizumi let out a soft sigh and stretched out his back. He didn’t want to leave, but all things end eventually.

“I think I’ll take my leave now, then.” He didn’t miss how she looked up at him, almost surprised for a second.

“I’ll walk you out… Iwaizumi, is it?”

“Haji is fine.”

Iwaizumi settled in bed with an almost aerate feeling in his chest, unfamiliar to him. Thin, blue sheets covered his body, cold air blaring at his face as he sighed deeply.

His body relaxed even further once the familiar sound of keys echoed through their shared wall, the chords soothed him in an inexplicable way.

He recognised the sound almost immediately, lips tugging into a tired grin.

(come a little bit closer, hear what i have to say)

It was cold in his bedroom, for the first time in a while. His body melted into the thick mattress, tanned skin curling up against each other as his eyes closed.

(when we were strangers, i watched you from afar)

The moon shone down on his bedroom, the luminescence making everything seem more palatial than it truly was.

(because i’m still in love with you, i want to see you dance again)

His dreams conjured nothing but her, his fingers running down the expanse of her clothed spine, tugging her close. Hajime felt almost content, her skin felt like glazed gold rubbing against him, he let out a deep, assuaged sigh, at peace with himself.

Their organs were one, tied and wrapped around each other as if ivy.

a/n; 'do u want tea' 'milk is fine😊😊'. hi guys..... ok i'm lowkey excited for this to get like 6 likes because it's nawt pde and no one cares.... also thank u to my lovely lovely friends kamey and dee for hand holding me thru this whole chap bc i could NOT have done it without them. kamey is proofreading as we speak and dee is workig idk i've bothered them both ENOUGH. ok dee is proofreading too i suppose idk. its 5am idk why i wrote this so late that's why the ending is bad and kinda cringe cos i wanted to GO TO SLEEP. amnyways be aware that the next time i update this is in 2 months because thi chapter was so HARD to write. i want to kiss every author that writes 1k+ words quickly (meeya) because jesus christ it took me 4 hours to write 100. i can hear the birds singing am i cooked. ok i'm gts now bye. i lied they are both still proofreading and i'm getting nervous! did u know i hate sharing my work i feel really naked ab it and stuff LOOL. okkkk jesus christ i need a new job.

please consider liking , reblogging or following if you enjoyed send an ask or reply to the masterlist if you’d like to be on the taglist :p

@toorusfangirl , @kawoala , @minimarkive , @usbrous , @tiramizuloz

@eumys , @sahrii , @cherrysurf , @killjuno , @kissunday

@snoopysarchive , @kameyyy

(12/50)

#🎐magnolias #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu fic #hq x reader #hq iwaizumi #hq angst #haikyuu angst #haikyuu iwaizumi #haikyuu x reader angst #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi angst #iwaizumi hajime x reader angst

72 notes · View notes

alltheirdamn · 9 months ago

Text

Killing Me Softly | (Joel x teacher!f!reader)

Chap. 8 Stages

Summary: The truth is the hardest pill to swallow. Rating: 18+ Word Count: 9.5k Warnings: **THIS CONTAINS SERIES SPOILERS** violence, blood, angst x1000, language, brief hospital setting, mentions of alcohol, stages of grief, heavy emotions A/N: This was one of the most cathartic and emotional pieces of writing I've ever done.

Masterlist | Ko-fi

You didn’t realize how white your knuckles were until you glanced down at your hands gripping the steering wheel. You hadn’t moved the car a single inch since you saw Bennett’s car. It was the same piece of shit silver sedan he always drove; you’d know it in a heartbeat. Even if you didn’t recognize it, you could spot his floppy blonde hair and lean frame standing on your porch. You mindlessly searched your purse for your phone, dialing Joel’s number. You’d hate yourself for this later, but you needed to lie.

“Everythin’ okay?” Joel answered.

“Yeah, everything is fine,” you lied. For your sake, you hoped that your voice wouldn’t be as shaky as your body. “I didn’t mean to freak you out earlier. Why don’t you come over later, okay? I just got home, and my head is pounding.”

“I was ‘bout to leave my house, baby. Can I come over with some medicine and some food? I’ll take care of you,” Joel insisted.

“No!” You panicked. “No, it’s okay. I’ll call you later, and you can come over. I promise.”

“Baby, y’sure you’re okay?”

You inhaled sharply, your eyes glued to Bennett only yards away. God, you were terrible at lying, but if Joel knew Bennett was here, you’d be left with a dead body in your front yard.

“I’m fine, Joel,” you sighed. “Just need some rest.”

“I’ll be waitin’ for you to call,” Joel said. You could hear the defeat in his voice.

“I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

“See you later, baby.”

You couldn’t hang up the phone fast enough. Joel would hate you for lying, but you needed to do this—whatever it was—alone. Everything in your life had been flipped on its head in just a week, and now, the man who had broken your heart beyond amends was standing at your front door. You weren’t sure if you would survive this.

Taking your foot off the brake, you rolled your car into the driveway. Bennett glanced at your car as you put it in park, his blue eyes piercing through the distance between your bodies. The coldness of his stare was just the same as it was two years ago; nothing about him had changed.

Your legs could barely hold up your trembling body as you exited the car and made your way to the porch. Bennett wore a casual business suit, the pale blue dress shirt unbuttoned at the top, and his black slacks hugged his long legs. He hadn’t changed one bit. He was always the businessman.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” You questioned, bounding up the porch steps.

Bennett eyed you as you got closer, shifting his weight and drinking you in. You were well aware of your appearance: the long work day had left your hair tousled and your blouse wrinkled from sitting at your desk. You spent two years imagining what seeing him again would be like, and in every stupid imagination, you weren’t looking worn down and tired. You imagined you’d be triumphant and strong, but you were small again in his shadow.

“Hello to you, too,” Bennett grinned. Your name off his tongue was venomous, a slow, poisonous drip that ran through your veins. Compared to Joel’s accent drawling out your name, Bennett said it like a curse.

“I’ll ask you again, Bennett. What the fuck are you doing here?”

Bennett’s hands twisted together in front of his body, and your eyes caught the sun’s light radiating off a golden band sitting snugly on his left hand. He was married. You steadied your body's sway, your vision blurring around the edges.

“You’re— you’re married,” you stammered.

Bennett glanced at his hand, his eyes roaming back to yours with a smug grin.

“Just tied the knot in May,” he shrugged.

“To who? What—. I don’t understand why you’re here.” Your mind was reeling.

“Her name is Natalie. We met through work about a year ago. We hit it off immediately, and I knew she was the one.”

Your knees threatened to buckle, and the strong composure you tried to maintain slipped. Bennett was married. He was in love. And it was to someone else.

“If she’s the one, then why are you here? At my house?”

Bennett looked up at the porch overhang, his eyes tracking over the flowers planted in the yard on the walkway leading to the front door. You saw it in his eyes; you had made this a home.

“Your house,” Bennett echoed.

“Yes, Bennett. My fucking house. The one you abandoned when you ran away.”

Bennett scoffed, tucking his hands into his pocket.

“You still don’t remember, huh?” He asked, tilting his head as he looked at you.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” you seethed. You stepped forward, baring your teeth.

Not only was Bennett here, but he was taunting your memory. Nothing had fucking changed.

“A friend of mine saw you out to dinner with someone a couple of weeks ago,” Bennett started. “I was curious and figured I’d drop by and ask about it.”

You laughed.

“Not only did you leave me, but you got married. And now you want to act like you give a shit about who I date?” You accused. “Are you that fucking cruel, Bennett? Do you have any clue how fucking insane you sound? You have no control over my life anymore. Who I date and what I do is none of your business! You decided that the day you left.”

“I’m here because I care about you,” he defended.

“You never cared about me!” You yelled. “You left me! You have no right to come back. Not now. Not ever.”

Bennett stepped forward, both of you toe to toe. You couldn’t decipher the look in his eyes. Something about the way he stared at you made you rethink his words. He looked concerned; he looked at you like he did care. It was a look you hadn’t seen since before the accident.

“You really don’t know anything, do you?” He asked.

“Know what, Bennett? Stop being so fucking cryptic!”

Bennett opened his mouth to speak, but the words were drowned out by the sound of tires squealing. Your head whipped to the side, your eyes widening as you saw Joel barreling out of his truck and up the yard.

“Joel?” You exhaled.

You told him you’d call him later. You told him not to come here. Why didn’t he fucking listen? Why now?

“Bennett!” He shouted, running up the front steps.

You barely made it out of the way before Joel’s fist sailed into Bennett’s jaw, the sound of bones cracking echoing around you. There was no time to recover or react as Joel grabbed Bennett by the shirt collar, spinning him into the wall and shoving him on his toes. Joel was only a few inches taller than Bennett, but in his grip, Bennett looked smaller than you had ever seen him. Blood dripped from his lip as he whimpered in Joel’s grasp, a deep purple bruise blooming across his cheek and jaw.

“Joel!” You gasped, your voice finally returning.

You ran toward his body, trying to tear him off Bennett’s body. Joel only shrugged away your hands, his fists tightening around Bennett’s collar.

“I told you I’d kill you if you ever came back,” Joel snarled.

You staggered back after hearing his words. What did Joel mean? What was he saying?

Bennett smiled through bloodied teeth, pushing his face closer to Joel’s. His eyes shifted between yours and Joel's, and his lips curled back.

“We both agreed to stay away,” Bennett said. “Then I find out you just couldn’t give up. You came right back to her. Does she even know?”

“Y’have no fuckin’ business to be back here, Bennett,” Joel snapped.

Joel used brute strength to wrangle Bennett to the ground, his arm winding back before he assaulted him with another pound of his fist. Bennett’s face snapped to the side, blood spurting onto the wood-paneled floor. Joel delivered an onslaught of punches, an explosive display of his anger shown in the form of sadistic violence. Never did you imagine Joel to be so cruel, so unforgiving… so terrifying. You watched in horror as Joel terrorized Bennett with strike after strike. You couldn’t stomach it, your body swirling with nausea as more blood pooled around Bennett’s face.

“Joel! Stop it!” You finally screamed.

You threw yourself at him, yanking at his shoulders to try and tear him away from Bennett’s limp body. Bennett’s eyes were hardly open, shallow groans escaping his mouth as he shook his head back and forth. He was hardly recognizable.

“Joel!” You pleaded. “Stop it, please!”

Finally, Joel relented, rocking back onto his heels with blood splattered on his hands and shirt. This wasn’t the man you loved. This was someone else… someone terrifying.

“I’m calling the cops,” you panted, your breath ragged as you tried to swallow down the vomit rising in your throat.

“Don’t,” Joel argued. You didn’t recognize the tone of his voice; it was so harsh and angry.

“I can’t just leave him like this, Joel! Don’t you see what you did to him? I don’t—I don’t know what the fuck just happened. I told you to stay home. I can’t… We need to call an ambulance.”

Joel stood to his full height, glancing down at his hands, their tanned skin battered and bloody. Whoever this man was before you, it was not the man you were falling in love with.

“What are you gonna tell them, baby? Because if they see me like this, I’m goin’ to jail.”

“Are you threatening me right now, Joel?” You gaped. “After everything you just did.”

His eyes met yours, the darkness inside them drowning out the brown you were so familiar with. His eyebrows furrowed together, scrutinizing your body language and disgust as you stared at him.

“Call them,” he grunted. “I don’t give a fuck. I told him what to expect if he ever came back.”

There it was again. That same sentence that confused the hell out of you. It jarred you in an unsettling way, but you pushed it down and focused on the man lying unconscious on the porch. You ran to your car, dug for your phone, and dialed 911.

You remained by your car until the police showed up, their flashing lights and sirens lighting up the fading sun as it drifted into duskfall. Joel sat on the porch steps, his head hung low and bruised hands in his lap. Neither of you had spoken a word since you called the police, and his words to Bennett still swarmed inside your mind. You had lied about the headache to him earlier, but now it was true. And you felt fucking miserable.

Two police officers exited their car, meeting you on the driveway.

“Can you tell us what happened here, ma’am?” One of them asked. He was taller than Joel, his face clean-shaven and creased with aging skin. His hand remained comfortably over the grip of his gun on his utility belt, and you tracked each movement as your heart thumped in your ears.

You swallowed thickly, deciding to do the unspeakable. You lied.

“I came home, and my ex-fiancé was waiting for me,” you explained, meticulously fabricating a story that would save Joel. Despite your confusion, a small piece of you still wanted to protect him. “I called my boyfriend and told him I felt unsafe. I tried waiting in my car, but—but my ex dragged me from the car and was threatening to hurt me if I didn’t let him inside. That's when Joel, my boyfriend, showed up. Everything he did was to protect me.”

The lie tasted bitter as it sat heavy on your tongue. It was hard to remain composed as your headache grew stronger.

“We’ll need statements from both parties,” the officer explained, reaching for a small notepad.

The other officer, a short, tan-skinned man, stayed with you and gathered your personal information. You watched as the first officer approached Joel, your body tense as you worried the stories wouldn’t add up. You lied for Joel. You hoped for both of your sakes he would fuck this up more than he had already.

The blaring sound of sirens jolted you from your fixation on Joel, the ambulance coming to a rolling stop in front of your driveway. The neighborhood was slowly becoming crowded, with watchful neighbors littering the streets and front yards. You shrunk away from their wandering eyes, wishing the world could grow quiet and dark.

Medics bounded up your driveway, a stretcher and medical supplies in hand. You bit your lip to contain the cries threatening to explode. You hated Bennett, but the brutal image of Joel’s fist crushing his face over and over again… you couldn’t erase it from your mind. Bennett was a piece of shit, but he didn’t deserve what happened.

The other officer joined you again, tapping his pen against the notepad. Anxiety wove its way through your pounding headache, straining the air, trying to expel from your chest.

“The medics are working on stabilizing him now,” he explained. “Mr. Miller’s story matches yours, so our next step is prosecution. Is that something you’d like to do, Miss Smith? I recommend filing a restraining order as soon as possible to prevent another incident like this.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” you nodded. “Whatever you think is best.”

The officer cocked an eyebrow at your response, visibly confused. If you were following the path of your lie, a restraining order would make sense, but you also wanted to speak to Bennett after he recovered. You needed answers. You needed answers from him and Joel.

“I’ll give you the contact information for an attorney that can help with the process, but other than that, we have everything we need tonight,” he said. “When your ex-fiance is awake and alert, we’ll gather his statement and file a full report. Medics will transfer him to St. David’s for further evaluations and motoring. If Mr. Miller needs further medical attention, please contact us so we can include it in the report.”

He handed you a business card with his name and number, and slowly, the commotion began to die out. You looked on in horror as the medics wheeled Bennett off in a stretcher, his face swollen and bandaged. He was a hollow version of the man you once considered so powerful. Your memories, your happiness… they were always his. And you didn’t know who owned those things anymore. Everything was crashing down around you, and you had no control.

Joel’s figure was shrouded in darkness as he stood by your front door. The anger still radiated off his body, but it was far more tame than it had been just an hour ago. The medics had cleaned and bandaged his hand, and he kept it cradled to his body. You made a conscious effort not to look at the red stains marring your porch; you’d worry about cleaning the mess tomorrow. You couldn’t stomach the smell and sight of it, not when your mind was plunging further under the pressure of your migraine.

Joel said your name, steering you out of your swarming thoughts. You blinked up at him, your eyes hazy and blurred from tears.

“Why the hell are you here, Joel?” You snapped. “I told you to stay home, so why the fuck did you show up?”

“Somethin’ bout the way you sounded on the phone made me nervous. I’m not sorry I showed up, though,” he confessed. That wasn’t good enough.

“You either explain to me what the fuck just happened, or you leave,” you ordered.

“I can explain everythin’, baby. Can we just go inside?” Joel asked.

“You actually think I’m letting you in my house after you almost killed someone?” You raged. “I don’t even recognize you right now, Joel! And what the fuck did you mean when you told Bennett never to come back? What did he mean when he said you both agreed to stay away? Do you know him, Joel? Have you been lying to me this whole time?”

Joel sighed, his eyes falling to the ground; he couldn’t even fucking look at you.

“Answer me, damn it!” You cried. “Why won’t you answer me!”

“Baby, can we please go in the house? I need you to sit down and listen to me when I explain everythin’.”

“No! I want you to tell me right now.”

Joel nodded, standing idle in front of you.

“I knew about your accident before we met.”

You looked at him horrified, your body frozen.

“How?” You asked. “You didn’t even know me until almost three months ago.”

“I knew ‘bout it ‘cause we were datin’ when it happened,” he sighed. Joel’s features began to soften, and the pain in his voice was almost impossible to ignore.

“No,” you shook your head. “You’re lying to me.”

“I’m not! Would you just listen to me? Please?” He pleaded, stepping forward.

You staggered back, your back hitting the side wall of the house. Your knees barely held your weight as you tried to grasp his words. Joel rubbed his bandaged knuckles, sucking in a breath before continuing.

“You and Bennett broke up after you moved to Austin,” he began. “Y’all had some big argument, so y’moved in with Maria since you were substitute teachin’ at her school—the same school you teach at now. It musta been a couple of months after the breakup, but there was a parent-teacher conference night, and I ran into you. That's how you and I met, baby. That was nearly five years ago.”

Like a saw cutting bone, your headache fractured into a million tiny pieces, each one a sharp stab to your brain as you tried to grasp onto Joel's words. It wasn’t true. He was lying. You were going crazy; all your hard work at remembering everything and moving on was crumbling down, sand through your fingertips you could not keep from falling away.

“No, I know you’re lying,” you denied, tears streaming down your face. “You’re just making some sick fucking joke out of my memory loss. That’s what this is, isn’t it? You saw an opportunity to make up some story after I shared the most traumatic part of myself. You and Bennett…” You heaved in a breath. “No. This—this isn’t true. You’re lying.”

“I’m not! And I can prove it, but let me finish explainin’,” he begged before continuing. “We dated for almost two years, alright? Best fuckin’ years of my life. Y’were the best thing to ever happen to me. You even moved in with me and Sarah! She loved you so so much, baby. We would go to her soccer games together and watch cartoons together. We took her campin’ in the summer before the accident. Everythin’ was amazing. So fuckin’ amazing.”

“Sarah?” You interjected. “She would have said something to me months ago. You can’t expect me to believe this.”

“I begged her not to say anythin’ to you when she started school,” he explained. “I didn’t want you knowin’ till I was ready. I wanted to do this my way.”

��Your way?” You scoffed. “You get to decide when it’s a good time to tell me everything I’ve known is a lie? Are you fucking kidding me, Joel?”

“Everyone wanted to wait ‘til it was the right time,” he defended. “We all hoped you'd remember if I came back into your life.”

You slid down the wall, your body crumbling to the ground. You buried your head in your hands, trying to quell the pain squeezing together inside your head. Nothing made sense. Everything felt like a lie. It wasn’t true. You kept telling yourself that if it was true, everyone you loved and trusted had lied to you for years. You had struggled alone for so long without the truth.

“My parents? My sisters? They all knew?” You muttered. “Everyone kept this from me?”

Joel crouched in front of you, his hand hovering over your leg.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” You yelled. You shrunk away from him, curling your legs up to your chest and pressing into the wall.

“The doctors and your parents thought it was best we didn’t mess with your memory,” he said, exasperated. “Bringin’ me into your life when y’didn’t remember me woulda set you back in recovery.”

“So, what?” You laughed bitterly. “Bennett just magically reappeared to save the day? Why did he come back if he and I were broken up?”

Joel pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes squeezed tight. You shivered against the wind rustling through the yard, your thin shirt barely keeping you warm. Not even the warmth of your tears coating your cheeks could fight the chill creeping through your spine.

“Your parents made the decision to reach out to Bennett,” Joel argued. “And he loved the idea. Bennet loved knowin’ I’d have no access to your life, and he’d have you back.”

“My parents wouldn’t do that. They hate him.” You kept shaking your head, hoping things would begin to make sense.

“They hate him, but they love you more, baby,” he whispered. “And I loved you—I love you—and I was willing to risk it all. If there were some chance you would get your memory back, then I’d be here waiting for you.”

“But I never remembered! I still don’t remember, Joel! So why now? Why did you come back?”

Joel rocked back onto his heels, his body falling back until he sat before you. Tears glistened in his eyes, threatening to fall at any moment. He didn’t have the right to be sad; he fucked up. He lied to you, and now he was paying the consequences. Your indifference and anger would torture him like he had tortured you. Like everyone had tortured you.

“I just wanted the chance,” he admitted. “I wanted to know if that spark was still here between us. I know it’s still there, baby. This is real.”

“Don’t call me baby,” you cried, your voice barely above a whisper. “This isn’t real. You lied to me, Joel, and so did everyone else. Everyone decided what they thought was best for me, and I have suffered because of it. Do you not see that?”

“We did it to protect you,” he defended. “Y’gotta understand that.”

You pulled yourself to your feet, tripping over his body and toward the door. You wanted nothing to do with this conversation anymore. You fumbled with the door handle, the tremor of your fingers making your grip weak on the lock. The sound of Joel standing behind you ignited another wave of nerves, and you spun to face him.

“I will never forgive you for this,” you cried.

He stepped forward, his eyes pleading with words he couldn’t say. You shoved at his chest, forcing him away from you. Joel’s brown eyes looked at you as if he could see your heart breaking. He choked out your name, broken syllables that no longer sounded beautiful on his tongue.

“Don’t ever come back here,” you threatened. “Don’t contact me. Don’t contact my family. You need to leave. Now.”

“Please,” he begged. Heavy tears fell down his tanned cheeks, leading to the scruff lining his jaw. You would have ached to soothe his sadness yesterday, but not now. Not when his sadness stemmed from the lies that filled the gaps in your memories.

“Leave!” You screamed, shoving him again.

Joel stumbled back, staring at you wide-eyed and heartbroken. You stepped forward again, your hands ready to push against his chest one more time. He lifted his hands in defeat, walking backward down the porch steps.

“I love you,” he whispered in the night. “I’m so sorry.”

You didn’t wait to see him leave. You threw open the front door and slammed it shut just as fast, your body slumping against the wood as you swallowed down your nausea.

You wanted to vomit.

You wanted to scream.

You wanted to stop loving Joel.

The room was spinning around you, and you had no chance to find your bearings before the haze washed over your mind and dropped you to the ground.

Everything was dark around you. You groaned as you peeled yourself from the floor, your head still throbbing. The lies grew louder as you tried to recall everything Joel had said.

I wanted to do this my way.

I love you.

Lie after lie, overlapping in the ocean of pain, threading its way through your body. The house felt colder than you were used to, your body still shivering as you stood on unsteady legs. You walked to the kitchen in search of water; every swallow felt like knives slicing through your throat. You fumbled for the kitchen light, rummaging through the cup cabinet for a glass. Two gray mugs sat snug on the shelf, the reminder of Joel staring straight at you. Another wave of emotions coursed through you, and you reached for them.

You turned them in your hands, the faint smell of coffee lingering on the ceramic. The quiet moment spent together no longer felt special; it felt like a disgusting lie. Joel didn’t guess how you liked your coffee; he knew. He knew everything about you. The rage inside you returned, stronger than it had been on the porch. Your hands squeezed the mugs, and you hurled them into the nearest wall, a scream erupting from your mouth. You didn’t flinch as they shattered. You didn’t blink as they pierced the wall and chipped the paint. This house was built on lies, and you wanted to ruin every inch of it. You reached for another mug, smashing it on the ground before you. Then another…and another, until you stood in a pile of broken shards of your life.

It wasn’t enough.

You walked around the house, shattering anything you could find worth breaking. You stood in the living room and stared at the dust-covered bookshelf, your chest rising and falling. The books crammed on the shelves taunted you, the broken spines and dog-eared pages another reminder of the years you’d never remember. The adrenaline and anger led you to the shelf, and you used all of your strength to push it over. It toppled to the ground, its weight shaking the floor beneath your feet. A few books made their way out of the destruction, their bindings crushed by the downfall.

You staggered back to the couch, slumping into the stiff cushions. Flashes of Joel wrapped around you flooded your mind, and you immediately rolled off of it. Your ass hit the ground, and you crumbled into a ball. Somewhere in the distance, your phone rang, the shrill of the ringer echoing through the destruction you had created. Maybe it was your mom with news of your dad. Maybe it was Beth. But you knew your phone would never light up with Joel’s name again.

You rubbed your temples, trying to massage the ache throbbing in your skull.

You spent another hour on the ground until you finally decided to drag yourself to the bathroom. Under the blinding lights, you stared at the stranger in the mirror. You didn’t recognize her. Whoever she was, she wasn’t the girl you had been hours ago. Your eyes were swollen from crying, your cheeks flushed, and your lips chapped from screaming. The wrinkles in your blouse were worse than they had been after school, the corners untucked from your work pants and splattered with remnants of Bennett’s blood. You didn’t recall ever getting close enough to the bloodshed, but the evidence of Joel’s violence was all over your body. You couldn’t tear your clothes off fast enough.

You turned on the shower and didn’t wait for the water to run warm. The cold spray washed over your hair, and you scrubbed every inch of your body until your skin was raw and red. You ran the loufa over the places on your body Joel had touched: your stomach, your neck, your breasts. There wasn’t enough soap and water to rid yourself of the phantom touches left on your skin. You hated him. No, you wanted to hate him. You shook your head… you hated him.

You hated everyone in your life.

The imprint of Joel’s body was still pressed into the other side of the bed, and you couldn’t stand looking at the pillow he had laid his head on beside you. Those moments you shared under the light of the moon no longer felt special. He knew your body once before; he had seen you stripped bare and spread open. You gave yourself to him willingly, which meant something to you. Stripping off the sheets, you tossed them to the floor, curling up on the cold mattress. Sleep evaded you, so you let the night pass, your eyes watching the hours slip away through the view behind the bedroom window.

Eventually, the sun rose and colored your room in soft morning sunshine. It angered you that the Earth continued to spin; the world hadn’t stopped moving, though you remained stuck in the series of events from yesterday. It was so fucking unfair that people around you would wake up today and move through their day with contentment and happiness. You didn’t know if you’d ever experience those emotions again. You were spiraling into each stage of grief, the overwhelming pressure of them consuming every fiber of your being.

You mustered up whatever energy you had from yesterday to pull yourself from the empty bed. You were numb as you dressed yourself for work, avoiding the mirror as you put on a black dress and flats. You had briefly considered covering your dark circles and puffy eyes with makeup, but your exhaustion and lack of care said otherwise.

Vacating your room, you walked into the mess you had created. Shards of broken dishes and glass littered the floor, the wallpaper torn in areas, and the bookshelf still lying half-destroyed in the living room. A laugh bubbled out of your mouth, the sound foreign and distorted. You did this. Your rage and hatred for everything around you ruined the only haven you had left. You couldn’t contain the laughter as it wracked through your body, tears springing from your eyes as your eyes glazed over the catastrophe of each room. The denial settled back over you when the laughter died, leaving you weeping in an empty house.

As you left the house, you averted your eyes, your self-restraint working overtime not to focus on the blood stains marring the porch. You’d deal with that later. The silence inside your car weighed heavy on you while you drove to the school, your mind numb and empty as you pulled into your parking space. You should have found a substitute for the day, but you needed the distraction. Who knows what would have become of your house if you stayed in it any longer. The idea of setting it on fire didn’t sound so bad.

You decided to lock your classroom door until school began; you didn’t need nor want to see Maria. She was just as much a liar as the rest, leading you on all these months and pushing you toward Joel. That “Happy Hour” night was just a ploy to get you and Joel in the same space; her intentions were never pure. Everyone had blood on their hands in this stupid fucking plan.

The school bell rang, and you hesitantly opened your door. You plastered on the fake smile you had mastered, feeling uncomfortable after the last few months of actually feeling happy. Joel took that away in the span of a night.

As the students filed in, you greeted them with a tight-lipped smile and a brief hello before settling into your desk chair. You weren’t in the right headspace to teach today, so you opted for quiet reading time and a few worksheets: anything to keep the noise levels down and the questions to a bare minimum.

The classes went as smoothly as possible, with only a few outbursts of noise from each class. You hadn’t found the time to cry between each one, too busy finding the courage to face Sarah.

Joel’s voice rang in your head as you watched her walk into the classroom, her curls bouncing with each step.

She loved you so much, baby.

How could you believe Joel when he said something like that? It wasn’t true; it was manipulative. You never knew Sarah until this year. She was just as much a stranger to you as any other student until Joel entered your life. Yes, you cared for her, but you didn’t love her. Even she had been a part of all of this, her last conversation with you was just as much of a lie as everything else. You doubted Joel told Tommy he loved you, and you doubted Sarah even heard the conversation—if there really was a conversation to begin with. She was pushing you toward him like everyone else did.

Everyone had a say in your life except for you. You were a bystander among their choices; nothing in the last three years had been in your control. You were a puppet on a string, tossed everywhere until it pleased them.

“Okay, class, today is just an easy day for you,” you announced, your voice harsh and clipped. “Take out your reading for the next unit and work on chapters one through three. Once you finish, please grab a worksheet from my desk and get started on that.”

A unified groan sounded through the room, and that was your breaking point. Standing from your desk, you leveled the entire desk with a heavy glare.

“I don’t want to hear a single word today,” you snapped. “Open your books and start reading. Please.”

They all looked at you in terror. You had never been one to snap or be quick to anger, but you were teetering on the edge of eruption. One more word, and you would explode. The students sorted their backpacks for their books, the sound of pages rustling the only noise surrounding you. Slumping back into your chair, you sighed heavily and turned to your computer.

An email sat unread in your mailbox, and you clicked it open with a pit in your stomach.

Ms. Smith: My deepest apologies for your recent family emergency. Per the quarterly requirements, parent-teacher conferences must be completed by the end of the week. If you need anything, please do not hesitate to reach out. Many thanks, Principal Edmonds

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck Fuck.

You completely forgot about parent-teacher conferences. In the chaos of the last week, it had slipped your mind entirely. You scrounged through your binder of schedules and pulled out the spreadsheet you had created, skimming through the list to find Sarah’s name. She was the last on the list. Fuck.

Seeing Joel this week would be too soon for the open wound bleeding inside your chest. You created a mock email to send to each parent, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as you landed on Joel’s email. You couldn’t avoid just one student during the conferences, even though every atom in your body screamed at you to do it. Without a second to overthink your choices, you sent your mass email and closed your inbox.

As the class continued, students drifted to your desk for their worksheets. Sarah was among the first in the groups to come up; her eyes lowered to the ground, and a frown dragged down her lips. A piece you ached for her; she was just a child amid a web of lies. Then, there was another piece of you that understood Sarah was wiser than you realized. She understood the severity of the situation, yet she continued to persist. Were the soccer games even part of Joel's meticulous plan?

“Miss Smith,” she cautioned.

“Is there something you need, Sarah?” You scowled. You were being harsh, but you couldn’t find a fuck to give about it.

“No. I—uh—I just wanted to ask if things were okay,” she stammered. “You know, between you and my dad. I shouldn’t have said anything yesterday. It was—.”

“I’m going to stop you right there, Sarah,” you interjected. You leaned forward, locking your hands together. “You shouldn’t be worrying about my dating life, nor should you worry about your father’s. I am your teacher, and these conversations need to stop.”

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, her eyes still staring at the ground. “I understand.”

She sulked back to her desk, never looking back at you.

When the final bell rang, you exhaled relief and listened to the class chatter quietly as they packed up to leave. You quickly cleaned your desk, stuffed your things into your bag, and slung it over your shoulder. Maria's voice drifted down the hall before you could lock your door correctly.

“I’ve been trying to catch you all day!” She said, exasperated.

You rolled your eyes, dropping your keys in your bag. Inhale. Exhale.

“Sorry, Maria. I’ve just been busy,” you lied. “I need to get home, okay? We can catch up later.”

“Is everything alright?” She pressed. “Is it your dad? Is he okay?”

You whipped your head toward her, the venom creeping over your tongue. Inhale. Exhale.

“I haven’t had time to check in. I’ve been busy.”

Maria eyed you wearily, the dots connecting in her head the longer she stared at you. She saw the anger plastered on your face; she could hear the bitterness in your voice. Her lips trembled as she tried to piece together something to say.

“Did something happen with Joel…” Her voice drifted off.

“Don’t, Maria. I need to get going.”

You rushed down the hall, leaving her between empty classrooms and lingering students.

St. David’s Medical Center looked the same as it did three years ago. Nothing had changed since you had been rushed here in an ambulance, your life hanging in the balance and memory gone. You’d never forget the moment you woke up in the hospital bed, bleary-eyed and confused.

The brick building towered over you as you entered the ER. You stilled the erratic pulse in your veins before asking a nurse which floor Bennett had been transferred to. You didn’t want to do this—you didn’t want to see him—but you deserved answers that Joel didn’t have to offer. He hadn’t been the one with you the last three years; he didn’t know the other side of the story.

The elevator ride up to the trauma unit was miserable, the nerves building inside you with each passing floor. You weren’t sure what to expect when you entered Bennett’s room, but you hoped for the best. Maybe he’d talk. Maybe he’d scream. Maybe he’d threaten to sue you…or Joel. All of which were valid reactions. The elevator door slid open, exposing you to a fluorescent hallway, a blur of nurses passing by as you walked through the corridor.

The door to his room was shut, but you spotted a petite blonde woman through the cracks of the blinds. Natalie. Dammit, you forgot he had a wife, and that made all of this much more complicated. Sucking in a deep breath, you knocked.

“You aren’t welcome here,” she seethed, cracking the door open an inch.

“I understand, and I’m so sorry. I just—I just wanted to make sure he was okay. I’m at fault for all of this. I really am sorry,” you apologized.

Natalie’s green eyes pierced into you, little daggers jabbing into the places in your heart that were still left intact. She was a few inches taller than you, her frame more petite and athletic than yours. You could understand why Bennett married her; she was perfect. You had no reason to be angry with her for his decisions, but you needed Natalie to know why you needed answers.

“Is he awake?” You asked, attempting to peer over her shoulder into the room.

She quickly blocked your view, moving into the space that allowed you to see in.

“You need to leave,” she snapped. “Our lawyer will contact you, and you can apologize to him.”

“Has he told you anything about me?” You tried a different angle. “If he has, you know why I need to talk to him. What happened yesterday…I had nothing to do with it. I was a bystander in all of it, and I know that doesn’t make the situation better, but I need to talk to him.”

“And I need you to fucking leave!” She raged.

You were defeated, tired, and left with gaps in your memory that would never be filled with answers. Nodding slowly, you wound your hands together, twisting your fingers as you stood, reluctant to leave.

“Listen, when he gets better can you please just—can someone let me know? And if he ever wants to talk to me again, I’d really like to speak with him.”

“Like I said, our lawyer will contact you.”

The sound of movement behind her stirred her away, her head glancing back at the bed. You waited idly, trying to get a glimpse of Bennett. All you could make out was splotchy, swollen skin and bandages covering half his face. When you thought about Joel, a new wave of disgust flooded you. He did this. He not only ruined your life, but he ruined Bennett’s life, too. Joel nearly killed him last night, and the guilt would weigh on you heavily for that.

“Natalie,” you heard Bennett’s voice echo into the hall. It was broken and raw, and you watched the door close in your face as she returned to his bedside.

You remained outside the door for several minutes, not knowing what to say or where to go. This had been your only chance at learning the truth from his side, but Natalie persisted in not giving you the opportunity. You understood, though; you understood her pain.

You made your way down the hall toward the nurse's station. An older woman in blue scrubs looked up at you with soft eyes and a gentle smile.

“Can I help you with somethin’, dear?” She asked.

“Do you mind if I leave my number with you? It’s for the patient down in room 201. I would really appreciate it if you could leave it with him when he gets discharged.”

“Oh, of course, sweetheart. Let me grab a notepad.”

You jotted down your number and left the hospital with tears streaming down your face. Everything was hopeless, completely hopeless. You would never get answers or closure; you’d have to spend however long to accept it and move forward. But that wasn’t good enough. You deserved answers. It was your life you had lost, and everyone else got the pleasure of knowing… everyone except you.

You were too tired to care about the mess when you arrived home. You walked barefoot through the house, tiptoeing around the broken dishes, not bothered by the thought of stepping on the shards. You were numb; nothing would hurt right now. You had no appetite for dinner, so you settled for a glass of wine; at least the buzz would overlap the throbbing pain in your head.

Your phone sat on the dining table, untouched. You hadn’t checked it in nearly twenty-four hours and were scared of what you might find. Despite the anger toward your family, you still worried for your dad. It was hard to push aside the emotions weighing down your chest, but you needed to make sure he was okay.

Taking a long gulp of your wine, you finally checked your phone.

Seven missed calls from Mom

Ten missed calls from Beth

Two missed calls from Stella

You dialed your mom’s number and waited with trembling hands.

“Sweetheart! I was so worried about you. Why haven’t you answered me?” Your mom sounded flustered.

“I’ve been busy,” you lied.

“We’ve been trying to get a hold of you all day. Dad woke up this morning, and everything was okay, like we hoped. He’s going to have a bit of recovery with his hip, but there were no other issues. His memory is fine, and he’s alert.”

That was the tipping point.

“I’m glad he can remember everything. I would really hate it if you had to lie to someone again about their life,” you said bitterly.

The silence was louder than words.

“Sweetie…” Your mom pleaded.

“I know, Mom. I know you lied. I know about everything, so save it.”

“You have to understand—.”

“I don’t have to understand anything! You don’t get to decide what I think or feel right now. You all chose to lie to me for years!”

“It was what we thought was right,” your mom begged. “We didn’t want to lose you. We—we were all so scared that messing with your memory would make things worse.”

You laughed, your body void of any emotion other than anger. Your words were weapons, and you were ready to aim to kill.

“And what were you planning on doing if I got those memories back?” You questioned. “Were you hoping I’d just carry on with my life without giving a shit? You took two years of my life and kept it a secret! You took everything from me, Mom. You all did.”

There was no mistaking the sound of her crying through the phone. You pulled your cell phone from your ear, letting the muffled sounds linger in static air. Your name floated through the receiver, and you slowly brought it back to your ear. Your mom's words mumbled together.

“…sorry, sweetie. I’m so—I’m so sorry. We should have told you sooner. We shouldn’t have…”

You tore the phone from your ear again and lifted your wine glass to your lips. The rich-bodied taste paired well with your resentment, the tinge of bitterness coating your tongue and poisoning your words.

“There’s a lot you should have done and said, but it’s too late now, isn’t it?” You raged. “You should have told me the truth the moment I woke up. You should have never let Bennett back into my life, and you should have never kept Joel a secret. I understand now why you all acted so weird around Joel in Boston. I understand why everyone was shoving it down my throat to tell him about the accident. You wanted me to be the one that took the fall when everything connected. I’m sure you’re so happy now that you’re free from all the secrets you’ve been hiding.”

“I just wanted you to be happy,” she sobbed. “We all did.”

“Happy?” you repeated. “I’ve been miserable for years. You all knew how Bennett treated me, and you let it happen! You made that decision, and now you have to live with it. You were worried you’d lose me? Well, congrats, Mom, you’ve lost me.”

You ended the call before she could utter another word and returned to your wine glass. Sitting at the dining table, surrounded by unfamiliar ghosts, you drank until the bottle ran empty.

Light-headed and drunk, you staggered through dark hallways to your room. The world spun around you as you collapsed onto the bed, your body on an endless merry-go-round as you tried to shut your eyes. Even with an entire bottle of wine in your system, you still couldn’t sleep. You watched the ceiling fan rotate for hours, your head spinning in the same cadence. Around and around, your thoughts turned until nausea led you to the bathroom.

You laid your head on the edge of the toilet seat, exhausted and defeated. You wanted to cry, but the tears never came. You wanted to scream, but you had no voice. All you had was a handful of anger and nowhere to place it.

It took you three days to finally clean the mess inside your house. Your energy levels ran so low from work and parent-teacher conferences that you would just lay on the couch and stare at the ruined walls. Your fridge was empty, and nothing in your pantry had been touched aside from the aged bottles of wine you kept stored on a dark shelf. You weren’t the type to drink yourself into oblivion, but it had been your only comfort amid the heartbreak. You didn’t sleep much, either, and it began showing. Makeup no longer hid the dark circles sinking in beneath your eyes; you gave up trying to hide it. Your students slowly started to notice the shift in your mood as the week passed; their books were open and ready to read before you could even sit down. It was a nonverbal agreement between them and you; they kept their voices down, and you didn’t lash out. You never wanted to be the teacher who didn’t care about what they learned, but you didn’t even care about yourself right now.

But now it was the last day of conferences, and you had to see the person you hated most—the person who built up and tore down your happiness and trust.

I love you.

You wished you could love the sound of those words. You wished you could hear them again in a different life and believe them. In whatever memories you lost, you knew Joel meant those words, and you knew you probably meant them, too. And the longer you thought about it, the more your heart shattered. It was all a lie.

The clock was nearing six o'clock when you finished your conference with Georgia and her parents. Of course, she got high accolades and praises, and you carried yourself as best as you could the entire time. With tight smiles and agreeing nods of your head, her family finally shuffled out.

You tried your hardest to contain the emotions welling inside your chest. There had been nothing but a static numbness rolling through your veins the last several days, but any moment now, Joel would walk through your classroom door and tear off the bandaid, barely keeping your heart together. You sorted through papers on your desk, trying to busy yourself as you waited while cursing yourself for ever deciding to be a teacher. If you hadn't chosen this school, maybe you could have avoided meeting Joel—back then and now. You might have never met if you had chosen a different career path. If you never met, then—

A familiar voice said your name and roused you from your endless ‘what ifs.’ Your head snapped toward the door and saw Joel standing with Sarah at his side. He didn’t need to say anything else; he saw everything written on your face—the anger, the pain, the exhaustion. He saw right through your hard exterior—he always did. And you hated him all over again.

“Hello, Sarah,” you greeted her with a tight smile. You kept your eyes below Joel’s neck when you greeted him. “Hello, Mr. Miller.”

You didn’t want to spend another second lost in the dark brown of his eyes, wondering about what could have happened if things had been different. You pulled Sarah’s report from your pile of papers and jotted down the list of what to talk about and how quickly you could sum it up. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed something in Joel’s hand, his bruised knuckles squeezing it tight.

Sarah went to one of the desks, readying herself to sit down. You held out a hand to stop her, urging her to remain standing.

You started, “I’ll keep it short and sweet, so I don’t waste any of your time.”

“What happened to your hand?” Joel’s voice radiated around the room, the concerned tone vibrating through your body.

You glanced at your hand and realized it was red and scabbed with cuts from cleaning the house—you hadn’t been particularly careful or safe when you picked up the broken pieces. You dropped your arms to your sides, keeping your features schooled and replacing any emotions with the professionalism you had mastered through the years.

“Like I was saying.” You cleared your throat. “Sarah has done great on the units so far this year. She’s among the highest-scoring students in the class and did exceptionally well on our poetry unit. I do not doubt the rest of the year will be even greater academically for her.”

Sarah stood awkwardly between you and Joel, her teeth chewing into her bottom lip. Joel shifted beside her, his hands drawn behind his back, keeping whatever he held a secret. You looked over your paper again, skimming the words that had been pre-written weeks ago.

“I have no concerns about Sarah or her capabilities in the class, so I think we should end it there,” you said. If this had been any other student, you would have spent more time talking them up and genuinely putting effort into the conference. But you wanted nothing more than to see them both walk out the door and leave.

Joel repeated your name, attempting to capture your attention. It worked, but not to his benefit.

“I am your daughter’s teacher, Mr. Miller,” you snapped. “Please address me correctly.”

You glared at him, finally meeting his eyes. He looked just as awful as you did. The glimmering amber of his eyes had dulled to a dark color you had never seen before, and his patchy beard was far past unkempt, the dark, wiry hairs traveling down his neck. Even his tan skin looked paler than you could recall.

Good, you thought. You wanted Joel to suffer.

“Miss Smith,” he tried again, dragging a hand down his face. “Can we just talk for a minute?”

“Unless you have a question about Sarah or the class material, there isn’t anything else to discuss,” you countered, clenching your jaw.

Joel turned his head toward Sarah, giving her a brief nod. She slid her eyes to you again, their hazel-colored softness filled with concern. Before you could question it, she moved toward the door, leaving you alone with Joel faster than you could register.

“Sarah!” You called, stomping to the door.

She was already running down the hallway, curls bouncing around her head.

Your body muscles tightened and contracted as you stood helplessly in the doorway. Joel’s warmth swarmed around you, even at the healthy distance he maintained.

“Hey,” Joel said from behind you.

You glanced back over your shoulder, watching as Joel brought forward the item he had hidden behind his back. It was a book. You recognized it immediately. Romeo and Juliet.

“Look, I just—.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, his biceps flexing under the cotton sleeves of his shirt. “I just wanted to bring this to you. It’s yours. I kept it all these years after the accident. I don’t really know why. I mean, I do know why. It’s stupid, but it’s your book, and you deserve it back.”

“Oh.” You blinked up at him, not knowing how to respond.

“Still got all your notes and scribbles,” he sighed, handing it to you. “Used to lay up at night with it, readin’ what you wrote on the sides of the pages after the accident. Y’know, I already knew it was your favorite when I asked you. I just wanted to hear y’talk ‘bout it one more time. Y’used to talk my ear off ‘bout your favorite books.” He laughed at a memory you didn’t know existed. “Anyway, I won’t keep you any longer. Y’have a good day, Miss Smith.”

He placed the book in your hands, his body brushing your shoulder as he walked out the door. Words lodged in your throat, words you didn’t want to say. The anger you were carrying inside you was becoming unbearable, but in the same breath, you hurt for him just the same.

Joel was long gone when the words finally came out, and you whispered thank you as you held the worn-down book between your hands.

You half-considered throwing away the book when you got home, your hand hovering over the trash bin with the book grasped between your shaking fingers. There wasn’t an ounce of you that wanted to open it and see your writing. Joel had carried this with him for years, holding onto a secret only he could remember. He had read this play probably a thousand times before he had even asked about it on the soccer fields. The facade of ‘doing research’ was a lie; he only wanted to share a moment of the past with you. A moment you couldn’t remember and a moment he only wanted to relive, even for just a few seconds. And you did it. You gave him hope that his plan would work, never knowing the truth.

You hated him. But it wasn’t enough hate to drown out the immense suffering of still falling in love.

Walking to your closet, you found the darkest corner and buried the book deep into the shadows. You’d be ready to flip through the pages one day, but you needed time.

Sitting back on your heels, you stared at the cuts along your hands and felt absolutely nothing. There was no more anger.

There was nothing.

#joel x reader #joel miller x reader #joel x f!reader #joel x female reader #joel x teacher!f!reader #joel miller #tlou #pre outbreak!joel #tlou fanfic #joel miller fanfic #i need a better word than angst at this point #angst angst angst

247 notes · View notes

once-in-a-blood-moon · 8 months ago

Note

solomon couldn't stand your pact marks.

well, no, that wasn't the right way to put it. he was proud, even jealous of your pacts. they were one of the many admirable things about you! he just hated... looking at them. he knew what other people thought when they saw them.

when one would see those marks on your skin for the first time, they would be able to get a glimpse at your relationship with the brothers. one of trust and respect, gathered from just a glance. meanwhile, one would have to be told about his and your relationship. one look at you couldn't decipher all the time you two have shared together, filled with chatting between classes, practicing magic for hours, and endless love.

at first, solomon tried to mitigate this with his own marks upon your skin. wearing lipstick as he placed a kiss on your neck, a few stray bite marks from your time together at night. but those, while fun, were temporary. and solomon needed something permanent.

why not a ring?

(Hope you don't mind me adding on, anon. Thank you for the delicious meal! Literally so honored to read your beautiful work! 🥹)

Getting the ring was the easy part. Getting you away from the brothers long enough to propose...was not.

The lengths Solomon went through to be able to have a private moment with you might put him in a record book as the three realms' most whipped man. With the mask of his "shady" persona secured, he lets his silver tongue weave him through these seven obstacles, the sin of each dripping from it with only you on his mind.

Swallowing his pride, breathing in greed, spitting out envy...his wrath, lust, gluttony, and sloth. A vicious rinse, repeat until he's either buttered them up or grated them down until they finally gave in. But he did it. With the day cleared of any interruptions, his plans were set in motion.

He decides to have a redo of your very first date, flying you up and walking in the sky amongst the stars. It's just the two of you against the ever inky black sky of the Devildom, a place that has become synonymous with your presence. Only this time, there are no surprise gales, no surprise drones -- just the surprise of a velvet heart-shaped box in the inside pocket of his coat.

Solomon brings up fond memories of your time together as you both near the spot he's picked to pop the question. He's filled with a giddy glee that soon you'll have something that binds you to him, something to show the world you're his.

Still, there's a little voice in the back of his head reminding him that you could say no. That perhaps he's not worthy. Does he deserve to have matching rings adorned on his and your fingers forevermore? Does he dare stand by your side as your equal when you are, in fact, so far above him?

He decides it's best not to dwell on such thoughts as this is meant to be a happy occasion, as long as all goes well.

Your feet touch the ground once he lowers you both on top of a cliff that overlooks the Devildom, the moon hanging brightly above. As you take in the magnificent sight, he lowers himself on one knee behind you, waiting with bated breath for you to turn on your own volition.

The moment you do, he knows he'll have to keep this memory stored away with his magic, just staring in awe. The moon is angled just right that it shines right behind your head like a halo. Your eyes are as wide as saucers while your jaw is slacked. With the way you look, he truly wonders if he's in the Celestial Realm.

Nervously, Solomon begins his improvised speech after clearing his throat, "my dearest apprentice, it is with great honor that I'm knelt before you tonight. I have dreamt of this moment more than I'd care to admit, yet I never thought it'd come true. But here I am, willing to give you all of me, if you're willing to give me all of you. You are the sun to my moon, the air in my lungs, the very reason why I believe I've lived so long. I was always meant to find you and work side by side to protect the human realm together. And most importantly, to love you. So, please do this old sorcerer a favor...by marrying me..."

He pulls out the ring box, opening it to offer you the ring within. The blessed box is shaking as he trembles, waiting patiently for your answer.

Happy tears spring from his eyes once you say, "yes." The ring is carefully slipped onto your finger, and a single word comes to Solomon's mind.

Mine.

#everybody show some love to anon right now!!#loved everything about your little mini fic thank you for blessing me!#mom: why are you grinning at your phone is it a boy? me who got this in my inbox at 2am: no :)#reference to his 'spread our wings and fly' devilgram #this was not meant to be this long i'm so sorry...i got carried away #kinda possessive/clingy solomon but he's also soft and insecure #what a fascinating guy #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me solomon #obey me solomon x reader #jo writes #blood moon mail #edit: sorry for the wrong tag i just realized it XD

239 notes · View notes

loveshotzz · 1 year ago

Text

All I Really Want Is You

older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader chap eight/ten - a slow burn series of blurbs - updated every wednesday

Red, White & Boom

summary: A Fourth of July block party ends in fireworks.

wc: 6.8k (🙄 it’s fine, you’re falling in love.)

warnings: 18+ series for future chapters. I don’t know based on Steve’s promise in the last one, what do you think? 😏

author’s note: there were so many different versions of this chapter before I got here and I just want to say thank you to my friends who helped me through this one. I just wanted it to be perfect 🧡

🌇 <- chapter seven | (bonus chapter playlist)

🌆 -> chapter nine

The Masterlist / The Playlist / The Tune:

July 4th -

Instead of the Good Morning tough girl you were expecting the next day, it was Good Morning beautiful that you read.

Steve Harrington woke you up calling you beautiful for the three mornings after that too.

The night before the fourth, you could hardly sleep with his promise to kiss you still fresh in your mind. It lingered and attached itself to every thought since he left you with it.

How was he going to do it? When was he going to do it? When he picks you up? Middle of the date? End of the date? What if he changes his mind?

The nerves are even worse as you stare at yourself in the long mirror of your room and your eyes catch the time. 1:52pm. Steve was ‘picking you up’ at two and you were on your fourth outfit in the last hour. Trying to find something that was cute enough for a first date but also practical for walking around the city in the summer heat was starting to feel impossible.

Date.

The word makes the fluttering start before he’s even arrived, a smile tugging at your lips when you think it again. Would you get used to it?

The shorts you settle on are a high waisted dark denim pair that cut off and fringe in the middle of your thighs, The black low cut ribbed top you match them with has a lace trim along the sleeves and the dip down down the middle. It hugs your curves in a way that makes you feel confident, something in your closet you know you won’t spend the whole day adjusting and fiddling with.

Knock, knock - knock, knock

Jumping when you hear his knuckles against the wood, you give yourself another once over before deciding it’s good enough. With your shoes still in the corner of your room, your slippers slide against your floor all the way to your front door. Nerves tighten your chest, a shaky breath leaving between glossed lips before you stop to give yourself a minute to let it sink in- mentally preparing to see the man who showed up at your front door steps with his heart in his hands. Your handsome neighbor with a past and a Bandit as his best friend.

You have to hold back the sigh that threatens to escape when you lay your eyes on him for the first time since that night. His grin is lopsided, the almost beard he had is gone, like he’d shaved it the next day leaving just the kind of stubble you liked the most.

“Hey, tough girl.” Pearly whites flash when he says it sweet, dripping with extra honey just for you.

His hair is freshly done like when he’s on his way to work, the grays on the sides seem lighter from spending a weekend out in the sun. The sleeves are short on his dark navy button up, the linen material fitting him loose and snug in all the right places. The two ivory buttons on top are undone, leaving a place for his Raybans to dangle. The weight of them pulls it down just enough to see the beginnings of his dark curls underneath and the silver pendant at the end of the chain that always hangs around his neck.

“Hi Steve.” You bite your bottom lip to try and contain your smile, your hips twisting from side to side with your hands behind your back, you can’t help it when he talks to you like that.

He’s wearing the same pants you saw him in when you brought him cannolis. The cream ones he almost kissed you in. The bottoms are cuffed, a pair of dark brown loafers on his feet, they look worn in but the gold buckle on top of them still shines in the dingy light of your stairwell.

“You look too pretty to be going on a date with me,” he says it in a way that almost makes you believe it.

“Look who’s talkin’, handsome,” you manage to get out, making the apples of his cheeks dust your favorite shade of pink.

Opening your apartment door a little wider, the knots in your stomach twist a little tighter when his eyes linger on your lips.

Is he gonna do it now?

“You can come in, I just gotta put on my shoes.” You clear your throat, stepping aside when he doesn’t make any moves, tugging at the low cut collar of your shirt like it’s tight as your blood starts to run hot.

You’re hit with the smell of his cologne when he crosses the threshold, it’s different today, more woodsy than you’re used to and it makes your head spin. He looks around with fresh eyes, admiring all the details he missed now that he can see them in the light of day. Glimpses of you that he hasn’t gotten to know yet. Missing pieces to your puzzle. His gaze slowly finds its way to your kitchen that almost sparkles.

“That’s two visits in a row that I’ve come here and your dishes are done.” Steve points to your empty sink, “I’m impressed.”

He gets his first eye roll of the day.

“Careful, we haven’t left yet. I could still cancel.” Wiggling your slipper covered feet as a reminder, you smirk. “My shoes aren’t even on, it’d be so easy to do.”

“Oh yeah? How easy?” He raises his eyebrows in a challenge, the corners of his mouth twitch as he tries to keep his face straight.

“Like flipping a light switch, easy,” you retort smugly, making sure to sway your hips a little more when you walk to your room. Fighting the giddy smile that threatens to take over your face, you lose when you’re out of his sight.

You aren’t expecting him to follow you, but you find him standing in your doorway when you take a seat on your bed.

“If it’s so easy…” there’s a new confidence in the way he looks at you now, like knows you want him too.

He looks at the untied sneakers next to your feet before taking the first steps into your room. He pauses to let you stop him, but when you smirk at him with a cocked eyebrow he closes the rest of the space. Crouching down in front of you, playful eyes meet yours from under thick lashes. The freckles that dot the top of his nose seem darker in the daylight. You wonder if there’s a way to find and kiss all of them.

“Let me make it harder.”

He’s gentle when he takes your socked foot in his hand, the warmth of his skin seeping through the cotton. It makes your heart race. He grabs your sneaker, the slight platform looking small in his grasp when his fingers wrap around your ankle to push it on. The pad of his thumb rubs at the soft skin there when he has to use a little force.

Long fingers work the laces like a pro, forearms flexing when he tightens after each eyelet, always just enough, never too tight. Leaning back on your palms, you watch him with the kind of adoration you couldn’t hide even if you tried when he repeats the same process on your other foot.

He ties both in a perfect bow, a proud smile wrinkling the corners of his eyes when he looks up for your approval. Your favorite strand already begs to come out of its gelled confines and your fingers itch ready to brush it away again if it escapes.

“I usually double tie it,” you giggle with another wiggle of your foot. “I mean, if you really wanna make sure I stay put.”

Steve huffs out a laugh, hot breath fanning against your skin that leaves goosebumps in its wake. He holds your stare while tying his perfect bow into a duplicate on both shoes, smirking when you squirm.

“No running now honey.”

The neighborhood is alive in a different way than you’ve seen before, the rush of everyday life is replaced with sparklers, Italian ice, and live music. The cars that lined the sides of the street including Steve’s are nowhere to be seen. Multicolored tents with homemade signs of vendors from all over the city replace them instead.

The sun hangs high, bright in the cerulean sky. Golden and warm like the man next to you. His Raybans cover his eyes now, leaving you defenseless against trying to read his thoughts. It’s different in public like this, it’s not just you two in the spaces between houses - in front yards, in alleys, in kitchens. It’s new feelings, new territory, and lots of people, but Steve searches for comfort in you when he takes your hand into his like it’s nothing.

“This is not what I was expecting when you said block party,” you say with an overwhelmed giggle, walking with no real destination, moving with the crowd.

The fair rides catch your sight from the end of the street taking up the middle school parking lot. A ferris wheel just high enough you think you’d be able to see the lake from the top of it. It blinks multicolored bulbs, red white and blue flags hanging from its hinges blowing in the breeze haphazardly. The sweet smell of honey roasted almonds almost over powers the sizzle of Italian beef, and the butter of the popcorn.

“Yeah, they go all out because it’s sponsored,” Steve offers with a shy smile, “This is actually my first one if I’m being honest, I usually go out of town for these, Bandit hates fireworks.”

“Wait? Is he home? Is he going to be okay? Do you have one of those vest thingy’s? I’ve read about them-“ Your pace slows, worry setting deep in your features and Steve thinks it's the cutest thing he’s ever seen.

“Yes, he’s in good hands. He’s staying with his aunt Nancy in the suburbs where it’s not so bad.” He chuckles, pulling your hand to his lips, they’re soft like silk when they press a kiss to your skin. It’s enough for your face to relax, eyes glazing over at the contact. “I promise honey.”

“Such a good daddy Steve, it’s cute,” you giggle, the nickname falling way too easily off your lips to not even be looking at him. Steve’s jaw clenches, he wants to kiss you. Bad. It doesn’t help that your gloss shimmers like glitter in the sun. Tempting him. The worst part is knowing you’d let him kiss you too.

Not yet - the plan.

His hand twitches at his side, he wants the familiar comfort of his fingers through his hair to ease his nerves but he can’t. It took him way too long to get it styled like this. Instead, he scratches at his jaw with a tight lipped smile.

“Thanks, I try.”

The two of you wander through the different tents, a tentative hand always finding its way to your lower back whenever you stop at something you want to take a closer look at. Light conversation about your weeks at work comes easy, your touches staying a little shy, both of you unsure how to act in such a crowded place.

The more the afternoon goes on like this, the endless butterflies that only exist for him start to stir from their cocoons. It’s when you lean over a table to get a better look at a moonstone that’s delicately hanging from a silver chain, that they start to stretch their wings. They flutter when you feel bold fingertips trace a line up your spine before long fingers wrap around the back of your neck giving the tense muscles there a squeeze. The pad of his thumb digging lightly into the spot behind your ear that makes your eyes want to close. You tuck your bottom lip between teeth to hold back your groan, the week of heavy trays and heavy thoughts coming loose under his touch.

“You like that one?” His voice startles you, it’s deep, rich and just above a whisper right by your ear. He chuckles when you jump a little letting his hand slide down the dip of your back, blunt nails scratching at the small of it.

“Yeah, it’s cute. I used to have one just like it but I lost it a few years ago.” Your eyes trace around the smooth stone, before seeing the sixty dollar price tag attached to it.

Not that cute.

“Hopefully not in a sink.” It comes out of his mouth like he’s been waiting for this moment his whole life.

The glare you give him makes him snort, hands raising in surrender while your reflection in his lenses turns you into a giggling mess. The sixty year old woman in a moo moo trying to cool herself down with a paper fan on the other side of the table doesn’t think either of you are very funny. Steve digs for his wallet, your mouth opening in protest before he pulls out a crisp twenty from the tan leather billfold.

“Let’s get out of her hair, I saw something a few tables down that I want to grab for Eddie. Want to get us a lemonade and I’ll meet you?” Steve points to the concession stand on the other side of the tent, where a line of over excited kids and their already worn out parents have formed.

You watch his eyebrows raise behind the frames of his sunglasses when you just stare at the money in his hand making no indication of grabbing it. He knows what you’re doing.

“I asked you on a date if you remember, tough girl, I can buy you a what? A six dollar drink?” He huffs, lips twitching despite himself.

Steve gets his second eye roll of the day, this one accompanied with the kind of smile he wants from you all the time. He hopes it was the reminder that you were on a date with him that makes you beam like that.

“Fair enough of an argument, I guess,” you sigh with a hint of a giggle at the end, and it makes him shake his head, white teeth on display leaving you a giddy mess.

He holds the bill out for you to take again, even though his eyes are hidden behind tinted lenses, you know he’s giving you a look. You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth to try and stop your smile from growing, your fingers wrapping around the bill sweetly.

“I’ll be five minutes,” he starts as you tuck the twenty into your back pocket.

“I got your number handsome.” You wink, making his cheeks bubblegum pink as you walk away. “No running, remember?”

“That double knot isn’t coming loose honey. Five minutes.” He gestures the minutes with his hand, the kind of grin on his face that threatens to make you fall in love.

🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋

The heat starts getting sticky, the breeze from before coming to a standstill making the plastic cup wet in your hand. The condensation drips down the bright yellow lemons that decorate it and onto your fingers but it feels good. You shift from side to side awkwardly next to the concession stand, people watching with the green bendy straw in your mouth. You’re closer to the school now, the sight of fair games in the shade of tents cooled down by giant fans catches your eye. The empty ring toss table calling your name.

That’s when you see him, an irrational anger settling in your gut at how he somehow looks even more attractive than he did ten minutes ago. You can tell the moment he spots you through the crowd, a giant smile stretching so wide across his face it threatens to compete with the sun and it's just for you.

“That was longer than five minutes, Steve,” you tsk when he reaches you, trying not to overthink the fact that he doesn’t have any sort of bag.

He chuckles, a little out of breath, giving into his impulse to run his fingers through his hair. The heat of the day finally ruining any product that was left in it.

“You just got one lemonade?” He points to the dripping cup in your hands with a smirk.

“Yeah, I realized that after I’d ordered, but could you imagine if I was left waiting here for ten minutes with two of these?!” You lift it up like it's heavy before narrowing your eyes playfully, “Why? Got a problem sharing with me or something?”

He lifts his sunglasses pushing them up to rest on top of his head, and they almost get lost in the thickness of his honey and pepper locks. The full force of the mossy green browns of his eyes make your thighs press.

“No, just wanted to make sure before I did this.” Leaning forward, his gaze stays focused on yours before his lips wrap around the straw. His adams apple bobs in his throat when he takes a long gulp, while beads of sweat collect and drip down the sides of his neck making you lick your lips.

“G-good?” You manage to ask when he pulls away wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

“Delicious actually. Is that a hint of strawberry?” Steve asks with a widening grin, the pad of his thumbs swiping away some of the excess lipgloss he’d gotten off the straw. You rub your lips together subconsciously, the corners of them threatening to pull up when he puts his sunglasses back on.

“Strawberry and watermelon actually.”

The air between you grows thick with something that’s not the humidity, especially when you see the way more sweat glistens from the tease of soft curls on his chest. Was that a third button undone?

“I didn’t catch the watermelon, I’ll just have to get a better taste next time.” His ears catch your quick intake of breath. He could do it now, really taste you. The way your eyes keep dropping to his mouth tells him you want him to.

Stick to the plan.

He takes the cup that you have to hold with both hands into one, fingers wrapping around it with ease. Stealing your hand in his other, they intertwine like they missed each other. The cold condensation left on your palm from the lemonade cools the warmth of his heated skin from the sun and from you.

“Let’s go check out the games.”

“You know ring toss is a scam right?” Steve sighs, the two of you standing in front of the booth you’d eye’d from across the block.

“It’s not a scam, it’s a game of skill Steve.”

You give him his third eye roll of the day and it makes the corners of his lips curve despite giving you one in return.

“I thought you were Mr. Sports anyway, shouldn’t you be good at this? Don’t you work for the Cubs or something?” You copy his stance, taking note of how it gets him more irritated.

“Mr. Sports? I do marketing, I don’t play for the team,” he scoffs at the nickname, but the playfulness that fills your eyes is contagious and it’s enough to feed his soul for months. “I’m plenty good at this game, I just didn’t want you to get discouraged.”

“Me? Discouraged?” You give him a sarcastic laugh and it makes his cheeks push up. He can’t remember the last time he smiled like this.

“I’m just looking out for you, that’s all.” He shrugs, taking another sip of the lemonade so he doesn’t laugh at the face that gets you to make.

“You don’t have to look out for me, in fact I’m gonna raise the stakes Harrington.” He loves how you say his last name like you’ve known him for years, especially when you’re heated. “The loser has to buy funnel cake after this, or is that too much for you to handle?” You raise your eyebrows, in a challenge.

“It’s never too much for me to handle.” Steve makes sure to look you up and down, enjoying the way it makes you squirm before continuing, “And don’t worry I’m not really going to make you pay for the funnel cake after I beat you.”

He signals to the teenager on the other side of the table for two rounds, laughing at the way you scoff around giggles giving his shoulder a light shove.

———————————————————————

It takes about three throws for Steve to realize he’s going to eat his words when he watches the plastic ring bounce off the lip of the bottle again.

“Aww maybe the next one, champ.” you pout with a quick flick of your wrist, your fourth ring hitting the top of the bottle before spinning down the neck of it with a hollow hum just like the three before and it makes Steve’s jaw clench. “I like extra powdered sugar by the way.”

He grumbles something to himself grabbing his last ring, feeling the heat of your stare on him, he tries to ignore the way it makes all the blood rush to his cheeks and focus on at least making one. His eyes squint as he picks his target.

“Maybe you need those glasses that were on your desk?” You shrug nonchalantly, conveniently refusing to meet his incredulous gaze, a smirk playing the edges of your lips.

“I don’t need glasses - who are you? Where’s that sweet girl from next door, huh?” He can’t help but laugh when your smirk breaks out into a fit of giggles.

“I'm competitive when it comes to meaningless games, Steve. What can I say?” You sigh, your admission making him snort as he refocuses on the bottle again.

“Competitive but hates sports, makes total sense,” mumbling, he does a few practice throws not letting the ring go. He’s not expecting you to come up beside him so close that he can smell the perfume you sprayed this morning. He wants to bury his nose in your neck and inhale.

“Just bend your arm a little here, baby,” the teasing edge to your voice is gone, replaced with something sticky sweet like the lemonade he shared with you, like your strawberry and watermelon lip gloss. ‘Baby’ rings loud in his ears and needs to hear you say it again, he always wants to be your baby.

Your touch is gentle when you bend his elbow just slightly, soft fingers that feel electric.

“You settin’ me up?” Steve’s eyes meet yours, smile going lopsided when he catches you getting a little shy.

“I’m not! I promise.” You giggle again and he decides he’ll buy you as many funnel cakes as you want. “If you think you’re throwing it too soft, you’re not.”

You back away to let him make his move, he’s more concentrated than you’ve ever seen as he takes your advice to heart. His tongue pokes out as he lines himself up, silently counting to three before letting go. You hold back your squeal watching it catch on the top, spinning sloppily down the neck plastic clinking against the glass loudly.

“Wooo!” Steve’s hands shoot up the bottom of his shirt rising with it giving you a glimpse of his happy trail. Excitement radiating from his bright smile..

God you just want to kiss him.

“See, skill, not luck,” you tease.

“How’d you get so good at this?” He questions watching you make your fifth one without a second thought.

“I lived in a small town with nothing to do but stupid games like this.” You shrug, you hadn’t thought about home since moving here, a nostalgic pain hits your chest.

“You get to pick a prize,” the teenager cuts into your conversation, refusing to let Steve ask the questions that were obviously on the tip of his tongue.

He points to the grid wall behind him where everything from classic teddy bears, purple dragons, and dancing bananas are strung up in a pop of bright colors. Steve watches with admiration at the focus on your face as your eyes look over every option like it’s the hardest decision you’ve ever had to make in your life. Then you look up at him and ask-

“Which one do you think Bandit would like?”

Maybe his plan was stupid, maybe he should just say fuck it and kiss your right here.

“I think he’d really dig the banana, definitely his style.” Steve nods casually trying not to let it show that he thinks he’s already falling in love with you.

You beam at him before telling the kid your choice, excitedly grabbing it when it’s handed to you. Steve looks out to the sun starting to set burnt orange and pink in the sky telling himself he can hold out for at least another hour, maybe two. Maybe.

“You should have seen the woman’s face when I asked for more sugar,” Steve huffs, dropping the deep fried treat in front of you. The sweet powder puffs like smoke falling off the dough like snow landing onto the already formed piles that cover the bottom of the paper plate.

“She was just jealous,” you wave off, wiggling your fingers in excitement unsure of where to even start as he takes the seat next to you, knees bumping under the picnic table you’d found.

“Jealous of what? The dentist visit I’ll need to pay for after this?” Steve cocks an eyebrow, pulling off a piece regardless of his complaining. His sunglasses hang down the middle of his shirt again, the sun low enough for his eyes to come out of hiding, stealing some of the confidence you have when you don’t get distracted by them.

You roll your eyes for the fourth time and it starts making him feel spoiled, especially the way the corners of your mouth always give you away curving up the littlest bit after each one.

Ignoring his complaining you plop a piece into your mouth, the extra sugar sticks to your gloss and he really starts to hate his plan again when he watches your tongue dart out to lick it off.

“So what made you move here?” Steve asks, the curiosity from before coming back as he brushes some of the powder from another piece.

A small laugh escapes through your nose, your eyes meeting his from under your lashes before darting back to the dessert. You didn’t have an exciting or dramatic reason to give, not even a career path. The nerves of a different kind kick up in the fear of being perceived as a mess once he really gets to know you. It makes your palms sweat.

“I don’t know, New York always intimidated me,” you offer with a half smile, picking at the sides of the fried dough.

“Come on, tough girl.” Steve bumps his shoulder with yours, his cologne mixing with the day in a way that has you wanting to bottle it up for yourself.

You sigh, lips twitching in a grin before giving into him.

“It’s just something I’ve always wanted to do. Live in a big city.” You gesture around you before ripping off another bite. “My parents have never lived anywhere else their whole lives, so I promised myself that if I was still there when I was thirty, I’d do it. I’d pack up and move no matter what, and that’s exactly what I did.” You laugh, popping the small treat in your mouth.

“I don’t really have a plan? I don’t really know what I’m doing which is scary and exciting all at the same time,” you admit, avoiding his gaze hunting for another perfect bite and it just kinda feels like stress eating now.

“You sound like me.” Steve chuckles, and it makes you freeze, finally daring to look at him. The tan he got from the day was already starting to show, the laugh lines under his eyes a little more prominent from this close. The stubble that lines his jaw has a little more salt than pepper.

“Yeah?” You hate how quiet your voice sounds, blaming it on the way his thigh is pressed tight against yours.

“You think I wanted to get into sports marketing my whole life?” Steve snorts, “I”m from a small town in Indiana, I worked at an ice cream shop in a mall and a video rental store after high school. I had no idea what I wanted to do, or who I was.”

His hand reaches under the table, fingers wrapping around your knee to give it a reassuring squeeze.

“If it wasn’t for a drunk night with Eddie and my other best friend Robin after a shitty day at work,” He shrugs, picking at the dough, “telling me about this three bedroom apartment in Chicago they had found real cheap through some guy named Rick, who knows what I’d be doing now.”

There’s a moment of silence between you, letting the realization that the Steve you’d built up in your head wasn’t the man next to you. The man next to you was better. He was real. Hope blooms inside your chest that maybe you weren’t so lost after all.

“Well, that just made me like you even more. Great.” You fake annoyance but your shy smile gives you away.

“Oh yeah?” He flirts, wiggling his eyebrows at you leaning in closer, loving how he can hear the stutter in your breath every time.

“Well, maybe.”

“Maybe?” His question comes out soft, his nose bumping yours while his eyes linger on the sugar that collected on your already sweet lips.

You nod with a sigh, sticky gloss and fluttering lashes, big eyes that beg him. The hand on your knee comes up to cup your face, the tip of his thumb tracing your bottom lip before tugging it down mesmerized by how it still shimmers after all this time.

Fuck the plan.

“Harrington? I thought that was you!”

Both of you jump, your hand nearly flipping the plate when an unsuspecting voice pops you two out of your bubble. Again. It takes everything inside Steve not to groan out loud, recognizing the man behind the interruption instantly. His boss.

“Richard?” Steve’s voice changes to the version you’d heard on the phone as he spins around in his seat giving you the perfect view of the way the linen stretches over his shoulders.

He was going to kiss you and now he’s talking to Richard.

Your eyes meet a much older man’s dark brown ones, he looks somewhere in his mid to late sixties, but the kind of late sixties that told you he had money. The thick white cotton of his t-shirt looks Egyptian, the light wash jeans look like the kind of denim that cost more than your rent. The hundred and fifty dollar leather Cole Haan sneakers on his feet make it seem dressed down despite the wing tip. Casual rich.

“I didn’t think you’d be here sir.” Steve chuckles nervously scratching the back of his neck.

“Well, someone has to see where the money you convinced me to spend is going.” He smiles but it’s warm in spite of his playful jab.

“Besides, I’ve heard it’s you that doesn’t come to these things.” Richard’s eyes meet yours with a knowing sparkle behind them, “But I've got an idea why this year’s different.”

The heat rushes to your cheeks from the implications of his words and you try and bite back your own grin when you look down at the half eaten dessert.

“Well it’s always good to see you outside of the field Harrington, I think The ALS Foundation and the Chicago Parks District will be happy with their checks this year. Great job as always son,” he compliments proudly.

The two of them talk “shop” for a few minutes, but all you can focus on is the fact that Steve put this all together and it’s something he’s been doing for years. Channeling his grief into something good and it makes your heart swell.

“There’s an empty skybox with your name on it for next week’s game, bring your girl. It’ll be fun. I’ll let you two get back to it.” Richard’s voice gets louder with his departure breaking you out of your thoughts as he pats Steve on his shoulder, giving him a fatherly squeeze.

“Enjoy the fireworks.”

He throws you a wink before walking away taking your kiss from Steve with him.

The music thumps low in the distance when you two get to a part of the lake that isn’t a public beach. It’s a Marina but not one for just anybody, the docks are mostly empty but the boats that are there look expensive, definitely not rentals.

‘What are we doing Steve?” You whisper but it sounds more like a yell when he pulls out a keycard to open up the gate that stops you from going inside.

“My buddy has a boat, well it’s not here but his spot is, at the very end. We’d get a perfect view of Navy Pier and the fireworks. No people.” He opens the gate with a loud creak, his hand extending out for you to take. “Jus’ me and you.”

The skyline shines behind him, the wind catching in his unruly hair with the kind of smile you’d be insane to say no to.

So you don’t.

You slide your hand into his without any hesitation, like it’s meant to be there, watching the way it disappears in his grasp.

“That’s my girl.”

The dock bobs in the small waves under your feet as he leads you out to the empty spot all the way at the end. The lake looks black, endless with the other side nowhere in sight. If you didn’t know any better you’d think it was the ocean. You’re almost scared when you get to the end and all you can see is the white tops of the water breaking against the rocks.

The faint sounds of voices from the crowds at the pier catch in the wind, the long tourist attraction shining bright not that far from you. The ferris wheel towers above the lake, the glass enclosures catching the lights from the city while its own twinkles against the stars in the clear sky.

“Steve, this is gorgeous.” You don’t know where to look, the man or the city.

He grins like he’s proud of himself, letting your hand go to lay the blanket down. Your eyes take in the view again while he gets situated, and you try to picture what it’s going to look like in a few minutes with all the colors in the sky.

“Baby,” the pet name comes out easy for him when he uses it to get your attention, like it’s what he should’ve been calling you all along. He likes the smile he gets when he says it too.

Both his hands reach out for you to take, helping you down to sit in the space between his legs. His knees lift up when you sit, while his arms wrap around your waist to pull you close. With your back to his chest, he rests his chin on your shoulder, his stubble tickling your neck when the tip of his nose runs along your jaw inhaling the powdered sugar and strawberry that still lingers on your skin.

“God, I’ve wanted you this close all day,” he confesses like it's a secret he’s exhausted from keeping.

“Yeah?” You whisper, tilting your head to give him better access while his lips ghost against the shell of your ear, feeling the way they curve into a smile.

“You have no idea, beautiful girl.” He presses a soft kiss on your temple, the tips of his fingers exploring your rib cage and you wonder if he can feel the butterflies.

His lips drag to the apple of your cheek where he leaves another one before he pulls away, the music getting louder from the pier signaling the start of the show.

“Thank you for today.” You turn your head to look at him because you already miss him.

He tilts his chin down to meet your eyes over the slope of his nose, his knees going flat on the ground while his hand comes up to cup the side of your face. The pad of his thumb tracing the high bone of your cheek while he holds your gaze. He doesn’t care if he misses the fireworks.

“Really, I should thank you for everything you’ve done since I moved here,” you keep going with a low voice, the water lapping against the dock underneath you creating the kind of peace you don’t want to disturb.

The tip of his nose bumps against yours, quick breaths meeting in the middle. All he’d have to do is tilt his head.

“Honey, you saved me.” Steve’s brows furrow when he presses his forehead against yours.

The sting is happy when you smile at him through glassy eyes, tilting your chin up just enough for your lips to brush.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Color flashes bright in the inky sky, it lights up Steve’s face in red’s and blue’s that sparkle against the jade and chestnut in his eyes. This time the interruption isn’t one that can stop him, closing the space he finally gets to do what he’s wanted to do since that night in his kitchen.

He’s gentle at first, his top lip brushing against your bottom and he loves the way it makes you sigh, giving into him the moment they finally connect. You turn in his lap, your hand finding its way to the back of his neck to pull him closer already needing more, your fingers curl in the soft hair at the base of it, greedy. Colors explode behind your eyes rivaling the ones above you when he dares to lick at your bottom lip, the firework display just the background to the main event when you let him in.

It’s lemonade and mint when his tongue massages slow against yours, his thumb tugging at your chin to open you up more for him. He kisses you like he’s sure of himself, taking his time so he can savor every moment of it like he could do this all night if you’d let him. He would too. The summer of unspoken words and miscommunicated feelings disappear when your lips move with the kind of desperation that comes with letting go. Giving into everything you both tried to fight while your tongues battle for dominance.

It’s too much but not enough all at once, the longer his lips move against yours it’s like they're never meant to be apart, like he didn’t know how he went this long without them.

The fireworks get louder above you signaling that you’re near the end of the show and you wish you had more time, especially when he starts kissing down your neck when he needs to catch his breath. Wet and sloppy, his lips make a sticky mess from all the gloss he collected from you, the watermelon he didn’t get to taste before making itself known. Sugary sweet like the girl in his lap.

“I know it’s super lame to ask for a second date while on the first one, but that baseball game is next week if you want to go?” He finally speaks, breaking the silence, nudging his nose against yours when he finally stops his assault on your neck, swollen and pink, his lips shine with the evidence of you.

“Only if you teach me the rules, or I’ll have no idea who to yell angrily at if you don’t.” You grin, nuzzling into his neck.

“Deal.”

His chest shakes with laughter, while a hand smooths down your back pulling you even closer to him. The smoke from the fireworks still lingers in white wisps in the air. The lapping of the water falling in time with your breathing, while you and Steve enjoy the quiet, letting the crowds go home before you try and make your way back. It’s a night of hushed words, shared secrets, and stolen kisses.

He walks you home at half past midnight, kissing you till you’re dizzy against your door with a promise of a text in the morning. He stops halfway down the stairs before jogging back up to kiss you again, this one a little tender with a whispered “Sweet dreams tough girl.” attached to it.

You don't need to wish for sweet dreams anymore, not when you have Steve.

———————————————————————

beta’d by @superblysubpar

dividers by @newlips

#my wriitng #all i really want it you series #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington series #steve harrington slow burn #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #Spotify

862 notes · View notes

2plottwist · 5 months ago

Text

Aeterna Amantes

Summary: Astarion's ascent changes him, making him possessive and cruel, yet your love for each other remains intense and intertwined, bordering on obsession. On the night of your wedding, he shows you just how powerless he is without you.

Pairing: Ascended!Astarion x Female!reader

Warnings: Blood, death, and sex. The holy trinity. Possessive Ascended Astarion being himself. A very twisted definition of love. Oral sex. Cunnilingus. P in V penetration. Probably more, I am not being very thorough, and I apologize, but if there is anything else it is close to these themes.

Word Count: 5.8k

Author: Emma:)

A/N: this started as one thing, then changed to something else, then I lost sight? Idk what happened, and I hope it is decent enough to follow:)

Powerful people need only focus on what they can do, and what they are going to do. It was a mantra Astarion hardly needed to tell himself after he had taken Cazador’s place in the Black Mass. He knew what he was capable of; after your enemies were slain, he figured he may just be the most powerful person in all of the realms. But there was one thing keeping him from fully embracing it- you.

You had run into his arms willingly, foolishly, naively. You were an idiot to trust him, but he found comfort in the fact that you did. He didn’t even have to ask if you wanted to become like him- all you did was grab his hands, lean your head against his chest, and say that you wished to be with him forever, regardless of whether your heart beat.

And now he watched you sleep blissfully, mumbling something under your breath as you dreamt. You were just as beautiful as the day he met you, despite the fact that your skin had paled and your chest no longer moved. Filled with his lifeblood, you were an extension of him- you were him. The lines had become muddled; it was hard to tell where he ended and you began. You were everything to him, and he was nothing without you. And he would stop at nothing to bring the world to your feet.

He often sat contemplating all the ways he could do just that, but a memory would stir in him just as he thought he had a perfect idea. It was the night he had turned you into his consort, the night you became his forevermore- a night he would never reveal in full to you. You had spent hours pleasuring him, pleasuring yourself, letting him ruin you before he finally commanded you to sink to your knees. Your silver eyes locked onto his, the most beautiful of smiles playing with your features. With the power he held now, the sight could actually make him breathless. And it did for a moment, before he climbed on top of you and drained every single drop of blood from your body.

Your body had begun to spasm, thrashing about as your eyes rolled back in your head. Spittle began to leak from your mouth as it hung, gaping. In that moment, as you were dying in his arms, he was utterly terrified. What if he lost you? His everything? The one he wished to protect? As your heartbeat began to slow, he pierced tongue with his fang, swiping his mouth with his thumb before letting his lifeblood drip into your mouth.

He would never tell you about how he lifted you from the floor and placed you under the covers of your bed gently. He would never tell you that he laid with you curled into his arms, patting your head softly. He would never tell you how he wept, whispering apologies over and over again into your ear. He could never admit how many times he had pledged his undying love to you.

So that’s why, when your eyes finally opened, their silver replaced with blazing crimson, he was only laying opposite of you, smirking at you expectantly, as if he had never doubted for a second that you would awaken. He trailed your body with his hands for hours, telling you repeatedly how beautiful you were, how, despite you already being perfect, you were to become even better. That day, he wouldn’t even allow you to journey through the city, opting to send Wyll and Karlach in your place. He pleasured you over and over again, letting you drink from his neck and him from yours until you were both covered in it.

His love was so deep, so all-encompassing, that it bordered on obsession. He could not bear the thought of anyone else laying eyes on you, let alone touching you. The mere idea of another person even thinking of you was enough to drive him to rage. You were his, and his alone, and he would stop at nothing to ensure that the entire world knew it.

His thoughts drifted to one evening when a nobleman arrived at the castle on business. When he saw you, standing there in a gown Astarion had made just for your body, he could not hide his admiration. The man’s eyes lingered on you for just a moment too long, his gaze betraying a desire that he dared not speak.

Astarion noticed. He noticed everything.

The merchant’s life was forfeit before he even realized his mistake. Astarion moved with a swiftness that defied nature, his hand closing around the man’s throat. There was no mercy, no hesitation. With a sickening snap, the man was killed, his body crumpling to the floor at Astarion’s feet. The thralls quickly drained the body and disposed of the remains, leaving no trace of the unfortunate soul who had dared to look at you.

You had watched it all unfold with a mixture of fear and fascination, your heart pounding in your chest. The man you loved, the man who had once been so uncertain, was now terrifying, relentless, and utterly devoted to you. Astarion could feel the thrill that coursed through you at the sight of his possessiveness.

He had turned to you, his eyes burning with fiery intensity. “No one is to ever look upon you that way again,” he vowed, his voice low and dangerous. “That right is reserved for me, and me alone.”

The love you shared was a dark, all-consuming flame that burned brighter with each passing day. You loved him with a ferocity that matched his own. You reveled in the way he claimed you so completely; you were his dark consort, his queen.

There had been times when you wondered if the man you had fallen in love with was still there, buried beneath what he had become. But those thoughts were often fleeting, quickly swallowed by the overwhelming desire you felt for him. In his arms, you found comfort, a sense of belonging that you had never known before.

When Astarion held you, his hands roaming possessively over your dips and curves, the rest of the world ceased to exist. You had become so entwined that it was impossible to imagine a life without him. You could feel his presence in every corner of your mind, his thoughts bleeding into yours, his desires becoming your own. It was intoxicating, addictive, and you craved it- almost as much as he did.

Astarion would often whisper to you in the dead of night, as you laid pretending to sleep. “I can never let you go,” he would say, his tone tender. “You are a part of me now, as much as I am a part of you. We are one, my love. Aeterna Amantes.”

The decision to make you his bride came quickly, waiting only for the castle’s immense renovations to take place. Two thrones, made of the finest elven silver and forged into swirling patterns, had been delivered to the palace. That night, he led you onto his throne, ripping your nightgown into shreds before taking you where you sat. It was an illusion of treating you as an equal, you thought at first, before realizing it was more of a declaration.

Soon, he had moved you to the floor, laying you atop the velvet doublet he had hastily discarded. After ravaging each other again, and again, he slipped a heavy ring onto your finger. The piece was encrusted with crimson and emerald- your favorite color. In the middle of the assortment was a giant, crystal clear diamond, carved into a pointy, triangular shape. Inside the band, he had the phrase he often whispered to you in the night, aeterna amantes, carefully inscribed into the silver metal.

It wasn’t a proposal, or an offer. He had already decided you were to be his wife, despite the fact that the fierce love you felt for him was too strong to only amount to that title. You took the ring graciously, and he allowed you to pull him into a kiss, nibbling on his lip as you did so.

Astarion had spared no expense in ensuring that your wedding day would be exquisite. He personally selected the finest dressmaker in all of Faerun, a master of the craft known for creating garments that were as much art as they were attire. The gown designed for you was nothing short of breathtaking- an elaborate creation made from the finest silks and lace, sheer in places to reveal glimpses of skin, yet artfully designed to maintain an air of tantalizing mystery. It clung to your form, accentuating every curve, with delicate, intricate embroidery that shimmered like moonlight on water.

Of course, it was not enough for Astarion to simply dress you in finery. He wanted a lasting reminder of your union, something that would immortalize the depth of his obsession, the intertwining of your fates. He commissioned a portrait, though it was far from a traditional painting. The artist was instructed to capture the two of you in a moment of unguarded intimacy. The result was a masterpiece, he thought: you, draped in a flimsy, crimson robe, leaning against him, who had dressed in regal black. He had a hand rested possessively on your waist, the other was between your legs, causing the artist to immortalize your joined ecstasy, as immortal as the two of you were.

The guest list was carefully curated, with invitations sent only to those Astarion deemed worthy of witnessing the union. Powerful allies, influential figures, and a select few of your companions who would prove loyal to him when he needed them to.

On the day of the wedding, the palace would be filled with the scent of blood roses, their deep crimson petals scattered along the aisle leading to your thrones. The orchestra would be beautiful, and its music would echo through the lavish halls as you made your way to him. He knew he would long to take you right then, away from the prying eyes of the city’s inner circles and to the most secluded chamber of the crimson palace. But he would settle for not acting on the tempting warmth that would spread through his blood as he laid ruby eyes on yours.

He soon was drawn back to reality as you stirred, your sleepy eyes slowly opening. He reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before pulling you to his chest.

“My love,” he murmured, his voice a silken caress. “Tomorrow, you will be mine in every sense of the word.”

You lifted your head, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “As if I am not already,” you replied softly. “There’s nothing of me that you do not already possess.”

Astarion’s lips curled into a small smile. He intertwined your fingers, closing his eyes for a brief moment to savor the connection.

“True,” he confessed, breathing in the scent of you. His scent. “I want nothing more than to stay with you,” he said, his voice hoarse with the effort of restraint. “But I need to leave now, or else I won’t be able to tear myself away.”

He had told you there was some tradition he wanted to follow, one where the two of you would be separated before the day of the wedding. Since he had followed you to bed, you expected he had forgotten- but of course, his mind was as sharp as his daggers.

You felt a pang of longing at his words, your body instinctively leaning further against his. “Astarion-”

His smile was almost bittersweet as he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above yours. “Now, darling,” he started with a sigh. “I want tomorrow to be perfect. I want to savor every moment when I make you mine in front of the city.”

You could feel the weight of his resolve in your mind, the tension in his body as he fought against the urge to stay as if it were your own. It was clear he was trying to make your day special, to heighten the anticipation so that when you finally stood before him, it would be all the more intense.

But even knowing this, it was hard to let him go. The two of you hadn’t spent a night alone since he had ascended. “Astarion, you don’t have to-” you began, but he silenced you with a kiss.

It was slow and deep, filled with all the longing and passion he was trying to hold back. His hands tangled in your hair, pulling you closer, attempting to imprint the feel of you into his soul. You could taste the depth of his love in that kiss, the way it consumed him.

When he finally pulled away, he was breathless. His forehead rested against yours for a moment, his eyes closed as he gathered the strength to do what he had to do. “I love you more than words can express,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “And tomorrow, I will show you just how much.”

With that, he forced himself to climb out of bed, the space he occupied beginning to grow cold. He paused at the door, looking back at you one last time.

“Sleep well, little death,” he said softly. “Tomorrow, we begin the rest of our eternity together.”

The next morning, you were awoken particularly early, hissing at your lady-in-waiting as she shook you from your slumber.

“Apologies, my lady,” she replied quietly, bowing her head. “But the day is upon us, and we must prepare.”

Her words cut through the remnants of sleep clouding your mind, and you sighed, the irritation melting away as the weight of the day settled on your shoulders. You knew she was right. This day was too important to delay.

With a resigned nod, you sat up in bed, the silken sheets slipping off your body as you did so. Your lady-in-waiting stepped forward to assist you, her movements inhumanly practiced. She helped you out of bed, leading you to the adjoining bathroom where steaming water awaited you in the claw-footed tub.

The air was filled with the delicate scent of rare and expensive oils, the water shimmering with the faint glimmer of crushed pearls and other precious ingredients. The woman guided you into the bath, the warm water enveloping you like a comforting embrace.

She worked in silence, her hands gentle as she bathed you, using the finest soaps to cleanse and soften your skin. The fragrance of jasmine, rose, and myrrh filled the room, the combination soothing your nerves and helping you relax as the ritual of preparation began.

“My lady,” your lady-in-waiting started, “I could not help but notice… the Master was up all night. He was writing something, and I heard him speaking aloud. He kept starting over, as if the words weren’t quite right.”

You felt a pang of irritation at her words. “You should know better than to spy on our master,” you chided softly, though there was no real venom in your voice.

She dipped the cloth in the water again, hesitating before ringing it out and continuing to wash you. Lowering your voice, you asked, “What was he saying?

She paused, her hands stilling for a moment as she seemed to consider her response. “They were vows, my lady,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. The master of the house heard everything, after all. “He spoke them aloud, but each time he would stop, crumple the paper, and begin again. It seemed he wanted them to be perfect.”

Your heart tightened at the thought. The Astarion you had fallen in love with, the one who had been timid and unsure beneath his veneer of confidence, was still there. You would always love him, regardless of who or what he was, but he was still the man who had promised to love you for you- not because he had sired you.

Once you were bathed, she carefully brushed out your hair. She began to braid intricate patterns into your locks, weaving in delicate white flowers that matched the color of your gown. With your hair perfectly arranged, she led you back to the bedroom where the gown awaited.

The lady-in-waiting helped you into it, the fabric swishing against your pale skin as she laced it up with careful precision. Once you were dressed, she retrieved a small, ornate box from a nearby table. She opened it to reveal an intricate necklace, the centerpiece a dazzling gem that sparkled like starlight itself.

“This is from the Master, my lady,” she said, her voice reverent as she fastened the necklace around your neck. “A final gift before you become his wife.”

The necklace rested just above your collarbone, the cool weight of it comforting, like a touch from your lover. Astarion had torn down every mirror in the palace- not that they would do much for you, anyway. You hoped you looked as exquisite as you felt. Magnificent enough for him. And if you didn’t.. You hoped he worshiped you enough to not care.

And as you took in the sight of yourself, adorned in the finest garments and jewels, a sense of inevitability settled over you. Today, you would become Astarion's wife, bound to him in a way that would transcend time itself. The thought sent a thrill of anticipation through you, mingling with the lingering unease that had settled in the pit of your stomach.

The wedding ceremony began under a canopy of dark velvet, the candelabras above dripping steadily. The haunting strains of the orchestra filled the air, a melody that seemed to echo through the grand halls of your palace, reverberating off the cold stone walls. It was a song that was both beautiful and ominous, probably befitting the occasion.

You stepped forward, your gown trailing behind you like mist, the intricate lace and jewels catching the dim light. Each step you took was deliberate, your gaze fixed on the figure waiting in front of the throne. Astarion stood there, tall and regal, his eyes never leaving you as you approached. His gaze was intense, hungry. Like this was the first time he had ever laid eyes upon you.

The crowd on either side of the aisle was a mix of noble families and politicians, but it was the familiar faces of Shadowheart and Gale that stood out. They sat together, their expressions somber, their eyes filled with unease. Shadowheart's gaze flickered with something close to sadness, while Gale's brow was furrowed in concern. Their presence was a reminder of the life you once led, a life that seemed distant and almost forgotten now.

But as you walked toward Astarion, their concerns melted away, drowned out by the pull of the man who awaited you. The world around you seemed to blur, fading into the background until there was nothing but him. Astarion, your lover, your master, and soon, your husband. Your eyes could not be pulled from him, the same burning desire written on his features pooling in your stomach.

When you finally reached him, standing before the thrones that now represented your union, he wasted no time in pulling you close. His touch was possessive, a hand on your waist as he pressed his body against yours. The warmth of his breath ghosted over your neck, and before you could fully react, he leaned in, placing a lingering kiss just below your ear. The sensation of his lips on your skin was electric, sending a jolt of desire through you.

As he pulled back slightly, you could feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against your leg through the layers of fabric. It was a reminder of the hunger that never seemed to leave him, a hunger that extended beyond blood to something far more intimate. The sheer force of his need was overwhelming, and yet, it was impossible to deny that you felt the same pull, the same twisted desire that bound you to him. Instinctively, your hips bucked slightly towards him, a motion only he was privy to.

“Soon, my love,” he murmured breathlessly, his voice a low, dangerous purr.

The room seemed to hold its breath as the two of you stood there, locked in a moment of shared intensity. You could feel the eyes of everyone in attendance on you, but it didn't matter. All that existed was Astarion, his hand still gripping your waist, his eyes dark with an unspoken promise. The vows had yet to be spoken, but in that moment, it was clear that your union was already sealed, not by words, but by the primal, consuming bond between you.

He took your hand in his, his touch cold but firm, a shiver running down your spine as his fingers intertwined with yours. There was a moment of stillness, as if the world itself was waiting for his words, and then he began to speak.

"My beloved," Astarion began, his tone… softer than you expected. "From the moment I first tasted freedom, it was you who breathed life into me. You who gave me purpose beyond mere survival. You saw the wretched creature I was, and yet, you loved me. And for that, I am yours, eternally."

His grip on your hand tightened slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. "I once believed that love was a weakness, a foolish indulgence that would only lead to ruin. But you, my darling, showed me that love is the most powerful force of all. It is a weapon, sharp and unyielding, that has the power to conquer even the darkest of hearts. With you, I am more than I ever could have been alone. And without you, I am nothing."

Astarion paused, his expression softening as he took in the sight of you standing before him, resplendent in your wedding gown, the very embodiment of his deepest desires. "Today, I vow to be yours in every way that matters. I will protect you, cherish you, make and undo you, because you are mine, and I am yours. Two souls intertwined, inseparable and eternal. Aeterna Amantes."

There was a flicker of something dark and possessive in his eyes as he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper that only you could hear. "I vow to never let you forget who you belong to, even if it means tearing apart the heavens themselves. You are my heart, my soul, my very reason for existing. And I will love you with a ferocity that even the gods themselves would envy."

Astarion leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he finished his vows. "And in return, I ask only for your undying loyalty, your body, your mind, your very soul. You are mine, my love, now and forever. And there will never be another."

As he pulled back, the look in his eyes was one of both deep love and possessive hunger. It was as if he was trying to convey with that gaze what words could not fully express—the intensity of his feelings, the depth of his commitment, and the fierce, all-consuming passion that now bound you together.

He pulled you into a rough kiss then, more fangs than lips, slipping his tongue into your mouth. You let him explore the inside of it, like he had many times before, his mouth devouring the cries that left your own.

The reception was an equally as lavish affair, befitting the union of two powerful beings. The air was thick with the scent of wine, rich food, and the low hum of conversation intermingled with the haunting melody played by a piano.

You and Astarion sat at your own table, elevated above the rest, overlooking the grand scene. Your throne was draped in deep crimson, matching the roses that adorned the table. Astarion cut a striking figure beside you. He was the very embodiment of royalty, every inch of him exuding the allure of a predator who had finally claimed his prize.

As you sat beside him, you could feel the tension in the room. It was an undercurrent that ran through the smiles and polite laughter, a reminder that this was no ordinary wedding reception. The eyes of your guests darted nervously between you and your husband, as if unsure of how to behave in the presence of such power.

Shadowheart and Gale approached your table, their expressions tinged with concern. Shadowheart was the first to speak, her voice low and careful. "This union... It feels more like a binding than a celebration," she said, her gaze flickering between you and Astarion. "I just hope you know what you're doing. This path... it’s not one you can easily return from."

Gale nodded in agreement, his brow furrowed in worry. "You're bound to each other now, in ways that go beyond even the deepest magic. I’ve seen what love can do, the way it can twist and consume. Just… be careful. I don’t want to lose you to this darkness."

As they spoke, Astarion remained silent, his expression unreadable. But beneath the table, his left hand began to inch up your thigh, his touch cold. His fingers traced slow, deliberate circles on your skin, inching upwards towards your core as the conversation continued.

Shadowheart’s eyes narrowed slightly as she noticed the change in your expression, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Astarion… we’re only here to ensure she is happy, truly happy. Can you promise that?”

Astarion’s response was a soft, dangerous chuckle, his eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and something darker. “Oh, I assure you, Shadowheart, she is exactly where she wants to be. Isn’t that right, my love?” His voice was smooth, seductive, and as he spoke, his hand slid further up your leg, his grip tightening slightly.

“Of course, Shadowheart,” you said through gritted teeth, a poor attempt to steel yourself. His index finger now hovered above the raw bundle of nerves protected only by a thin layer of undergarment. You attempted to scoot closer to the table, closer to his touch, but he pulled his hand back abruptly, raising from his seat. The sudden movement startled your guests, and the room fell silent, all eyes on him.

“That’s enough,” Astarion announced, his voice commanding and brooking no argument. “This celebration is over. All of you, leave at once.”

There was a moment of stunned silence, the guests exchanging uncertain glances. But no one dared to disobey him. One by one, they began to rise from their seats, bowing slightly before quickly making their way out of the hall. Shadowheart and Gale lingered a moment longer, their eyes filled with concern as they looked at you, but they too eventually turned and left, leaving you alone with Astarion.

As the grand doors closed behind the last guest, Astarion turned to you, his gaze smoldering with an intensity that made your breath catch in your throat. “Come, my love,” he purred, his voice low and possessive. “I’ve waited long enough. It’s time for us to consummate our union.”

He didn’t wait for your response. In one fluid motion, he scooped you up into his arms, carrying you toward the bedroom with a predatory grace. The hunger in his eyes was unmistakable, and you knew that tonight, there would be no boundaries between you, no holding back. You were his, entirely and irrevocably, and he intended to claim you fully, with a passion that would leave no room for doubt.

When you reached your bedroom, he didn’t bother with closing the door before ripping the beautiful gown off of your body.

“Darling,” you whined, stepping out of the ruined remains. “I rather liked that one.”

His mouth was on you in an instant, trailing sloppy kisses down your neck. “Then I’ll make you a thousand more,” he groaned, unable to stop his ministrations on your skin as he pushed you to the bed. He stood at the foot of it, half-lidded eyes staring down at your naked body. Carefully, he took off his couplets, then his doublet, and then his pants. His cock was deliciously hard already- it probably had been all day. The head leaked with precum that spilled onto you as he climbed, languidly, atop you.

Without another breath, he sank his fangs into your neck, driving his cock into you with a force so rough it made you yell. You gripped at the sheets as he pounded into you, finally pulling back from your neck. Your blood was running down his chin, dripping onto your chest. “Gods, you are so beautiful,” he growled, swiping at the blood on his face with his fingers before smearing them across your bottom lip. You hissed at the possessiveness, and, unable to control your own body, you pulled his forehead to yours, piercing the flesh above his collarbone and drinking deeply.

Your blood mingled with his, the liquid flowing between your two bodies. As you drank, he moaned praises down at you before sliding his hand down your stomach, finding your clit and pinching it with his fingers. You yelped at the sensation, unhooking from your lover's neck.

“My wife, my everything,” he muttered in between increasingly frantic strokes. Your own orgasm was within reach now- you could feel the walls of your cunt starting to tighten around his length.

“Come for me,” he growled, grabbing a fistful of your hair. “Do as I command you.”

You came undone beneath him, clenching around his cock, causing him to groan, his own orgasm hitting him. Before you had a second to catch your breath, his fangs were in your neck again, your-his- blood rushing into his mouth.

He drank his fill and then pulled out of you, laying beside you on the bed. Giving you a brief respite before you start again. You rolled to your side to face him, and he ran his hands over your skin.

“Perfection,” he whispered.

“Well, of course,” you responded matter-of-factly. “You created me.”

Your words spurred him on and he groaned again, his hands sliding between your legs, sliding through your slick, coating his fingers with it. You watched as he brought them up to your mouth, rubbing your wetness over your lips.

“Suck,” he growled, pushing two of his fingers into your mouth.

You obeyed, sucking and licking them clean. He moaned and pulled them out, eager to push them back into your folds. You gasped as he fucked you with them, his other hand taking a firm grip around your throat.

“You are mine,” he hissed. “My wife. Mine to do with as I please. And you’ll let me, won’t you, little death?”

You steeled yourself just enough to nod your head before you came again.

“There’s my girl,” he uttered, voice low and breathy. He leaned in to kiss you, but you turned your head, rejecting it.

“You’d do well not to deny me, lover,” Astarion drawled, pulling his fingers out of you and lapping at them.

“Fuck my mouth first, my love, and then you may take all the kisses you want.”

Without another word, he rose to his knees, yanking you by the hair to be face level with his cock, which had been called to attention again.

“Mind your fangs, darling,” he growled before pushing your mouth open with his free hand.

You took him into your mouth, your cheeks caving in as you began to suck. Your fingers teased the sensitive skin behind his balls, causing him to let out a guttural moan.

You looked up at him through damp lashes, your tongue swirling around his tip.

“Gods, my love,” he mumbled between heavy breaths. His free hand met the other at the back of your head and he began to thrust into you. You relaxed your throat, allowing him to reach farther down you. Soon, you were lapping up the remains of his seed that he had spilled down your throat.

The two of you were relentless- there was no gentleness in your sex that night. The world around you ceased to exist as the night stretched on. As the first light of dawn began to filter through the heavy curtains, the pace finally began to slow. He didn’t want to stop, but he recalled a story about another vampire lord who’s bride had become so drunk off of his blood the night of their marriage that she drank him dry.

Astarion, panting and spent, finally withdrew from inside you, his breath ragged as he collapsed on the bed. Your bodies were slick with sweat, your breaths coming in labored pants as you lay entwined. For a moment, the two of you lay in silence. The room was filled with the scent of your blood, the evidence of your love scattered across the bed in the form of rumpled and torn sheets.

Without a word, Astarion slid off the bed and sank to his knees before you, his head bowed, his hands resting lightly on your thighs.

“My love,” he murmured, his voice low. “You are the only thing in this world I will ever bow to. The only one I will ever serve. My life, my power, everything that I am- it all belongs to you.”

His gesture took your breath away. Reaching out, you gently cupped his face, your fingers brushing against the smooth skin of his cheeks. “And I am yours, Astarion,” you whispered.

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly. When he opened them again, the hunger had returned, and a devilish smirk toyed with his features.

“Come,” he said, rising gracefully to his feet and pushing you back against the mattress. “Let’s seal our vows once more.”

The sun would continue to rise, as it always had, casting its light on a world that would move forward. But there would come a day when all of that would fade into insignificance, when kingdoms and empires would be forgotten, and the sun itself would flicker out like a dying ember.

And when that day came, when the world was reduced to ashes and all that remained was the void, you knew that there would still be the two of you. Alone in the darkness, unbound by the constraints of time, your love would endure. In the end, there would be nothing but you and Astarion, together as you had always been, two souls entwined in an eternal dance, forever and always. Aeterna Amantes.

Yes, the world would continue to move on, indifferent to the night when two eternal lovers were intertwined in a passion that defied the very essence of existence. But soon, the day would come when you and Astarion would bring the world to its sweet surrender, bending it to your will, shaping it in the image of whatever you wanted. When the time came, the two of you would take everything and everyone to their knees, as your lover had done himself in front of you. And if it was to be even half as alluring as that moment was- you could not wait to do so.

#ascended astarion #ascended astarion x reader #astarion x reader #astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

103 notes · View notes

pursuitseternal · 1 year ago

Text

“Hold me…” a hurt/comfort nsfw update to Ascended Astarion x Reader fic: “The Rogue You Were”

Ascended Astarion x f!Reader |E| 3.8K Hurt/Comfort Smut

Summary: The nightmares still come, even with all that power and influence and Ascension. You are the one thing that can comfort him, to ground him and heal him. To restore him with your touch, your love.

CW: Trauma, self-hate, hurt, comfort, gentle sex, pull him out of his loathing and make that rogue feel something.

Read here if you like AO3

Throw yourself in his arms, darling…

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

It begins the same every time… how he shakes, hands clenching in the sheets. Breathing going ragged. His muscles spasming on their own. An arm thrown to the side, his legs kicking the luxurious comforter from your bed. He contorts, the ghosts of his pain wracking his body beside you.

You slowly come to, feeling the jolts of him knocking you awake. It hasn’t been since he’s ascended that he’s had a nightmare. You’ve seen them, on the road, in his bedroll. You did you best then to soothe gently, hard to do with others around.

But this was his palace, this was your bed.

“Astarion,” you whisper, repeating his name louder as you watch his face grimace in his sleep, moans and grunts of anguish in his throat as he tosses and flails.

You reach for his shoulder, tense and cold. That small, soft contact lurches his body in his angonized sleep. Bolting and twisting he clambers on top of you. He roars above you, body rolling as his hands claw around your wrists. Legs tangling in your bedding.

Trapping you firmly under his naked body.

Panting. Snarling. Dripping in sweat.

His eyes are open, glowing as bright and scarlet as the day he took the power meant to kill him.

He snaps his jaws in your face, feral and bloodthirsty. His fangs glisten in the dim light, shining with his spit. “No,” he roars, “no, don’t touch me!” He bellows, “You won’t win, you can’t win. I’m free!”

You tremble under his strength, his eyes unfocused, staring past you, burrowed beneath him and pinned under his shaking body. You do the one thing that pops in your racing mind, something you would do under the stars before.

“Shhh,” you breathe quietly, “it’s okay. You’re okay, Astarion… shhhhh….”

He struggles a bit. Eyes blinking. Black pupils in the center of his glowing red orbs seeming to search your face.

And then, he sees you. His face softens in recognition, the creases of his face easing, his brows lifting from their ferocious furrow. He looks down at you under him, feeling how your frame shakes as your breath races.

“Shh, it’s okay,” you repeat one more time, looking right into his eyes, watching their glow fade. Watching them grow veiled with fear.

“I… I thought I was free of these,” he murmurs, voice quaking as he eases his hands from pinning your wrists. “Free of… him.”

He doesn’t need to say another word. He couldn’t if he wanted to. Astarion shivers, sliding off you to settle heavy back in his spot in the bed. You see him shudder, rolling his back to you, arms wrapping around himself tightly.

Then you hear a wet, shaking breath.

Pain clutches your heart, souring your stomach. Eyeing his body, you know better than to touch his back. Not on those literally Infernal scars. Carefully, you slide yourself up in the bed, resting your back against the carved wood of the headboard and the pile of pillows behind you. Angling your body away from his, you lightly brush your fingers into that mess of silver curls. Ever so slightly, you run through them. So soft, just enough to let him know you are there.

He shudders again, this time it’s a sob that comes from his mouth. Your hand feels it through his scalp, putting just a bit more pressure as you stroke into his hair. He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t fight it. But he also doesn’t turn. You watch his fingers clawing around his own arm, pressing in so hard it could draw blood.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, carefully not to touch more than just the wisps of his hair that tickle beneath your single hand. “Breathe, my love. Breathe,” you softly score your fingers into his hair, firmer. Enough to reassure him of your presence.

Slowly, he begins to still. “He’s gone,” you continue to whisper, trying to carefully breach the boundary of his pain. “He is dead, and you, you live, my love…”

Your fingers stray into the soft and short hairs that run in front of his pointed ear. You hear him hiss, your finger barely grazing the skin of his cheek.

“Two-hundred years…” he begins, so soft, you have to lean over his head just to catch his feeble words.

“I know,” you try to soothe, your hands tenderly lift his head, sliding your legs beneath his temple, his cheek, praying that the softness of your body grounds him.

If he lets it…

You feel his muscles clench, his jaw biting into itself at the contact. But you hold still, waiting, watching… until he finally eases, body relaxing almost imperceptibly as he rests on your inner thigh. His breath is ragged and cold as it flutters over your skin. But at least he is breathing.

Hesitant, you run your fingers down his wet cheek, trailing a single finger over that firm cut of his jaw. Wiping away his tears.

“You can’t let this beat you, my love,” you whisper. “And you are not alone, you have more than your power to comfort you now…”

His jaw tweaks under your touch, his swallow loud and forced.

“He’s still won,” you hear him rasp, “not even my power, not even my love for you can erase those years… all the… horrible… horrible… things he did to me.” He trails off, turning his head to stare at the ceiling, his eyes distant, wet, brimming with anguish. “He might as well have won…”

You hold your breath, heart racing as you watch that spark of his power flickering. Your bond teems with his pain, twisting your own gut and heart and soul with the share of his burden.

“Cazador… is dead,” you whisper, the name alone makes his face screw tight, eyes shut and teeth bared as he rests in your lap. “And I… am… with you, every day to remind you of that fact, Astarion.”

“You’ve chosen nothing more than a life with a monster,” his lips move slowly, eyes still shut. “I saw myself… the greatest torture… he… could inflict… making me just like him.” You watch as his teeth bite into his own lip, the thin trickle of blood seeping down his cheek and chin.

Torment, torture, it paints his face, marring those handsome features like the scars that disfigure his back.

“You are nothing like him… you are more than him,” you begin to feel… indignant. Irritated. Not at your love. At the shadow that still insists to manifest over his shining flame of a soul. A soul he fought so hard to get back. “I am proof of that…”

“You are proof of my weakness, that I can’t face a future alone after all … all Cazador did to me…”

Now, you feel a growl in your throat. “Weakness?” You snip, carefully measuring your words, your breath. “I’m your… weakness? Sharing yourself is not weakness, forgoing loneliness is not weakness…”

You feel his shoulder shrug against your leg. “I do not deserve it. What does it matter…”

“Why shouldn’t you have a consort, a queen, a… someone to care about you, whether you live or die?” You swallow hard, biting your tongue. His apathy is consuming him alive. Eating his passion up from the inside out more than any parasite could.

“What does it matter…” he repeats again. “I’m nothing more than what he made me…”

That’s it. Something snaps inside you. Indignant. Not at him. For him. You shuffle from under him, and quickly climb on top. Hovering your body above him. Hands and knees keep you carefully from touching too much. But making well and truly certain he has to look at you. “And what about what… I… made you?” you try to soften your snarl. “What about what you made me, more than spawn. Giving me your blood… don’t you think you’ve done more than seal my fate?”

He stares at you, wet crimson eyes blinking, the little muscles of his face beginning to twitch. Good. That was something more than apathy. Something you could work with. “You are not his creature anymore, Astarion,” you murmur in his face, letting your hair fall in rivulets down from your shoulders. “You are mine…. Forever…. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

A slight glow begins in his face, just a twitch of his lip in that usually insufferable corner. “I suppose…” he finally breathes.

“You are mine, and no amount of imaginary dreams can rob you from me, no matter how real they are.” Something creeps up your thighs, feather-light as hands ghost up to the curve of your ass. He is touching you, and you smile. You honey your tone, letting his fingers bring you slowly to rest on his body. “You may have been his for two-hundred years, my love… but you are mine now, for the rest of eternity.” Those hands press ever-so-slightly harder as you wiggle on his lap.

“You won’t ever let me forget it, will you, darling?” he purrs. Faintly, but it’s there.

“No, my love,” you smirk, voice soft and sultry, more than usual. Teasing the same tones you long to hear from him. “Not as long as I have been made yours… forever…” you growl the word, the way it has been forever branded in your immortal memory.

You see that corner of his mouth lift a little higher, his head lilting against the bed. “If you insist, darling…” he replies, more honeyed, more silken.

“I most certainly do, my love,” you purr, a toss of your hair, letting it fall softly down your back. Licking your lips, you give a slight roll of your hips on his lap, hoping to feel a burgeoning of hardness beneath you. It’s slight, the beginning of an erection, enough to make your core ignite, to make you swallow hard, needing to comfort your lover. “Allow me, darling…” you breath, soft and gentle.

But his brows furrow, head cocking with a spike of suspicion. “Allow you to do what, exactly?” he replies, voice edged with something sharp.

You smile, a bit confused. But undeterred. Carefully proceeding with every little step, every little touch. “Allow me to console you… to… show you I love you… Will you allow me to… pleasure you?”

The question hangs in the air longer than you thought it would. His face is unmoving, you begin to worry, to slide off his body in case it’s too much.

But his hands hold you in place, pressing faintly on your hips to resist even the slightest movement off him. “What would you like for me to do with you, Astarion?” you whisper, so softly, anxious over breaking into his thoughts.

“I…” he begins. “I’ve never been asked that…”

Your brows crease, you smile a bit, perhaps a bit darkly. “Even with me? I’m sure I have…”

“I mean, I always knew you cared deeply for me… for giving to me… giving into me, but…” he breathes, a heavy sigh that seems to ease every muscle beneath you. “To hear it in so many words…” You hear him swallow, breath and tears catching in his throat. “I want you to make love to me, my treasure. Make me feel… everything… with you.”

Something hardens between your folds, and by the growing smirk and ever increasing glow of crimson in his eyes, you know he wants this.

Wants you.

“Yes,” you sigh, “I’ll give you everything, and then some.”

He laughs, just a few times, but it melts your heart, that tear-streaked sticky chuckle.

“Will you give me a taste, darling?” he croons, that voice back with its full force to make you molten and quick between your thighs.

“My lips?” you tease gently, “my blood… my nether regions?”

“All of it,” he growls, hand almost clawing at the back of your neck, bearing you down towards his simpering mouth. His kiss is salty from tears, but just as ferocious as ever… the little nicks of his fangs inside your lip, the deep delve of his tongue into the furthest reaches of your mouth… Even as the seducer, you melt into his body, losing yourself in the workings of his kiss. Your hips lifted off of his belly, you feel the twitching of his cock against you with every lick of his tongue over the small cuts on your lips. He’s humming, low in his throat, at the taste of you. Feasting on your desire and your blood all at once.

You let him, keeping your mouth open and returning the favor, until you feel his lips beginning to stray. Beginning to catch your chin, your cheek and jaw. Until his hand knots into the strands of your hair and pulls your neck to his fangs. You cry out, his name pleading in your voice, begging for more and for him to be gentle all at once.

His bite is hungry, as ravenous as when he first pleaded for your blood… only a little of it… to feed your hungry rogue. Astarion sucks and laps, starved for your power, your love, your consolation that is balm for his soul. Little moans escape you, each time his breath rattles in your ear, heavy and hungry.

You let him drink, feeling the flow of your blood in his body tightening your bond, your desire. Your essence filling his insides… you want the same. Crave the same. Him inside you.

But you dig deep to be patient, to follow his desires, his hunger. And with a final lick, he pulls from your neck. Your well-fed vampire, eyes almost sleepy from a full belly, glassy from the pulsing desire that prods into your belly. “Darling,” he purrs, throat slick with your blood, “won’t you put that mouth of yours to use?”

You smile, feeling his hand taking his own cock in his fist, dragging it over your belly. A hint, none too subtle. Licking your lips, you place a kiss on that conceited smirk first, pulling away quickly, lest you lose yourself in that perfect kiss again. Instead, you nuzzle the cut of his jaw, a soft press, almost reverent, over the bite marks in his neck. You feel his jaw clenching, his breath catching. “I love these,” you whisper just beneath the bottom of his ear. He shudders at your voice’s tickle. “I love everything that made you who you are, that made me find you in my path….”

A loud groan sounds from the throat beneath your lips. “And?” he prods, another little noise as you trail your lips to his shoulder, to the wiry strength that could snap you in two. “What else do you love?”

“I love that stroking your vanity gets you just as hard as my touch…”

He laughs, long and low. “Choose the right words, and you might find out just how hard you can make me for you, darling…”

Your hands race down both those arms, gasping his hands in yours to place them in your hair. “I love your strength, that you can crush your enemy in a second… so powerful, none can resist you…”

“Mmm,” he moans loudly, fingers clawing in your hair, riding the rise and fall of your head as you trail caresses over the expanse of his chest. You stop at his belly, even as his hands in your hair will for you to continue that downward trek. But you pause, letting your tongue lick over those cold and hard ridges. Salty from his sweat, clenching at the agonizing pace you seem to set. You claw your nails down his sides, feeling his hips flexing as you dig in, slowly sliding to settle yourself between his thighs at last.

You softly run your hands over that panting plane of his stomach. His fingers stray from your hair, wrapping around his cock, his straining length, trying to bring your mouth to it. His breathing is hard, quick. And you give him a placating lick from base to velvety, seeping head. “Shhh,” you smile up at him, tenderly taking his hand from his own cock, giving it a slight kiss, and placing it back into your hair. “Let me take care of you,” you whisper.

Uncertainty flashes in his eyes, his belly clenching and sending his cock jerking against your face.

“Let me pleasure you, entirely. Trust me to know you, my love, to read your body for what you want. Use that silken voice of yours, if you like, but…” you lick your lips, taking his cock in one hand, cradling his balls in another, “…I need you to trust me, and you… can… trust me, lover.”

His eyes still look down at you, lidded and veiled in suspicion, but his fingers ease their grip, letting you settle your mouth to lick as you please. You linger your mouth to run the full, long length of him. That silken skin, hard and throbbing underneath, he pulses with every lick, every swirl. Slowly, gradually, you nibble your way to his head, hearing him sigh as you finally lick away that bitter seed already leaking from the tip. It twitches, dancing, responding in time to every wet attention you lavish on him.

His hands slowly sweep from your head, teasing down your neck, thumb tracing over the top of your ear. Palm lifting and stroking you over and over again. He paws you, pets you… his breathing steadier, heavier. And then you take him deep, or as much of him as you can into your mouth and down your throat. Stifling a groan, he thrusts into your mouth, but you anticipate it, carefully moving with it so as not to gag. You bob up and down, lapping your tongue in circles, attentive to each sensitive spot you have come to know and worship on his cock.

He moans as you suck, as you pop off his head loudly. Loud enough to make him laugh quietly. Relaxed and pleasured. “What else do you love about me, my sweet?” You raise a brow, waiting so as to tease him. His hips raise, his ass clenches, jerking his aching and prominent erection in your face. “Anything in particular?”

You give a dramatic sigh, meeting his eye, holding his gaze as you slide your tongue from base to tip again. “Always the rogue, Astarion, so proud of your weapon…”

“Good enough a weapon that you long for it to destroy you…” his smirk widens fiercely, “…nightly.”

You laugh, holding that sensitive head in your mouth, making him feel the vibrations of your voice.

“Well…” he prods, another clenching thrust into your mouth, “aren’t you going to woo me with that mouth as well?” You laugh again, louder, wrapping your giggling lips around the whole circumference of him. “What do you insist on adoring most about my cock, darling?”

“Hmmmm,” you give another long and sultry hum as you let him slide from your mouth, “I love how hard you get when you see me… when you taste me…” You stray your fingers to wrap one at a time around him, giving his length a few hard strokes in your grip. “I love every vein, every ridge and rise that tickles my tongue when I take you…”

He gives a moan, his cock twitching, thickening…

“I love the way your balls tighten just as your body gets ready to fill me with your cum…” You murmur, giving his balls a gentle tug, as hard and tight as they are. He is ready, prodded towards his climax, driven by your pleasure and praise.

“Mmm, what else?” he rasps, ravenous for more. Hungry for your adoration.

But you raise above him, letting go of his cock, crawling up to cage him from above. His eyes are wide, his breathing ragged as he licks his lips for more.

“There is much more, but mostly I crave the way your cum drips from me for hours, days after you fuck me…”

“How could I refuse such a need, my love?” That purr, that smirk and canting brow, all of him makes your folds just aching for that relief of him buried deep inside you.

You fall into his kiss, your tongue and lips beginning to ache from all their use, but you don’t mind. Not as you settle your hips lower, the press of his cock at your entrance makes your breath catch hard and painful in your throat. “You make me so wet, you know,” you moan, sinking onto his cock with another heavy, damp sigh. “All because you are mine,” and with that, you slam your cunt on him, making your body take him so deep, you can’t fit any more.

He groans, hands clawing at your hips, he simply lets you, swivel and ride him. Eyes sharp and watching everything about you… you can see them darting, so quick, he doesn’t want to miss anything. Not the little bites you make on your lips, the way your breasts swing with each undulating slam you make on his lap, the way he can see himself entering you sweet, dripping, honeyed cunt with the way you rise up so high.

You splay your hands on his chest, and one of his hands comes to hold yours, lacing his fingers in between yours. His grip is tight, like a drowning man clinging to the only thing that will save him.

You.

You can feel him growing thick and hard inside you again. His breathing rasping and ragged. His hips trying to buck into you, even as he lets you ride his cock at your pace.

“Say it again,” he growls, eyes closed, head straining back into the mattress. “Say it again,” he cries louder.

“You’re mine…” you moan, his hand pushing your body down, his cock pulsing and thrusting hard into you as he comes.

So wet, so thick, so loud as he groans with his orgasm, you tumble into yours even as he still writhes and thrusts beneath you. His hand fisting in your hair pulls you down, making you collapse on his chest.

Breathless. Both of you pant. Sopping in sweat. But he won’t let you catch your air, not when his lips press yours, his breath rushing into your mouth, your lungs. His arms cling to you tightly, his embrace is like iron, keeping you clutched with your mouth fastened to his.

Like he would hold you thus for eternity.

Because that’s how long you have now. Eternity. Forever with your ascended master. Your rogue until the end of time.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Read the rest of “The Rogue You Were:”

Part 1: Welcome me…

Part 2: Cleanse me…

Part 3: Surprise me…

256 notes · View notes

twilightdetectiveagency · 2 months ago

Text

TWILIGHT HOUR 03:00 - KAPPA

The upper level of the Twilight Detective Agency is quiet and still when Vivienne wakes; not an unusual occurrence, but not a particularly normal one either.

Content warnings:

None. (Rare...)

She rubs her eyes as she pulls herself out of the large bed Cornelia had prepared for her before her arrival, her tastes noted like the back of Charon’s hand, the canopy draping brushes against her as she stands in front of the mirror on the wall across her bed.

She approaches it. The mirror reflects her room, but not Vivienne herself. She huffs and touches it with her fingers, “I guess it’ll be this way forever.” Despite being unable to see herself, she adjusts her hair and white lace nightgown as if she can, twirling in front of the mirror with a giggle as she peeks her head out of her bedroom.

No Cornelia.

She steps out of her room and floats towards the kitchen; there’s a note on the table written in Cornelia’s signature ink, deep black with freckles of silver shimmer, like the expanse of a night sky. It reads, I’m out getting supplies for a new client’s case. I’ll be back shortly, so don’t run off because you got bored.

Vivienne rolls her eyes and sets the note back down on the table, “Workaholic,” She hums at the sight of the door to Cornelia’s room being cracked open just enough to peer inside. Looking left and looking right, she peeks in, and slowly takes a step past the threshold to the detective’s room.

It smelled like her, and felt like her. The bed was the same size as Vivienne’s, although it wasn’t a canopy, and just had black sheets. The whole room was monochrome, the only colors the vast expanse of books on the shelves and an envelope sitting on her desk.

Vivienne picks it up; she recognizes the seal.

And she recognizes the sender’s name.

Just as she’s about to consider opening the letter, a loud crash from downstairs makes her yelp and quickly flee Cornelia’s room, quietly closing the door behind her. Vivienne’s heart thunders in her chest as she strains her ears for the source of the noise; silence acts as barbed wire around her anxiety. After debating with herself, she makes up her mind and unties the choker’s bow around her neck.

She wraps her hand around her own neck and squeezes, just enough pressure to detach her head from her body. Her body steps back. She keeps it hovering by the top of the stairs as she floats her head down, peering all around the not-so-empty first floor. She doesn’t see anyone yet, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there.

Ectoplasm trails behind her as she stills in front of the bathroom door left ajar. She holds her breath as she stares in, and what she sees is horrifying enough to leave her biting down on her tongue to stifle a scream.

Moss green, scaled flesh; webbed hands and feet, flesh emanating the scent of a flowing river with streaks of blood from dead fish and hungry bears. It was humanoid, but clearly not, with the large shell on its back bearing quite a few scars, revealing shamelessly its history—but what frightened Vivienne the most was the creature’s beak, like a turtle’s, sharp and pointed at the tip of it.

The creature’s wide eyes look up from the flowing sink water rushing atop its hands, the presence behind it almost tangible on its reptilian skin. It turns its head, and through the doorway sees Vivienne’s decapitated head floating in place, the look of fear on both of their faces identical as the two of them scream in sync at the sight of the other.

“Why don’t you have a head?!” The creature screams, frantic as it pulls its dripping hands close to the shell of its chest.

“What’s a kappa doing in our bathroom?!” Vivienne replies.

“Washing my hands! What’s a nukekubi doing in a place like this?!”

“I live here!!”

The door opens and shuts as Cornelia says, interrupting them both, as she steps beside Vivienne’s head. “What the hell are you even doing?”

Vivienne’s body steps down the stairs, holding the choker in her hand. Cornelia sighs and motions her body closer, helping her assistant put her head back on. Vivienne pouts, “It’s good to ward off intruders.”

Cornelia latches the choker and ties the ribbon into a bow as she sighs, “And clients. Speaking of,” She gestures to the kappa still in the bathroom. “This is our new client.”

“Huh,” Vivienne says, examining it with interest now that their fear had in tandem subsided. “I’ve never met a kappa before.”

The kappa studies her with equal interest, “And I’ve never met a nukekubi before, either.”

They stare into each other’s eyes as Cornelia stands between them and stares up at the ceiling while she muses to herself; she thinks of the odd friendship blooming in front of her eyes. It made very little sense, but she supposes that it doesn’t matter. “In any case, you might’ve noticed, but our client does have a very urgent problem.”

“I haven’t noticed anyth—” Vivienne stops short, her eyes going wide as she steps closer to their client, examining its water basin with a growing worried expression. “It’s cracked. That’s really bad, isn’t it?”

“The detective here said she could fix it,” The kappa explains, motioning towards Cornelia, who nods.

“And soon!” Vivienne says, gingerly examining the wound. “Can’t you die from that? Are you in any pain? It certainly doesn’t look good…”

Cornelia shoots her a look, “Vivienne…”

“No, it’s alright,” The kappa says, “She’s right. If this doesn’t get fixed soon, I might die. It’s not like denial will get me anywhere.”

“That’s the spirit!” Vivienne replies, enthusiastically punching her fist up in the air.

“It’s a spirit, alright,” Cornelia mutters to herself as she shakes her head. “I was doing some research to figure out what the best method for repairing the basin might be. Since it’s comparable to a human skull, I think our best chances would be to use something called bone cement; polymethylmethacrylate. It’s used in cranioplasties and other types of surgical fixes.”

“What, like brain surgery?” Vivienne asks, not hiding her surprise. Cornelia can’t help but feel a little proud of her vast amount of knowledge.

“The very same.”

Vivienne tries not to look doubtful and fails, “Don’t you need, um, you know… like, a medical license to do something like that?”

“Oh, do you plan to report me to the yokai health department?” Cornelia asks, fiendishly as Vivienne fills her cheeks with air and sticks her tongue out. “Charon left a lot of medical and research textbooks behind for me, just in case.”

“Were they a doctor?” The kappa asks, making the grave mistake of being hopeful.

Cornelia coughs, “They… changed paths and decided to become an exorcist, instead.”

“They quit because it was too hard, didn’t they.” Vivienne asks, deadpan.

“No,” Cornelia insists, quick to jump to their defense, “That’s not why. They said that in terms of serving humanity, healing has a much lower tolerance for failure, so they… decided to… pursue…” She trails off.

“So…” The kappa starts, “They quit because it was too hard…”

“In any case,” Cornelia says, “While I get the polymethylmethacrylate ready, Vivienne, will you…” She trails off, eyebrows furrowing as if she hadn’t decided the end of her sentence when she’d started it.

Vivienne salutes, “Kill time until then? Got it!” She turns back to their client, “Not to brag, or anything, but I’m really good at doing that.”

Although Cornelia isn’t entirely sure how she’s meant to respond to that, she simply nods, and says, “Thank you, Vivienne.”

Vivienne doesn’t budge, a smile still resting on her lips. She extends her hand. Cornelia sighs, stares at the ceiling, reaches into her pocket and plucks a few bills from her wallet to hand to Vivienne. “Please be careful.”

She looks excitedly over at their client, “We’re going to hit the town.”

As they walk down the streets, the kappa leans over to look at Vivienne, walking with a pep in her step. It asks, voice quiet as it looks around at all of the people around them, “Is this really okay?”

“Unless you aren’t feeling well and want to go back,” Vivienne says, “It’s long before Twilight Hour, so they won’t be able to notice you. They’d fall over if you pushed them, so don’t do that.” Her eyes whisper uncertainty, "Will you be okay with your water basin cracked?”

“As long as it doesn’t break and spill more than this.”

“So no roller coasters. Got it.” She taps her finger against her chin, “There’s a bathtub upstairs, but Cornelia doesn’t let any clients upstairs. She’s got a lot of opinions on ‘work life balance’ for someone who insists we stay open twenty-four hours a day,” Vivienne waves her hand, “But that doesn’t mean we can’t get creative. It’s no river, but a miniature swimming pool has got to be worth something, right?”

“Oh…!” The kappa says, fervently nodding its head, careful to not spill anymore in its basin than it had already lost, “That’s a good idea. I’ve never thought of that,”

Vivienne clenches her fists, enthusiastic as she bounces down the street. As they pass shops and storefronts, food trucks and stalls, Vivienne pauses in the center of the sidewalk they’re headed down and looks all around her. “Something smells good.”

The two of them follow the scent, and eventually stop in front of a small food truck, with a few people behind the window a man was sitting in. He waves at Vivienne when she approaches. “The menu’s right above you there. Let me know if you need help with anything, or have any questions.”

“Thank you!” Vivienne chirps, as she peruses the menu from a distance far enough they can quietly speak to one another without being heard. “What kind of things can you eat, anyways? I can really only eat human food during the day, but I can manage at night sometimes if I force it, or if I’m really hungry.”

“Well, as far as human foods,” It counts on its webbed fingers, bending them at the first joint, “Cucumber, eggplant, soba, pumpkin…” It shrugs. “A lot of the folks from these rivers like natto, but I can’t stand it.”

“Me either!” Vivienne says, with a gasp. “Neil likes it, but I really think she’s lying; every single time she eats it, she insists it’s good for you, whatever, but I’ve never once heard her say she’s eating it because it tastes good.”

“It tastes like some other things I eat,” the kappa jokes. It turns to see Vivienne’s expression; she isn’t making one. She turns her face away with a laugh.

“Well, that happens, but this stand does have something you can eat, so let’s get some. I don’t know what I want to eat, though… meat sounds pretty nice. Well, it’s all on Cornelia, anyways.”

The kappa watches as she casually orders. It steps by her side and speaks when the man at the window steps away for a moment, “How can they see you?”

Vivienne replies in a low voice only it can hear, “I never died in the typical way. My body’s still that of a human’s.” She adds, as an afterthought, “For the most part.”

“You don’t hate humans?” It asks.

Vivienne steps up to the window again to take their order. The yokai can’t see the face she’s making from this angle, but listens carefully for when she says, “A manageable amount. Thank you, it looks delicious!” She passes the take out container to it and opens her own. They eat as they walk. “What about you? Actually, this seems like a good time to ask. What happened to your basin to make it break?”

“I don’t hate humans,” The kappa starts, “But I don’t particularly like them, either. I know other kappa who do, or at least who feel inclined to hassle humans at every possible opportunity. And, of course, I know some others who found ones to pledge their loyalty too. It seems like a dime a dozen, if you ask me, when it comes to humans.” It punctates its words with a loud crunch of the cucumber salad Vivienne had ordered for it. “As for what happened…

“A cat came out from the dark, near where the river I’m from. It attacked me.”

“It attacked you?” Vivienne asks, her voice colored with disbelief, she frowns, “Are you sure it wasn’t just scared?”

“I’m starting to think that has to be the case. It might’ve heard my splashing and had no idea what it was. I’ve always had trouble with animals that were on the spiritually sensitive side…”

“I know what you mean,” Vivienne sympathizes as she bites off a chunk of the barely cooked steak skewer she’s gnawing at, “Most dogs can’t stand being around me, or even worse, they try and use my limbs as some sort of battery powered chew toy! And it’s such a pain getting my limbs back afterwards, because then I have to wait for them to heal…”

“They probably like it more because it’s organic.”

Vivienne nods, “But they cower in fear when Cornelia’s around, so I haven’t had that problem in a while.”

“I wish I could talk to animals. It feels like this whole thing could’ve been avoided otherwise.” It polishes off the rest of the cucumbers. Vivienne claps a loose wrist onto its shoulder.

“It can’t be helped, right? Let’s get going and try to find the pool. Cornelia’s probably going to yell at us if we show up after she’s finished with her preparations.”

“She’s quite the interesting character,” The kappa says as they continue to walk, “Although less strange than the other person I met last night.”

“Who?” Vivienne asks.

“I think Detective Mori called it the Undertaker. It found me while on a walk. It was far from my understanding to riddle out what it might be. For a moment, I almost thought it was human.”

She shrugs, “I don’t know. The last time I asked Cornelia about it, she dodged the question. Maybe she didn’t know either?”

The odd pair continue on their merry way, unfettered by the many eyes on Vivienne, a certainly not short woman in seasonally inappropriate heels and a white gown walking proudly through the streets. They stop in front of a pet store, and the kappa stills in the entryway, eyes going wide with shock and betrayal as it looks at Vivienne.

“What?” She asks, “It’s not like we’re going to sell you to the pet store. I remember, last time we came here to look at the hamsters, there was one of those inflatable dog pools in the corner somewhere. And it’s out of season, so maybe we’ll get it on sale!” She rubs her hands together, nefarious.

The kappa enters the automatic doors, wordlessly threatening to leave Vivienne outside. With a yelp, she follows it in. The pair glance around and then back at each other. They both shrug, and Vivienne squints with her hand over her forehead like a visor, “Well, let’s keep an eye out on it. It’s one of those things that’s just shoved in a corner somewhere.”

“How common is that?” It asks.

“Excitedly more than you’re expecting.” Vivienne leads them both through the store, curiously wandering down aisles to peer in at the cages and badly kept-fish; the kappa clicks its beak, a sharp clink that rattled the glass. “That bad, huh?”

“Bad doesn’t even begin to explain it,” The kappa says with a sigh as they step out of the fish semi-rectangle and down an aisle they’ve gone through four times. It looks over at Vivienne, wide obsidian eyes like marbles staring owlishly at her, “Should we check again?”

“Maybe we should dig through the clearance aisle again. They could’ve put it in there by now,” Vivienne mumbles, peering at the shelves again. A blonde woman with equally tanned as sunburned skin passes down their aisle. She picks through a row of refrigerated dog food when Vivienne catches her eye, “Oh! Um, hi.” She giggles.

“Are you looking for something?” The woman asks. Her voice is as sweet as her face is; it has a distinct domestic corner to it, the kind of kindness that feels like freshly baked cookies. She smiles.

“Oh, um… do you know where to find those dog pools? Like the inflatable ones you can keep in your backyard?” Vivienne asks. The woman hums and leads them down to the dog beds and bends down to rifle through them with a thoughtful expression on her head. After a few moments and the crinkle of cardboard, she pulls out an inflatable pool with a damaged cardboard box, and a sale tag atop it. Vivienne beams, “This is perfect! Thank you!”

“Of course,” The woman nods, “Ah…” She glances towards another aisle and motions at them to stay where they are, and quickly returns with a reptile skin oil. “This might do you some good, too.”

Try as they might, Vivienne and the kappa miss the incredibly obvious, Vivienne chirping a thank you as they make their way to the register to pay for their things, and then with haste back to the Twilight Detective Agency.

“The chemical reaction starts as the two components meet, you know,” Cornelia says, as they walk in the door. “It’s good I figured you’d take a while, or else I would’ve just wasted—Vivienne, what is that?”

“A dog pool,” She answers. “I figured, it isn’t going to use our bath, and I’m sure it’ll be easier to do the cranioplastic like this!”

“Cranioplasty,” Cornelia corrects, unable to help herself. She glances at what their client’s holding in its webbed hands, “And what’s that?”

“Oh, it was a recommendation from a woman at the pet store!”

Cornelia face twitches. She sets down the spatula in her hand, and says, voice measured and slow, “And she suggested it because…?” She lets them finish the sentence, arms crossed over her chest as she waits for them to catch up.

“I suppose because it’d feel nice?” The kappa guesses. It seems to look forward to it, a small smile lurking on its beak. Cornelia sighs.

“A passerby in the pet store said to you,” She gestures at Vivienne, “Said that you,” she motions towards the client, “Might need oil for your skin. Please tell me you see the problem there.”

The two of them stare at Cornelia, back to each other, and then Cornelia again. Vivienne tilts her head as she asks, “What’s the matter, detec—” she trails off, her hand rising to her mouth as she gasps, and then giggles; an attempt at faux innocence. “Um… oops?”

Cornelia buries her head in her hands. “You said you met this woman in the pet store? Was there anything noteworthy about her?”

“Is it something we should be worrying about?” Vivienne asks. Cornelia shakes her head.

“Probably not. But it would be a good idea to keep track of who can and can’t see spirits, so I’d like more details on her whenever you remember them.”

“Roger that!” Vivienne says, as she artfully changes the subject. “In any case, we shouldn’t delay the treatment any longer! Our client here is so haggard, and it couldn’t possibly wait another second!”

Cornelia shakes her head, “You’re full of it…”

They set the pool outside, and Vivienne inflates it and fills it with water while Cornelia prepares the polymethylmethacrylate. She empties the contents of a tube-shaped liquid into a bowl, and quickly empties a packet of powder into it. She mixes it in quick, firm strokes as she draws the spatula in and out of it, scraping the remnants of powder into the liquid as they merge together, closely examining it before huffing out a sigh. She tests it with the tip of her gloved hand.

When the green cement doesn’t adhere to her glove, she nods and presses the tip of her finger in it again, to check. Vivienne helps their client get steady in the pool as Cornelia kneads the cement, folding a circle in half, kneading, and folding it again until it no longer sticks to itself, the cement instead pulling open.

She furrows her eyebrows as she begins to scrape it into the gap between the cracks of the kappa’s basin. She fills in each splinter and gently runs the side of her spatula against it to smooth it out, level it to the rest of the basin atop its head. “I’m going to shape it now. It only takes ten minutes to harden after it’s applied, so you won’t need to wait too long. How are you feeling right now?”

“I’m not sure, but I feel relaxed. It’s not the same sense of fear I felt before, the lingering knowledge that I was going to die.” Its eyes close, relaxed as Cornelia continues to work the cement into the cracks.

“That sounds like good news to me,” Cornelia says, with a smile. She finishes quickly, scraping the remains of the cement against the paint palette she was pulling it from. She taps it against the palette, and a metallic clink makes both the kappa and Vivienne gasp with glee at the sound. “I think we’re done. Why don’t you try standing and carefully—carefully—see if it’ll spill. If it doesn’t, we can consider the procedure a success. Don’t go doing anything reckless, though. I’ll fix it if it happens again, but if it’s just a few days from now I’ll—”

“Wow,” The kappa breathes out as it stands, tilting its head to the side as a smile blooms on its beak. “Thank you,” It says, turning towards Cornelia as tears well in its eyes. “You saved my life. Thank you.” It bows, as low as it can, without disturbing the newly repaired basin on its head.

Their client’s goodbye is tearful as it walks out into the sentence, waving frantically at a sniffling Vivienne. The kappa calls out, “I’ll see you again someday! Thank you for saving my life!”

“Come on, Vi,” Cornelia says, taking Vivienne by the arm, “Let’s go back inside.”

Cornelia stirs to the sound of commotion outside. She sits up with her eyes closed and wanders to the kitchen window, curious as to what might be making such noise. She finds her answer when she finally opens her eyes to see Vivienne and their client from yesterday playing in the inflatable pool. It’s full of water and sliced cucumbers.

Vivienne detaches her arm to gain advantage in their apparent water gun fight; she raises it well above the kappa’s reach and squirts it with water while giggling devilishly. Their once-client protests, clumsily clutching the water gun between its webbed fingers, “Mistress! That’s cheating!”

She throws her head back in laughter, “It’s my biological advantage!” As she’s about to fire another round of water at the kappa, her head turns and catches Cornelia’s eye. “Hi, Cornelia! Good morning.”

The kappa gives her an enthusiastic wave, water splashing a spluttering Vivienne as it does, “Good morning, master!”

Cornelia snorts, and although it can’t hear her, says, “Master, huh? I don’t think I deserve that loyalty just yet.” But she gives them a small, sleepy wave and shortly thereafter joins them outside, insisting that she’s just checking on how the bone cement settled.

And if they don’t believe her, well, they don’t say a word about it.

A blonde haired woman motions a stray cat closer as she softly clicks her tongue, shaking a bag of treats in her left hand, “Here, kitty-kitty… are you hungry? I’ve got some treaties for you—ah!” She flinches back when the cat kisses and lunges at her, just barely grazing her cheek. The front door swings open, and a man strides out to stand by the woman’s side.

“Are you alright, love? What happened?”

“I don’t know,” She says, looking back in the direction the cat fled in. She sadly shakes her head. “It must’ve been frightened. No cats should be outdoors,and especially not in this season. It’s only getting colder and colder, isn’t it… poor things.”

Although she doesn’t see it, the man narrows his eyes as he scrutinizes her. The color of her eyes, the shape of her ears; her pink lips and white teeth. Her hair was soft, and her eyes were warm, but…

“Come on. Let’s get back inside. It is getting cold.” He gently entwines their hands together and pulls her back inside to their warm home.

A cat pitters down the street, tail perked all the way up as it scales the side of a fence to walk atop. The setting sun cast the orange cat’s rays scattering across the expanse of trees nearby them; when the moon swallows the daylight, the cat slinks into the shadows and emerges no longer ochre but obsidian, a tremendously poofy tail flicking triumphantly behind it as it disappears into the night like any other cat.

About | Cast and Clientele | Schedule

Twilight Hour 04:00 is currently available on Patreon.

#yokai #japanese mythology #doomed yuri #new series #artists on tumblr #Chapter Update #(Do you see what I mean by the background?)

33 notes · View notes