#let him rest after you escape prison

[vampireonastick]

Made another phone background from the new chapter, except this time it’s a series of Sigma’s reactions to the constant bullshit happening around him

Stay strong king, you’ll get outta this alive. I’ll save you myself if I have to

[pathologicalreid]

come a little closer | s.r.

in which you and Spencer have sex for the first time since his release from prison, and more importantly, since Cat told him what happened in Mexico

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: mentions sexual assault, spoilers for season 12 of cm, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, crying during sex, cockwarming, explicit consent, not really softdom but reader has spencer take the lead, read with care word count: 2.65k a/n: this bad boy has been in the works for MONTHS. please tell me if you like it i'm so desperate for affirmation. (also this is the last kinktober post of margotober)

His hands on your waist were becoming firmer in their placement as Spencer continued pressing his lips to yours, expertly slipping his tongue into your mouth as he managed to take your breath away.

This could be as far as you went, and you would be content with that. After prison, after Mexico, you were grateful that he let you in at all. You were sleeping in the same bed at night, he was home for the month, teaching forensic psychology at a private university in the district. “Are you okay?” You whispered against his lips.

You were sat on the edge of the bed, and he was standing between your legs. “Yes,” he responded, continuing his motions.

In the past few weeks, you have found yourself in this situation three times. The first two times he had called it off, being too overwhelmed by fractured memories of his time in Mexico. The last time, you asked him to stop when you got stuck in your head, too anxious to remember that you were supposed to be enjoying it.

Today, you were tired. Too tired to think about anything other than the feeling of his lips on yours. You couldn’t control the whimper that escaped your throat as he gently tugged at your bottom lip with his teeth.

He pulled away slightly, eyes studying your face quickly before he asked, “That was good right? The noise?”

Your chest ached at the recognition that he had been left with so much self-doubt that he didn’t even know if what he was doing was right. Nodding confidently, you peered up at him through your eyelashes, “Yeah, that was good. I liked that,” you assured him.

It felt like the first time. As if you hadn’t had sex together multiple times and spent the past several years learning what the other liked. “What do you want me to do?”

“Take the lead,” you implored, looking at him. You couldn’t tell him what to do, at the very core of your actions, this was about him. This was about what he needed to do. You could always tell him to stop, but if he asked you to change something, you’d move heaven and earth to make him comfortable.

You just wanted to make him feel comfortable. The way you could feel his heart pounding in his chest, made you wonder if he was going to call it off. You had to bite your tongue from asking if he was alright, you needed to trust that he would tell you if anything was wrong.

Surprising you, he deftly slipped his hands beneath your t-shirt, pulling the soft fabric off of your torso in one quick movement. He used the pads of his fingers to lightly skim your bare body, causing goosebumps to spread across your skin. You kept yourself quiet, looking up at him as he studied you with wonder in his gaze, “You’re so pretty.”

If you hadn’t been hyper-aware of your surroundings, you might’ve missed the compliment. “I love you,” you breathed, chest tightening in a nauseating mixture of adoration and nervousness.

“I love you too,” he responded easily to you, his large hand placed firmly on your ribcage while his other planted itself on the mattress, maintaining his balance as his head craned forward to kiss you.

Your hand shook as you thumbed the hem of his shirt, moving your lips against his as you waited for him to cue you. The catch there was Spencer could spend hours kissing you without needing anything more. Your other hand rested softly on his collarbone, a non-sensual location where you were still touching him, but it wasn’t an intimate touch, at least, not in a sexual sense. It was an intimate touch in the sense that you were using the soft pressure of your palm to reassure him that you were here.

Spencer’s hand on your side gently pushed your back down to the mattress, once the fabric of the sheets was touching your skin, you eyed him curiously as he took his shirt off of his own volition. Better food and a considerably less stressful living situation had brought him back to life, and the haunted look that he came home to you with had faded over the months.

He stepped back from the mattress, and before you could figure out what he was doing, he took your thighs in his hands and moved you so your body was entirely on the bed, and you thought that the laugh that came from you as he moved you would be the end. Clamping your hand over your mouth, you looked up at him with wide eyes. “I’m sorry,” you whispered to him, mortified.

Shaking his head, Spencer smiled and climbed up on the bed with you, “No,” he breathed, hovering over you, “Do it again.”

This time a nervous laugh bubbled through your throat, “What?”

He dropped a soft kiss to your lips before pushing himself back up on his arms, “I just want this to feel normal. It’s sex, there’s no need to be so procedural about it.”

You stared up at him while nodding, “Okay,” you affirmed, reaching a hand up and fiddling with the hair at the nape of his neck. There was no procedure available to you. There was no pamphlet that could readily guide you on being intimate with your formerly imprisoned boyfriend after a serial killer let him know that she had arranged his sexual assault in a foreign country.

The best thing you could think to do was let him take the lead. He was the one who had initiated this, and you were more than willing to follow.

Spencer deftly pulled your underwear and shorts down together, guiding your legs out of the extraneous fabric before he paused. His arm looped around your leg, effectively hugging your calf as he rested his chin on your knee, heady eyes looking at you before he spoke, “Oh, angel,” he murmured, “My memory never does you justice.”

Your stomach flipped at his words, your hips adjusting on the sheets as he detached himself from your leg and returned to his station above you, this time with you fully nude beneath him. “Then it’s a good thing I’m right here,” you murmured, giving him a slice of comfort with a double meaning.

His hand skimmed down your chest, resting his palm on your lower belly before he looked back up at you, brown eyes meeting yours, “May I touch you?”

Breathlessly, you nodded, “Yes,” you told him, verbalizing your answer. Reinforcing your response as his hand slid further down, cupping your heat with his hand, his index finger slipping between your folds.

He didn’t break eye contact with you as he gently rubbed you, his unpracticed hand quickly gaining confidence as your lips parted and your breath quickened. You hadn’t considered how quickly your orgasm would build up, but for as long as it’s been for him, it’s also been for you.

His finger slid into you slowly, his eyes watching you carefully with every slight movement, and a soft moan escaped from your throat at the sensation of his finger knuckle deep in you, feeling miles further than your own fingers could ever reach. Lifting your head up, you brought your mouth to his, moving your lips slowly against his, moaning into his mouth as he withdrew his finger, slipping it back in with ease. There were no words that you could find that would accurately explain the amalgamation of emotions that were rushing through you right now, but the way you were kissing Spencer portrayed them perfectly.

Spencer hummed against your lips, delicately adding a second finger to his ministrations, the stretch of your pussy around his hand causing your back to lift off the bed. He started thrusting his fingers in and out of you, a gentle but firm pace that took away your ability to focus on kissing him, letting your head drop to the pillows.

“Oh, Spencer,” you breathed, the knot building in your lower belly causing your head to spin. “Spence,” you panted his name, “You’re gonna— ah.” You screwed your eyes shut for just a moment before opening them again, meeting his as you whispered, “Please, please, please.”

Your incessant begging only came to an end when your orgasm finally took you under the influence of dopamine, walls clenching around his fingers as he worked you through the waves of pleasure coursing through you. “You’re so pretty,” Spencer mused, his words taking you slightly by surprise as his hand withdrew from your cunt.

You sighed dazedly up at him, reaching up a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, “I love you,” you whispered, looking up at him with wonder in your eyes.

The lopsided smile he gave you was all you needed to know that all was well, and the kiss that he dropped on your lips elicited the same feeling. “I love you too,” he muttered against your lips, keeping himself propped above you.

Parting your lips with curiosity, you struggled to find the words to ask him. “I want… Can we…” you tried, but everything fell short as your eyes searched his desperately.

Spencer took his lower lip between his teeth, and you knew that if he called it off, you would be more than happy with the progress that you’d made. You’re surprised when he responds, “I need you to say it. I need you to ask.”

“Would you like to have sex with me?” You asked him, there was a tentative note in your voice that seemed to bring him comfort. A sort of cumulative blanket of uncertainty over the moment that you were sharing.

Spencer nodded in response “Yes,” he said, giving you a verbal answer.” He didn’t take another moment to think about it before he moved off of the bed, your eyes followed him curiously as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and underwear, dropping them both to the floor in one fell swoop. “Yes,” he repeated.

With every ounce of self-control in you failing, you eyed his cock. Standing at attention, the tip was leaking pre-cum and he looked almost painfully hard, your lips gaped at the sight, “Oh.”

Finding his way back to the bed, he held himself above you, not touching you at all as his head tilted to the side, “Are you sure this is what you want?”

“Yeah, I am,” you looked up at him. “It’s just been a while,” you breathed, letting your nerves show through in the hopes that it would ease both of your minds.

He smiled softly at you, understanding clear in his expression, “We’ll go slow, okay?”

His use of the word we made your chest tighten, a recognition of your nerves as much as his. “Okay,” you breathed, opening your legs slightly wider for him and placing your hands on either one of his shoulders.

Biting on your lower lip, your eyes flittered down to where his hand was positioning his cock at your entrance, the soft skin of his tip swiping over your clit as he found his mark, pushing just the tip inside, and giving the both of you the time you needed to adjust. You moved your gaze back up to his face, studying him intently as you did so. As sure as he seemed, you wouldn’t put it past him to push through something if that’s what he thought you wanted.

“Take your time,” you whispered, trying to reassure him without it being overbearing, your breathing hitched when he pushed in more. Somehow, at only about half of his length, he felt impossibly deep in you.

Making eye contact again, Spencer watched your expression, “I’ve got you,” he said, dropping soft kisses to your lips, one after the other.

You nodded, keeping your eyes on his to the best of your ability, “I’m okay, we’re okay.”

Your words gave him the confidence to push into you, fully sheathing himself inside of you, and breaking eye contact. His head dropped into the crook of your neck, groaning against the soft skin as you tried to adjust yourself with the sheer amount of pressure between your legs.

Taking a deep breath, you froze at the realization that tears were falling onto your skin, the nearly inaudible drip of them on your neck and the pillow behind you spreading an icy feeling through your veins. “Spence,” you whispered, combing your fingers through his hair while you felt his dick twitch inside of you.

He didn’t respond, not verbally at least, producing a low hum.

“How are you doing?” You asked him softly, trying to stop your walls from clenching around him while he was clearly having a moment. “We can stop if you need to,” you murmured, continuing to play with his hair.

Slowly, he pushed himself up on shaky arms and kissed you, tasting of salty tears and bitter coffee. As his lips coaxed yours open, he moved his hips, gently filling you as he did so.

Tears pricked at your own eyes as you realized that he was being as gentle with you as you were with him. It had been six months since you last opened up to each other like this.

“I missed you,” he muttered, pulling his head back so that he could watch where your bodies were joined, his shaft covered in your slick as he thrust in and out.

You already knew that he’d missed you while he was away, but he specifically missed this. The feeling of baring your soul to another person, and this time around it all felt that much rawer. It broke your heart while simultaneously putting it back together. “I missed you too,” you whimpered, forcing the words out while he found a steady rhythm.

His thrusts were still slow, but they were hard, pushing himself as deeply into your cunt as he could go. “You’re so good for me,” he said, grunting as he kept moving, “Fuck it’s— Can I cum in you?”

Nodding frantically, you met his eyes again. “Yeah,” you breathed, a sharp moan torn from your throat as he moved up, changing the angle ever so slightly as he continued fucking into you. “Oh,” you gasped, as your eyes rolled back at the sensation of him spilling himself into you, his sloppy thrusts sending you over that same edge.

You couldn’t make sense of whatever he was mumbling while his hips stuttered to a stop, leaving himself firmly planted inside of you. He rested his head on your shoulder, his body lying on top of yours.

Once you remembered how to breathe, your hands made their way back to his head, fingers combing through his hair. “Are you alright?” You asked him, seeking out a final confirmation that he was, in fact, okay.

He hummed in response, “I’m great,” he said, “I’m really really… in love with you.”

Startled, a light giggle escaped your lips, “I’m really really in love with you too,” you responded, mimicking his intonation.

“You’re so perfect for me,” he murmured, coveting you in a way that made you feel like the luckiest girl in the world. As far as you were concerned, you were the luckiest girl in the world.

Sighing, one of your hands fell to his arm and you closed your eyes, ready to fall asleep like this, with him still tucked into you.

Your other hand remained up, playing with his hair, “You’re gonna make me sleep,” he said, a half-complaint, really.

“That’s okay,” you whispered, knowing that eventually someone would get up and turn off the lights, but right now, you’d rather stay with him. Right now, that was the only thing that mattered to you.

[rafey-baby]

sweet treat 2

In which sexy construction worker!rafe who spends his days lifting heavy stuff and building shit (his words) and driving shy!reader home shows up on her doorstep in the middle of the night...

Hi! this is a part two to this (also this whole story was originally supposed to be just a small blurb consisting of a few silly sentences but then I got a bit carried away :D) anyways hope you enjoy xx

part 3 part 4 part 5

cw: construction worker!rafe being a tease, slight somnophilia, smut (dry humping, dirty talk, p-in-v, unprotected sex)

wc: 2.7k

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It’s past midnight when her doorbell rings, making her brows furrow. She throws the fluffy covers away, immediately yearning for the warmth of them as she pads her bare feet along the chilly hardwood floors of her apartment.  

No one has ever been at her door this late, which makes her hesitate. Maybe it’s just her neighbor asking for sugar, she tries to reason, as if the retired elderly lady living next door would even be up this late. For all she knows, it could be a criminal who’s escaped prison, holding a bloody knife at her. 

Curiosity ends up getting the best of her (as always) and she finally opens the door, albeit gingerly, mentally preparing to face a serial killer. However, all her worries wash away like pollen under rain when she realizes it’s Rafe standing tall before her. 

“Oh, hi. What are you— what are you doing here?” A surprised look paints over her visage.  

“You forgot this in my car, thought you might need it back,” he’s grinning, holding out a phone to her, pale yellow case making her realize it’s her phone. She almost doesn’t recognize it, since it appears so tiny in his massive paw, almost like a miniature version of the device she’s grown accustomed to.  

“Oh my god, I was looking everywhere for it, thought I was gonna have to buy a new one,” she takes it from him, a grateful smile etching her features.  

“Yeah, couldn’t exactly call you,” he shakes his head at his terrible attempt at a joke. 

A delighted giggle escapes her throat, nonetheless, eyes crinkling and teeth poking out; forcing the corners of his mouth to lift up as well as he finally takes in her appearance.  

A worn-out t shirt a few sizes too big and…well, that’s it. She’s not wearing anything else. He’s trying not to stare at her plush thighs, or the way the hem of the shirt slightly climbs up, revealing even more skin as she rakes a hand through a messy head of hair, swallowing nervously under his attention.  

Unfortunately for the both of them, he never actually ended up fucking her when she came over to his place last week and had him cook for her. He just felt so bad about initiating something like that when she kept yawning through forkfuls of pasta, eyes barely staying open as she complained about her limbs aching and how she was so exhausted she could sleep for a week after the particularly long shift she’d just had.  

Which is why he simply drove her home after their late-night dinner and wished her a good night with a heavy hand on her shoulder, thumb smoothing over the material of her shirt, letting her rest in tranquility. Telling himself he could be patient with her, not wanting to rush anything.  

However, she’s not making it very easy for him right now when there’s only one piece of clothing covering her. She looks so sleepy and pretty he has half the mind to pick her up in his arms and slump down on her bed, crawling under crisp sheets and feel how her lungs expand against his chest.  

“Sorry, did I wake you?” He carefully asks, suddenly worried he’s disturbed her serene slumber.  

“No, no. I mean, I was in bed but couldn’t really sleep so…” she trails off, desperately trying to come up with something to make him stay a bit longer, not wanting him to go yet; finding immense comfort in his assured presence.  

“Um, do you— do you want to come in? I could make you some tea or something?” She clumsily offers.  

His brows raise, surprised at her proposition. She’s being uncharacteristically bold; his mouth twists into an amused simper. 

“Actually, forget I said anything, you’re probably really tired and just wanna go home, sorry, I don’t know why I even—” she scrambles to correct herself, and now that sounds more like the girl Rafe’s grown familiar with.  

“Don’t be stupid, of course I’ll come in,” he cuts her off, stepping past the threshold, taking a look around her cozy home. Leafy plants adding greenery to the small space and picturesque paintings fixed on the cream-colored walls. It’s cute, he thinks.  

She sets a steaming mug in front of him on her kitchen table and sits down next to him on a wooden chair. He’s definitely not staring at the way the bottom of her shirt rides up the tops of her thighs, allowing for the flimsy material of her panties to peek out. He clears his throat.  

“You often have trouble sleeping?” He tries to focus on something else, anything else, taking a slow sip of the searing liquid; nearly burning his tongue in the process.  

“Yeah, sometimes. It’s just sometimes it’s hard to shut my brain off after spending all day at the cafe. I try to fall asleep but the loud noises of the customers talking and the clinking of plates and spoons keep replaying in my head and suddenly I’m wide awake, you know?” She explains.  

“I’m sorry, is there anything that helps?” He prods.  

“I don’t know, I guess just trying to think of something else or talking with someone else,” she mumbles out. 

“Oh, so what you’re saying is that you’re just using me in order to fall asleep?” He teases, grinning when he manages to drag out yet another giggle from her mouth.  

“Yeah, I suppose I am,” her eyes glimmer like little stars when she looks at him.  

“Should I feel offended right now?” He jokingly scoffs.  

“No, you should feel flattered, I don’t invite just anyone into my home at almost 1 am, just so you know.” 

And he thinks he likes this side of her, all playful and sleepy, she’s a lot less reserved than her usual fully rested and overly conscious self would be, more carefree. Maybe that’s the reason he lets the next words escape the gaps of his teeth.  

“You into cuddling?” He asks, profound aquamarine locking with her rounded eyes.  

“Uh— I mean, I probably would be if I had someone to cuddle with, but I don’t so…” she drifts off, not sure how to respond. 

“Wanna cuddle with me?” He says it so nonchalantly, and she doesn’t understand how he’s so indifferent to this whole situation while she feels dizzy, dazed mind reeling and vivid heart tingling in her ribcage. 

“Really? You want to? But wouldn’t it be weird?” She seems taken aback by his proposal. 

“Why the fuck would it be weird? I mean, we’re friends, right?” His brows crease. 

“Yes, of course we are, I just—” 

“Look, all I’m saying, is that it might help you sleep, yeah? Having something else to focus on and shit,” he reasons, making her realize she’s totally overthinking this; he’s simply trying to help.  

“You’re right, yeah, we should do that then,” she agrees and swiftly gets up on wobbly feet, almost falling face first on the ground, if not for his strong grip on her waist steadying her, grounding her, drawing a faint gasp from the back of her throat at his sudden proximity.  

“Easy there, Sweetheart,” he chuckles against her hair, finding her eagerness to get into bed with him amusing.  

“Sorry,” she mumbles, a raspberry hue dusting over her cheeks.  

And that’s how they end up tangled in each other under her soft sheets, his beefy arms wrapped tightly around her middle, caging her in with gentle fingertips toying with the hem of her shirt. His sturdy chest rises and falls against her back in tandem with his steady breaths, pacifying her; coaxing her heavy lids to flutter closed.  

He’s so warm and big making her feel so secure and safe she thinks she wouldn’t mind doing this again.  

“You good?” He murmurs next to her ear.  

“Mhm,” she blissfully croons, letting out a content exhale.  

Her mind begins to topple over the edge of reality, plummeting into oblivion; a far away dreamland where everything is upside down and the ether is evermore the shade of fluffy cotton candy and the sand consists of stardust and ecstasy.  

“Sweet dreams,” is the last thing her misty awareness grasps onto before she’s in the tender embrace of a crepuscular dormancy.  

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

She’s lethargic in her movements when she rouses from the abstruse blankness she seems to have lost herself in. Rafe’s heavy arm is draped over her waist, trapping her body into his and it’s murky in her unlit bedroom; the pale moonlight gleaming through the slots in her curtains the only beacon illuminating the space.  

The lines of her cerebrum are blurred and she’s not sure what has woken her up.  

Then she feels it; something poking her from behind, pressing against her ass. There’s a crinkle in her brow until her eyes widen in realization.  

He’s hard. Rafe is hard and she can practically feel the culprit of his excitement since he’s only wearing a pair of boxers, having complained about getting all too hot during the night to wear anything more. 

She swallows.  

What is she supposed to do? 

She shifts against him, trying to untangle her limbs from his. However, her attempt is proved fruitless when instead of unchaining her, he lets out a low groan, rumbling deep from his firm chest; grip tightening around her smaller form.  

“Rafe?” She calls out. 

No response.  

“Rafe? Wake up.”  

Still nothing. 

She can feel him breathing heavily against her hair; pawing at her hips every now and then, trying to pull her even closer, even if they’re already effectively glued together and there’s absolutely no means for her to move.  

She’s starting to become sticky between her thighs as he drags her against his cock again; seemingly stuck in a stupor.  

She mewls when her clit throbs, pestering for some sort of friction. And that’s when he finally stirs, the weight of his arms loosening like a tight knot unfurling and her lungs are finally able to greedily suck in brisk air.  

“Shit, sorry, my bad” his tone is gravelly and at that, some sort of birds begin flapping their wings in her tummy, jabbing at her insides. 

However, he doesn’t pull away like she half expects; her face heats up. 

“It’s uh— it’s okay. I mean…no worries,” she rambles because what the fuck is she supposed to say? 

“No, it’s fully my fault, just had quite a nice dream,” he admits, voice coarse. 

“Oh. What was it about?” She inquires, yawning, perhaps too curious for her own good.  

“You wanna know?” His brows raise, surprised. 

She hums.  

“Well, there was this really pretty girl, and she had me in her mouth and was letting me do whatever I wanted to her,” he murmurs with a heady tone overlaying his response.  

“Oh,” she tries to appear indifferent, although there’s a pitiful sprout of jealousy threatening to blossom from the damp soil in the pit of her stomach at his words.  

He chuckles at how oblivious she is. “You’re silly sometimes, you know?” He was practically dry-humping her just now, was he not? Why would he be dreaming about another girl when he’s got her right here with him? 

“What do you mean?” 

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, smiling to himself.  

“So, what else happened?”  

“What else? Okay, then she let me do this,” he says at the same time as he grabs her hips again, pushing against her, earning a faint whimper from her when she can feel how big he is through the thin fabric of her underwear. 

“Rafe…what are you doing?” She manages to ask through a whine; his blunt nails denting the exposed skin of her thighs.  

“Got no idea what you’re doing to me, do you?” He mutters, shallow. 

“I— what are you— what are you talking about?” Her brain is foggy and she’s not able to think straight when he’s so close.  

He doesn’t answer, instead continuing the retelling of his dream. “Then I grabbed her like this,” he lifts her on top of him in one smooth motion, as if she weighs nothing more than a piece of paper. Her inhale gets stuck somewhere along the way when he paws at her hips, shuffling her around until she’s straddling him, properly sitting on top of his cock and he lets out a heartfelt grunt when she moves her achy cunt over him.  

“You like this? Such a needy little thing, yeah?” He helps her find some relief by grappling at her hips; dragging her against his cock, filthy groans escaping his mouth when he feels her wetness saturating the two layers of cotton between them.  

“Rafe, can you…”  

“Can I what, hm? Play with you a little?” He says as he slips a hand in her panties, fingers petting at her puffy clit and a loud moan leaves her when she lifts the fabric of her shirt up in order to have a better view.  

“Didn’t know you were such a dirty girl. Getting real fucking wet from me just being close to you, yeah?” His thumb rubs lazy circles on her sensitive button, making her cry out his name as she presses down harder against his cock. 

“Shit, gonna come in my fucking pants if you keep doing that. You wanna know what else was in my dream?” 

She nods, frantic.  

“I pushed this little piece of fabric here to the side,” he says as he plucks at her underwear, doing just that. “And then, I did this,” he mutters as he takes himself out from the confines and her eyes round out as she looks down at it in his palm, mesmerized. He thuds the head of his cock on her clit, one, two, three times, and then smears it on her sticky folds, painting it up and down her soaked cunt.  

“Rafe…” she whines, desperate to feel him inside her. Unfortunately for her, he’s feeling a little mean, pressing just the tip inside her tight hole, slowly pushing in and out, turning her into a whimpering mess. The hydrangea blue of his eyes is locked down to where they connect, fascinated.  

“Fuck, Sweetheart, does that feel nice?” He asks, swiping a thumb over her swollen bud, tucking his cock in a little deeper, forcing a loud noise to leave her throat.  

“Feels so good, Rafe, I think I’m gonna…” she trails off, lids heavy as she stretches around him.  

“You’re gonna come already?” he chuckles, amusement coating his face, nudging his dick about halfway in and out, never fully plunging it inside of her though.  

“You feel so good, I can’t— can’t hold it,” water droplets are gathering in the corners of her eyes, catching to her lashes as teary eyes look into larimar and she rolls her hips against him, chasing after some sort of release. 

“Shit, go on then, let me feel you soak my cock, yeah?” He encourages her and she doesn’t need to be told twice; crying out and throbbing around him, hips stuttering as her cunt pulses and she’s unspooling on top of him. 

“There you go, just fucking give it to me,” he grunts and all of a sudden, he feels his own orgasm approaching; rolling down a hill like a landslide. She’s squeezing around him so tight, he can’t help but thrust his hips into her, a guttural moan leaving him when he stuffs his cock profoundly into her, to the hilt.  

He stills inside her and then he’s groaning out when his cum gushes out from his drippy tip, coating her gummy walls in white, filling her to the brim; making her feel so full. She thinks she could die happy right now.  

There’s so much of it, to the point where the sticky substance begins to seep out from where they’re connected as they both pant, trying to even out their breathing.  

She turns into something mellow in his arms, slumping down against him, burying her face in his neck as he draws sluggish circles on her back, calming her down with tender words spoken in gentle murmurs.  

“Did so good for me, shit, we should do this more often, yeah?” He says with a sleepy tinge.   

And she’s completely out of it, head as empty as ever, merely managing an amorphous hum in agreement; tumbling down a slippery slide right back into a nebulous slumber. 

[lovexjoe]

how would Armando react if he misses his girlfriend (the beautiful and sexy reader) while he is in prison? And when he comes out he desperately wants to see her And he's hungry for touch and dying to touch her 🔥🔥

Your 🐱 gonna need the ER when he’s done

Warnings: all the above cause this about to be dutty!!! 18+ cause ngl I wrote some nasty nasty

Y/N and Armando wrote letters back and forth since he’s been locked away

You were secretly happy that Mike and Marcus needed his help on this case because it meant him being free even for a little.

Visits were hard because the kisses and the hand holding could only hold you off for so long

You slipped him some nude Polaroids that he could jack off to when he was alone in his cell.

“Fuck mami when I’m out of here it’s you and me all night”

A few days went by and you haven’t heard anything from Mike or Marcus. You were worried and Kelly suggested you stayed with them just in case. That’s when they popped up on the news. No way…

Within a few hours of you pacing, they popped in through the front door and you immediately wrapped your arms around him. Showering him with kisses all over his face.

“You smell like straight caca but I was so worried” Y/N said causing everyone to laugh. Armando already a lost puppy following you around.

“Oh my god he’s like a dog Mike, tf wrong with your son?!” Marcus says to Mike as they watch Armando kiss on your shoulder.

“That boy in love, let him live”

After explaining the plan, you guys ended up heading back to your house. Armando grabbing and slapping your ass as you open the front door

“You my stinky redneck, need a shower” Shoving a towel to his chest and shooing him away.

“Baby! There’s no more body wash” You could’ve swore you put a new one in this morning, but you honestly couldn’t remember.

“I’m sorry baby here you go” Holding your arm out with the body wash trying not to get wet, Armando smirks as he pulls you into the shower.

The sight of seeing him naked after being in prison for almost 2 years, your pussy immediately clenched. The water cascading down his perfectly fit body. Your eyes welled up with tears, you didn’t think this day would come so soon and you didn’t want it to end it.

“I’m here now baby no need for tears.” He wipes your tears away wanting nothing more to be here in this moment with you for the rest of your lives. You had a beautiful soul that loved all his flaws and my god were you sexy. He wouldn’t admit it but he prayed every day in prison that you were protected and that he’ll see you soon.

You pulled him close as you kissed him. Your tongue slipping into his mouth the taste of toothpaste still lingers. He pulls your shirt off, ripping your bra in half and earning a little moan from you. God you loved when he’s like this. Animalistic. He took what he wanted and made you a moaning whimpering mess.

He made hickeys on all over your neck and breast, playing and biting your nipples. He cups them suspiciously, not use to them overflowing his hand.

“Fuck, they got bigger. Eres perfecta mami” As he sucks on your nipples, you begin to stroke him missing the sounds he use to make for you. You got down on your knees, the water making your skin glisten. Your tongue teasing his tip, causing him to groan. His length is so long and thick, you knew he was gonna stretch you out all night. You slapped his length against your tongue, keeping eye contact with him. He swore he was gonna lose his mind and you barely even done anything.

“Fuck my mouth daddy” You brought his hands up to your head and signal him to grab your hair. He looked into your eyes for reassurance and you nodded your head eagerly: wanting to be his submissive girl for the night. He grips your hair firmly, keeping your head still as he pumps his length in and out your mouth. You took it like a good girl for him, the moans escaping his mouth only encouraged you to deep throat him more. He didn’t want to cum just yet, but your eyes told him it’s okay and he let himself go. His muscles start to flex as he works through his orgasm releasing his warm nut into your mouth. He taste so fucking good. You swallowed, smiling to yourself that you brought him to release so quick. He picked up on that little smile and boy were you in for it.

He pushes you against the shower wall, ripping your leggings open, exposing your red little thong. The same one in a few of those Polaroids you sneaked him. He wanted to hear you beg for him tonight. He pulls on the red material causing it to press up against your clit. You let out a soft gasp.

“Please I’ve been good” Your voice a little sore after that blowjob. You arch your ass out to him more, begging to feel his tongue on you again. He turns the shower off and slaps your ass: picking you up bridal style and carrying you over to the edge of your bed. You threw the remaining of your clothes across the room and he laughs. His eager little princess, legs spread and he starts to admire you. You’ve been taking care of yourself since he’s been locked away. Pulling you closer, he gets down on his knees, wrapping your legs around his shoulder and starts to suck on your clit working his tongue down your wet folds.

Your body completely working against your mind as you came a few times against your will. Oh you missed him so much.

“You taste so fucking sweet mami”

Slipping two fingers into you slowly, you forget touching yourself is completely different from his hands. You felt yourself starting to squirt, you couldn’t even help it. Your mind was mush and you haven’t even had sex yet.

“A-Armando! I need you please” He keeps pumping his fingers in and out of you as he hovers over you.

“Beg for me” Whispering against your whimpering lips

“P-please!” He slips a 3rd finger in and you completely lose it. You couldn’t even speak, you lifted your hips slightly to work your pussy on his fingers. What a fucking sight to see.

“Good girl, mi princesa. Such a good fucking girl for me”

You ride out your last orgasm before he aligns himself at your entrance. Something about this moment felt so special, so real. Armando couldn’t believe he found someone like you. No one would ever wait for a man in prison or even talk to him knowing what the fuck he’s done: but here you are. You made him feel safe and loved. That life was worth living after all. He tucks your hair behind your ear and just gazes at everything he’s prayed for.

“Te amo tanto mi vida. ¿Quieres casarte conmigo?" (I love you so much, my life. Will you marry me?)

You couldn’t believe it. You never knew what your future holds with Armando. You hoped that it would be marriage and kids but with everything he’s been through you accepted that maybe that wasn’t meant to be. You put that dream away and lock it up, but now….it was yours.

“Yes. I love you baby. I love you so much.” The kiss alone made your stomach do back flips. You felt him slowly slip the tip in. Both of you gasping at the sensation before he fully thrust his length into you.

“You’re so fucking tight” He holds you close as your pussy clenches with each thrust. You two were not going to last long. He lifts both of your legs on his shoulder to allow himself to get as deep as he could. Your moans the only thing holding him back from cumming again. He wants to talk you through it.

“You’re taking me so well mamita”

“I know it’s big you can take it though”

“Tan hermosa baby” (so beautiful)

“Cum for me, let go I’ve got you”

In that moment you both held each other and let go. The sloppy kisses and thrusts slowed down as he lays on top of you, still inside you. You kissed his forehead.

“Nice job mi jefe” You pinched his cheek causing him to blush for the first time. Mi jefe huh? I think he could get use to that.

[osaemu]

HOME SWEET HOME FT. GOJO SATORU

✩ ‧ ˚. synopsis: gojo finally comes home to you after escaping from the prison realm

contents: fem!reader. non-explicit manga spoilers. kinda cliché.

there isn't quite a shade of blue that can exactly match the color of satoru's eyes. maybe his eyes are a mixture of all the blues you can think of, or maybe they're an enitirely new color. all you know is that without that color in your life, the world seems a little less vibrant.

eighteen days—that's how long your shared house has been devoid of satoru's overwhelming prescence. on the nineteeth day, he comes home.

your reunion is a mess of salt-drenched eyes and touch-starved hands, and for the first time in weeks you get the privilege of hearing his voice again.

"missed me, sweetheart?" satoru breathes, red-tinted eyes scanning your face for any sign of anger or injury. one of his hands rests on your waist, and the other lies on the back of your neck, holding you in place against his lips.

"yeah," you whisper, shaking your head and swallowing the painful lump in your throat. "a lot. i missed you a lot, satoru. i can't—" your voice breaks, and you look away, tears still trailing down your face.

for eighteen days, you weren't sure if he was dead or alive. for eighteen days, you thought you might never see him or hear his voice ever again. for eighteen days, your world was empty of the one person you could call home.

"tsk, always so dramatic," satoru mumbles in between kisses. he cups the side of your face and uses his thumb to wipe away your tears, but they keep coming endlessly. "i'm here, m'kay? save the crying for when i'm fucki-"

"satoru, i thought you were dead," you interrupt, not wanting to deal with his teasing just yet. "eighteen days. that's a lot of hours, and even more minutes," you sniffle, not caring that you barely make any sense.

"ah, darling, actually, they all add up to the same amount of tim—"

"satoru."

he grins ruefully, pressing his lips to yours again before you can continue speaking. one of his hands trails through your hair, and he smiles against your lips when the tears keep coming.

"baby, you're taking the saying 'cry me a river' a little too seriously," satoru says with a smile. he cups your face in both of his hands and makes you look at him. "i'm here. stop crying, please?"

you glare at him through tear-filled eyes and make a face. "...but i look really pretty when i cry."

"you're always pretty, sweetheart." right on cue.

"yeah, but my skin starts glowing and my eyes look gorgeous," you say, starting to smile. "and my lashes look so good, it's like makeup without actually having to—"

satoru cuts you off with another kiss, and this time, he doesn't pull away. his eyes are closed and you're close enough to count all of his lashes. you probably could if you didn't have to breathe—which is why you eventually have to tap satoru's jaw to get him to let you go.

"love you, sweetheart," satoru says, a lopsided grin on his face. he hasn't looked anywhere else but you since he walked in, and you haven't either. "haven't seen your pretty face in too long."

"love you too, even though you left me on delivered for eighteen days."

"well, i didn't really have a choice."

[letstrip13]

⛓️ - couple's costume

summary: when you and chris get home from a halloween party, you experiment a little

warnings: smut, use of handcuffs, oral m!recieving, no actual sex (p in v) also still wondering how that started

word count: 1,247

author's note: first halloween special fic!! sorry this ended up being late, i had so much to do and couldn't find any motivation to write. are we surprised i didn't stick to the schedule though? no ofc not! anyways the next fic should be out tomorrow

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you and chris enter your apartment hand-in-hand, both tired from the events of tonight. a friend of his had thrown a costume party and of course you guys wanted to go.

chris slumps down on the couch, letting out a fatigued sigh as he relaxes against the cushions. you kick your high-heeled boots off, glad to finally have that part of the costume off after the long night.

you sit down on the couch next to him, letting out an identical sigh and resting your head on his shoulder. the handcuffs attached to your costume made a sound, and as you sat down, it caught his attention. he runs his fingers over the cool metal, “hey d’you think these things really work?”

you shrug. “m'not sure. wanna try them?” he nods and takes them off the belt loop on your costume that they were attached to. you hold your wrists out in front of him and he carefully moves the metal to circle them and closes it, making sure it’s not too tight on you.

an excited grin takes over his face as ideas course through his mind. “put ‘em on me,” he suggests as he takes them off. you repeat what he did to you and this time you break out in a smile, the exhaustion from the party being forgotten.

the both of you get up and go into your bedroom. chris wastes no time and kisses you as he gets comfortable on your bed, pulling you down to straddle him with the handcuffs still in your hands.

he runs his tongue along your bottom lip, making you part your lips as his tongue explores your mouth. it's so familiar yet there's a different energy about it, knowing you're trying something new.

he leads the pace of the kiss, making sure to go slowly and take the time to get lost in the moment together. there's no rush here and you know it. he pulls away and reaches for the handcuffs that had since been abandoned on the bed. “can we try something?” he asks, almost shyly, a side to him you don't see often.

“what do you want?” “i want you to put them on me.. and you decide. do whatever you want to me.” your eyes light up with excitement. he's never let you be in charge before. “really?” he nods with a smile on his face as he passes you the handcuffs.

“can you take your costume off first?” he eagerly does as he's told, standing up and stepping out of the orange “prisoner” jumpsuit. you watch intently as he's now down to a white wife beater and his boxers. “get on the bed, my love,” you instruct him.

he sits on the bed, making himself comfortable up by the headboard. you straddle his lap, the handcuffs in hand. “are you ready?” “yes, go ahead.” you position his wrists and the handcuffs in a way where he's chained to the bed before securing it, being careful not to close them too tightly. “does that feel okay?” “yeah, perfect.”

you can tell by the way his hips are subtly moving that he's really turned on right now. that, and the bulge in his boxers that wasn't fully there a minute ago. you sit back on his lap in a comfortable position to kiss him. you take your time, starting with his lips then going along his jawline and neck, making sure to go over all those spots that drive him crazy.

you kiss a trail down his neck, then his chest, then his stomach, and finally his happy trail. this elicits a small but sharp groan from him, making it known that he craves more contact. “please-” he murmurs.

“i'm not done teasing you yet. i'm getting you back for all the times you did this to me, baby.” his head falls back as a whine escapes his lips. you run your hands up his thighs, even placing a few kisses on them, doing anything except touching him where he needs it most.

by this point, there's a large, wet patch on his boxers where precum had been leaking out. you run your finger over it, saying in a low voice, “making such a mess for me already.” he hisses at the contact. your fingers hook in the waistband of his underwear as you slowly pull them down his legs, his hard cock springing up to hit his stomach. precum continues to leak out of the tip and down the shaft as it practically throbs beneath your gaze, begging to be touched.

you teasingly blow cool air onto the tip, causing him to buck his hips up in response as a whimper leaves his mouth. you spit on it, watching it trickle down his cock for a moment before spreading it with your hand, stroking up and down at a pace that's almost painfully slow for him. “o-oh fuck, i-” he moans when you finally touch him. “you're not saying you’re close already, are you? i might have to stop.” he frantically shakes his head no, almost causing you to giggle.

with your hand still circling him, you lean down to teasingly lick the tip, earning a louder than expected groan from chris. you do it a few times before taking it into your mouth, being careful not to go any further. he bucks his hips again, causing you take a few inches into your mouth. you pull back and look into his eyes. “don't do that, baby, or i'll have to stop.” he sheepishly nods, “okay, i won't.”

you go right back to what you were doing, taking more into your mouth over time while working on the rest with your hand. every time you feel his cock twitch in your mouth, you pull away just long enough for him to calm down before going right back to it.

he involuntarily bucks his hips again, forcing him deeper into your throat. you don't say anything, you just look up at him through your lashes. “m’sorry. i didn't mean to,” he rambles, “need more.” “you want more?” he nods. “okay, my love, i'll let you cum now.”

you take as much of him as you can, deepthroating him as he loudly moans. he can't control himself anymore, leading to him forcing his cock further down your throat. you try your hardest not to gag as he fills your throat, the both of you more focused on his pleasure.

before you know it, he's writhing and squirming on the bed, crying out your name as he shoots his load into your mouth. you swallow it all, continuing to suck him off more, wanting every last drop. he squirms at the sensitive feeling until it becomes too much, tears beginning to form in his eyes. “no more,” he whines. you respond by letting his softening dick out of your mouth with a soft pop.

“how was that, love?” you ask as you reach up to free him from the handcuffs. “s-so good,” he says breathlessly. you toss them on your nightstand and you take a moment to lay there with your head on his chest. he wraps his arms around you and plays with your hair.

you break the silence after a few minutes, sitting up. “let's get you cleaned up.” he sits up with a yawn, sleepily mumbling something unintelligible as the both of you go into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

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[flowerandblood]

The Price of Pride (7/?)

[ canon • Aemond x Royce • female ]

[ warnings: kissing, mutual masturbation, targcets stuff, infidelity, smut, the angst, sexual tension, imprisonment, abuse of power, manipulation, violence, some kind of sexual harassment (unwanted touch), death threats, bad things ]

[ description: Prince Aemond finds a solution to the disproportion in the number of dragons between Dragonstone and King's Landing: he decides to find dragon blood and, like his half-sister, train dragon riders. He takes as his target the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, whom he abducts and imprisons in the Red Keep. Slow burn, darkish, insolent, arrogant Aemond. I have combined several requests here: (dragon blood female & prisoner female). ]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Waiting for the arrival of his betrothed in the courtyard of the Red Keep, forced to do the deed by his mother, he thought, staring blankly ahead, that he longed to be anywhere else.

In his bed, in the Small Council chamber, on the back of Vhagar flying through the skies.

Even the vision of an evening spent with his cousin in the library teaching her the language of Old Valyria did not sound as awful as the prospect of what he would now have to do.

He was not good at pretending or lying – false flirting, sweet gestures and gifts to win the heart of a beloved woman were not his domain and aroused his pity. Conversing about nothing or romantic walks were also not what he wanted or needed.

He should be planning the war with Criston Cole, not courting a woman who was indifferent to him.

Worse, now that he had managed to forget what he had done to his nephew, he knew that along with Floris Baratheon's face all the memories, nightmares and unbearable pain in his eye socket would return.

He sighed, straightening up, standing with his hands folded behind his back as a couple of carriages drove through the gate, one with only the chests, the other surely with the person to whom they belonged.

Gods, how long was she going to stay here?

The door opened and he moved ahead reluctantly, needing to show at least a bit of courtesy, giving her his hand – Floris smiled at him gratefully and placed her soft palm on his, stepping out the carriage like the princess she surely longed to be.

"My Lady. Welcome to the Red Keep." He said, letting go of her hand, folding it behind him again.

A squeal and a cry of a little boy before Luke was swallowed by the Vhagar's maw.

He swallowed heavily, feeling a cold sweat on the back of his neck and an unpleasant stab of pain in his eye socket.

His betrothed bowed before him.

"My Prince. I am tired after my journey. Please, guide me to my chamber." She said, and he nodded, hoping that she was very tired and would not require any other effort from him.

He took a breath, surprised, feeling discomfort when they moved ahead and her fingers slid under his arm right away, snuggling into his side as if they were a pair of lovers.

He closed his eye and swallowed hard, feeling a tightness in his throat, rage, humiliation and shame, aware that the guards and servants might have been watching and mocking him, knowing how much he hated such familiarity.

For her, however, what was more important was not how he felt, but what she imagined in her head.

He was only to adapt to her fantasies.

As they walked into the chamber his mother had specially chosen for her, Floris smiled – her windows looked out onto the harbour itself, the beautiful sea and the sun.

He hummed, wondering if he would be able to escape.

"Get some rest, my Lady. I will see you at the supper." He said, wanting to take a step back and leave, but he heard her sigh quickly, seeing out of the corner of his eye her furrowed brow.

"I was hoping that we would get to know each other more closely. That you were also looking forward to this moment like I was. We could take a walk in the royal gardens and talk." She said with a hopefulness that made him feel a discomfort in his stomach.

He thought that he had not been waiting for this moment at all.

His brother had told him to get Borros Baratheon's daughter, and he did.

It was a decision dictated by politics, not the desire of his heart.

Deep down, he wished that as soon as the war was over their betrothal would be undone.

Storm's End would then no longer be of any use to them.

But he couldn't tell her that.

He finally looked at her, seeing her gaze full of desire but also excitement, as if she had already imagined what this marriage would give her – that he would surely slowly fall in love with her, that his behaviour was only due to embarrassment and his shy nature.

It didn't even occur to her that she could be indifferent to him, and that was exactly the case.

How was he supposed to make something out of nothing?

"What would you like to discuss with me?" He asked, wanting to shift the burden of this awkward exchange of words onto her.

His betrothed exhaled quietly, as if comforted that he hadn't left, though she smiled, something in her gaze that he didn't like.

"My heart broke when I learned of your lonely expedition. I understand, my Prince, that you did it for the good of the Kingdom, but you must know how awful and difficult the experience was for me, knowing that there was a young, unmarried woman at your side." She said in a way that indicated, in his opinion, that she was not sad because of it, but angry and irritated.

He hated it when someone did not say directly what was on their mind.

"At my brother's request, the Maester has dispelled your doubts, my Lady. My cousin remains untouched." He said coldly, however his grin was wide, menacing – he knew by the look on her face that she understood that she had frustrated him.

She, however, instead of accepting his explanation or negating it, decided to probe deeper into the subject.

"But did you touch her, my Prince? With your hands or your mouth?" She asked, looking at him proudly, as if she recognised that these questions were necessary for her to feel that her position remained unthreatened.

She felt his hands clench into fists behind his back.

"I touched her with my hands. It's hard not to when you're flying together on the back of a dragon."

"So I also want to fly with you on the back of a dragon." She communicated, like a child demanding the same toy from him.

He felt his teeth clench in his jaw, his heart pounding like mad in his chest with rage.

Who was she to demand anything from him?

Stupid cunt.

"I cannot agree to this, my Lady, for the sake of your safety. Your father has placed you under our protection." He said lightly, smiling so that for a moment he exposed his teeth, as if he wanted to bite through her artery.

"With you, I will certainly be safe." She didn't give up, clearly annoyed that he was denying her what he had given to another woman.

"I do not agree. Rest, my Lady. I will see you during supper." He replied and, without waiting for her farewell or a word, left the chamber with a slam of the door.

He felt like shouting, hitting someone, a guard or a servant, beating them until they lost consciousness.

And then he remembered.

Tyland Lannister's fucking servant.

It was time to make him pay for his lack of discretion.

"Robert is no longer serving in the fortress, Your Highness. He was moved to Casterly Rock by Lord Lannister." Said one of the boys when asked where he could find him.

His brother knew what he would want to do and removed the man from his sight so that he could not take revenge on him for his betrayal.

Fucking bastard.

He pounded his palms on the top of his table and cursed in rage, feeling like he was about to explode – he had the urge to ride to Vhagar, get on her back and burn everything he came across in his path.

He closed his hands into fists and leaned forward, panting heavily, feeling like a caged animal.

Why were there traps waiting for him on every side, set for him by his mother and his brother?

Why did he still experience from them the two feelings that caused him such pain: rejection and humiliation?

Sitting at the great table among the lords and their families, staring blankly ahead, pretending not to see the expectant glances of his betrothed in his direction, hoping for any kind of conversation, he thought for the first time in his life that he wished he simply didn't exist.

He wanted to disappear so that he didn't have to deal with all this.

What did he get in return?

A sad, disappointed look from his mother and a sneer from his older brother.

"What's that grave look, brother? Do you not rejoice at the sight of your chosen one, Lady Floris? She has come a long way to see your displeased face." Said Aegon and laughed, licking his lips, none, however, echoed him.

If it had been the first time, or the fiftieth time, but he could no longer count how many times he had humiliated him in this way in the presence of others, and he always, every time, felt the same squeeze in his throat, sadness and emptiness.

Why didn't he instead take him aside, ask him what was happening?

Doesn't he need help?

His brotherly understanding, advice, support?

Was he not worthy of this honour?

He sighed, deciding it didn't matter, when he heard the chamber door open and his King's attention turned to another guest.

"Ah, here is my dear, fearless cousin. Come here, my Lady, I have assigned you a seat next to my brother. Perhaps your presence will lift his spirits." His brother called out, and he closed his eyes and swallowed hard, not even bothering to look at the expression on his betrothed's face, hearing her twist next to him in her chair.

He wondered if it wouldn't be better if he just killed him.

He heard her footsteps behind his back, and a moment later he smelled her pleasant, floral scent – the servant had pushed back her chair for her. She sat down beside him, to his right, and for some reason he felt a little better.

She was by his side.

He didn't understand why, but he struggled to restrain himself from slipping his hand under the table and placing it on her thigh, wandering up and down, wordlessly letting her know that he missed her in some strange, twisted way.

She was always honest with him, his little dragon, her and her sweet, sharp tongue that cut like a dagger.

"My Lady." He heard Floris's voice to his left, leaning forward to see her better.

Gods, have mercy, he thought.

She was going to express her jealousy in front of everyone.

"I congratulate you on taming a dragon. No one expected you to succeed." She said with feigned admiration from which he rolled his eyes and shook his head, glancing at his cousin.

She, to his surprise was smiling broadly, her eyes shining dangerously, as if his betrothed amused her but also irritated her at the same time.

"I didn't believe it myself, my Lady. I was convinced that I would burn and become dust." She said with such light-heartedness that he and several people at the table chuckled at her words.

Why did he feel satisfaction?

"The gods have spared you. Will you stand to fight your father?" Floris continued, deliberately changing the subject to one that was uncomfortable for her, to force her to make a mistake and say something she shouldn't.

"Enough." He said impatiently, wanting to spare her this, however, his cousin decided to respond, finding her question surprisingly easy to answer.

"My dragon lacks experience and composure. I will be a mere support for the King and the Prince."

He smirked under his breath, thinking she had been clever in answering politely and cordially, while giving his betrothed no reason to mock or cause him or the King himself to distrust her.

To his relief, Aegon interrupted this exchange of words by ordering music to be played, and he decided to eat something, feeling that, indeed, his cousin's presence by his side had lifted his spirits and restored his appetite.

He pressed his lips together and sighed when Floris's hand brushed his wrist.

Did she have to touch him all the time?

Did she think it was romantic, that she was arousing his desire in this way?

The only feeling he felt was frustration.

"Will you pass me a tray of goose pate, my love?" She asked in a whisper, as if she was telling him some important secret, and he simply nodded, handing her the platter.

"Thank you." She said, but he answered her nothing, concentrating on his roast, hoping she wouldn't make him speak to her with his mouth full.

When he had quenched his thirst and satisfied his appetite, he thought it was time for him and his cousin to leave, however, they could not do so together – that would arouse the displeasure and curiosity of his betrothed, and he did not want that.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, trying to get her attention, but she was focused on cutting the meat, immersed in her own world, not caring about what was going on around her.

The desire to sink his fingers into her thigh returned to him with redoubled force making his manhood pulsate softly in his breeches, but he limited himself to pressing his knee against hers, hoping she would understand what he meant.

He saw that she froze and breathed a sigh of relief when she finally stood up, communicating to all assembled that she would retire to bed, to which his brother-king, already completely drunk, agreed.

He waited a long time before getting up himself.

"My brother. Are you leaving us already?" Aegon asked.

"I am tired." He explained, looking at him coolly.

It was not a lie, he thought.

"I will escort you to your chamber, my Prince." Floris said, immediately rising from her seat, and he nodded, wanting nothing more than to escape from this room as quickly as possible.

This was what his evenings were to be like for days, weeks, months, years, once she became his wife.

He swallowed hard, stepping out into the corridor, feeling the contents of his stomach and the roast he had eaten rise to his throat as if he was about to vomit.

He closed his eyes and pulled away from her as she tried again to grab his arm.

"No." He growled more harshly than he would have liked, feeling his heart pounding like mad as he simply walked ahead.

Her silhouette walked beside him, her face raised at him filled with bitterness.

"Why? We are betrothed. I long to feel your closeness, at least for a moment."

He stopped, looking at her as if he was about to tear her apart, feeling himself breathing loudly through his mouth.

"But I don't want it." He said in a breaking voice, thinking that perhaps if he played the wounded boy it would give him at least a little peace and space.

"It's just a touch of the hand, my love. Nothing bad." She said, against his request touching his arm again, stroking it in a gesture of comfort.

He closed his eyes and grinned coldly, shaking his head, feeling tears of despair under his eyelids.

He thought he hated her.

"Sleep well, my Lady."

"This corridor. This is not the way to your chambers." She said in a trembling voice.

He looked at her over his shoulder, feeling his heart thump harder in his chest.

"I need to do one more thing."

"Do you..."

"That's enough. One more word from you and I'll lose patience. Don't provoke me." He said and turned away, walking towards the library.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he looked over his shoulder and saw that she was gone.

He ran his hand over his face, thinking that he couldn't stand it.

That he had to somehow get rid of her from the Red Keep and his life.

His brother was not worth such a sacrifice.

He felt at home in the library – the old oak bookcases filled to the brim with thick volumes reminded him of his childhood, the years he had spent in that great hall, hiding from the world.

He pulled out a few of the books he had used himself to study, knowing most of them almost by heart, and spread them out on one of the tables where one of the servants had lit some candles.

"You may leave." He said, and the boy nodded and left.

When the door finally opened and he saw her, he froze.

She was wearing his mother's robe thrown over her nightgown, that was certain, however, he did not understand why she had put it on now – that attire should only be worn in the privacy of her own chamber, outside of it being in a degree of negligee.

He swallowed quietly, watching as her girlish figure moved across the floor towards him with a quiet rustling of the shiny, delicate fabric tied at her waist.

He had a feeling that if he pulled at the ribbon, he would reveal her entire beautiful, bare body before his eyes, hidden only beneath the thin layer of her linen shirt.

He grunted as she sat down beside him, smelling her pleasant, fresh scent, sliding a few books towards her.

He knew what he wanted to practice with her and he was doing it deliberately.

He needed to take it out on someone and she had become his victim.

"We'll start with the basics. The most important and simplest terms." He said, pointing his finger at one of the words.

"Jelmor." He hummed. "North."

"Jelmor." She whispered, her voice soft and calm, clearly focused on her task.

She really wanted to learn, he thought with surprise and pride.

The heritage she so despised had become dear to her.

He felt a pleasant warmth in his lower abdomen and satisfaction at the thought.

"Ñāqon. East."

"Nāqon." She said, however, with a mistake, not making the right sound at the beginning of the word.

"No. Roll your tongue at the n." He explained, and she swallowed hard, as if gathering the courage to say it again.

"Ñāqon." She said, slightly better this time.

"Better. Vēzor. South."

"Vēzor."

"Endia. West."

"Endia."

"Muña. Mother." He hummed, looking at her intently, and saw exactly what he wanted.

She froze completely, and her body tensed all over as if he had hit her.

"Muña." She said softly, warmly, her voice trembling slightly, betraying the pain she felt.

"Mmm. Kepa. Father." He said, and she looked at him in a way from which his manhood instantly swelled and pulsed hard, causing his lips to part in a sigh.

Her brown eyes were glazed from tears, her eyebrows arched in pain as if she was asking him why he was doing this to her.

"Repeat." He whispered.

"Kepa." She said, as if she was praying to one of the gods.

Kepa.

A single, lonely tear ran down her cheek, a sign that she still loved him, her father who had abandoned her, after all these years remaining a small child craving attention and praise, helpless and powerless, beautiful in her suffering.

Noble.

He lifted his hand to her cheek, for some reason wanting to relieve her, to let her know that he understood her, that he didn't think what she felt was a cause for shame.

She shuddered as his thumb brushed the wet mark from her plump cheek, the gaze of her doe eyes fixed on him, only on him.

"Trēsy. Son." He said softly, quietly, as if he was afraid to frighten her, his index finger running over her jaw, admiring the shape of her smooth face.

"Tresy."

"No." He said. "Trēsy. The letter 'ē' needs to be read deeper, as if you want to sing."

"Trēsy."

"Tala. Daugther."

He saw her shake her head, pressing her lips together as if to tell him that she was incapable of doing it, of uttering a word the meaning of which remained foreign to her.

She didn't know what it meant to be someone's daughter, just as he didn't know what it meant to be someone's betrothed, someone's son, someone's brother.

He pressed his forehead against hers, sinking his hand into the back of her neck, stroking soothingly her soft skin, feeling himself grow hard, his breath deep and uneven, filled with desire.

Her closeness was never forced, he thought with tenderness, to which his heart thumped harder in his chest.

Just like with her dragon, she allowed him to approach her when he wished, watching her from afar, circling around her until he himself, of his own accord, fell again and again into her arms.

"Tala."

"Hāedar." He hummed, feeling his erection throb hard in his breeches, his gaze fixed on her face. "Little sister."

She opened her eyes upon hearing those words, and he saw what he wanted in her hazy, hot gaze.

She was wet.

She merely sighed as his other hand did what he had longed to do since supper, touching her knee, travelling lazily upwards to her place of pleasure.

"Hāedar." She exhaled, her puffy, pink lips parted sweetly, her hard nipples peeking through her robe.

Gods, how he craved her.

I'm going to caress her, he thought, and then I'll take her here, on this table.

"Lēkia." He breathed out in a trembling voice, closing his hand over her womanhood, her eyebrows arching in disbelief as a quiet, innocent moan broke from her throat. "Older brother."

Say it, he thought, feeling his cock twitch in his breeches in impatience, his heart pounding like mad in his chest.

"Lēkia." She moaned as if calling out to him, begging him to end her suffering, and his hand immediately clenched in her hair allowing his mouth, swollen with desire, to close on hers in a greedy, hot kiss.

She gasped in his throat as their one lustful kiss turned into a second, a third and a fourth – a surprised murmur of delight broke from his lips as her soft hand touch his cheek, combing through his hair at last, her closeness so unforced, tender, warm, innocent, desired.

He thought he had never allowed himself to be kissed on the mouth by Madam, while his lips sank again and again into her helpless sobs of pleasure, breathing hard with the loud clicks of their saliva, his impatient, slick tongue forced its way deep into her hot throat as his hand lifted the material of her robe higher.

She mewled and shuddered all over, clasping her hands on his body as his fingertips finally dug into the leaking, silken structure of her folds – he groaned low, surprised to feel her cunt pulsing all over, hot and moist under his fingers, ready for his further caresses.

She wanted this.

She wanted him inside her.

He thought his cock was about to burst with desire, but he knew he couldn't take her yet, so in an act of desperation he grabbed one of her hands and pressed it against the throbbing, hard bulge in his breeches.

They both groaned, panting into each other's mouths, teasing each other with the tips of their wet tongues as, while his fingers circled around her little pearl, she trailed over his long, swollen manhood.

He pulled her to him, embracing her around the waist, feeling her sweet nipples pushing against the material of his tunic as her swollen lips and soft thighs parted invitingly before him with her cry of pleasure, the tips of his fingers pushing against her slit, ready to slide into her and feel how tight and warm she was.

A voice stuck in their throats and they both pulled away from each other as if burned, terrified when they heard someone open the door – in some subconscious, involuntary reflex he wiped his fingers, sticky with her wetness against his breeches, her hands quickly leaving the material of her robe down.

When he saw Floris's grave face he closed his eyes and sighed, feeling his heart pounding like mad in bitterness and disappointment, his cock pulsing and twitching in his trousers, not understanding why he had interrupted their caresses when what he had experienced was so pleasurable.

So right.

"The guards told me I would find you here, my Prince. I did not know you would have company." She said quietly, and he looked ahead with a blank stare, wondering how he could believe that she would just go to sleep, that she would not move after him, suspicious and full of concerns.

Rightful concerns, moreover.

"I am teaching my cousin the language of Old Valyria. It is the only way she can communicate with her dragon." He said, feeling only weariness and fatigue, not having the strength to look at her or speak to her.

He knew he had been cruel, but there was nothing he could do about it.

If she had been wiser, she would have seen that he did not care about her or her welfare and would have asked her father herself to break off their betrothal, not wanting to suffer such humiliation.

She, however, preferred to remain the prince's betrothed, even if unwanted one.

Floris walked over to the table and flipped through one of the pages, pretending to understand anything of what was written there.

"May I join you? I would also like to learn the language of your ancestors, my love." She said, and although he clearly asked her not to touch him, her hand laid on his shoulder.

He closed his eyes, feeling an unpleasant shudder.

Her hand on his shoulder or between his thighs, what difference did it make?

"I will not be able to concentrate with you standing by my side, my Lady." He whispered in a weak voice, for some reason feeling humiliated, having the urge to cry like a child.

Take your hand off me, he thought, but her hand slipped lower, to his forearm.

"Does my presence disturb you, my love?" She asked, but more than her question, his attention was drawn to the fact that his cousin wanted to get up from her seat.

"I'll leave you alone. With your permission." She said, and he pressed his lips together, feeling panic.

No, he thought.

Don't leave me alone with her.

"Daor, hāedar."

She looked at him in shock, her lips parted slightly in disbelief, her eyebrows arched in pain, in her eyes warmth, tenderness and something else from which he felt a pleasant tingling in his fingertips as he watched her sit back in her seat.

She stayed.

"What did you say, my love?" Floris asked, and he licked his lower lip, feeling impatience.

"I don't allow it. We are not finished yet. Soon her dragon will move to fight at my side and she must be ready. I ask that you never interrupt us again. If you wish, we will take a walk around the royal gardens tomorrow, just as you desire." He said, willing to give her what she wanted as long as she left him alone and took her hand off him.

"Is it because she is your cousin? Like any Targaryen you prefer your own kin?" His betrothed asked with anger, and something snapped inside him – his fists hit the table with all his might, both of them jumping as he stood up like an enraged lion, thinking he was going to kill this whore with his own hands.

Who the fuck was she to speak to him like that?

He could have had her tongue for that and sent it in a small casket to her father as a warning so that none of his daughters would appear in the Red Keep again.

"Lēkia." He heard her pleading voice, her soft hand gently touching his arm in an attempt to stop him.

He looked at her, at his hāedar, at her sweet face red with emotion, her gaze full of request, her puffy lips parted in an uneven, deep breath.

If he could, he would kiss her again, her moist lips, her long neck, her plump breasts, her hard nipples, her smooth stomach, to finally sink his face into her leaking, soft cunt.

For a moment he considered doing this, he decided, however, that doing so would humiliate her, and he did not want that.

Her hand let go of him when she saw that the first wave of his anger had passed, replaced by a second, much more threatening one.

He looked at his betrothed, at her face twisted in a grimace of anger and pain, at her eyes filled with tears.

She had come to marry the image of a man, not him.

"I will consider that you never said it, my Lady. Otherwise I would have to recognise that you intended to insult me and my family. And that would mean, in turn, that my betrothed is a fool. Is that how it is, my Lady?" He asked with a sneer in his voice, the corner of his mouth twitching when he saw the frown on her forehead at his words.

"No, my Prince. I am not." She said, looking at his cousin in a way he didn't like, before he could say anything, however, Floris turned and walked away, leaving them alone.

Silence fell – he glanced at his cousin out of the corner of his eye, partly hoping that they would finish what they had started, still half-hard, but he saw that her face was turned away in embarrassment, her figure bent.

Unlike him, she had a sense of shame, he thought regretfully.

"You may leave." He said.

She nodded and moved towards the door, as if she was afraid that if she looked at him she wouldn't hold back and they would both sin even more than they already had.

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard as the door closed behind her – he sat down in his chair, undid the belt from his tunic and untied his breeches, immediately putting his hand inside them.

He groaned throatily and leaned his forehead down, pressing it against the wooden table top, imagining that he was actually cuddling it to her sweet breasts, gripping his erection in his palm.

He imagined how he would do this to her – how gentle his thrusts into her delicate, warm body would be, rocking his hips lazily back and forth, rolling them each time his fingers squeezed the base of his swollen, pink cock, sighing in pleasure.

"– hāedar – oh, fuck –" He exhaled, speeding up, panting hard, imposing a more aggressive, faster pace on himself, squeezing his painfully hard erection with loud smacks of his palm against his stones, feeling that he would reach his peak embarrassingly quickly.

"– ah –" He moaned like a little boy, feeling tears under his eyelids at the thought of how great the relief that shook his body was, his mouth wide open as his pearly, sticky spend trickled down his fingers.

For a moment more he moved his hips in rhythm with his hand, imagining that he was deep inside her, in her warmth, snuggled between her soft breasts, calm and safe.

And then he opened his eyes and felt a squeeze in his throat, seeing the books and the candles all around him, feeling an embarrassing, painful emptiness.

His jaw trembled, his breath became heavy, but he did not allow himself to shed any tears, getting up from his seat, bringing himself to order.

He was just fastening the belt of his tunic when one of the guards suddenly rushed in, terrified.

"My Prince. Your prisoner has been attacked."

He stood over her bed feeling that he was quivering with rage, not hearing his mother's or his brother's discussion, looking at her gentle face immersed in sleep.

"Will she survive? We need her. How the fuck could this happen?" Aegon said, pacing around the room furiously, running his hand over his chin.

"In my opinion, she was hit in the back of the head with a long, heavy object, after which her head hit something hard again, probably the stone floor. This night will determine her death or life. If there has been bleeding inside her skull, nothing can be done." The Maester said, and he looked away, staring at Floris' face, who stood beside his mother, pale, afraid to lift her gaze to him.

For a moment he wondered, sure that it was her doing, whether to expose her in front of his brother, then, however, he decided that she might begin to say something about what she had seen, to spread rumours about his and his cousin's relationship.

He had to deal with her himself.

"We have fucking enemies everywhere. Maybe it was her father who sent someone to get rid of her?" His brother continued, thinking out loud.

Floris looked at him and nodded.

"It is very possible, Your Grace. Certainly Prince Daemon is furious that she managed to tame a dragon. Poor girl." She said, as if she was actually worried and sympathised with her, and he looked at her, grinning broadly.

I'm going to fucking kill you, he thought.

"Aemond. Do you find this amusing?" His mother said to him, snapping him out of his reverie.

"I find it very amusing, mother, because I think I know who did it." He said lightly, glancing at his brother, who spread his arms in a gesture of invitation.

"So tell us this secret." He said, and he looked at his betrothed with a smile.

"As soon as I am sure. Meanwhile, I will escort my betrothed to her chambers. She must surely be tired, and I do not wish to see her suffer a similar fate to my poor cousin." He sneered, cocking his head, stepping towards her.

"No need, my Prince, don't bother." She muttered, panicking, unable to look him in the eye as he towered over her.

"I insist."

Floris Baratheon's head slammed into the wall with all his strength as soon as the door to her chamber closed behind them – he grabbed her by the throat, holding the blade of his dagger against her chin.

"You will return to Storm's End and tell your illiterate father that our betrothal was broken because of you. Furthermore, you will tell him what you did to my cousin. You will say that the Crown could not, because of your unacceptable behaviour, bring about our marriage, but that the agreement between your father and the Realm is still in force. If your father objects, I will come to Storm's End on Vhagar once more, and I promise you that you will meet the fate of my nephew, you dumb, insolent cunt." He growled and let her go – Floris fell to her knees, drew in her air loudly and burst out sobbing, curling up in fear.

"– why are you hurting me? – I have nothing to do with it, I swear –" She mumbled, choking on her own tears.

"– and I swear you that if you insist on becoming my wife, I will hurt you every morning and every evening, for all the days of your life, and then I will fuck my cousin in the chamber next door so that you can listen to what pleasure means, which you will never know from me – you are to leave the Red Keep with the first light –" He said coldly and left, closing the door behind him with a loud slam.

When he returned back to her chamber, there were only the physicians and the Maester, who was supervising their work, laying cold cloths on her forehead.

"Did she get a fever?" He asked, sitting down beside her on the soft bed, touching her cheek.

It was hot.

"Yes." He said, bringing a new bowl of water and ice.

"Leave it. I'll do it myself." He said, rising from his seat, undoing the belt and buckles of his leather tunic, staying only in his white linen shirt tucked into his breeches.

"I will come to examine her again in an hour, my Prince." Said the Maester and bowed to him, leaving him alone with her.

He sat back on the bed beside her, pulling the cloth from her face, sinking it anew into the cold water only to place it on her warm forehead again.

"– umbagon lēda nyke, zaldrītsos (stay with me, little dragon) –" He hummed tenderly, his hand moving from her forehead higher, combing her soft hair with his fingers.

"– kepa –"

He froze, looking at her in pain, her brow arched in misery.

She thought he was Daemon.

He swallowed hard, leaning toward her, stroking her head with his hand as if she were a small child.

"– shhh –" He hushed her, his full lips pressing a soft, warm kiss on her hot forehead. "– you're safe now –"

She opened her eyes – he saw her tears, glistening in the candlelight, running down the sides of her face, as if his words had both hurt and soothed her.

He sighed as her small hand lifted to cup his scarred cheek, the tips of her fingers brushed against his skin.

"– lēkia –" She mumbled, something about the way she said it, the relief he saw in her eyes, made their lips press together in a sticky, tender kiss.

"– mmm –" She sighed as he repeated the caress with a quiet click of their saliva, running his thumb over her jaw and chin, sinking into the moist sweetness of her plump lips again and again, uniting with her in that innocent, intimate way.

They both breathed heavily as he pulled away from her, looking at each other for a moment, his erection pulsing hard in his breeches, letting him know he had to stop.

He couldn't take her now.

He hummed, seeing that she closed her eyes again, stroking her hot, rosy cheek with his thumb, her face nuzzled into his hand.

"– sleep, little sister – your brother will stay by your side –"

[chuulyssa]

── ★ 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐄, 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 !

a/n: i finally reached impel down arc so here's me coping with ace's inevitable death read on ao3

𝙨𝙮𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨 — stripped and locked up in impel down with your boyfriend doesn't sound too bad, not after the mind-blowing ways he helps you pass your time there

𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚 — fluff, angst, comfort, smut smut pure filthy smut ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎──‎‎‎‎─ tw reader is a strategist on wb's crew, humiliation by stripping and parading by jail wardens, cat-calling by creepy prisoners, overall really uncomfortable till you get to ace, implied mentions of assault, public sex, exhibitionism, bondage by cuffs, nipple play, dry humping, oral both f and m!receiving, face sitting, begging kink, praise kink, cockwarming at the end

𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 — ace x f!reader ft. cameo by crocodile

You shuddered from the cold wind as it rose goosebumps on the bare skin of your body.

It had been over an hour since you had been stripped of your clothing, plunged into boiling hot water to get 'baptized,' and hauled all the way here with nothing but a towel covering your naked frame. Slowly, as if to punish you through humiliation, you had been dragged by your hair downstairs, level by level, passing each and every cell filled with prisoners who gawked and wolf-whistled at your thighs and collarbones. They had hurled along each step, making a racquet and screaming for the warden to let you in their cell for 'just one night'. And for a moment, you seemed to think that was exactly what the jailers would do, before they yanked your hair up in another direction, and you heaved a sigh of relief despite the pain. It couldn't have been more horrifying.

Throughout your journey down to Level 6, you had passed many 'hells', as they called it. To think that an organization called themselves the harbingers of peace and unity, only to enforce such horrific scenes, and the even more terrifying formations such as the Buster Call, it was no wonder there was an army working day and night to bring down the World Government.

The stone of the final level had felt cold under your bare feet. Your head had been aching for a while now, and your body was trembling entirely. If it hadn't been for the ruthless jailer holding you up, you were sure your legs would have given in already.

"Move along!" The warden had screamed, and you had bitten a harsh remark before complying.

Here, too, the men of the lockers had screamed in delight at the sight of you, eyes widening out of their sockets and hands attempting to reach out to you from behind the bars. You had nervously hiked the towel that covered your breasts and crotch higher up, locking an arm to the side to stop it from falling over.

The head jailer, Domino, had opened a rather secluded cell. It was hidden well away from the rest, with just one cell in front of it. A man already sat inside it, his head hung low in defeat. She had pushed you inside it with all her might. You had fallen to the ground, the towel coming off your body slightly but still enough to hide the main parts. She had locked your hands apart, uncomfortably close to the other man.

Just as they had been about to lock you away for good with the man, the Warden, Magellan stopped and looked at you.

"To think that you still haven't learnt your lesson after escaping death from the World Government all this time," he snarled at you, and you glared right back at him. "Let us hope you rethink your decisions as you rot away here before your execution."

"I'm not gonna be executed."

"We will see about that. Oh, and," he walked back into the cell and tore the towel away from your body, "this won't matter in a few weeks."

You scrambled to hide yourself as the jailers left, everyone other than the Warden laughing uncontrollably. You could feel countless eyes on you from other cells. People craned their necks to get a better look at your body in spite of the dim lighting of the prison. You tried to move desperately to save some dignity, but the clanking of the chains around your wrists echoed in the room, and the vicious comments only grew louder. You seemed to be the only woman on this level, and the prisoners thus took this as a chance to memorize every curve of your body.

"That's enough," a familiar voice declared from beside you, and the jeering immediately stopped.

Your eyes focused on the man beside you. His messy black hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat from the suffocating heat of the prison. His face looked hardened and tense. Every muscle in his body was coiled like a spring, as if he was ready to burst out in flames at any moment, despite the heavy shackles chaining him down.

Ace’s chest rose and fell with slow, measured breaths, the fury in his eyes growing hotter, sharper, as if silently promising death to all those who had had the nerve to comment on your fragile form, as well as to those who were the cause of it.

"Ace," you said softly, more so to yourself than you did to him. After all, how could he know the countless nights you had spent with the crew, awaiting his return as he sought revenge on Blackbeard? How could he know the sickness that overtook you when you found out of his imprisonment and ultimate execution? How could he know the relief you felt right now, just by the innocent sight of his face?

"Why are you here?" he said quietly, not looking up at you at all.

"Isn't it obvious? I'm a prisoner," you tried to inch closer towards him, but the chains that bound you did not budge.

"If the strategist I fell in love with did not foresee possible capture and execution, then she must be an impersonator."

You swallowed hard. You knew better than anyone that he wasn't angry with you — he was angry with himself. Angry that, despite all the warnings, all the plans, things had gone so wrong. And now, here you both were: stripped of everything, thrown into a nightmare where escape seemed impossible.

Yet now, in this hellish prison, with the cold iron chains cutting into your wrists, all of that seemed to fade into the background. The mere sight of him, alive and breathing was enough to satisfy all the anxiety you had had for the past few weeks.

"You're right," you bowed your head down. "I knew this would happen."

"Then why—"

"I missed you."

A deafening silence hung around the air before his eyes snapped back to you angrily. His entire body tensed, the chains around his wrists rattling as he shifted.

"You missed me?" His voice was low, and the fury in it was unmistakable. "You knew the risks, you knew what they would do to you, and you came here anyway? Why? Because you missed me?"

"You don't get it, do you?" you said softly, eyes meeting his. "I would rather be here with you, in this place, than out there without you."

"You're being stupid right now," Ace growled. His fists clenched in the chains, the metal creaking as if they were just a breath away from snapping under the pressure. "Do you know what you've done? You could've escaped all this — you didn't have to come here. Not for me. I'm not worth the—"

"I love you," you interrupted. The fire in his gaze flickered briefly.

"You know I love you too, but—" His voice softened. He wasn't good with words, never had been, and now, in this moment, he seemed to be fighting against them to keep you safe, even as you both sat in chains.

"If you're dying, I'll die with you," you whispered without hesitation.

Ace's breath hitched. He was angry, yes — but now more than ever, at himself. He couldn't protect you from this. He couldn't protect you from the world that had dragged you both down here.

"You shouldn't have to die with me," Ace muttered.

"But I want to."

"You said you were not gonna get executed," he reminded you, to which you shrugged.

"That was a lie. Of course, given the blocked exit points and the tight security against Whitebeard, there's no way we could escape from here without external help. Even if we do, assuming we got a few allies, what with Blackbeard becoming a Warlord, the chances of survival are 6%, which is not a lot, really."

"Wow. All of that flew right over my head," Ace smiled, one leg hiking over your hip to inch you closer. "Why didn't they dress you in prison clothes?"

"I threw a spear coated with sea stone at Magellan."

"Oh, is that why he was huffing around? That's my girl." Ace struggled to kiss your forehead, so you brought your face closer to his to help him. "I'm assuming they didn't try anything."

You shook your head, and his smile grew. "You look cold, baby."

"You know the drill," you giggled, crawling as close to his body as the cuffs allowed you to be, snuggling into his warmth. The goosebumps that coated your bare skin disappeared one by one. Ace let your hair back with his mouth before leaning down to kiss a cold nipple.

You gasped.

"Don't worry. Look," you looked in the direction he hinted at and watched most, if not all of the prisoners, drop down fainting.

"Conqueror's Haki?"

He winked in return before going back to the other nipple to lick it. Your body shook wildly. Ace's thighs stiffened around yours to lock your position on his lap, and you humped along his clothed cock, getting wetter by the second. Your tits bounced up and down with each movement, and he couldn't help but bury his face in them, sucking hickeys all over the area to make you wear his claim.

It didn't help that his body heat was beginning to rub onto you too, deepening the pit in your stomach. Clasping your thighs together, you nuzzled your face into his neck to lick your way up it. Ace laughed at the attempt, because although both his hands were currently chained to either side of his head, he was still very much in control of the situation.

"This is just like every day in our ship, princess," he groaned. "Tied up like this as I fuck my way into you, isn't that right, pretty?"

You mewled in response, the heat from the friction generating in between the rubbing of both of your crotches growing unbearable now. It was like music to his ears. Ace smirked and started to move his hips in a circular motion steadily.

"Is this enough for you, or should I lend my mouth to you too, princess?"

Your eyes widened and you nodded vigorously, stopping the humping movements before standing up and bucking your hips towards his face. You looked down into his eyes, but they focused on only one thing: the absolutely beautiful cunt in front of them.

The wetness dripped onto his face charmingly, and you swear you could've come just by that sight alone. He moved his head forward before sticking out a tongue and rubbing it softly in one stroke along your slit. You whined, legs giving in, but he held you up by putting his face under your cunt.

You felt your feet being lifted off the ground, and Ace was right under you, drinking in your juices so as to not let even a single drop go to waste. You moaned his name loudly, loud enough that you were scared the jailers might return, or a demon guard might catch the two of you, or maybe even the unconscious prisoners might wake up. But right now, all that mattered to you was Ace, and the mouth he was putting to such good use by sucking your clit like it was his last meal.

Your hips shook violently, and it took all of Ace's will power not to drop you down harshly onto his dick right then and there.

"Didn't know you grew so sensitive without me," he teased, the vibrations of his voice further aiding into your release.

"Shut up," you cried, and he grinned against your cunt.

"Roger that, baby."

At those words, you came as hard as you could. It had been so long since you had felt this good. All those countless nights you had spent putting on Ace's cologne onto his pillows and fingering yourself were nothing compared to the bliss you felt right now, his warm and wet saliva sticking out of your cunt and mixing in with your release.

You got off his face, trembling. You still hadn't gotten completely over the mind-blowing orgasm he had just delivered to you. You watched him lick his lips clean before he tried bending down to lick your cunt clean as well. You giggled, bucking your hips up to allow the access, giving him a loud moan in return.

"My turn," you said, bending down to nuzzle your face on his shorts. It seemed as if the jailers had decided to let your chains a bit looser than Ace's to aid you in covering yourself. If only they knew the way you were putting that blessing to use now.

"Yes, please, baby," he groaned, voice hoarse from eating you out for the first time in months.

You pulled his shorts down with your teeth, batting your eyelashes at him as his big cock sprung free from its shackles. It had been a while since you had taken his whole length in your mouth or cunt, but he seemed bigger than ever now that you were caged together.

"So big, so pretty," you muttered, peppering kisses over his balls and watching him crumble underneath the touches. "I wonder what happens if I do this?" You gave one kitten-like lick along the tip of his cock, and his eyes snapped shut and he bucked his hips up roughly.

"Fuck, ah."

"Crude language," you pouted, and his cock twitched at the sounds you were making. "May I please suck your cock?"

"Please," he choked out a moan, and you smiled victoriously, engulfing his long dick into your warm mouth in one, practised motion. Your cheeks were completely filled, yet you forced them to move up and down to please your needy boyfriend.

"Ah— fuck, so good baby, you're doing as well as always," he mumbled, looking up to the ceiling with tears in his eyes at the growing pleasure.

He was such a reckless mess for you, and you loved every bit of it. Smiling lightly, you bobbed your head up and down his dick to lubricate it with your saliva and make your movement easier. Unfortunately, you couldn't use your hands, but that made the determination in you to help him climax without a handjob even brighter.

"More, more, more! It's so good— ah— I can't imagine what I've been missing out on all these months," Ace groaned loudly, and it took one last effort from you to deep-throat him, making him spasm wildly around, tears reaching down his shirtless body and eyes burning from pure ecstasy.

"I'm gonna—"

You hummed along his dick, which seemed to be the final thing he needed to let go. With one final jerk of his hips, he came down your throat. So much. It was so much, too much for you. And yet, you swallowed everything down to the last drop. You didn't know how the food in Impel Down tasted, but by God it could never surpass the taste of his cum.

The two of you lay in the cell for some time after that, neither of you moving an inch. Although Ace still had limited movements he could choose from, you had longer chains and were thus able to move around much freely. So when your lips finally stopped shaking, you got up from your position to look around at the other prisoners.

"How long are they gonna be knocked out?"

"I don't know," Ace said, spreading his legs to invite you over to sit on his cock. "The Haki effects have obviously worn out now, I have no idea why they're still unconscious. Perhaps just lazy."

"Or maybe sleepy, like you always are," you giggled, hovering his cock, ready to slowly take him in inch by inch.

"That's not nice," he chuckled darkly before snapping his legs up to pull you down onto his cock harshly. You almost screamed, muffling the loud sound of protest against his neck, biting a hickey into it as revenge. He whimpered in response but continued to move his hips up and down nevertheless.

"You won't believe how much I've missed this," he murmured in your ear. "You riding me, looking oh-so-pretty with your boobs bouncing at the impact."

"You're so fucking dirty, honey," you tried acting as if the constant rutting of his cock into your cunt didn't affect you in anyway, but this position made him feel even bigger than your mouth had adjusted to some time ago, and now you felt as if you were gonna be torn up right from the pussy.

For quite some time, the only sounds heard on the entire floor were of Ace's balls slapping against your bare cunt, your squeals whenever his dick hit just the right spot, and his pants whenever he heard the melody that escaped your lips. The smell of sex lingered around the area, and you wondered what would happen if it reached any of the jailers who were in charge of this level, but it was hard to think too much with Ace whispering about all the fantasies he had had about you during his various trips before he got captured, about how every dream you appeared in used to leave him with a hard cock, and how he used to jerk off to the thought of your delicious cunt that awaited him once he reached back home.

You wanted to tell him all you felt too: about how it was getting so hard and suffocating being in the same ship as others without him, how your own fingers could never satisfy you the way his slender ones and coarse tongue did, and how the heat pooling in your cunt grew warmer and warmer till you couldn't take it anymore and at times burst into tears from the faux-pleasure humping yourself dry on his pillows would bring to you.

But you couldn't get a word out. Not with how his dick was rutting into you at a quicker pace now. Not with how balls-deep he was getting inside you now. Not with how you could feel his high approaching rapidly, and how he was getting more-than-ready to get his load into you after fucking you senseless in this dirty, dirty prison ward.

"I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come, I'm—" you chanted more to yourself than you did to him, and he shushed you.

"Hush, baby, me too," he groaned loudly, itching to touch you with his fingers even though he knew he couldn't. "At the count of three, yea?"

"Yes!" You cried back in response, your own hips moving at the speed of light. Ace counted backwards, and you both released heavily, liquids intermixing and spilling onto the floor. Yet the two of you paid no heed, continuing to move against each other like nothing happened. You bounced against him, ignoring the sploch! noises the sound of your cums together made, the stickiness encouraging you to get off your high using the man in front of you as your fucktoy.

Soon, the two of you had calmed down. You were still sitting on his cock, helping him keep it nice and warm. You lay your head onto his chest, both of you breathing heavily. It had seemed like a dream come true for you. Not only had you managed to reunite with Ace, but it was real, you really were there in his arms at that very moment, catching your breath after the wreck you had made on his cock.

From the cell in front of you came a chuckle. Your eyes snapped opened, and Ace lifted his head to glare at the source of the sound. Surely, no one had enough guts to announce their presence and interrupt your intimate moment.

Your eyes landed on a tall figure standing in the shadows of the cell across from yours. His skin was tanned and weathered. His slicked-back black hair gleamed under the dim light, along with a large golden hook in place of his left hand. His eyes were fixed on you both. He looked both amused and disdained. A cigar was perched lazily between his lips. He didn’t seem fazed by the prison, by the chains, or by the two of you tangled together on the cold floor. In fact, he seemed entertained by it all.

"Well, well," Crocodile purred sarcastically. "Looks like I've got front-row seats to quite the show." His smirk widened. "Didn't realize Impel Down had become so... lively."

[akuma-coffee]

Can I request Gojo and walking in on him showering? 🥺

order for anon! gojo x reader request menu

cw: walking in on gojo, nudity, suggestive!

mdni!

shoko’s bathroom doesn’t have a lock.

at first, this bothered you. the fear of being intruded upon would often plague your thoughts, however as time passed and you grew used to this knowledge, you didn’t dwell on it. it wasn’t exactly like you were bathing in her house; it would only be a few minutes spent within those 4 walls before you’d be back in the lounge with the others.

satoru and suguru would frequently joke about walking in on one another to newcomers (nanami's horrified expression when learning of the bathroom’s unusual feature comes to mind), though you were thankful to be past that fear.

it wasn’t until you’d gone to shoko’s apartment alone that the lock would become an issue.

it had been a long day at work. an influx in sightings coupled with the fact their were less sorcerers available meant your missions were growing steadily in difficulty. usually, a grade 1's exorcism would be a quick job for you, though today had been different. an unusual curse of intelligence, one that had been the conductor of a lengthy fight, resulted in a near grievous amount of damage to your body. for the most part you had felt confident, though by the end of it, you weren’t so sure you were going to win. you had, though.

shoko was always ready to patch you up, and just as quickly as you’d released the veil and returned to the school, your injuries were healed.

“just go back to my apartment, take a shower, and we’ll drink tonight.” she held her keys before your face, the metal chiming as one key hit another. opening your mouth slowly you begin to protest, though glancing at her stern expression, you decide to do what the woman says.

“it is friday.” you weren’t sure if the response was to convince yourself or to encourage her but you take her keys nonetheless, leaving medical to venture back to shoko's, not too far away.

your shoes are kicked off at the door, a heavy breath escaping dry lips as you close it behind you, keys strewed into the dish at the entry way. there’s a whirr in your ears and you can’t seem to remember if that’s simply the apartment, or if it’s your headache manifesting into something worse.

shoko’s room is by no means neat, just like the rest of her apartment. there’s papers in here too, stacked on a dresser, and most of her laundry is thrown just shy of the washing basket. thankfully you’re able to find some of the pyjamas she’d mentioned, and a (definitely used) towel. the next stop is the bathroom, handle placed in your palm and pulled down, door pushed open-

in the shower is a figure, pale and tall. you’re faced not with their head, but instead their groin. there’s water on his skin, droplets dripping down wet flesh.

“gonna take a photo?” satoru’s voice rakes through your body, and you jump at the sudden noise. at last, your eyes fly upward to meet his blue ones, your mouth ajar as your fingers clutch at the musty towel in your hand.

you stand for a few more moments to fester in your shock, and much like a deer in headlights, you're faced with the decision to either run or face your own death. at present, your body decides not to run, but to instead crash and burn before the cockiest person known to man. his grin is wide as he stares down at you, a playful glint in his blue eyes.

you’re finally released from your mental prison, heading straight to shoko’s room to slam the door behind you, sitting in front of the wood. with your back against the door you close your eyes, attempting to reach some sort of medatative state with your quick breaths, but one does not come.

instead, you hear footsteps coming toward you, and the door handle above your head rattles.

“go away.” your voice is quiet but you know he hears you, the squeak of metal and clunk of the latch signalling that he had let go. after a few painfully long minutes you decide satoru's left by now - you’re almost sure you hear the quiet droning of the tv, but as you swing the door open you realise how wrong you were.

satoru is not in the lounge but instead stood waiting for you, back to the wall, arms crossed over chest. thankfully, he is now dressed, a black longsleeve and grey sweats with hair still wet and messy.

“done with your tantrum?” he’s already teasing you seconds after you’re faced with him, your face burning hot in embarrassment.

“i was just in shock.” your voice is low.

“ah, long enough to get a good look?” there’s a sneer to his tone that you don’t appreciate.

“it was an accident - i don’t know what you want me to say. sorry?” you huff, hurrying past him as there's a clatter at the front door, and it opens to reveal shoko.

“you didn’t say satoru was gonna be here.” she doesn’t have a chance to take her shoes off before you're greeting her with your annoyance. she smells like cigarettes, and the bags under her eyes hang low. they’re purple, and etched into her skin as every other imperfection, mole, and freckle.

“satoru’s here?” she rolls her eyes. “well, that’s news to me.”

“she’s just mad because she walked in on me showering-“

“shut up satoru-“

“and stared at my naked body with awe.” the back of his hand flies to the top of his head for dramatic effect, and shoko’s brow raises. she doesn’t speak for a few seconds, glancing between your sheepish frown and his grin before finally sighing, the pack of cigarettes you hadn’t noticed until now being opened, and one placed between her lips.

“right.” she walks past the pair of you to the lounge, on route to her usual perch over the balcony for yet another smoke.

you whip round in annoyance, scowl ever present over your face as you look to satoru. even with him fully dressed and radiating confidence in an annoyingly childish manner, you still feel your stomach twist, flashbacks echoing over your eyes.

“stop with that, it’s embarrassing okay?” your final hope is honesty, a last ditch effort to save yourself from the white mop of hair. he's at the very least a sadist, but you hope that deep down he might care for your feelings, and perhaps will refrain from clout chasing if your emotional state were to be at risk.

“stop with what?” satoru’s teasing makes you doubt your initial thought process.

“please.” you look at him with your heart on your sleeve now, practically on your hands and knees. “don’t tell anyone else.”

satoru’s face softens, only for a second but you swear you see it; his brow gently raising and the curve of his lips falling to no longer crease at the edges, but all hope is immediately lost as the smile returns only as quickly as it had dampened.

“what if we break even?”

“satoru…”

“you saw me, i’ll see you, then you won’t have a one up on me.” it feels like he's wearing a snarl as his teeth peak through his lips, much like a beast hunting it’s prey. it certainly feels like that, your concerned gaze captured in his jaw.

“you’re the one with the step up, not me.” you sigh, but for some reason your heart is racing. he’s relentless, you know that, and the curious part of you wants to entertain his idea.

“fine.” without second thought, you grab ahold of his wrist, tugging at the lanky limb to bring him toward the bathroom, pulling him into the doorway and slamming it behind him before you’d had a chance to release the breath caught in your chest.

you pulled the loose t-shirt over your head (one of shoko’s old band tees) and threw it to the floor. the trousers were next, drawstrings tugged apart and elastic waistband dropped to ankle.

by the time you had stripped off, satoru’s expression had dropped, face displaying a genuine state of surprise that you swear you’ve never seen before now.

the trousers are tugged up, t-shirt pulled back over your head, and satoru is still stood in the same position, mouth still ajar. you momentarily pause to say something before escaping, only when your eyes were lost in his, nothing comes to mind. instead, you choose to flee the awkward air and relieve the tension set heavy in your chest, slipping through the exit and running straight to find shoko. she is only just coming through the balcony door.

“you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” shoko speaks and you’re a little startled, though as you start to reply in confusion, you feel an arm drape over your shoulder, pulling you toward his torso.

“nah, we were just chatting.” you breathe deeply beside him, trying to maintain your poise. there’s a little bit of nausea rising through you as the weight of your actions set in.

shoko doesn’t look convinced but doesn’t push either, simply throwing herself on the couch, still dressed in the turtleneck and chinos she’d been sporting beneath her coat.

“well, you can keep one another company while i go to the store. we’re out of beer, who would’ve guessed.” she points her finger between yourself and satoru, who is now sitting down beside the brunette.

“maybe you need to stop inviting us over to drown our sorrows.” you joke lightly and shoko rolls her eyes.

“what do you expect if you ask me for help?” she places both hands on each leg, standing. “don’t kill each other,” she’s by the lounge door, putting her jacket over her shoulders and pulling her hair from the back of it. “or do, i don’t care.”

this was longer than i had initially planned but oh well! thank you anon, please send more requests! this was so much fun.

[roseghoul26]

Cooper Howard | The Ghoul x fem!Reader

Tags: Title From A Fall Out Boy, Fame < Infamy by Fall Out Boy, Takes Place Before The Destruction of NCR, Jealousy, Someone Else Flirts With You, Derogatory Language Towards Women, Bisexual The Ghoul, Because Walton Goggins Said So, Arguments, Confessions, First Kiss, Sub Ghoul, Poor Man Is Desperate, Teasing, Edging, Oral Sex, Blowjobs, Cowgirl Position, You Wear His Hat, Light Dom/Sub, Cuddles Synopsis: After two weeks out on the job, you and The Ghoul are spending the night at a bar in Shady Shands relaxing. The Ghoul has always flirted with you, but he never meant anything by it, never did anything more, leaving you frustrated and desperately wanting the man. So when you meet someone who acts on his words, you nearly agree to spend the night with him, hoping to fill your lonely nights with another person instead of thoughts of The Ghoul. But any prospect of enjoying his company is destroyed when The Ghoul beats the man for even looking in your direction. Rightfully angry, an argument between the two of you ensues, leading to things that you only imagined would happen in your thoughts during your lonely nights.  Author’s Note: alright so normally i’m like meh about my own smut writing but i will admit i am a bit proud of this one :D Taglist: @ancientbeing10 @alex-does-art-things

The bar you were currently sitting in was dingy, seedy, and smelled like old food and piss. You didn’t even remember the name of it, too excited for the prospect of a cold drink to care, and you let The Ghoul drag you in. You were sourly disappointed when the Mr. Handy behind the counter handed you a lukewarm beer, not even a single drop of condensation on the brown bottle. 

So here you were, leaning back against a moth-eaten and weathered couch tucked in the corner, nursing a drink that just made you thirstier. He sat next to you, his legs lounged up on the low table in front of you two like he hadn’t a care in the world. You supposed that being alive for over two hundred years would do that to someone. 

The Ghoul had his own drink, a glass of whiskey, more specifically. It used to have ice in it, about ten minutes ago, but it had quickly melted, no doubt watering down the drink. Still, he continued to sip at it, his eyes roaming the crowds in the bar. Your eyes were shut, head resting against the back of the couch, catching up on some much-needed rest.

The Ghoul and you had just come back from a two-week-long excursion of the Wasteland, hunting down a group of escaped convicts from the jail in Shady Sands. Most of the time had been spent walking, searching for clues in the ending sea of sand. It had almost been impossible, but you were able to pick up a trail. It had led you to a long-since abandoned town near the shoreline of California, and after an intense firefight the two of you managed to slay them all; there was no way in hell you were escorting alive prisoners all the way back to Filly. Carrying the heads would be easier. 

And it was, except for the plethora of animals and insects it attracted, but you’d take that over the prisoners fighting you the entire time. Eventually, you and The Ghoul had made it back to Shady Sands, sweaty and covered in blood and exhausted, and dumped the heads onto the desk of the deputy. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a man pale so fast. 

After The Ghoul received the cap reward, he paid for two rooms for the both of you and some sleazy hotel, and after getting washed up he had dragged you to the bar further down the street. You hadn’t had the energy to fight him, but you almost wish you had now. You were barely staying awake, head bobbing as you forced yourself to concentrate on the chatter of patrons to keep you conscious. 

Bringing the drink up to your lips, your muscles cried out in protest, but you just ignored them. The drink itself wasn’t terrible, the flavor was almost citrusy, but it felt like sandpaper as it went down your throat. Wincing, you cleared your throat, garnering the attention of the man beside you. “Surly it ain’t that bad,” he chuckled, and you cracked an eye open at him. 

You didn’t respond, just holding out the drink for him to grab. You were sure to hold it by the neck so he had plenty of space to grab it below, but you felt him grab it in a way that made his gloved finger bush over yours. You kept your face neutral, but you certainly felt your heart react, ticking up in rhythm.

After taking a sip, a similar grimace crossed his face. If he had brows, you’re sure they would be furrowed, his lips curled up in disgust. “Even I can tell that tastes like shit,” he shook his head, forcing the drink back into your hands. There was only an inch of liquid left at the bottom, and so choosing to ignore the fact that his lips had just been on the bottle, you finished it off. 

Setting it on the table, you wiped the back of your mouth with your hand. “It’s not good, sure, but it’s better than anythin’ else I’ve had in the past weeks. “So, I,” you stood with a slight groan, “am gonna get another one.”

You didn’t get too far attempting to step around the table, his legs blocking the easiest way out. A hand grabbed your wrist, tugging you back down on the couch, very nearly toppling into him. You tried to break free, but his grip was unyielding. Not enough to hurt, no, but you were stuck. “Now, what kinda man would I be if I made a pretty thing like you get their own drink?” His words made you still, and you were grateful for the shitty lighting that hid your blush. 

Little did you know that he could see you clearly, an amused smile now on his lips. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured, and you were now able to yank your hand away, glaring harshly at him. “Now,” he lightly patted your thigh, making you jump, “stay here, sweetheart. I’ll be back before you know it.”

You were unable to resist the urge to flip him off as he walked towards the bar, before flopping against the couch with a huff. It wasn’t that you hated that he flirted with you. No, it was quite the opposite. You loved the comments and light touches, making your heart race and less-than-decent thoughts pour into your brain. But from the time the two of you had started working together, so roughly a year ago, that’s all it had been. Soft touches, empty promises, saccharine words and petnames that made you melt, but nothing more. He would always stop before it became more, his touch receding like you’d burned him, a witty remark that quelled the fire he stoked, an I’m just teasin’ ya, sweetheart. God, you hated those words specifically. 

 You wanted more, but it terrified you because you couldn’t tell if he actually meant something by his flirtations, or if he just enjoyed tormenting you. Friends were a rarity in the Wastleland, and you were screwed if you somehow managed to ruin things between you two. You’d be out of income, protection, and a genuine friend who (sometimes) had your best interest in mind.

So you bit your tongue, pretending like his words weren’t making you dizzy, that you wanted nothing more than to feel his body beneath you, to be able to feel his lips against yours. So many late-night fantasies that left you even more lonely in the morning, your knuckles bruised from where you had to bite them to keep quiet. Even though it hurt, you kept your desires close to your heart, treasuring the small things he did give you. Which, you’d come to realize, made it worse, but he had made you addicted to it. 

You were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn’t even detect someone approaching. You expected to see the familiar face of The Ghoul beside you, but you were startled to find someone else. He was a ghoul, and even though it was hard to tell you could see that he was younger, late twenties, or early thirties if you had to guess. He wore a simple blue shirt and some jeans, way too neat and hole-less than what you were used to. 

He had a beer in hand, and he used it to gesture to the spot beside you. “This spot taken?” He was the usual rasp of a ghoul, albeit a bit higher pitched than The Ghoul’s. God, you couldn’t stop yourself from comparing him to the other man. 

Speaking of him, you were able to subtly glance behind him to the bar, and you found the other man in conversation with some others. It didn’t look to be a confrontation, luckily, and you heard laughter from the group. You focused your attention on the stranger in front of you, smiling warmly at him. “Not at all,” you patted the space beside you, only barely warm still. 

As he sat beside you, setting his drink on the table, you let yourself take him in. He wasn’t unattractive, far from it. There was almost a playfulness to his features, his fully black eyes glimmering with mirth. His arm went around the couch, and you could feel the heat from it. Even though he wasn’t the man that had plagued your thoughts, you couldn’t help the way your body reacted to the stranger, breathing growing short, your cheeks darkening slightly. You were only human after all. 

“Can’t say I’ve seen you around here before, gorgeous.” He flashed his teeth, and you were pleasantly surprised to find pretty much all of them intact, and still in good condition. Another rarity of the Wastleland. 

“I’m just passing through. Just finished up some… work.” You turned yourself to face him more.

“Work, you say? Whattya do?”

“Oh, just some odd jobs here and there. Whatever makes me money.”

He chucked at that. “Can’t blame you for that. I’m Daniel, by the way.” He held a hand out for you, ungloved and bare. You shook it, giving him your name, and he repeated it back to you. It wasn’t the drawl of The Ghoul’s voice, but it was pleasant enough. 

You expect him to drop your hand, but something about them must’ve intrigued him, and you watched, quite confused, as he filled it over. His eyes ran over your fingers, especially your forefinger and thumb, before flicking back up to yours. He still didn’t drop your hand. “You use a gun a lot?” He smirked when you nodded, bewildered. “I can tell by the callouses here,” he dragged a finger along them, tickling you slightly. 

“Well, look at you,” you laughed. “What’re you, a detective?”

“Nah, nothin’ like that. Just… observant.” He flashed you another smile, completely confident in his actions. “So, you’re a bounty hunter then?”

You didn’t bother to deny his claim, knowing the expression on your face just gave you away. Thank goodness you weren’t a con artist. “Is it gonna be a problem if I say yes?” You asked cautiously, slowly retracting your hand, ready for this interaction to go bad. You let your eyes flick to The Ghoul, locating him in case you need help. He was still at the bar, talking with someone new this time, and you felt a pang of something as the man he was talking to brushed his shoulder, nothing innocent in the touch. 

“Not a problem at all,” he answered completely honestly. “Nasty business, though.”

You glanced back at Daniel, relief flooding you. You did not have the energy for a barfight tonight. “You don’t know the half of it,” you groaned. “It’s ruthless, but I enjoy it, weirdly enough. And I’m pretty good at it.”

The hand resting on the back of the couch shifted, and you felt his fingers brush over your shoulders, making you shiver slightly. I like a girl that can handle herself,” he admitted. “Strong,”  he gently squeezed the muscles in your biceps. “Confident. Powerful.” His voice turned into a whisper at the end, mouth pressed close to your ear. 

You were quite flustered now. “Well, you’re in luck then.”

“It seems I am. So, what say you, bounty hunter? Do you wanna get out of here in a bit, have some fun tonight before you head off?”

It had been a long time since you’d had someone in your bed. Since about when you started working with The Ghoul, to be exact. You’re not sure why you hadn’t in so long; it wasn’t for a lack of options. You just… couldn’t bring yourself to take someone to bed that wasn’t The Ghoul. Still, you hated waking up alone each morning, loneliness clawing at your heart. And when you’d see men and women stumble from his room, it felt like someone shot you, making you irritable with him for days to come. Maybe for once you’d have someone leaving your room, your heart content, if for a moment. Maybe you could imagine that it wasn’t Daniel, picture the other man’s features instead.

Maybe he would feel the same way you felt as he watched Daniel sneak from your room. That idea made you grin, and any hesitance about taking him to bed vanished. 

You didn’t get a chance to respond, though, before two familiar gloved hands rested on Daniel’s shoulders, making the man tense. He was forcibly pulled back from you, the force of the pull nearly making him fall off the couch. He caught himself, and you watched as he stood and faced The Ghoul. 

The shade from his hat hid most of his face, but even then you could see the hatred in his eyes as he stared down Daniel. The Ghoul was a formidable opponent, but you have to give some credit to Daniel as he squared up against him. “The hell’s your problem, man?” If the way The Ghoul had yanked Daniel hadn’t gotten the attention of the crowd, Daniel’s words surely did. Behind them, you watched a small crowd begin to form, and you wished to just let the shadows consume you. 

“She’s… off-limits,” he titled his head to the side. The action would make any sane person falter, and you watched as Daniel’s posture went rigid, fear hitting him. 

Still, Daniel didn’t let up, male pride and all that. “Maybe you should let her know, then,” he gestured angrily to you, and you shrank lower into the seat. “By the way she was lettin’ me talk to her, I can imagine the whole town’s probably had their way-”

His words, which had been so sweet moments ago, were cut off when The Ghoul grabbed him by the throat, slamming him onto the table in front of you. You jumped off the couch as splinters of wood and glass sprayed everywhere, narrowly avoiding you. Mortified, you could do nothing but watch as The Ghoul began to beat the man, blood joining in with the debris. If Daniel had a nose left, you were sure it would be pulverized. 

The Ghoul’s lips had curled up into a snarl, his eyes blazing as he leered down at the man, stopping his assault. Daniel tried to pry the other man’s hand from his throat, a choked gasp leaving him, yet that seemed to just make his grip tighter. “Gimme one reason why I shouldn’t just kill ya?” He growled, shoving Daniel’s head into the ground. He could barely garble out a reply, the words indistinguishable. 

Glass shattered on the floor as The Ghoul tossed the man into another table, another piece of furniture destroyed. As he stalked towards the downed man, he rolled over onto his hands and knees, rubbing at his throat. He was coughing and sputtering, genuine fear in his eyes as he looked up at the bounty hunter. Crouching before him, The Ghoul regarded him slowly, nothing but disgust on his features. 

“Fuck… she all yours,” Daniel managed to pant out between coughs. “Just… God, don’t kill me!”

Satisfied with his answer, The Ghoul kicked him one last time for good measure, sending him sprawling back. It was dead silent in the bar, and patrons gawked and shuffled away as The Ghoul walked to where you had been standing, only to find you gone. 

You had slipped out when he had thrown him, unable to continue watching. The streets were busy, and you kept your head down as you wove between people, heading to the hotel as quickly as you could. Too many emotions overwhelmed you, and you took a deep breath and began to collect your thoughts. 

First, you were embarrassed. 

You were embarrassed that they had been fighting over you. When you weren’t on a job, you hated creating conflict, not wanting to be the center of attention. You had plenty of that doing bounty hunting. This was supposed to be a night where you relaxed, to forget all about the horrors of the world you lived in, with or without The Ghoul, but that plan was tossed aside. 

Secondly, you were angry. 

Fuming would be a better word for it, and if you looked hard enough you could probably see the steam pouring from your ears. You were pissed that he had ruined a possibly enjoyable night with another person, ending your celibate streak. You were pissed that he felt like he could just take control of your choices like that. And you were pissed that you never got that next drink, although that was the least of your concerns at this point. 

Finally, you were confused.

Why had he reacted the way he did? It wasn’t like there was anything between you two, as much as it pained you to come to terms with it. Why did he care who you took to bed? He had taken plenty of people to bed during the time you’d worked together, and you’d never made a complaint about it. Why were you weirdly attracted to his display of… jealousy? Was it jealousy? You couldn’t even imagine what that could mean if it was. 

The sound of your name being shouted behind you forcefully tore you from your thoughts. You immediately recognized it, and you refrained from looking over at him. Ducking your head, you hoped that you blended in well with the others on the street, and you continued to briskly walk towards the hotel. 

You heard your name being called again, this time closer, and so you picked up the pace, nearly jogging at this point. You heard the sound of people crying out in alarm, and you knew that he was getting closer to you, barreling through the crowds without any thought. 

You could see the neon sign of the hotel, now lit, and you breathed out a sigh of relief. That feeling was short-lived, panic making your stomach drop when you heard The Ghoul right behind you. “Don’t make me fuckin’ tackle ya,” you heard him threaten. For a moment, you debated just ignoring him, but you knew that he didn’t make empty threats. Besides, the ground was dusty, and you’d rather not spend the rest of the night covered in sand.

Groaning, you finally halted, turning to face him with a scowl. You didn’t respond, just raising a brow and gesturing for him to ‘get on with it’. Your jaw was clenched so hard, and you could feel the headache that threatened to torment you later because of it. 

“The fuck was that about?” 

God, was he joking with you? “I should be the one asking you that! In what world was that a rational response?”

People stared as they passed, but you both just ignored them. “He was touchin’ ya.”

“And did I look even remotely disinterested? Was there any part of my body language that read that I was even the tiniest bit uncomfortable?” You laughed bitterly at the lack of response from him; you both knew what the answer was. “Why the hell do you even care if he was touching me or not?”

He was silent again, and you just scoffed, taking a few steps back. “Whatever,” you sighed in defeat, before turning and walking the remaining way to the hotel. You were almost disappointed when you didn’t hear him following behind you. 

The person behind the desk recognized you, and you were able to quickly make your way up to the second floor where your room was. You made sure to not let your eyes wander to the door where he was staying that night, a few feet down from yours on the other side of the hallway. 

When you were finally alone in your room, you resisted the urge to just scream angrily. Instead, you kicked off your shoes, which hit the walls with a loud noise, and you flopped onto your bed. Laying on your back with your arms spread, you stared at the surprisingly intact ceiling, frustrated tears stinging your eyes. Disagreements always upset you, but there was something about this one that made you feel ill, a sense of dread that you’d never felt before filled your body. 

You’re not sure how long you just lay there, calming your racing heart and your heightened emotions. It must’ve been a while, because you dozed off, the exhaustion in your body now taking control.

A light knock at the door woke you, and for a second you thought you had just imagined it. When it came again, more forceful, you sighed, knowing exactly who was on the other side of the door. Like before, you debated just ignoring him, but you didn’t want to be charged for the destruction of more property. “What?” You snapped out, still not in the mood to talk to him yet. 

“We need to talk.” The Ghoul responded, sounding less irritated than you. 

“Yeah, no shit.” I gave you plenty of time to explain yourself downstairs. 

You could hear him sigh through the thin wood door. “Sweetheart.” You hated that he knew how to get you to do whatever you wanted. You couldn’t even stop yourself as you sat up and made your way to the door. With no hesitation you opened it, his endearment almost putting you under a spell.

It was dissipated when you saw him, those emotions flooding your mind instead. The door was only open a crack, your body filling it as you glared at the other man. “Yes?

“Let me talk to ya,” he sighed in frustration. 

“You are.” You couldn’t care less that you were being stubborn and difficult. He deserved it.

His jaw clenched. “Inside.”

You didn’t respond, mulling over his words as you stared at him, fire never once leaving your eyes. Finally, you relented, against your better judgment. Stepping back, you left the door open, leaning up against one of the dressers with your arms crossed. You watched as he entered, the door clicking shut in finality, looking like he expected to be attacked by you at any second. You were almost proud to instill that level of fear in him.

He kept a respectful distance away from you, loitering near the foot of the bed. “Look, I’m… sorry.” He said the words like they were brand new. 

He left it at that, and you scoffed. You knew that you should just accept his apology and move on. You knew that you shouldn’t instigate something, to purposely start an argument with your traveling partner. But you were still too damn angry to care. You needed him to know what you felt.

“‘Sorry’? I get nothing more than that?”

“What’dya want from me then, sweetheart?” He growled, your anger rubbing off on him. “You want me to get down on my fuckin’ knees, plead for your forgiveness? You want me to promise I ain’t ever gonna do it again, even though it’ll be a damn lie? What the fuck do you want from me?” He spat the last sentence out, emphasizing each word.

The image of him on his knees before you flashed in your mind, and you had to admit it did seem appealing. But not now. 

He was getting closer to you now. Slow, methodical steps, but he was closer, and continuing. “I want an explanation.”

You might’ve as well just slapped him, the way he halted in his tracks, stunned. Words seemed to evade him, and the anger that had just been rolling off him in waves subsided, still there yet not as strong. It should’ve had the opposite effect, but your rage was growing, threatening to burst. “Oh, so now you can’t talk? It’s a simple request!”

“It’s really fuckin’ not.”

“Why?” Silence. “You’ve got two options here. You either suck it up and tell me, or you get the hell out of here. It’s your choice.”

You could tell that he hated the choice you gave him, but you didn’t care. You expected to watch him turn and storm out the door, leaving your relationship in tatters on the dirty hotel floor. So you were surprised when he took a deep breath and remained where he was. “I hated that he was touchin’ you."

“So you were jealous?” You ignored the way you were elated when he nodded, albeit with some hesitancy. The anger subsided, and you felt pure want take its place. “You wanted to be him,” you whispered, taking a step towards him. Your confidence grew at how hungrily he watched you. 

“You wanted to be the one whispering those words, to be running their fingers on my body.” Another step. “You wanted to be the one to take me to bed, to feel me, to fuck me.” You were finally close enough to him that you could touch him if you wish, but you kept your hands by your sides.

The Ghoul groaned at your words, and you couldn’t help the small smirk on your face at his reaction. “Do you want that?” You asked, needed to hear confirmation. 

It came almost immediately. “Fuck, yes.” His own hands reached out to touch you, but you swatted them away. That snapped him out of his semi-trance, his eyes flashing with confusion.

“You don’t get to touch me yet.”

 Something new flashed in his eyes instead, something you couldn’t quite name. “Sweetheart-”

“Sit down.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but you just shot him a look, silencing him instantly. The bed groaned as he sat on the edge of it, eyes never leaving yours. It made him stand a head lower than you now, and he had to look up to continue holding your gaze. “How does it feel? To watch someone else get the things you want?”

You didn’t give him a chance to respond. “It hurts, doesn’t it? It feels like someone’s stabbed you in the heart, no? So,” you moved between his legs, “how do you think I felt? After you flirt with me, then take someone else to bed. After you touch me, toy with me, but then act like my body disgusts you, and you recoil away. After you say those things that leave me shaking and wanting, but then never act of them.” 

Your hands grabbed the lapels of his jacket, and you brought your face close to his. “I’ve seen you take countless lovers to bed during the time we’ve worked together, and I never said a peep. Even though it fucking killed me to see. That man in the bar, the one you beat senseless? That was gonna be the first person that’d occupied my bed in almost a year. And no, I didn’t really want him that badly, but maybe I could finally go to bed for one night and not have my thoughts be entirely of you.”

Shoving his back lightly, you stumbled back a few steps, the confession that had just spilled from your lips making you breathless. “I have to know; did you mean it? All the flirting, the touches, everything. Did you mean it?”

For once, The Ghoul kept any remarks to himself, and sheer honesty was written across his face. There before you, you saw a vulnerable man, gazing up at you like you hung the stars. “I did. I do.”

“Do you want me?” Cautiously, you began to move back towards him.

“Every fuckin’ minute.”

When you were back between his legs, you let your hands rest on the lapels, no longer strangling the poor material. “Do you want me to kiss you?”

A hopeful smile graced his lips, his eyes flicking down to your lips which hovered above him. After nodding lightly, you let yourself move closer until your lips just brushed over his, barely making contact. “A shame, then.” You pulled away before they could fully connect, a victorious smile on your face as you looked down at the confused man.

“Oh, you thought you’d be getting what you wanted tonight? You ran your hands up, resting on the sides of his neck now. You could feel his heart hammering. “I hate to break it to you, but you’re not. No, tonight you’re gonna feel as desperate as I’ve felt for the past year. And,” you made sure that he was especially paying attention to your words now, “if you think that at any point tonight you’re gonna have control, you’re wrong. Any objections?”

His eyes had blown out during your little speech, small pants leaving his lips as he stared up at you. He was already so eager, and you’d barely done anything yet. Even still, you saw a flicker of uncertainty, and you realized he’d probably never given up control in the bedroom. You let the facade drop for a moment. “I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. Not ever. You just gotta let me know, and we’ll stop immediately.”

Any uncertainty left him, and something warmed in your chest at the fact that he trusted you enough to do something like this. “You ready?”

He nodded, and you shook your head. “I need to hear you say it, baby.”

You watched his throat bob as he swallowed, not expecting the name from you. “I’m ready.”

“Good.” You rewarded him with a soft kiss on the cheek before grabbing his hat off his head. “Go get comfortable on the bed.” 

Stepping away from him, you set his hat on the nightstand as he got situated, his now bare head resting on the pillows. Making sure he had returned his attention to you, you heard his gasp when you grabbed the hem of your shirt, turning into an appreciative groan when you tore it off your head. You wore a simple black bra beneath, but you might as well have been wearing the most beautiful piece of lingerie with the way his eyes widened, a smile on his face again. You made quick work of your jeans, and you refrained from shivering as the air hit your now-exposed skin, clad in only your undergarments. But how could you be cold when he was looking at you with such heat in his eyes?

The bed creaked again when you got on it, and you adjusted until you straddled his abdomen. His clothing dug into your skin, but you could hardly feel it. Planting your hands on his chest, you leaned forward until your face was only an inch from his. He watched you with hooded eyes, which fluttered close when your lips pressed against his jaw, moving up until you stopped right below his ear. 

Gloved hands rested on your bare waist, and as much as you enjoyed feeling his hands on your body, you couldn’t let up that easily. “Did I say you could touch me yet?” You whispered, and you felt him slowly rescind his touch, now resting on the bedsheets beside him. “Good job,” you praised, and you felt him shudder slightly. Interesting. “If you behave, I might just let you touch me,” you offered, like dangling a piece of food in front of a starving animal. 

“Yeah?” 

You just smiled against his skin. 

Continuing your exploration, you moved inward, barely feeling the ridges of the indents of his skin. Moving up his cheek, to across where his nose would be, then to the other cheek, you littered his face with kisses, purposely avoiding his lips. His eyes continued to flutter open and close, and at this proximity, you were able to see short, brown eyelashes. How… peculiar. And cute. 

You didn’t make any comment on them, choosing to move back down again. But you went past his jaw this time, down to his neck, and you felt his head roll back to allow you more room. You felt him jump when you sunk your teeth into the skin before moaning beautifully, and you ran over the hurt with your tongue. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched as his hands instinctively went up to touch you, then resting back down on the bed, grabbing at the bedsheets instead. 

There wasn’t much exposed skin left when you reached where his neck and shoulders met, his shirt now covering it. Leaning back, you gestured for him to sit up, helping ease the jacket off his shoulders when he did. He pulled his arms out, and it pooled around his waist, still sitting on most of it. You didn’t care, as long as you could get his get his shirt off.

You hesitated a second before beginning to fiddle with the buttons, glancing up into his eyes. “Alright?” 

“You don’t gotta keep askin’, sweetheart,” he responded breathlessly. “I’ll let you know if I don’t want somethin’.”

You grinned at him, before quickly getting to work and taking off his button-up shirt. With every inch of his body that was revealed to you, you felt your heart accelerate, excitement bubbling in you. He had just gotten his arms out of the garment and had tossed it to the floor before you were forcing him back down on the bed with hands on his chest, loving how easily he complied. 

You let your fingers drag down the front of his chest, nails scratching lightly. Even with the thick scarring covering his body, he was still able to feel it, and he shivered. Your breath caught when you finally looked for yourself, instead of letting your touch see for you. To say he was gorgeous would be an understatement. All lean muscle, you could feel them flex and jump when you touched him, and for a moment you remembered how strong this man was. And here he was, submitting to your every request. You really did try to not let it go to your head. 

“You’re so beautiful, Cooper.” You hadn’t even realized you’d let his real name slip until he went deathly still beneath you. Glancing up at him, you couldn’t read the expression on his face, and you thought you went too far. Still, he had yet to say anything, and so you kept your mouth shut. You trusted that he would stop you.

Continuing to touch him, you barely heard the soft plea that he uttered. “Say it again.” 

The expression clicked now, and you smiled gently at him. You felt truly happy, knowing there was another thing he trusted you with. “Cooper,” you sighed, and you were startled when you felt his hands grasp at you, desperately trying to pull you towards him. You braced on his chest, stopping him, and you glanced at where his hands now rested until he tore them away. You made a disapproving noise as you leaned back down, teasing him by brushing your lips against his. But with the way you were sitting and the way you pressed down on his chest, he couldn’t meet you, and you heard him make a frustrated noise.

“Do I gotta tie your hands up, Cooper?” You semi-joked, gauging his reaction. When his eyes somehow darkened even more, you knew he was down. 

You both knew that he could easily “break free” from the restraints you’d placed on him; he had ghoul strength, and you were just a human. But he continued to play into your game, and you were grateful for it. You were having too much fun. 

“If ya keep sayin’ my name like that, then ya might have to.” 

“Oh, you’re too good to me, baby,” you praised, hands retracting so you could reach behind you. You smirked at his reaction when you tugged at his belt, being sure to purposely graze over the evident strain in his pants. You gave him the most innocent look you could when he glared at you, returning your touch to his belt. It took a bit of maneuvering, and with some help from him raising his hips, you were able to free it.

The headboard was made from metal bars, so you were easily able to secure his wrists to it. The restraint wasn’t tight, tight enough to keep him in place, but if he severely needed to leave then he could easily escape. When you sat back, you admired the sight before you. Your wildest dreams were playing out right in front of you, and you couldn’t be more excited.t

Starting at the base of his throat, you began to move down his body, pressing your lips against the skin as you descended. When you reached his nipples, you let your tongue flick over it, eliciting a whine from him. Your fingers toyed with the other one, making him squirm. You couldn’t deny that the noises he was making were making you dizzy, a familiar tension building in you. But you kept an amused and unaffected expression on your face, not wanting to break yet. 

You didn’t stay there for long, continuing your descent downwards. You scratched lightly over his abs when you reached them, and you figured goosebumps would be covering his body by now.

 “I could just leave you like this, you know,” you commented as you moved backward. “Hands bound, aching, wanting.” Your hands trailed down his thighs. 

“You wouldn’t,” he groaned, and you just flashed a smile at him.

“Oh, but I could.” You now rested just below his thighs, your own straddling them. “I could just sit here and make you watch as I touch myself, make myself cum, screaming your name.” You heard the belt rattle against the bedframe when you let one of your hands trail down your stomach, a gasp leaving you when you reached the band of your underwear. “Then leave you alone with just your thoughts, imagining all the things you could’ve done to me. Just how I spent every night this past year. Revenge is a bitch, isn’t it?”

“Sweetheart, please.” You don’t think you’ve ever heard something so wonderful, arousal spiking in your body. His eyes bore into you as you reached behind you, unclasping your bra. You let it slide off your body before setting it gently on the floor. Squeezing your breasts in your hands, you let your head roll back, his name tumbling from you. You debated moaning the other man’s name, the one in the bar, but you couldn’t remember it. Besides, you were torturing the man enough, and you assumed that he would tear through his bindings if you did. 

Eventually, you took pity on him, and your desire was starting to get in the way of your need to draw this out. He jumped when you rested your hands on his thighs, expecting you to do what you said, and you could feel the relief it brought him.

It didn’t take long for you to unbutton his pants, even less to unzip them. You tugged both them and his boxers down enough to free him. He was already rock hard, almost painfully so, and a strangled groan left him. The noise shot straight to your core, and you sighed in appreciation at him. He was long, not overwhelmingly so, but you knew you’d be feeling him for days to come. 

Keeping your eyes on him, you leaned forward and lapped at the tip, licking the bead of moisture there. You watched as he tried to move to touch you, and you grinned at him when the restraint stopped him. You could see the plea in his eyes, and you just shook your head at him. Not yet. 

Another run of your tongue made him curse, and you cooed at him. “Want me to take care of this, baby?”

“Please,” he gasped out.

“Well, when you ask that nicely.”

He didn’t get a chance to prepare before you were running your tongue along his entire length, base to tip, before taking as much of him as you could in your mouth. You took what you couldn’t fit in your hand, moving in tandem with your mouth as you sucked him. It was nearly unintelligible, but you heard your name being moaned by him. 

Bobbing your head up and down, you were unrelenting in the pleasure you were giving him, and you could feel his hips begin to buck and twist, and you moved your mouth off him before he could hit the back of your throat. 

Glancing up at him, he looked absolutely wrecked, and the fact made you smile cruelly. You could tell that he was close, by the way he pulsed and throbbed in your hand as you continued to stroke him. Your name was just streaming from him freely, straining and pressing against the belt. The bedpost made an awful noise, but it was covered by his noises. “You close, Cooper?”

His head had been thrown back against the pillows as pleasure coursed through him, but you watched as he flicked his gaze down to you. “Fuck, sweetheart, yes.” You hadn’t meant to, but you let it slip through in your expression what you were planning, and dread washed over his face. He groaned you name, almost in warning, but you ignored him. 

To his very evident displeasure, you let go of him, his incoming release ebbing away as you sat up. A string of curses left him, and a drop of sweat rolled down his face. His eyes were blazing with lust and anger, but they melted a bit when regarding you. At least the anger did. The lust seemed to just flare up, especially when he as you stood to slip off your underwear. “You only get to cum when I do, got it?”

He was able to see the evidence of your arousal on them as you discarded them, and even in the position he was in a cocky smile grew on his face. “Perfectly.” That cocky smile was wiped off when he saw you reach for his hat, putting it on your head as you climbed back onto the bed. As you straddled his lap, realization flashed on his features. “Are you tryin’ to fuckin’ kill me?” He wheezed, a mix of laughter and a groan. 

“I’m surprised I haven’t already,” you teased back, your hands bracing on his chest. Just like you thought, his heart pounded against your fingertips. Rocking your hips slowly, you began to rut against him, coating him in your arousal. 

You heard the tell-tale clink of his belt rattling against the bedframe. “Can I touch ya now, sweetheart?” He gasped out.

You seriously considered it for a moment, but you decided against it. “When you make me cum, you can. But if you finish before me…” You let the words trail off, the threat evident enough.

He looked like he wanted to argue, but he held his tongue, knowing that it would get him further away from what he wanted. You grinned at his compliance, rewarding him by getting on your knees and lining him up with your entrance. Sinking onto him, a gasp tore from you as he pressed into you. It had been so long since you’d been stretched like this, and it felt even better than you remembered. Or maybe it was because it was with him. 

His grip was vice-like against the metal bars as you slowly sank down on his cock, almost painful-sounding grunts and moans leaving him. It was a slow process, but eventually, you felt your hips go flush with his. “Oh, Cooper, baby,” you groaned, and you felt him twitch inside of you.

“You… you can’t say shit like that and then expect me to last,” he whined, and you laughed gently. 

“You need a moment?” You refrained from adding ‘baby’ to the end, knowing he was about to snap. 

A shaky exhale left him. “Just… just a moment.”

You hummed in response, letting yourself sit there for a moment. It felt like torture, wanting nothing more than to ride him, but you held back. You tried to not move too much, either, and you eventually felt his breathing calm some. It was still sporadic, but not as much as before. 

“Go ‘head now.” You didn’t have to be told twice. 

Starting with a slow roll of your hips, you began to move up and down. One hand was planted on his chest, the other on his hat to keep in on your head as it rolled back. It only took a few moments for you to fall into a rhythm, the slow movements gradually building to something faster. 

“Cooper, fuck, you feel so good,” you moaned, and you heard him make some noise in agreeance. Another roll of your hips made you see stars, and you could feel that familiar tension begin to build, slowly but surely. 

“What a sight you are,” he murmured between breaths, and you looked down to see him staring at you, almost mesmerized. “Wearin’ my hat while ya fuck yourself on my cock. Fuck, a man could die happy like this.”

You tried to grin down at him, but the pleasure became too much as you continued to rock, and you felt yourself falter. Instead, you just moaned out fragments of his name. He was all you could feel, pressing into spots that made you cry out, hitting them with each roll. “Baby.”

God, you loved the way he reacted whenever you uttered that name. His hips jumped, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. The hand planted on his chest dug into the toughened skin, nails no doubt leaving indents, but he didn’t seem to mind. Even though your legs were beginning to shake, you didn’t let up, moving up and down, your breathing becoming labored. You could feel yourself getting closer; you just needed a little more.

After angling your body to keep it steady, you let go of his hat, moving your hands to between your legs. It made you groan, feeling the way his cock moved in and out of you as you began to rub at your clit. The extra stimulation made you cry his name out loudly, and you knew there would be complaints from the other patrons of the hotel.

Your walls tightened around him, making him bite down harshly on his bottom lip to keep from cumming right there. His eyes flicked downward, his mouth going slack as he watched you touch yourself. He forced himself to look away, blown-out eyes staring into yours. You could see the tendons in his neck strain as he concentrated on controlling his release. 

The extra pleasure was what you needed, and you could feel your impending release inch closer. “You close, sweetheart?” His voice was hoarse, and you nodded furiously. “You gonna cum on my cock? Fuck, yeah you are.”

“Cooper, you can…” Your words were cut off with a whine. 

He seemed to get what you were saying, and he groaned in relief. “Can I finish in ya, sweetheart? Fill up that perfect cunt?”

“Please.” For the first time during the night, you pleaded for something. You were on the verge of release, your movements growing frantic as you chased your release.

“C’mon, sweetheart, lemme feel ya.” 

As you cried out his name again, you came, your body going slack as pleasure made you boneless. It wasn’t your first orgasm in a year, far from it, but it felt so much better when it came from another person. Your nerves hummed and you felt weightless, soft whines and pants leaving you. 

You barely managed to catch yourself before you fell on top of him, and the clench of you around him was all he needed for his own release, having staved it off for a long time now. He was even louder than you were, your name coming out like a sharp bark as he came, and you could feel his release seep into you, coating you. 

The room felt awfully quiet now, even though it was filled with the sound of both of you catching your breaths. With unstable legs, you lifted yourself up and off of him, and you watched as his spend dripped out of you and onto his abdomen. Groans both left you at this sight. 

You had been so caught up in the sight that it nearly startled you when you heard the clinking noise again. Glancing up at him, he gave you an expectant look, an almost teasing smirk on his face as he rattled the belt again. “You gonna release me? I’ve been good.” You scoffed at the way he pouted at you.

“You have been,” you agreed. “My good boy,” you added as you reached for the belt. His eyes widened, sucking in a gasp, and if could, he would be blushing. 

You just smirked down at him as you released him, but that victory was short-lived when you felt his hands immediately shoot to your body. He practically yanked you down to his mouth, desperately claiming your lips in a messy kiss. His hands roamed over every part of your body, the rough skin making you whine in pleasure, and you could feel his responding smile. 

As much as you were loving his attention, you had to admit you were incredibly exhausted, especially now. A yawn tore through you, interrupting the kiss, and you pulled back. “Am I borin’ you, sweetheart?” He asked, amused.

“You could never. But I don’t think I can do all that again,” you laughed breathlessly. 

“There’s always tomorrow,” he smirked. “And the next day. And the next.”

You slapped lightly at his chest, chuckling. “Eager, are we?”

“Desperately,” he growled lightly before pulling you back to his lips. This kiss was gentler, although no less passionate. He laughed boisterously when you pulled away to yawn again, fingers halting their exploration. 

When you tried to pull away, though, he didn’t let go, keeping your body close. “Baby, I need to get us cleaned up,” you laughed, trying and failing to escape his hold. “I’m not going to bed covered in…” You trailed off, too embarrassed to finish the sentence. You tried to wiggle free, and you sighed in defeat when he didn’t let go. 

“You’re blushin’,” he teased, making your ears burn more. “You were spewin’ those filthy things earlier without a second thought, but now you’re actin’ all shy?”

“I hate you,” you grumbled.

“Sure ya do, sweetheart,” he chuckled. “How ‘bout this? You finish what you were ‘bout to say, and I’ll let ya go. For a minute or two, that is.”

You sighed again. “I was saying that I’m not going to bed covered in your cum,” you said with major hesitancy, your ears on fire. 

“Why not?”

You slapped his chest again. “I did what you asked. Let me go, Cooper.”

He debated it for a moment. “Fine,” you felt his hand let up its hold, “but if you ain’t back in a minute, I’m draggin’ ya back to the bed.”

Now on a timer, you quickly got off his lap, not before pressing one last kiss to his cheek. On shaky legs, you made your way to the bathroom, flipping him off when he laughed at your inability to walk in a straight line. After using the bathroom, you used one of the provided washrags, dampening it before running it between your legs, and cleaning you up. Grabbing a new one, you dampened it as well before heading back to the bathroom.

He was now sitting on the edge of the bed, the rest of his clothing discarded on the floor, and he looked up when he saw you enter. “Thought I was ‘bout to drag you back,” he commented as you approached him, grinning when he saw your unabashed staring. “Like what ya see?”

You wiped that proud expression off when the cold washcloth made contact with his skin, and you quickly wiped him down. He hissed when it ran over his cock, and you muttered a small apology. You tried to move back to the bathroom to discard the cloth, but you felt him wrap an arm around your waist, pulling you back towards him. You felt him kiss the back of your neck, and you felt him yank the cloth from your hand, tossing it vaguely in the direction of the bathroom. 

He pulled you back onto the bed, adjusting the covers so that they covered you both, the one arm never leaving your waist, his face burrowed into your neck. Out of all the things you expected him to be, a cuddler was not one of them. But you certainly weren’t complaining.

Because of the heat of him behind you, and the exertion of the day's activities, you felt exhaustion take over you again, and your eyes fluttered close. “You still owe me anther drink,” you heard yourself mutter. 

The rumble of his chest from his laughter was the last thing you remembered before you fell asleep. 

Author’s Note: i stole the hat thing from one of my other fics, but i love it so much that i needed to use it again. also might write a continuation/pt.2 to this, idk yet.

also thank you @kinatanhi yet again for the comment that helped inspire all this <3

[sukunasbow]

protecter, daryl dixon.

summary: in which your daughter gets curious about you and daryl’s relationship after he continues to protect the two of you!

warnings: obviously reader has a kid, fem!reader, and this is not yet proof read!

notes: requested by anon, hope this finds you well bby!

The prison is gone. The governor destroyed it and everything in it’s path, leaving it for the dead to make their new home. Now, the group is separated, everyone off with their own smaller group, hoping to reunite and find each other again.

You, fortunately, got split off with your daughter, who you never would’ve left, and Daryl. The three of you are somewhere in the forest, surrounding a small fire, eating scraps of the rabbit the man killed.

“Here, want some more?” You offer your daughter some more of your share of the rabbit meat, making sure she’s not going hungry for the night. “No, she can have some of mine.” Daryl insists, gently pushing your hand back down, instead offering the little girl some of his share. “I’m full.” Your daughter rejects the offer, brushing her hands off on her pants, “Ya sure?” He asks again. She nods in response.

“Okay, let’s go to sleep.” You move towards your daughter and give her your sweater, leaving you in a tank top. It’s a cold night, but she’s your priority at the moment, so you help her put on the clothing. “Night, mommy.” She mumbles, pausing for a second and patting the wood chips and dirt down, then lying down. “Goodnight, Daryl.” The girl adds. You glance at him, admiring his smile at your daughter.

Your daughter sits up, scanning her surroundings. It’s still dark out, she couldn’t sleep. “Mommy.” She whispers, attempting to wake you up. Your currently sleeping next to Daryl, his arms wrapped around your waist, soft snores escaping from his lips. “Mommy.” The young girl shakes you again. “What’s wrong?” Daryl shoots up when he hears your daughter’s voice, immediately grabbing his crossbow that’s next to him, turning back to face her. “I couldn’t sleep.” She says. “Oh.” Daryl places the weapon back down, carefully shuffling around to sit next to the girl, deciding to let you get some more rest.

“What’s keeping ya up?” He asks your daughter, receiving a shrug in response. “

Are you scared?” Daryl tries a different approach to his question.

She shrugs.

“Okay.” He pauses, starting to feel awkward in the silence, deciding to pick a small flower out of the ground and twirl it around in his hands. “So, you’re dating my mom?” She blurts out. Daryl’s eyes widen slightly, causing him to drop the flower, turning to face her. “What?” He replies. “I’m not stupid.” The girl pauses, “I know you like her.” She continues, teasing the older man about your relationship with him. He gets flustered, slightly blushing, “None of your business, it’s personal, adult stuff.” He scoffs, earning a laugh from her. “It became my business. You’re always protecting us, which is nice. I like you, I think you’re good for my mom. But..” She sighs, “If you ever do anything to hurt her, you won’t see the next day.” She threatens the man. Daryl shakes his head, not taking your daughter seriously, but still responding with an honest answer, “I’d never hurt her.”

[yandere-writer-momo]

Hello Can I request Pickles with a s/o who's from the same time era as him? Reader was bring back to life like Pickles and is a little more evoluted than him. They scientists made them meet, but reader is not interested in Pickles, ignoring him completely.

Thanks!

Yes you can! Imagine being unthawed centuries later from your frozen prison to come face to face with this giant smelly man?

Yandere Baki Head Canons

Pickle with a prehistoric S/O

Pickle

The scientist found you a few hours after they found Pickle. You were also encased in salt but instead of punching a t-Rex, you were holding onto the head of a Pterodactyl. Your head resting against theirs as if you had accepted your death.

You had pieces of various gemstones and dried plants braided into your hair, you wore clothes (made of fur), and even had a few weapons unlike Pickle. The scientists were fascinated by you. You must be one of the first humans!

The scientists accidentally revived the two of you. Allen had woken Pickle up by cooking T-Rex while you had woken up from Allen’s screams. You ran to Allen’s rescue and was surprised to see Pickle, the Neanderthal you constantly clashed with back during your time in the world standing above a helpless creature

Pickle and you circled each other for a long time. Pickle attempted to reach out to touch you but you pushed him away. Pickle was happy to see you but you wanted nothing to do with him even in this era

Your tried to walk away from Pickle but he followed you. The caveman grunted and cooed at you since he was so surprised by his surroundings.

Pickle eventually broke down a wall to escape but the two of you were surrounded by flashing lights. You remained away from Pickle for a bit but eventually relented (he kept giving you puppy eyes)

Pickle was thrilled when you sat beside him. He smugly wrapped an arm around you. His golden eyes scanned the humans for any challenges to trying to take you from him but none came forward. Except for the hairy old man who offered his hand to Pickle

Pickle refused to leave until you went with him. He would not keep his hands off of you for the entirety of the trip. Pickle would whine if you didn’t stay close to him. You were the only one he knew

The two of you eventually sit in the enclosure together. Pickle playing with your braids while you remain indifferent. You felt stuck with him and you were positive there wasn’t any creature strong enough to beat Pickle

And as the fighters came to challenge him, you still remained indifferent. You had no interest in this modern world nor did you have an interest in fighting. You had hoped to have perished alongside your pterodactyl companion when the plates shifted but here you were with Pickle

And he wouldn’t let you go. The Neanderthal constantly showed off his victories to you and even some animals he hunted but you had no interest in any of it. If Pickle could think, which you doubted, he’d know that you were an herbivore. You were naturally peaceful compared to him but would fight if you had to (which one of the guards found out when they tried to touch you and then Pickle ate him)

Pickle wouldn’t let you out of his sight for a minute. If you even tried to walk away, he’d growl. The caveman was extremely possessive of you and you despised it. Why did you have to end up being stuck with him of all people? Why couldn’t the scientists just leave the two of you alone?

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Kill and make up (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which you and your husband discover that Celebrimbor has escaped with the Nine, and it brings out the uglier side of your relationship

Warnings: evil!reader, brief eye injury, intense argument between spouses: reader and Sauron aren’t physically violent with each other (only like a hand grab and a shove), but they scream and throw things towards each other (he does it by accident, she does it on purpose, neither get hit); seeing and touching a severed finger, sadistic tendencies, lots of violence, murder, allusions to smut, fucked up relationship dynamics (as usual with these two but this may be the most deranged one I’ve written to date)

Note: part of the evil!reader collection. For context, reader has been married/soulbound to Sauron since before Adar killed him and infiltrated herself in Eregion as a smith while she waited for his return.

Sometimes you wonder if, when you and your husband bound yourselves to one another and part of his power was bestowed upon you, he had not let some of his short temper trickle into you as well.

But you never were entirely level-headed, even before Morgoth took you. The difference now is that you have tasted the fulfillment of giving in to your more violent urges in the past, which makes for even greater frustration when you must, for practical reasons, withhold.

Hence why you are now striding down the chaos-filled streets of Eregion, rather than watching over Celebrimbor whilst your husband commands the city’s defences. You do not trust yourself to leave him intact so he can finish the Nine unless you take the time to cool down after the little stunt he tried to pull on you.

He was only just applying the final touches to the very last of the Rings, and not a moment too soon. The siege had gone on into the night, and soon there may not be much of Eregion’s people left for your husband to promise he would spare so long as Celebrimbor provides him with the Rings. You meant it as a gesture of encouragement, truly—the way you idly fiddled with the keys to Celebrimbor’s shackles as you sat by his side, all but dangling his freedom before his eyes.

He must have noticed, though he did his best not to glance your way. You supposed he was taking some refuge in the work, throwing himself into it so that he might forget his less than savoury circumstances. That was fine by you. The thoughts in his mind were of little consequence, so long as his hands performed their duty with their usual skill.

And skilled they were indeed. Your eyes had drifted to the distance, glazed over with boredom at some point after your husband had left you alone with Celebrimbor, but you were pulled out of your little reveries of ruling Middle-Earth when you realized eight of the Nine now stood each in their holder on the other side of Celebrimbor, all shiny and brand new. Your fiddling with the keys had stopped then, and you stood to walk there and lean over Celebrimbor’s shoulder, touching the cool metal of one Ring in awe as you admired them.

“You have outdone yourself, really,” you praised, and meant it. The designs of the Rings varied, but they all possessed the same utterly impeccable kind of beauty, and the fact that you knew they had been made with your husband’s precious blood... you would wear and cherish them forever yourself if they weren’t meant for more practical purposes.

Celebrimbor, however, didn’t seem as proud of his own work.

“I had little choice,” he muttered, not looking away from the Ring in his hand.

You straightened yourself with a little sigh, and placed a hand upon his shoulder.

“This really is a pity,” you confessed. “I always hated being your so-called ‘subject’, but I can’t say you ever gave me another reason to dislike you. And your talents are bound to prove most useful in the future as well.”

At that, he looked up at you with a fresh kind of disbelief in his eyes.

“Am I to be your prisoner for the rest of my days, then?” he asked, nearly a challenge.

“That would be quite bothersome for everyone involved, wouldn’t it?” you said, perfectly pragmatic. “Hopefully, we can come to... understand each other. My husband and I are more than willing to make some allies of your value.”

By which you meant conveniently skilled or powerful beings who would serve your purposes blindly, much like you expected the Orcs to do, but the word ‘ally’ had a better ring to it.

It was plain to see in Celebrimbor’s eyes that he was hardly convinced, though, as he kept his stubborn silence. The time was fast approaching when your true conquest of Middle-Earth would begin, and it was never too early to plant the seeds for the network of opportune connections you planned on weaving all throughout it.

But also, you did enjoy being the equivalent of a cat playing with a mouse.

“How about a peace offering, then?” you said, plastering an inviting smile on your face. “A little show of good faith, to prove that your suffering in itself is far from our end in all this. Once you finish the Nine,” you made a show of holding up the keys, then tucking them safely away in a discreet pocket at the waist of your dress, “I leave you free to roam about the room, and merely lock the doors behind me whilst I deliver the Rings to my husband. Not that you’d make it two steps into the streets without being dragged back here by your own guards, but, as I said—in good faith—I shall spare you the humiliation of trying.”

There was a slight furrow in Celebrimbor’s brow as he hesitated. How confusing it must have been for him, to reconcile the kind tone of your voice he’d heard so many times with the cruel reality of who you are.

“Well,” he said tentatively, “I suppose that would be a bit better than my... current position.”

You gave him a bright smile, satisfied you had managed to bring him in agreement with you for the first time since he learned the truth. That was how it began—small victories, little ‘yeses’ here and there, until the intended target settled into a collaboration, or rather subservience, that was most convenient to your plans.

As you passed by Celebrimbor to return to your seat, he turned around on his stool and grabbed your hand, calling your name with sudden urgency. Your instinct was to shake off the touch, but, with only a tick in your jaw, you stopped to indulge him. You were playing nice, after all.

“Was truly all of it a lie?” he asked in a disheartened breath. “Was there no part of you that... wanted this life you have made for yourself here with us? The craft and the friendship we shared?”

He was quite the pitiful sight, looking up at you with that glint of hope in his eyes. You were quite sure that had been snuffed out the moment you had told him the story of how the bond between you and your husband had been forged, the salvation you had found in it from Morgoth’s cruelty, erasing all doubts that you and him might ever betray one another now.

Even Celebrimbor wouldn’t be so foolish as to believe he might still sway you with his words. You suspected what he was truly after—but you played along. In fact, you even stepped a little closer, and held up the hand with which he had grabbed yours, patting his knuckles condescendingly.

“Why would I want to serve you as a smith of Eregion,” you said, “when I could be served by all others?”

Celebrimbor’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, containing the nervous tremble of his voice as he spoke, “I may have been Lord of Eregion, and as such above you in station, but I never thought of you as anything less than my peer and my companion. Sauron—your husband,” he corrected, perceiving your ire at the less than savoury Elvish term, “he may believe even himself when he claims to consider you his equal, but with time... with the Rings...” He sighed, closing his eyes as if it pained him to speak the words, but in the end met your gaze and said with all the sincerity he could muster, “I do not wish to see you hurt.”

You tilted your head and knitted your brow in sympathy, softening your gaze as well as your voice.

“Oh, Celebrimbor,” you sighed, “have you come to care for me so much that my fate still concerns you after all I’ve put you through?”

“I’m afraid I have,” he confessed quietly.

You were meant to be surprised, intrigued, perhaps even touched. Distracted, in any case, your focus drawn to his face and the one hand of his you held within your grasp. That was his intent, which you had sensed since the very beginning of his entreating speech. He had some reason to believe his idea would work. His smith’s fingers are, after all, nimble and quick, as his craft demand them to be. But unlike you, he is a stranger to deceit and the mere attempt at it suits him ill. The only reason he succeeded in his little misguided endeavour was because you preferred to end his satisfaction, rather than prevent it altogether.

“They say imitation is the highest form of flattery,” you all but purred to him. “Alas, you have not the talent for treachery that I do.”

With that, you wrenched your hand from his and grabbed his other one. His struggle was brief and futile as you forced that fist to open, and retrieved the keys he had just subtly slipped out of your pocket.

Any trace of poorly feigned concern vanished from his face, replaced by the frustration of defeat. You tsk-ed to yourself as you shoved the keys back into your pocket.

“And here I thought you were becoming reasonable,” you lamented, leaning against the table by his side with your other hand planted onto your hip, much like an irritated teacher. “What did you imagine? That you would unlock yourself when my back was turned and then... what? Outrun me? Fight me? I know you’ve never seen that particular side of me, but I assure you, I am as skilled in combat as you are in your craft.”

He couldn’t hold your scolding gaze. He turned back towards the table and leaned his elbows on it, resting his forehead upon his clenched fists, no doubt trying to stave off a stress-induced headache and crushing sense of hopelessness. Still, to ensure he knew better than to underestimate you next time, you intended to grab his chin and make him look you in the eye as you made one final threat, but he spoke before you had the chance to.

“In that case,” he admitted, lifting his head, “I suppose I was going about it all wrong.”

This time, you didn’t see it coming. By the time you jumped out of the way, he had already grabbed a small recipient on the table and projected the powdered metal inside straight into your eyes—real powdered metal, not the blood your husband had passed as mithril. The burn of the fine shards in your eyes was instant, forced them shut and ripped a cry from your throat as you scrambled away, one hand covering them—

Celebrimbor grabbed that elbow to yank you into his lap, but that only made it all the easier to drive it into his ribs, knocking the breath and a short scream out of him. You needed no eyesight for that—only sharp instincts and red-hot anger, and you had quite enough of both. He hadn’t even managed to find your pocket again before you escaped his grasp and stumbled out of his reach, even without seeing where you were going.

A quick thinker, the bastard. The moment he understood he could not defeat you by sheer strength or deceit, he had attempted to blind you instead.

With a string of anguished grunts, you fumbled around blindly until you knocked into what must have been the railing to the upper side of the forge where you and Celebrimbor were, with enough force that you might have toppled over it if you hadn’t caught yourself. Gripping the metal, you squeezed your already shut eyes, and tried to concentrate through the pain and mend the damage. You may not have had to do it in recent years, but you’d had enough such experience under Morgoth’s rule. Gradually, the burn dimmed, and the metal in your eyes dissolved, and you were left shaking with wrath as you opened your eyes.

In different circumstances, you might have slowly turned towards him first, made him cower in terror under your murderous gaze before you sprung into action. But you were beyond such theatrics now. With the swiftness of a snake lunging to sink its fangs into a victim, you whipped around, marched over to Celebrimbor and grabbed his throat so quickly he didn’t even get to gasp before your other hand yanked his head back by the hair.

“You are going to regret that,” you growled. Rage boiled within you, a furious thirst for revenge, an all-consuming urge to return the pain he had given you tenfold and hear him scream—

But the Nine were not finished.

It was with tremendous self-restraint that you slowly lowered your face an inch away from Celebrimbor’s, your ragged breath hitting his quivering lips.

“...later,” you whispered viciously. “Finish!”

He gasped for the breath you had denied him the moment you released him with a shove, nearly falling from his chair with the force of it. No amount of deep breathing in his presence would stop the blood roaring in your ears. So, you stormed down the stairs and out of the forge, slamming the doors shut behind you without even locking them.

He was in shackles, after all.

As you reenter the forge room some time later, you are pleased to say you have regained your composure. Nothing like a stroll through a raging battle to calm the senses, especially when you were briefly treated to the sight of your beloved standing upon a distant rampart, tall and fair as he commanded the forces of Eregion.

If not for the need to maintain appearances, you’d have called for his attention through your bond and blown him a loving kiss from below.

“All right, Celebrimbor,” you say now, shutting the doors behind you, “I believe we must clarify some—”

He’s gone.

Heart pounding, you practically fly across the room, running up the stairs to the empty desk where Celebrimbor had been sitting before. Your husband could not have freed him. Could he? You had only just seen him outside, and the Rings are gone as well. Had they been finished, surely he would have reached for you through your bond the moment he had learned of it, called you to bask in the victory at his side. You scramble through every object on the desk, turning them over, opening cases, looking for any sign of the Rings.

Something squelches beneath your foot. But before you lower your gaze all the way down there, something else catches your eye on the floor—Celebrimbor’s shackle. Still locked. Blood-stained.

Entirely mechanical, you reach down and pinch the wet thing beneath the sole of your foot between two fingers, lifting it to your eyes to confirm your suspicion of what it is.

A severed finger.

When you wish to, or when the circumstances demand such a thing, you have many more vicious and sophisticated ways of expressing anger than mere spoken words. However, at times such a predicament arises where you are simply reduced to plain old foul language.

“Fuck,” you breathe out.

If the Rings were not finished, that is going to be a problem. But you have a feeling that they are, which is precisely why Celebrimbor has resorted to such a desperate gesture to withhold them from you and your husband.

Speaking of whom—his familiar steps are echoing down the hall.

Nearly releasing another expletive, you rush right back the way you came, down the stairs and across the room and out the door just in the nick of time to slam it shut before your husband would have stepped inside. He halts before you, taken aback.

“Love,” you greet him with a small smile. He’s seen enough of those to know which ones are fake. Not to mention the slight tremor in your voice, the alarm you’re attempting to conceal on your end of the bond, and—if those weren’t quite enough—the severed digit in your grasp which you seem to have acquired in your husband’s absence.

It’s endearing, really, how your skills of deception vanish like smoke in the wind when it comes to fooling your husband in any regard.

“I see our friend has upset you once more,” he remarks calmly, eyeing the finger in your hand. “However, I should hope you allowed him to finish the Rings before you claimed your little trophy, beloved.”

His smile is ever-so-slightly tense, his tone ever-so-slighty warning, and you are a lot more than slightly flustered to realize that in your haste, it had slipped your mind to do something so simple as to toss away the bloody finger in your hand.

You do so now, furiously wiping off the mess on your dress for lack of a better outlet for your nerves.

“I did not...” you begin. “Celebrimbor has apparently...”

“What is it?” your husband demands briskly. He knows something is wrong, wrong enough to have you acting so flustered, and that can only mean it will anger him beyond belief.

You release a sharp sigh, and quite frankly, give up. There is no way to break the news to him gently. So, you fix your husband with as stern a look as you can. “If you could just refrain from tearing this whole place to the ground—”

But he has already pushed past you and burst into the forge room.

“—that would be nice,” you finish to the empty hall, then follow him inside.

“Where is he?” your husband growls, storming up the stairs and staring at the empty desk with wide, crazed eyes as he shouts, “Where are the Rings?”

“He must have taken them,” you tell him, angered but far more level-headed than him as you climb the stairs as well. “They were nearly finished, and—”

An entire wooden cabinet clatters to the ground, furiously toppled by your husband. But the sound is barely the buzz of a fly compared to the deafening roar that tears out of his throat. You halt near the top of the stairs and wince, waiting for the sound to die down. No doubt it echoed to every Elf below, even through the ruckus of battle.

This... is the sort of thing you were hoping to avoid.

How nice of you to inform Celebrimbor that his absence has been noticed, you think, simply because such quips are in your nature. You know better than to say it—but you are both fraught with powerful emotions, and your bond turns volatile, and things slip through. You know he’s felt the reproach the moment his furious gaze turns upon you.

“Perhaps I should ask...” he says, eerily quiet as he approaches you, “where were you?”

Someone else might have fled, or fallen to their knees to plead for mercy under such a withering glare. You, however, have the luxury of knowing that you are the only being who has or ever will remain perfectly unscathed despite incurring your husband’s wrath. So, you climb the last of the steps and meet his gaze head on, unintimidated by such theatrics.

“Celebrimbor attempted a most distasteful treachery,” you declare, arms crossed defiantly as your husband comes to tower above you. “He tried to steal the keys to his shackles by blinding me with powdered metal. I knew better than to risk damaging his precious fingers—or worse—in retaliation before his work was finished. As such, I stepped outside.”

“You left him alone,” your husband fumes in disbelief, “because you couldn’t keep your daggers sheathed?”

“Oh please,” you scoff. “You’ve made far more strategically inconvenient kills for far less. I was merely being practical.”

“Practical, you say?” he mocks, whipping away and striding back to Celebrimbor’s work table. “Pray tell, how come you were within his reach to begin with?” He proceeds to toss every item away and open every possible compartment, his voice growing to a hoarse shout with each accusation he spits. “Were you perhaps taunting him, goading him, playing with your food as you can never seem to refrain from doing?”

“Oh, so when you do it, it’s fine,” you raise your voice right back, uncrossing your arms so you can gesture as frantically as he behaves while he moves to deface another table. “When I do it, it’s irresponsible.”

“What is irresponsible,” he points a finger at you, “is that you left the Nine and our most valuable asset unattended so you could go for a stroll!”

You’ve seen dragons with less fire on their hottest breath than that of the rage ignited in your chest. You surge towards him and snatch his accusatory finger in a death grip.

“I needed a break,” you scream in his face, “and he was in shackles! And he’s obsessed with his craft—which very much requires hands! How was I to imagine he’d be idiotic enough to chop off his own fucking finger?!”

“Enough!” he roars over your screech, prying your hand from around his with a powerful shove. Your calf hits Celebrimbor’s desk stool as you shuffle back, and you kick it with a yell and a burst of your power that sends it flying over the railing and splintering to pieces on the steps all the way at the entrance to the forge room. The same destructive force is behind the glare with which you fix your husband.

Forget not tearing this place to the ground. You feel as if you could crack every table in two with your bare hands, you could shatter all the windows with nothing but a shriek, you could crumble the stone floors with the stomp of your foot, you could— you could—

You turn on your heel and storm away. The moment you do, your husband demands in a gruff shout, “Where are you going?”

“To fix this!” you snarl. You whip around to face him, your voice dropping to mocking sweetness before it builds right back into a hoarse scream. “But please, do keep smashing to pieces every single object in your sight. I’m sure Celebrimbor simply stashed the Rings in some hidden corner whilst he went for a nine-fingered stroll in the rubble!”

With that, you leave again. The sounds of destruction resume behind you, but you block them out the same way you do your husband’s inflamed end of your bond. Until you’ve nearly reached the stairs, and some glass object hits the railing with a loud smash, shattering to pieces. Relatively close to you.

You don’t even look down. You simply stop, take a breath in the sudden silence. Turn around. Then, chin high, perfectly poised and in the most controlled of tones, you ask your husband:

“Did you just throw that in my direction?”

Rage rolls off him in waves—but he has ceased his rampage, and there is the subtlest hesitant crease of his brow as he looks at you.

“Don’t be absurd,” he says stiffly. “I was hardly even looking your way—”

But then he’s dodging a projectile—a metal case you had picked off the ground and chucked his way in the blink of an eye.

“You weren’t looking?” you growl, already snatching a creasing hammer from the table to throw his way next. “You weren’t looking? Well, I am!”

He catches the hammer, swats away the chisel that follows with his power, advancing through the enemy fire until he can grip your wrists and pull them to his chest to stop you from gathering further ammunition.

“Save you energy, love,” he growls as you struggle in his grip. “Try as you might, you cannot harm my flesh.”

“I know! That’s why I’m trying!”

You wrest yourself out of his hold, chest heaving as you stumble back a couple of steps. For a moment, your ragged breaths are all there is. But the storm is far from over, and the moment you open your mouths again, your voices escalate into screams once more.

“You, on the other hand,” you accuse, nearly in tears, “the moment my back was turned—”

“You know very well I cannot hurt you!”

“But you wish to hurt me?”

“I wish to hurt something!”

“So do I!”

Your roar echoes in the chamber, your throat raw, your every muscle trembling with rage. You cannot harm my flesh. But you could harm his soul. You could, simply by doubting him. You have. It brings no satisfaction. It isn’t what you want. What you want is for him to kneel and beg forgiveness for his words, or maybe to fuck you so hard you forget he ever said them at all.

But you can have neither, because you are no longer alone.

They must have arrived when you and your husband were at the height of your screaming match, thus why you only now turn your heads to see them entering the room—ten or so guards, led by Captain Malendol and, supported by him as he limps to a stop, Celebrimbor himself.

“Marital spat?” he derides flatly, a shred of defiance in his voice even as he cradles his thumb-less left hand to his chest. From the appalled way in which Malendol looks at you, it’s plain to see that Celebrimbor has somehow regained the trust of his guards and exposed you for who you are, once and for all. Or perhaps the glimpse he’d caught of your lover’s quarrel had been proof enough. Either way, you’re so ablaze with rage, you can’t even bask in the grand reveal.

“Foreplay,” you reply dryly—and there is, after all, a bit of satisfaction in the various degrees of shock and discomfort that flash across the guards’ faces.

“Where are the Rings?” your husband demands, ice cold as he passes by you and descends the stairs.

“Not here,” Celebrimbor answers. “They will be far  from your reach by now.”

“Oh, come now, Celebrimbor,” you coax with all the goodwill of a viper as you join your husband down the stairs. “It was such a silly thing you did to that precious hand of yours. If you return the Rings, maybe we can find a way to mend it.”

His eyes shine with tears, which he holds proudly back.

“The loss shall be well worth it,” he says, pained, “so long as it ensures that neither of you will ever touch a Ring again.”

You grit your teeth, his audacity adding fuel to the already blazing fire of your rage. Whatever retort you and your husband might have made, you are rudely interrupted.

“Seize them!” Malendol orders, and his soldiers march forward. “By order of the true Lord of Eregion, you, Sauron and—”

The words die in his throat. He’s choked out, jaw slack and quivering as he struggles against your husband’s power. The soldiers halt, gazes shifting hesitantly between you and your husband and their captain.

“I believe you’ve spoken my wife’s name quite enough times already,” your husband says. Any other time, you would be delighted. With Mirdania gone, it’s time for the Elf whose affections you had entertained only closely enough to grate your husband’s nerves to meet his own end. Perfect symmetry, mutual satisfaction. But you are beyond being assuaged by such games in this moment.

You grip your husband’s arm, and fix him with a gaze which demands that he meet it. It would be so easy for him to flick that wrist of his and have the guards fall upon their own swords. But that would leave the issue of your unconsummated lust for violence, and when such a volatile feeling bounced off each other in an endless loop through the bond without release, it led to nothing good, not even for you.

So, staring in your husband’s eyes, you hiss, “Let us hurt something.”

You need not say a word more. Your husband narrows his eyes at you briefly, but the suggestion immediately sinks in. Malendol sputters a panicked breath as his throat is released from your husband’s power, a look of even deeper dread than before written on his face, but he repeats his order.

“Seize them!”

And his soldiers, now valiantly joined by their captain, advance on you once more. The sight of them circling you with swords drawn as you and your husband stand back to back is quite invigorating. It even brings a little smile and a quip to your lips.

“Might you be so kind as to lend me that?” You point to the sword of the guard facing you.

And answer your own question—with lightning-fast mayhem.

A concealed dagger is brandished from your sleeve and you swiftly send it flying to its new home in the guard’s skull. A quick pull of your power draws the hilt of his sword to your hand whilst your other imitates the dagger-throw and sword-stealing with another guard, and by the time three others have attacked, you have more than enough steel in your hands to meet their own with a loud clang. Behind you, similar sounds of confrontation are made by your husband and his own side of opponents.

It is to be noted that the ensuing fight is by no means a desperate struggle for escape on you and your husband’s part. In fact, the guards are hardly your main focus, even as you single-handedly hold your own against several of them at the same time and, over the course of the following few minutes, decimate them one by one. You simply wish to feel your bones rattle with each blow you land, to hear the tearing of flesh under your blade, to give yourself an outlet of your anger whom you have no reservation to make bleed, when the true source of your rage is quite off-limits in that regard—and driven by the same compulsion to inflict pain as you.

Now, you can really have a go at each other.

“You realize,” your husband begins between easily placed parries, wielding a guard’s sword to which he had helped himself, “this only serves to prove my point.”

You glance briefly at him, kicking a guard in the shin whilst you block another’s blade. “Which is?”

“There is work,” he grabs one by the helmet, “and there is play,” then slits his throat before attacking another. “And you, my love, tend to confuse them.”

“Yet here you are,” you retort through grunts of effort, “indulging me as though you take no joy in it yourself.” You are as triumphant in your words as you are in thrusting your sword into a guard’s gut. But your husband does not relent.

“There would be nothing to indulge,” he growls, “if you hadn’t allowed the Rings to be taken!”

With a furious wave of his hand, a guard flies out the window, screaming on his long way down.

“Maybe the Rings would not have been taken, had you not grown negligent with your illusion in the first place!” you growl right back, snapping a neck. “Maybe if you had spared a thought to the way candles function, we would not be here!”

Your husband crushes a skull. “You have not the slightest idea of the skill required to maintain such an intricate illusion. You had one simple task of—”

“One simple task? One?” A well-placed kick relieves a guard of the future children he might have had, if you didn’t cut his throat next. “Was it one simple task to spend centuries insinuating myself by Celebrimbor’s side—”

“Not this again—”

“Yes, this again! This, forever!” you scream over the guard whose leg you break. “I put myself through years of suffering based on nothing but blind faith that you would return!”

“And yet,” your husband presses on cruelly, plunging his blade into a heart, “you could not perform the simple task of ensuring Celebrimbor remained in his shackles.”

You slash a throat, screaming. Speaking of Celebrimbor—in the quick glimpse you catch of him, he looks like he might be questioning his reality all over again in the face of your ‘marital spat’.

And he thought you licking your husband’s blood was deranged.

A guard nearly stabs you in the side, and you resume fighting fueled by a brand new bout of anger.

“You do this... every time!” you yell at your husband. “The moment something doesn’t go to plan, you blame everything and everyone but yourself.” Having stripped the guard of his weapon and helmet, you are now in the process of forcing him to his knees. “And since I’m the closest at hand, you blame me!” For good measure, you emphasize each word with a smash of the guard’s head into a nearby table. “Every,” smash, “single,” smash, “time!”

Smash and thud, when the guard’s limp body hits the ground.

Your husband watches, his lips twitching into a snarl as he flings a guard into a wall.

“Very well,” he grunts. “We are both to blame. But if you could restrain your sadistic tendencies—”

“Oh, please! Nothing gets you harder than your wife wreaking havoc, even when it’s in defiance of you. Especially then.” You put a guard in a chokehold, throwing your husband a most flirtatious smile. “If it was in my nature to ‘restrain my sadistic tendencies’, you would not have wed me.”

Snap goes the guard’s neck. Another struggles on the ground, much like a roach beneath your husband’s boot on his chest.

“If I wished only to sate my carnal desires,” he rasps out, “I would have wed no one at all.”

He crushes said chest as he steps over it to lunge at another guard. You cackle like a mad woman as you break a nose. “You are a Maia! You had no carnal desire until I invented it!” You feel the retort on his tongue, no doubt a claim that you are exaggerating—which maybe you are, but not in what you say next, between the occasional pants and grunts of the fight.

“There was always me, or no one—and from the moment you first had me, you could never go back to not having me.” Your current opponent drops to the ground, his heart pierced by your blade. “So blame me all you want, love. I could inconvenience you a thousand times, and you’d adore me still.”

There is no retort. No screams, or clangs of metal, or broken bones, or any noise at all—for all your foes are dead, and your fight consummated. All that is left is you and your husband, standing before each other in the aftermath of your destruction. Panting, covered in blood. Sated.

Gazes locked, you move towards each other, sparing not the slightest of glances to the rubble and bodies over which you step until you are close enough to breathe each other’s air. Weapons lowered to your sides, you do not touch, or speak. One last confrontation, to see which one of you will break first.

“I spoke in anger,” your husband yields.

As he very well should. Still, you eye him with a not-quite-convinced look. “Is that your idea of an apology?”

“What is yours?” he challenges, but his words have no true bite. Not anymore.

It would be less of an apology and more of something you would have done anyway, but the timing is poetically symbolic when the guard whose chest your husband had crushed under his boot suddenly takes a whizzing breath. Captain Malendol himsef, as a quick glance tells you, is still alive—barely—and picking himself off the ground a few feet to your side with staggering resolve.

He raises his sword, charging towards you with one last, valiant cry, and manages the great feat of having his throat swiftly cut by with your blade. A most tragically heroic sight, surely, but you wouldn’t know, since you never once took your eyes off your husband’s while you did it.

The captain’s armored body clatters to the ground, the same time as your weapons. Your husband’s eyes dart to him, visibly satisfied, but not fully so. His gaze meets yours, then lowers to your lips, and he leans in—only half the way, in invitation.

With an indulgent little hum, you close the distance and give him a kiss. No more than a little peck, really. A token of reconciliation. Something clicks back into place within you as the tension in your bond subsides, and you feel a matching sense of relief on your husband’s end of it. Fighting each other always feels like tearing out your own flesh, yet you do it anyway, with lethal consequences—to others, of course.

Towards others, in fact, is the only direction in which you and your beloved should ever direct your fury, as you feel him agree now that you have finally murdered your way to making up.

“Look at us,” you lament, “blaming each other, when the fault is all his.”

The last word is as venomous as the look with which you then fix Celebrimbor, glued to the same spot where he had been standing since he entered. Defiance and terror battle in his eyes as he stares back, mouth slightly open in disbelief at your display, surely aware that any attempt to escape would only end in more suffering than is already in store for him—should he refuse to obey your husband’s command, that is.

“How right you are, my love,” your husband says as you face Celebrimbor, standing as one once more. “You will give us the Nine,��� he orders darkly.

Celebrimbor shuts his mouth, clenches his jaw, as if that would be enough to keep the secret of the Nine’s whereabouts locked behind his lips. His eyes dart to the fallen soldiers decorating the floor of his once beautiful forge, and you can practically hear him resolve to ensure that those sacrifices will not have been in vain.

“Oh, my love...” A most wicked smile blooms on your lips. “I think he wants us to play with him, too.”

Your husband’s voice is lethal.

“He shall have his wish.”

Previous fic with same reader -> Old wounds

Next fic with same reader -> Defied

[in-my-feels-probably]

Hi there, hope you're doing well. I would love to request a fic where the reader is Sirius' wife who reunites with him after he escapes from Azkaban, takes care of him e.g. feeding him and grooming him, and helping him get better. Cheers!

Right Where You Left Me

Request: I would love to request a fic where the reader is Sirius' wife who reunites with him after he escapes from Azkaban, takes care of him e.g. feeding him and grooming him, and helping him get better.

Hi! I’m so sorry for the wait, it took me forever to get to this request, and even longer to finish it. I’ve been in a bit of a slump, but I feel better. I love this request, thank you so much for sending it in! I hope you enjoy it :)

(Warnings: swearing, mentions of azkaban and sirius’s treatment there, mentions of death, vague mention of nudity, let me know if i missed anything)

—

When you received the Patronus from Remus telling you Sirius had escaped from Azkaban, it brought you to your knees. 

You thought about him every day. But you could only ever picture him in the days before he was arrested. It hurt too much to think about him rotting away in prison. But hearing that he got out? That he was out in the world and could be anywhere by now? The fact that he was suddenly much closer to you than you thought he would ever be again?

It terrified you.

You married Sirius right after school ended and the war was beginning to pick up. He proposed on a whim, telling you that the rest of your days weren’t guaranteed, and he didn’t want to live through another day without you tied to him. You would have always been by his side, but this was tying more than just your lives together—it was your souls. When Harry was born, you were named his godparents. All was well for a while. Calm, even. Of course, the calm didn’t last. 

It wasn’t long after your marriage before that night in Godric’s Hollow came, and Sirius was taken away from you. 

But it wasn’t just Sirius. 

It was James, Lily, and Peter—even Mary. Marlene was in the weeks before, and Dorcas too. They were ripped away from you, far before you were ready to let them go. Remus was the only one who you kept in touch with after that night. You clung to each other in the weeks after, seeming to be the only people in the world the other could find solace in. But as the years passed, your visits and letters became few and far in between. 

Then—after all that time—another Patronus came. 

Sirius had come to Hogwarts, and he’d proved his innocence to those who mattered. It was Peter who had betrayed everyone, and he was still alive. 

And, while Sirius had you and Remus on his side, he was still considered a fugitive. The Aurors were after him, and he needed to be kept some place safe where they wouldn’t come looking. Luckily for you, the flat you bought was outside of Wizarding London. Sirius had always loved the feeling of places untouched by magic, so after you married, you moved in together in a quiet area on the outskirts of London. It was his idea to use magic to ward it so that people looking for you would have a hard time, and after so long away from the Wizarding community, not many people would think it was worth it or even remember to come looking for Sirius in hiding with you.

After twelve years of solitude, you couldn’t fathom the idea of your husband coming back to you. You couldn’t fathom the idea of him being part of your day to day life again. All you could do to keep yourself together was tidy up and prepare for Sirius’s arrival.

You couldn’t believe it when Remus finally brought him home to you. 

Your boy—who was a man now, or at least the shell of one—was sitting right in your living room. The only home he had ever known outside of Grimmauld Place or Hogwarts, and he couldn’t have looked more out of place. 

Neither of you spoke when Remus eased him down onto the couch, before coming to your side. You’d always pictured that by some miracle if Sirius ever came home to you, you’d rush into his arms and he’d hold you like no time had passed. You spent years missing his touch, wishing you could hug him just one more time. But now he was right in front of you, and you had no idea how to act. You didn’t know if he even wanted you to touch him. You couldn’t take your eyes off Sirius, eyes wide as you looked him over. 

Time had not been kind to him. 

You could see the man you once knew bleeding through, but so much of this version of him was unknown to you. Sirius kept his eyes on the floor, but would occasionally glance up at you. You knew he was seeing a stranger, too.

“I have to go back,” Remus whispered, turning your attention to him. “They’ll know what’s happened back at Hogwarts if I don’t leave soon, and too many people know what’s happened already. I’m sorry. I’ll come back as soon as I can, yeah?”

You could hardly hear him, but you quickly nodded, giving him a squeeze. “Be careful, Remus. I’ll take care of him while you’re gone.”

“I know you will,” he murmured, squeezing you tight.

He let you go, kneeling down next to Sirius who was watching you both with a look full of anxiety. Remus placed a hand on Sirius’s shoulder, his touch light and gentle.

“I have to go, alright? But you’re safe here. I promise. It’s just Y/N.”

Just Y/N, Sirius thought. He just nodded, a conflicted look on his face. Remus stood up, giving you one last look of sympathy, before walking out the door. He left a deafening silence in his wake.

It took you forever to get your feet to move. But when you did, you were falling. You landed on your knees just in front of Sirius, peering up at him through teary eyes. You could see him take a breath, stilling as you got closer.

“Can I touch you?” You asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Sirius swallowed hard. He gave you an almost imperceptible nod, and you gently reached your hand up, your fingertips hovering over his face. Taking a breath, you cradled his cheek in your palm. You could feel the stubble along his jaw, and the sharpness off his cheek. His skin was cool, far from the usual flush you remembered from all those years ago.

“You’re really here,” you murmured, your voice catching in your throat. “Oh, love. You’re so beautiful.”

Your words pulled a pained whimper from Sirius’s chest. He nestled his face into your hand, a few stray tears pooling in your palm. You were quick to wipe them away, leaning in close. He tilted his head down, resting his forehead against yours. He took a deep breath, taking you in.

“I pictured your face every day, and I still think I’ll never get tired of looking at you. How could I? You’re right here in front of me, as beautiful as the day I lost you. But you’ve always been the pretty one in this relationship, haven’t you?”

You let out a watery laugh, shaking your head. “In my dreams. But it’s good to see your sense of humor is still intact.”

The next few moments were quiet, nothing but the sound of sniffles and shaky breaths reaching your ears. 

Finally, Sirius forced himself to look around. He’d braced himself from the moment he walked in to see all that had changed since he left. He’d expected you to move on and live your life without him, and he’d expected the flat to reflect that. It was honestly more of a shock to him when Remus told him you still lived there than anything else. But as he looked around and took everything in, he realized how wrong he had been. 

“You haven’t changed a thing,” he said, looking at the art on the walls you’d picked out together when you first moved in.

You glanced around as well. You wanted to tell him how you didn’t have the heart to change anything. And although seeing him in everything around you felt like you were being stabbed, you just couldn’t get rid of anything. Getting rid of it would mean getting rid of all you had left of him.

And you would have rather been stabbed a thousand times than do that.

You shook your head, pointing to the spare room. “Actually, Remus lived here for a while. He pretty much flipped that whole room. Said something about you having too expensive a taste for him to have to endure for extended periods of time.”

“Merlin, I bet it looks like grunge threw up in there,” he mused, making you smile and nod.

You stood up, offering him your hands. “Are you hungry? We need to get you fed and cleaned up, love.”

Sirius looked down to the robes he was wearing. They were tattered—resembling rags stitched together more than they were resembling clothes. His hair was greasy and matted to his head, and his face and body was caked in dirt. He had almost forgotten just how dirty he was, a flush spreading across his cheeks as he gave you an embarrassed look. 

“It’s alright, darling,” you said softly, taking his hands in yours. “We’ll take it at your pace. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

Reluctantly, Sirius nodded. You smiled, gently leading him up off the sofa and into the kitchen.

—

It took ages to find him something to eat. 

You nearly keeled over when he told you that pretty much the only thing he had been given to eat for the past twelve years was bread and water. It was what he’d grown accustomed to eating, and he wasn’t sure he could stomach anything else. You had to choke back tears when you finally suggested soup—one of the first things he learned to make on his own without magic. It took a while, but he managed to get most of it down. 

You made small talk while he ate, telling him little things he’d missed while he was gone. You left out the most painful details. You could tell him about those later.

Finally, he couldn’t stall anymore. 

He let you take him by the hand and lead him to the bathroom, his eyes on the floor as you shut the door behind him.

“Shower or bath?” You asked, turning the water on to let it heat up. “A bath might be easier. You look tired, and I don’t want you falling over or something.”

Sirius just nodded, and you assumed he was alright with you choosing for him. You let the tub fill up, making sure the water wasn’t too hot before you turned the faucet off. You turned back around, frowning when you saw Sirius looking back at you with anxious eyes.

“It’s ready,” you said softly, stepping out of the way.

Sirius watched you for a moment, fidgeting back and forth on his heels. Just as you opened your mouth to speak again, he beat you to it.

“Can you turn around?” He asked, lowering his eyes to the floor. “I don’t mind if you stay, but could you…could you maybe turn around for this part?”

You quickly nodded, stepping towards the door. “Of course! I’m sorry, I didn’t even ask if you wanted me in here—”

He was quick to speak, his voice shaky. “I do! But this is just a little weird, you know?”

You nodded, backing up to the doorway and turning to face it. You could feel the heat creep up to your cheeks as you heard his clothes hit the floor, followed by the sound of him climbing into the tub. You had seen Sirius naked a thousand times before. He was never ashamed of his body, he never shied away, and you had seen plenty of him in your years of knowing him. This version of him made your chest tighten, and all you could do was stand there and hope he wasn’t feeling the emotions you were. You waited another moment before talking over your shoulder.

“Do you need anything, love? I’ll wait outside if you want me to. Unless you want me here. I’m happy to do whatever you want, it’s up to you.”

Sirius cleared his throat. “Uh…could you maybe help me? My hair is matted and I don’t think I can fix it on my own.”

There was probably a spell you could have used—some sort of detangling charm to help get the mats out. But Sirius had gotten used to not being able to use magic, and you didn’t feel like using it either. The truth was, you preferred it this way.

It was an excuse to get close to him again and spend time with him.

It was an excuse to take care of him.

You nodded, turning around to grab your brush. You kept your eyes on his as you sat down on the edge of the tub, trying your best not to let your eyes wander. You set your brush on your knees, reaching for a cup off the ledge of the tub to dip down into the water and fill up.

“Tilt your head back for me, love,” you directed, smoothing your hand over his hairline as he tipped back far enough for you to pour the water over his hair.

You repeated the process a few more times before setting the cup down and grabbing the conditioner. You smoothed it through his hair, gently tugging at the knots with your fingers before you grabbed your brush. It was silent while you worked, making slow but steady progress. Eventually, Sirius shifted, and the water sloshed just over the side of the tub.

“Sorry,” he muttered, looking over his shoulder with guilty eyes to see if he splashed you.

“Don’t be,” you replied quickly, smoothing a comforting hand across his shoulder before moving back up to his hair. “Are you alright? Getting cold?”

Sirius opened his mouth to speak, before deciding against it and closing it. He just shook his head, growing silent once more. You knew there was something he wasn’t saying, and you didn’t want to push him. But you hadn’t made much progress with his hair, and you didn’t fancy sitting in silence for the rest of the evening.

You set your brush down, gently smoothing your palm over his hair. “Sirius…you can tell me anything. You know that, right? I know this feels strange, but it’s still me you’re talking to. Alright? It’s me. There’s nothing you can’t tell me. Whatever it is, I’m here to listen.”

There was another splash as he shifted, twisting around to face you. He was going to say that he’d tell you another time, and that he didn’t have it in him to say it just yet. 

But then he looked into your eyes.

And you were looking at him with such sincerity and warmth that he couldn’t help but spill. You watched his eyes fill with tears, and you quickly reached for his hand which he gladly let you take.

“I saw Harry,” he finally choked out.

You felt your breath catch in your chest. A deep sorrow spread through you, filling your gut with dread. You could feel your own tears stinging behind your eyes, but you quickly blinked them away. It wasn’t the time for them.

“He looks just like them, doesn’t he?” You breathed, squeezing Sirius’s hand. “I haven’t seen him in a while. Remus promised he’d say hello for me once he got to Hogwarts.”

“He knows who you are?” Sirius asked, his voice full of surprise.

“Dumbledore wouldn’t tell me where he was when they came for him. The bastard said I was “in no shape” to look after him, and it was too dangerous for me to get involved. I tried so many times to get him to tell me, but I knew he had already pushed me and Remus to the back of the list as far as who could be around Harry…I didn’t even catch a glimpse of him until he was eight. Merlin, you have no idea how angry I was when I found out they had given him to Petunia and her sorry excuse for a husband.”

Sirius’s jaw clenched. You could see the anger brewing inside him, watching as he took deep breaths to calm himself. But he didn’t let it out on you. He just squeezed your hand, tightening his grip.

Sirius cleared his throat. “Did you try and go get him?”

“Dumbledore threatened to have my magic taken away if I didn’t leave the matter be. He didn’t tell me anything about Harry or where he was kept hidden away. He just brought me a picture of him, and promised that when it was finally time for Harry to go to Hogwarts, he’d let me see him. Remus had to keep an eye on me till he was sure I wouldn’t do something stupid before that time came. He’d been waiting as long as me—he’s just better than me at patience, I guess.”

“You never were very good at being patient,” Sirius mused, but you could hear the strain in his voice as he spoke.

You gave him a tight lipped smile, trying your best to mean it. “Anyway, I met Harry for the first time in Diagon Alley. Dumbledore finally let me see him under the condition that it be in a public and magical place—but I wasn’t allowed to tell him about you.”

Sirius frowned, and you could feel your chest tighten. You ran your thumb along the back of his hand, your eyes in your lap.

“I wanted to tell him—so badly. But Dumblefore wouldn’t let me. All I could say was that I was a friend of Harry’s parents, and that I was there to help him get ready for school. I finally told him I was his godmother last summer when I took him for school supplies again. He spent the afternoon asking me about how I knew his parents. He kept pressing for every detail about them and how I knew them, and I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I told him everything about James and Lily I could remember. It just about killed me—”

Your words caught in your throat, cutting you short. Sirius reached his other hand up to reach for yours, his brows furrowing in concern. You looked up, giving him a sad smile.

You swallowed, choking back tears. “He’s so like them, Sirius. He’s got James’s ridiculous hair, and Lily’s fire. I can hardly look at him without seeing her eyes staring back at me. It’s so fucking unfair.”

A pained sound was pulled from Sirius’s throat, and you stopped yourself from talking about James and Lily any further. You grabbed the brush again, burying your nose in your work as you tried to ignore the sorrow you caught in his eyes before he turned his head straight.

“Tell me about it,” you prompted, changing the subject. “Tell me about him.”

Sirius was quiet a moment, like he was trying to find the right words. “He was…beautiful.”

You smiled, nodding for him to continue as you worked the knots out of his hair.

“He’s got this little witch by his side who quite honestly scared me—”

“Hermione,” you finished for him, grinning. “She’s a wonder, isn’t she? Ron, too.”

Sirius nodded, wringing his hands. “I’m glad Harry has someone. They seem like good friends. He’ll at least have them by his side to keep him from getting into too much trouble. He’ll certainly have a better shot than we did.”

You chuckled, smoothing your hand over his hair. “Remus told me he’s doing really well. It was a big year for him, but…he’ll be alright. We’ll see to that now.”

Sirius stiffened, turning around to face you. You paused what you were doing, setting down the brush. His eyes were lowered, his voice quiet as he spoke.

“I told him he could come stay with me, at least once it was safe to and he was able. I wasn’t really thinking about where that would be. My first thought was Grimmauld Place, but I don’t think I can stomach having him there. It’s not right. But I didn’t think to ask you—”

“Sirius, love,” you interrupted, gently cupping his cheek. “This is your home. You can invite whoever you want—you don’t have to ask my permission. And Harry will always be welcome here. If it’s what he wants, he can come stay with us. It can be his home too.”

His eyes softened, and his shoulders fell as he let out a breath of relief. “Merlin, I missed you.”

You could feel yourself growing emotional again, but you refused to let it show. There was so much you wanted to say to him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak without your eyes welling with tears. You just cleared your throat as you leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to his shoulder.

“Tilt your head back for me again, darling,” you managed to whisper, rinsing his hair out. “Almost done. We’ll get you cleaned up so you can rest, alright?”

—

Not long after, you had Sirius clean and out of the tub, bundled up under the pile of blankets you had dragged over to your bed. He looked a bit ridiculous buried under them all, but it made you smile seeing him comfortable, and he was very happy to oblige you. 

You laid next to him, under a considerably less amount of layers. “Warm enough?”

A warm laugh came from next to you as Sirius rolled over to face you. “Yeah, I think I’m all set, darling.”

You smiled, and the room fell into a comfortable silence. Out of habit—one you didn’t even know you still had—you reached for his hand under the sheets. You used to always wind down every night like this, cherishing the time you had together. You never knew how much longer you’d be able to do it with the war raging on, and you both got quite used to doing this each night. 

Sirius stiffened in surprise when he felt your fingers reach his, but he quickly recovered once he realized what you were doing. He let you take his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers.

“This bed is so soft,” he murmured, tilting his chin down to look at you. “I forgot how soft it was.”

You tried not to let your mind wander, thinking about the sleeping conditions he would have had in Azkaban. He would tell you one day about what it was like there. 

Neither of you were prepared to talk about it just yet.

“Do you wanna sleep somewhere else? I could make up the couch—”

“No, love,” he said, squeezing your hand. “This is good.”

You nodded, resting your head against the pillow. Another silence fell over the room. You shuffled to get a little closer, absentmindedly tracing your thumb along the back of his hand. Sirius let out a heavy sigh, drawing your attention up to him. You waited for him to speak, lying still until he looked down and his eyes met yours. There was a pain in them you couldn’t describe.

“Did you think I did it?”

You sucked in a breath, your grip on his hand tightening. You could feel his eyes on you as you frowned, bring your joined hands up from under the sheets to rest on top of the blanket.

You had been waiting for him to ask you this.

You knew he must have spent the past decade wondering what you thought happened. He’d sat in that cell all alone, thinking his wife thought he was a cold blooded murderer who had killed her best friends. 

The world thought he was a killer. Why wouldn’t you?

You dropped his hand, gently reaching up to cup his cheek. His skin was warm against yours, a pink flush spreading. Was he embarrassed? Ashamed? You didn’t know. You caressed his cheek, giving him a sad smile. You could see his eyes welling with tears.

“No,” you finally said, your voice sure. “I didn’t think it was you. I didn’t know what had happened, but I didn’t think it was you.”

Sirius let out a breath, his voice cracking. “Really?”

You swallowed hard, nodding.

“You would have died before ever hurting James—and you would have done a lot worse to save him. There wasn’t a single part of me that thought you could have killed James and Lily. I just couldn’t fathom it. There was no one in this world you loved more than them, and I knew that it couldn’t have been you. I didn’t know they had made Peter the secret keeper last minute, and I didn’t know where his body was if he was supposed to be dead, but I knew you had absolutely nothing to do with it. I think Remus knew it too…deep down. He thought I was crazy with the theories I was coming up with to try and absolve you. But he never truly blamed you—and eventually, we stopped talking about it all together. It hurt too much to keep trying to solve the mystery. It was easier to let it go.”

Fresh tears spilled, and Sirius was quick to wipe them away. Your heart ached at his kindness, even after all these years. All these years of solitude when you had left him behind, and yet, he was the one consoling you.

“I’m so sorry,” you choked out, composing yourself the best you could. “I’m so sorry I didn’t try harder to get you back. I’m so sorry you had to suffer there all those years while I got to just keep living my life. You don’t know how sorry I am. Please forgive me, Sirius.”

Sirius quickly shook his head, his palm resting against your cheek. “None of that, pretty girl. It’s not your fault—”

“But it is,” you tried to say, but he just kept shaking his head.

“Well, I don’t care—it doesn’t matter…I don’t blame you. I never blamed you, darling. So stop blaming yourself. I’m sure you’ve spent long enough doing that, and I won’t watch you torture yourself. Don’t you think we’ve both been through enough torture?”

You could hardly believe what you were hearing. He was so strong. It shocked you, just how strong he was. He had been through so much, and yet he still carried himself like the man you knew. He still let other people lean on him even when it should have been him doing the leaning. It was remarkable, really.

“Since when did you get so wise?” You asked, and you had mustered a grin that made him smile too. “Where’s the stubborn man I once knew?”

Sirius shrugged. “He’s still in here somewhere. Just needs a little practice. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll meet him again soon.”

You scoffed, breathing out a laugh. “That’s alright. I kinda missed him.”

Sirius chuckled, and your smile widened. This felt easy—this was good. You were so worried that, after all this time, you wouldn’t know how to act around each other. You were so afraid that Sirius would walk around the flat like a ghost of the man who once called it home. But he didn’t. It only took him a few hours to start cracking jokes, brushing his fingers against yours. 

It wasn’t perfect—neither of you expected it to be. 

But it gave you hope. Sirius was going to be okay. You both were going to be okay. And you’d get there together.

—

A/N - Hi! Again, I'm so sorry for the wait. I honestly don’t love the outcome of this, but I figured I’d finish it anyways. I loved this request, and I just kept coming back to it and adding it. Hopefully this is what you were looking for, sorry if it’s shit. Thanks for the request :)

[alastor-simp]

Demonic Savior - Demon Alastor x Human Female Reader

❥Summary- Who knew that the deer you helped was actually a demon?

❥Tags: Demon Alastor, Human Reader, Caution: Not For Minors, Trigger Warning, Abuse, Child Abuse, Abusive Parents, Deer Form Alastor, Curse Words, Angst + Comfort

❥Notes: Haven't wrote a story like this so I wanted to give it a try. I understand this story might be a bit traumatic for readers who went through something similar, so please skip it this story bothers you. This is 3K words, lets go

❥Credit: Divider from @cafekitsune

❥Warnings: TRIGGER WARNING!!!!!! NOT FOR MINORS!!!!!!!!!

✪In The Forest✪

"Pant....pant....pant." Holding a hand to your chest, you attempted to calm down after running away from your so-called home. It was never home to you, more like hell, as you had to suffer through everything your parents inflicted on you. Your mom would never feed you, locking you in your room, and whenever you had the chance to leave your prison, your drunk dad would beat you mercilessly, shouting swears at you. It was just plain luck that the time you ran away from your father, the door was left unlocked, letting you escape out into the woods, "GET BACK HERE YOU FUCKING BRAT!!!" screeched from inside the house, as you sped away as fast as you could, limping slightly from the beatings. You took a rest behind a large tree, trying to catch your breath and also soothe your aching body as the more you tried to run, the worse the pain got. There was no sound of footsteps anywhere, letting you know that you were safe for now, but you knew that your father was searching for you, ready to beat you again for disobeying him. Wincing, you slowly got up from the ground, moving slowly to avoid stepping on any branches that would alert anyone nearby.

A few minutes went by and you slowly came across a small river. Oh finally, some fresh water. Getting on your knees, your hands scooped some water, bringing it to your mouth to drink. The river was able to reflect back at you, allowing you to see yourself. One of your eyes was swollen from being punched, cheeks sunken from being starved and your lip was bleeding. It was a surprised that your face still remained the same, even after all the beatings that were inflicted on you. "Rustle..Rustle." A soft sound was heard from a large bush, causing you to jump up in fright. You were waiting for the figure of your father, to come out, but nothing appeared. The sounds continued, earning your curiosity.

Moving closer to the sound, you peeked behind a bush and let out a gasp. A large deer appeared in front of you, its fur a dark crimson red and its antlers black as coal. It was on the ground, hoof caught in a bear trap. It noticed your presence, dark red eyes staring back at you, gazing into your soul. Moving slowly as not to startle it, you sat next to the deer, letting it know you were not a threat. Drawing your eyes to the trapped leg, you placed your hands on the jaws, "I'm gonna try to open this okay?" Using the strength you could muster, the jaws of the trap slowly inched open bit by bit, allowing the deer to pull it out. Once you saw that the deer had freed its foot, you push the trap slowly together, so it wouldn't snap on your hand, setting it on the ground once you had closed it. The deer's foot was bleeding heavily, having been punctured by the sharpness of the trap.

Moving away from the deer, you went back to the river and picked up some water with your hands, carrying it over back to the deer. The water helped removed some of the blood that was on the leg and would help reduce the chance of infection a bit. Grabbing your shirt, you ripped a piece of cloth off, using it as bandage for the cut, to prevent it from bleeding more. Having tied it on, you look at your work, making sure it was all set before setting the foot down. Looking back at the deer, you gave it a smile, "There you go, that should help with the bleeding. Just hope you are able to walk." The deer had remained surprisingly calm when you were helping it, which was quite strange, but you were just glad it didn't run away or else that wound would have gotten infected. The crimson deer, moved its legs, standing up to his full height, apparently able to move on the wounded hoof. It moved slowly, its head coming closer to yours, giving your face a sniff. Its tongue had come out and licked your lip, cleaning the blood that was dripping from it. "Haha I'll take that as a thank you." Giggling at the sensation, your hand raised and rubbed the deer's cheek, which made its ears twitch. "Never seen a red deer before. Quite beautiful."

The moment was ruined when you heard a loud yell, "Y/N!!! YOU BETTER GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE OR SO HELP ME GOD I WILL KILL YOU!!!" Jumping at the scream, you realized your dad was close. Looking back at the deer, you motioned your hand for it to leave, not wanting your dad to catch it and possibly kill it, "Go now!! Run!" The deer didn't think twice and bolted away, disappearing into the bushes. Hearing more rustling from behind you, you turned seeing your father, face red from anger and the alcohol, as he was holding a beer bottle in his hand. "FOUND YOU, YOU LITTLE BITCH!" He rushed towards you, the end of the bottle smashing against your head, causing it to break. "AHH!!", Grasping your head, there was a wet sensation appearing on your hand, making you pull back, seeing blood. A hand had grabbed your hair, body being lifted a bit off the ground, as you saw the hatred filled eyes of your father glaring down at you "YOU THINK YOU CAN RUN AWAY FROM ME?!? I'LL BEAT THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF YOU, SO YOU CAN NEVER ESCAPE AGAIN!!" He pulled, dragging your body back to the house, your hell. "N-No! Let go!!" Your cries were left unheard, as the rough grip form your fathers hand on your hair continued to yank, dragging you, body scraping against the grassy surface. As you were being pulled away, a pair of glowing eyes appeared from far out of the forest, before they vanished.

✪Next Day✪

Groaning in pain, your hands were motioning left and right in soapy liquid, washing the dishes. This was the continuation of your punishment for trying to escape. Your mom caught wind of your escape attempt and joined in on the beating with your father. When you woke up, body still on the cold floor, your mother came from the kitchen, pointing her finger and yelling at you to do the dishes, since it's your duty to do all the chores and not hers. The tormentors that were your parents, were lazying about on the couch, watching TV as you continued to watch the dishes. It hurt....it hurt so much you could barely stand. Tears were running down your face, drops landing into the soapy water. Using one of your soap covered hands, you tried to wipe the tears from your face, however doing that caused the glass in your other hand to drop to the floor, shattering into a million pieces. The sound alerted both of your parents, the both of them darting off the couch and into the kitchen, faces fueled with anger and malice. "YOU LITTLE SHIT! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?! The roaring voice from your dad made you yelp in fear, raising your hands up for some sort of protection. "I-I dropped a glass! I-I'm sorry!" You prayed for mercy, hoping that they would only yell and degrade you. "You're sorry?" The cold tone from your mom, made you shiver, tears still running down your cheeks. "You don't look very sorry. Honey, I believe its time for some proper punishment." The evil smile on her face, made your stomach drop. No..No..NO..NO!!!

Your legs sprung to life, darting from the kitchen, trying to reach the hallway that led to your room. Your dad was quicker, his fist connecting with your face, causing you to fall to the floor, groaning from the pain. Your hands grabbed at your bruised cheek, crying loudly. Your dad stood above you, veins bursting from his face. His body got on top of yours, hands grasping your throat, squeezing. The air you were breathing was caught off, making you panic. You tried to push the hands from your neck, but his grip wouldn't budge, squeezing much tighter at your struggling. Your mouth couldn't utter a sound, faint gasping trying to get some air. Why? Why was this happening to you? Why must the two of these individuals, not even parents, monsters, must torment you so? Black spots popped in your vision, growing more and more weak, as the pressure on your throat continued. "Someone.....anyone.....please....h-help..me", your mind screamed, vision growing more and more hazy.

"Knock..knock..knock" Loud knocking came from the front door. Your dad locked eyes with it in confusion, turning his head to your mom, wondering who the hell it was. His hands had loosen slightly, allowing some air to enter through your mouth, but just barely. The knocking presumed, which got on your mom's nerve as you heard her curse, walking past the both of you to answer it. The ringing in your ears was making it impossible to hear what was going, but you heard the sound of the door slamming shut, and the sounds of footsteps approaching, your moms probably. A gush of wind was felt from behind, and through the ringing in your ears, you heard a voice, "I…….in..yo….daughter," it was broken, but it sounded like static?

✪Alastors POV✪

The door to this humble estate opened, revealing a small petite woman on the other side, wearing a scowl on her face. "Greetings, madam. Apologies for the sudden intrusion, but I acquire your daughter. Is the little darling here by chance?" Bowing a bit, I locked eyes with the miss, who seemed displeased at my arrival. "We aren't interested in what your trying to sell buddy. Take a hike-SLAM!" The door slammed in my face, hmph how rude. Molding into the shadows, my body manifested into the house, appearing in front of the supposed father-figure and the person who I was seeking, "I decided to let myself in, as I did say, I acquire your daughter." The poor darling was laying on the ground, face horribly bruised and neck laced with finger marks. Smile straining at the sight, my eyes locked onto the male on top of her. He soon stood up, walking towards me, attempting to be intimidating. How foolish.

"HEY! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE COMING INTO OUR HOUSE LIKE THAT?! BEAT IT ASSHOLE!!" The man screamed, whiffs of alcohol emanating from his breath. The mother had came around me, crossing her arms as she stood next to her husband, eyes cold, "I don't know how you got in here, but I prefer you leave now before I call the police." As if a measly man dressed in a suit with a gun and badge could harm me. Summoning my staff, I gave it a twirl, before placing it down on the ground. "Now now, all I want is your daughter, who is laying on the floor, next to you." The both of them, looked at each other before returning back to me with smirks. "You want this pathetic waste of space right here?" The man raised his leg, striking the lady with a kick, sending her flying, body hitting the side wall. Her body remained limp, but she was awake enough to let out a groan of pain, grip on my staff tightening. “I implore you not to do that again."

The so-called man wore a smirk, raising his foot again to strike, "Whatcha gonna do about-" He never finished his sentence as the shadows I called stopped his kick, before lifting him up in the air and throwing him down the hall like a ragdoll. "AHHHHHH!" He was able to let out one good scream before his head hit the wall, knocking him out. "I believe I recalled saying,nøŧ ŧø đø ŧħȺŧ ȺǥȺɨn." The air grew heavy, as the dark shadows flooded the walls and floors, glaring at both the mother and father. My antlers grew to massive lengths, and slits changing into radio dials, revealing my true demon form. The mother's face was shocked, collapsing onto the ground with tears in her eyes, "M-monster!" She cried out, as her body shivered with fear. "ĦȺĦȺ-ĦØØ, Mønsŧɇɍ? Ɏøᵾ Ⱥɍɇ sȺđłɏ mɨsŧȺꝁɇn, mɨss. Ɨ Ⱥm Ⱥ đɇmøn, Ŧħɇ ɌȺđɨø Đɇmøn." Bending down, I leaned closer, enjoying the fearful expression coming from the mother. It didn't take long before her eyes rolled back and she fainted from the fear, "Ħmm, ħøw đᵾłł. UsᵾȺłłɏ ŧħɇɏ sȼɍɇȺm fɨɍsŧ ƀɇføɍɇ ᵽȺssɨnǥ øᵾŧ." Returning my attention back to the one I seek, her body floated in the air with my powers, as she floated into my arms, carrying her bridal style. She weighed almost nothing, the poor thing, body lacking any source of fullness, bony from head to toe. She had awoken a bit, moving her head softly to look at me, pupils glazed, "H-h-help." The voice she let out was so soft, before her head collapsed, landing against my chest. Leaning closer, I nuzzled against her head softly, "Not to worry, my dear, I will offer my assistance." My eyes locked on to the two bodies on the ground, smile growing.

✪Your POV✪

"Mmmmm...ughhhhh." Letting out a groan, you opened your eyes slightly, vision blurry. Your neck felt very sore, moving your hand up slowly to rub at it. Something was wrapped around your body, making it hard for you to move. Vision clearing a bit, your eyes gazed up to see trees hovering above you, fireflies flying around. Huh? You blinked again, feeling like it was your imagination. The more you blinked, you realized this was real. Moving slowly with a groan, your head looked down to see that you were on a bed, wrapped in a soft blanket. It took you a minute to realize this wasn't your bed, the sheets looked expensive and the covers were crimson red. Your eyes darted out to ponder where you were. Half of the room was a forest, reminding you of the one near your house, but on the other half, it was attached to a regular room, walls decorated with stag heads, glowing fireplace with green flames, a tall bookcase and a desk where a big cathedral radio was. "This can't be real. I'm dreaming." Pinching your arm, you waited for this all to disappear, expecting the area around you to transform into your real bedroom. Nothing changed once you did that, realizing that this was reality, and you were in a two dimensional room, having no idea where in the hell you were.

The door to the room bursted open, and in came a man dressed to the nines in a red suit, holding a microphone stand. Bright crimson eyes locked onto yours, and his smile was stretched to the max on his face, "Ahh awake now, are we?". He took long strides to the bed you laid on, smiling down at you, as you continued to observe him. He was tall, which made him a bit intimidating, but your eyes scanned him all over trying to figure out who and what he was. "Who-what?" It felt almost impossible to talk, as you were still trying to piece together what was going on. The person in front of you, noticed your confusion, letting out a chuckle that was mixed with static. "Haha, I suspected you must be terribly dumbstruck about your current situation. First things first, I will introduce myself. My name is Alastor. Pleasure to be meeting you again." He bowed, while he gripped one of your hands, placing a soft kiss on it, making you jump a bit. "Ummm...nice to meet you. Do you mind telling me where I am?" You noticed the little puffs of hair on his head move after you said that, wait are those ears? "Ah yes, We are currently in the fine establishment of the Hazbin Hotel, run by the Princess of Hell herself. The room we are in right now is my own private quarters." He leaned back to his full height, extending his hands out like he was giving a performance for a big show.

Did he just say Hell? How on god's green earth could you be in hell? Placing your hands on your neck, you rubbed at the sore sensation, as your memory flickered, trying to recall what happened. "Am I dead?" The man in front of you, leaned his head back, letting out a loud chortle, "HA! No! You are not dead, my dear. Just made a simple portal between the living world and Hell to bring you here." Okayyyyyyyyy, that answered your question a bit, but it was still mind-baffling that you were here, in Hell. Feeling a bit awkward that you didn't introduce yourself, you smiled softly a bit at him, "Sorry I'm Y/N. Nice to meet y......wait, you said again, have the both of us met before?" There was no way you have met him before, as you would remember a well-dressed deer man. The microphone stand he was holding disappeared, moving slowly to take a seat on the bed where you laid, lips turning into a tender smile, "Oh my, don't tell me you have forgotten? You treated the horrible wound that was afflicted on my leg by that horrible trap. I also must thank you for the compliment, not many have referred to me as beautiful before."

All the memories started flooding back, remembering the deer you had saved and treated, until your father dragged you away. "You were that deer?" Alastor's ears twitched in amusement, chuckling softly, "Correct, my dear. It is hard to come across good venison in hell, so I often times travel to the human world to hunt. My deer form draws less eyes towards me then this one," He announced, gesturing to himself, as he was explaining. "Is your wound okay?" You asked, concerned eyes gazing down to his foot. His eyes widen for a bit, not expecting you to ask him that, seeing as how stunned you before, you still had the courtesy to ask about his well-being, "It's perfectly alright now my deer, no need to stress. Your handiwork helped control a lot of the bleeding." His hand waved in the air, as the static crackled in his voice.

The pain on your neck was bothering you more, placing both hands on it to alleviate some of the pain. Flashbacks of your father began to play in your mind, recalling the hateful eyes from both him and your mother as he continued to strangle you to death. Sobbing, the tears began to flood your cheeks, alerting the demon next to you. "Oh no! There is no need to cry, my dear. You are safe from them now, they will never hurt you again. I made sure of it," His voice was soft, hands placing themselves on your cheeks, wiping away at the tears. His hands were warm, making you lean a bit into the touch. He made sure of it? What did he mean by that. Alastor was able decipher the question you wanted to ask him, just by reading your face, "I am known as the Radio Demon, most powerful overlord in all of hell. Those who have wrong me or provoked my rage will have their screams broadcasted all throughout hell. I slaughtered your parents in the living world, and found them in hell as sinners, granting them a second death by my hands. Their pitiful screams for mercy were just broadcasted a little while ago, thank Satan, you were still asleep." He said all of this like it was the most causal thing in the world, while your mouth opened wide like a fish.

"YOU KILLED THEM!?!" Finding the energy to move, you jumped out of the bed, standing a good feet away from the bed. Alastor tilted his head, confused at your reaction, "Well yes, Was that not what you wanted? To be saved?" He got you there, as you recalled wanting what was happening to you to stop, but not resulting in the death of your parents. "They were horrible people, but I didn't them to die. I just.....I wanted to leave and never go back, away from them forever." You wanted to roll into a ball, wrapping your arms around yourself, feeling super overwhelmed over everything.

✪Alastors POV✪

Oh dear, this is only stressing out the poor darling more. My past sins have driven me numb to any form of guilt, but I have forgotten it's not the same for others. Removing myself from the bed, I stood in front of the little human, hooking their chin softly to gaze up at me. "If you feel responsible for what has happened to them, don't. They were going to kill you either way, even if you had left, they would have found a way to find you. They are the cause of their own undoing, not you." The tears still remained in her eyes, but she seemed slightly calmer now. "Why? Why did you save me?" She whimpered out, making my heart ache a bit. Chuckling to myself, my hands squished her cheeks, she was simply adorable. "Simply returning the favor, my dear. You helped me and I returned it in kind." Her eyes continued to gaze into mine, before they dropped to the ground. Suddenly, her arms wrapped around my waist, pulling me into a hug.

The sudden act made me stiffen, being unfamiliar with acts like this. "Thank you....for saving me." The muffled voice against my chest made me relax, returning the hug back, with one hand on her waist, and the other petting her soft hair. I allowed this to go on for a few more minutes before pulling back, "Ahem, I believe its time to head to the lobby. I'm sure the residents will be delighted in meeting you." The little darling in front of me tilted her head, appearing confused, "Residents?" Her cute acts made me shake with laughter, as I poke her nose softly, "Yes! Residents! We are in a hotel after-all." With a wave of my hand, my microphone appeared, allowing me to twirl it with my fingers, before setting it down, I extended my arm out, waiting for her to take a hold, "Come along, darling! Best not to keep them waiting!" There was a bit of hesitation that flashed on her face for a second before it was replaced with a kind soft smile, as her arm hooked around mine. "Lovely! Now! Let us head on down!" The both of us strode over to the door, leaving my humble quarters, as we headed to lobby, where dear Charlie and the others resided, ready for them to meet our new addition to the hotel.

-END-

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[theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction]

Imagine Zuko when you’re paralysed with fear at the sight of Azula…

It had been a peaceful morning just like the previous two days - until the ground quaked violently. Eyes flew open at the imminent danger and Aang was quick enough to deflect an incoming fireball as the rest of the group scrambled to their feet.

Zuko’s eyes widened when he realised their attacker. “It’s Azula.”

You had just thrown a bag into Appa’s saddle when you heard him and ice trickled through your body. Stumbling back, you accidentally stepped on Momo’s tail to which he screeched and then nursed in his little paws.

You would have apologised. You would have done anything but you stood frozen with fear clawing at your throat seizing all breath.

There was a series of calls for you but it was fuzzy to your ears - all but one. Golden eyes found themselves in your line of vision until it was all you could see. A warm hand against your waist, another on your cheek giving off a natural heat that thawed you for a few moments to focus.

“Look at me. You need to get on the saddle, okay? I’ll handle this.” Zuko said.

You took in a small breath, apparently you were still alive and breathing. Unable to find the words, you blinked and it was enough for the Prince.

He gently but quickly urged you towards the sky bison where Sokka had a hand extended. When he had yours gripped firmly, Zuko let you go and ran for the ledge to face his sister.

What happened in the moments after were a blur, there was yelling and the smell of fire and earth in the air. Appa was speeding through the valleys in order to escape and you held the side of the saddle to keep from flying off.

Just as he levelled out, you heard a voice in the air. That conceited, cold, relentless one that spent days and nights in your prison chamber. Then you heard her laugh - the very same one that echoed when spikes of lightning shot into your shackled, defenceless body until your screams forced blood.

Scrunching your eyes, you let go of the saddle and covered your ears. You didn’t care if you flew off. You just wanted to be away from her. Curling into yourself, you laid on the leather base and tried to drown out the sound.

There were shouts from somewhere above. A hand gently pressed against your arm as Appa changed flight and dipped low hard. The hot rush of air reminded you too much of the prison cell and memories began to flash. You started to drown in them, missing the additional thud of a body in the saddle.

Appa levelled out once more, still maintaining speed but the loud voices outside had reduced to softer tones - unlike the ones in your head.

Your nails dug into your scalp as your mind drowned you in the very worst trauma. And you begged for it to stop. You’d do anything for it to stop.

Something familiar moved closer, warm hands finding purchase over yours. They were steady and safe, carefully prying the tight hold away. A muffled voice made its way through your head and worked a soothing balm across the chaos.

Finally, you could feel a line between the past and reality. And you fought hard to stay in the land of the latter.

The air around you had cooled. Your cheeks felt wet and your hands were holding onto a soft fabric that smelled of home.

It was enough to finally pull you out of the haze and understand where you were.

Zuko was laying with you. His arms wrapped protectively, body flush against yours. His head nuzzled by your neck while his mouth whispered to you alone.

He was telling you a story about a prince who promised to give his life to protect the love of his life.

“You’re the love of mine.” He said with a gentle squeeze. “You will always be and I will never let you hurt like that again. I promise.”

~ More imagines here ~ (for more ATLA)

A/n: 2.5 hours sleep works wonders sometimes…