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vetteltea · 1 year ago

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Love Will Always Show | CL16 & CS55

Summary: The choice of a lifetime is yours to make, your husband and lover both longing for your heart. They face conflict, choices and most importantly, one another.

Word Count: 8.4K [& a bit more]

Warnings: angst, mentions of cheating and dishonesty, manipulation, hospital talk.

Note: The fact I was a newbie to F1Blr when this started and now...here we are. I want to thank each and EVERY person who has ever read this series. It's changed everything for me, it is truly my love letter to you all and I hope you enjoy the finale. You are all forever in my heart and I cannot thank you all enough.

PART 1: A House, A Home | PART 2: Where Do We Go? | PART 3: ‘You Think, You Know’ | PART 4: 'Love Will Always Show'

Love is a gentle hand cradling your back.

Time had suspended when your body had collapsed onto the rough floor outside of the Scuderia Ferrari hospitality. Immediately, several scarlet-clad personnel were running over, shouts echoing across the open space, somebody mumbling that they needed to get you somewhere safe and warm before your body temperature dropped dangerously.

There’s a question of who to call; your father wasn’t in the country, ever since your mother’s funeral, he’s become silent, your siblings having been lovingly sent to stay with a close aunt. He had been absent from the previous Ferrari meeting, his assistant having sent a message to say he would be absent for a little longer. Clearly, the death of your mother was taking a toll.

The next obvious choice of course, was your husband. However, with the win that he had been craving for oh-so-long, he was currently wrapped up in press, endless ‘congratulations’ messages from celebrities and presenters alike. Nobody would know where to find the monegasqué right now, let alone how to tell him of his wife’s status whilst surrounded by endless television cameras and sly reporters.

There’s no need for him, anyway. Leaving the media pen after vigorous questioning of his loyalty to the team and his current emotions on a premature end to the race, Carlos’ dark eyes quirk to the side, registering the crowd of bodies circling the hospitality area. They only widen when the realization dawns on his clouded mind that it’s you, your body is the one thing they are all crowding around.

His steps break into a run, no signal being given to his media manager nor his cousin. He speaks a few sharp, spanish words, creating a break in the circle, able to insert his toned body into the sea of red, immediately squatting, one hand coming out to elevate the back of your head. He knows how particular you could be with your hair, how you insisted on now sleeping on silk pillowcases to keep it healthy. Asphalt ground was not comfortable nor hygienic.

There’s talk; talk about whether to take you to the hospital, whether to wait for your husband to return and make the decision. Carlos feels his blood curdle at the use of marital status. His teammate, the man who had treated you no better than the way he had treated bonds of trust, was the one to make a choice of your health and wellbeing.

He simply cannot stand for that.

“We need to take her to the hospital.” He interrupts the commotion, the strong tone settling over the panicked employees. “Surely that is the best place for her if she is unconscious, no?” The whispers and mumbles which echo the surrounding members of the team signify agreement.

There’s a discussion of how to bring you in without drawing attention to the media. Surely, if a giant ambulance or even a medical car was to storm through the paddock, no doubt endless media outlets would be creating headlines before even bothering to speak to anybody present. The Spaniard is already making his own choice, using his arms to gently adjust your body.

He shouldn’t; he really shouldn’t be moving you, not when you haven’t been checked for broken bones or concussion. Yet, the idea of the most beautiful girl, Mariposa, lying on a hard floor with no form of comfort or safety sickens him to his stomach. Carlos is still gentle with the movements, letting your head lean into his stomach, one hand is supporting your back, tanned fingers digging gentle patterns into the curve of your skin. The other one traces once, twice, three times around your cheekbone, dark eyes transfixed on your features.

You must have hit your skin when falling to the ground; there’s a graze dancing across your cheekbone, specks of dirt resting in between each knock. The man cradling you is gentle, moving his shirt just enough up his body that he’s able to take the hemmed end, feather it across your cheek in an attempt to remove the offending chunks.

Someone nudges Carlos’s shoulder, more in an attempt to tell him somebody was just outside the Paddock; that they could drive you to the hospital right now. He…he can’t bring himself to leave you. A strong grasp lifts you from the ground, holding you close to his chest, murmuring that he would get you there, and he supposed somebody would have to find Charles.

The area grows quiet; Carlos’ pace draws away from the Paddock and to the back entry. He was thankful that the entirety of the drivers were still either trapped in the media or with their own teams, celebrating or commiserating. He had enough of that for one day; an entire six laps was barely worth speaking about.

You’re still unconscious, still limp in his arms. However, there’s a rise and fall of your chest, you’re still breathing. That’s all he could ask for at this present time. He silently promises himself there and then that when you wake up, he’s making his final move. Where Charles has been playing chequers, he is playing chess; he had proven that even whilst you were stuck with your estranged husband, he would love you regardless.

There’s a people carrier in the car park, he’s certain he’s seen various drivers use it before; a built-in stretcher lies in the back, it’s ideally a discreet ambulance. The media could be brutal with gossiping when any driver had to leave the track. It would look worse if Charles Leclerc’s wife was seen leaving the paddock with his teammate. The driver of the vehicle nods when seeing the two get closer, stepping to sit in the driver’s seat whilst Carlos adjusted his grasp.

He lays you down onto the stretcher; it’s secured, you’ll be safe for the drive. The man can’t help but feel a draw of protectiveness over you. What on earth had caused it to collapse? Had he done something? Blood boiled, if your husband had done anything to cause this, he could personally guarantee that Charles would not be finishing any races for the remainder of the season. He would make sure of that.

His attention is caught by the glimmer of silver on your left hand; your wedding band. When he reaches the car, tucks you into the seat carefully and makes sure the seatbelt is secure around your frame, his fingers glide over your hand, removing the band and putting it in his own pocket.

‘It’s for your own good,’ he tells himself. ‘If your fingers swell up, they may need to cut it off.’ He could tell himself this story a thousand times; it doesn't hide the fact that his true intention in this moment is simple; for once, he could be the devoted husband, taking his wife to be nursed back to health.

The Spainard leans down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your forehead, murmuring that you were going to be okay, that he would stay with you the entire time. The driver shouts, telling him to take a seat so they could get there before the press figured out something was wrong. He kisses your skin once more, before closing the doors, sprinting to the backseat, throwing his body in carelessly.

Angst overtakes his senses, shouting at the driver to start the car, he doesn't care about being strapped in. This way, he’s able to lean over the backseat, one hand reaching out to clasp at your own. You need to know that somebody is there, that he is there for you. He’s always been there for you. The car pivots out of the parking space, beeling for the main road and to the hospital.

Love is a scream for your name.

“Charles, tu dois ralenir!” Joris is insisting he needs to slow down the car; turning the current Leclerc in hospital into a duo would not be a satisfying outcome.

Ever since he’s been told, all your husband can see is red mist. One Ferrari employee had sprinted up to him whilst he was in the midst of cameras, the grin on his face as he’s finally able to seek his wife out, wanting nothing more than to skip on the Scuderia celebrations and take you instead, your beaming smile radiating the energy he had been bathed in.

It’s funny how life can change in the matter of a few moments; one second, he’s on top of the world, the next, Charles is pushing through every media outlet, fan and celebrity, barging himself into his driver’s room. He doesn't have time to remove his fireproofs, to pick up any of his belongings apart from his car keys. He isn’t communicating, french profanities fall from his lips, shaking his head in rage that nobody could find him to tell him. Tell him that his wife had been taken to hospital.

Joris had been the one to sprint after him; he knew better than most, when Charles saw nothing but mist, there was no getting to him, not whilst he was determined to do something. The driver knew in his heart his best friend was not to blame; after all, he had no idea of your disappearance, he had been with Charles almost the entire time. And yet…he can’t bring himself to even speak to Joris. Not until the duo make it to his rented car, Charles is adamant he is driving.

He only starts speaking when his best friend tells him to slow down. The driver barely does, only drawing to a slower pace when he sees the traffic lights start to build in front of him. Even in a panic, he respects road rulings. Drawing to a stop, the man finally has a second to take a shaky, unbalanced breath, angry tears pooling at the bottom of his eyes.

“Why did nobody tell me my wife was at the hospital?” His voice is strained, he’s clearly holding back tears, whether they’re angry or fearful is a different question. “She’s my- she’s my wife!” He can’t stop repeating it, as if it’s a prayer. His wife. His wife.

“She’ll be okay.” Joris knows that’s quite possibly the worst thing he could say to his best friend, but it’s the only thing he can bring himself to say. “She will be. C’est juste par précaution.”

“Putain!” Charles’ words are sharp, immediately pressing on the acceleration as the light switches to green, overtaking three cars in a matter of moments. He’s a man of regret, he has been ever since he realized how much he adores you. In that moment, he can’t help but think of everything he could have done differently that afternoon. He could have come and found you right after the podium, could have given you his jacket and told you to stay in his driver’s room, he would come and get you after. He could- he could of-

He could of waited with you after the funeral. He could have come and picked you up from Milan when you went to spend time with Carlos. He could have deleted his mistress’ number, and told her he was married.

“Tourner à gauche.” Joris tells his best friend to turn left, the Hospital Car Park coming into view. Charles turns the car, immediately eyes are roaming for any space, anywhere he could put the car. A sharp whistle and point from his best friend shows him a space right by the Emergency Department, parking the vehicle in possibly the worst way he ever has done. Within three seconds, the engine is switched off, seatbelts are unbuckled, and he’s shouting to Joris to pay for the parking, he needs to get inside.

For a driver, his sense of direction is becoming worse. It takes him a solid minute to read a sign, before his legs break into a sprint, skidding into a bustling Emergency Room. There’s old men, leant over in pain, convinced they’re dying. A child snuffling, masses of paper towels on her head. A woman with a twisted ankle, her attention engrossed by the magazine in her grasp. It smells of hand sanitiser and bleach, the yellow walls are hurting his eyes.

A woman behind the desk taps the counter, drawing his attention. “Hey- Sir!” She snaps. You can’t blame her; it’s hour thirteen of her fifteen hour shift. “You can’t be in here unless you’re hurt-”

He shouts your name. It’s as if he completely forgets he’s in a building. Charles is embedded in a maze, even if a lady in front of him can pull up your immediate location, he needs to find you himself, and he needs to find you now.

It isn’t until Joris comes in, having heard his best friend scream your name, that he overtakes Charles so overcome that he’s now hiding his head in his hands, unable to say anything that wasn’t your name. His ears prick up when the second man starts speaking, giving the woman your first name, your last name- Leclerc- and when you had been bought in. There’s a light tapping of the keyboard, she tells Joris you are in the department round the corner, room ten-

Charles is gone before she can finish her sentence, catapulting down the hallway, dodging round endless people, frantically searching for doors with numbers, not names. He sees the number four. Six. Eight.

Number Ten rolls into view. Without a single word, his hand latches around the door handle, pushing so violently the door smacks onto the inside wall. His eyes immediately fly to the bed, you’re lying there, so unconscious, still so beautiful, some strips over the graze on your cheek. Still, arms to either side, one hand connected to an IV, clearly in an attempt to rehydrate you. His first question is the location of your wedding ring, where on earth was it? Has it been taken away? It’s a question he completely forgets about when his gaze travels further.

The other hand is being held by a Spanish man he knows all too much about.

Love is notes left on a coffee cup.

Both men stood, silently hovering over your body whilst the nurse came in to run a course of tests, check your blood pressure, the IV line, make sure you were being cared for in the best capacity. Each held a coffee cup, Charles’ still primarily full, he couldn’t stomach anything; he felt sick from seeing you lie here, not laughing, smiling, speaking. Carlos had downed the drink bought in by Joris in a matter of moments; to him, it was fuel. Something to keep him awake until you woke up.

Whilst Charles was the one to ask questions; ‘Do you know what caused this? Is she going to have any long-term issues? Does she need any assistance when she wakes up?’ Carlos has captured the marker which has rested alongside the clipboard of your notes, his tongue poked out in concentration. The marker grazes along the cup, leaving a note, drawing a tiny picture of a butterfly- Mariposa- and placing the cup on your table, a silent message for if you woke up and god forbid- he wasn’t there.

The nurse draws away from your body, diverting her next task to the two men.

“I need to continue the examination but…” She looks to the door. “I cannot have you both in here. You need to wait outside, the Doctor will come in for further tests-”

“Can one of us wait here?” Carlos is the first to interrupt, the look on the woman’s face tells him he’s made a mistake.

“Both.” She clarifies, pointing at himself, then at his teammate. “One and two. You need to wait outside. If she wakes up or there’s any…issues, we will let you know.”

It turns out, both men are hesitant to leave you; Charles moves first, crouching by your side, running a gentle hand over your hairline, pressing his lips carefully to your temple. He’s murmuring, french words of adoration and comfort, that he will be right there when you need him.

When one steps away, the other comes forward. Carlos doesn't say anything, instead tracing a gentle finger across your cheek. His touch tells you everything, it speaks volumes. He loves you, he’ll be outside, don’t be afraid to come running into his arms like you had done once before. The nurse begins to lose her patience, ushering both men out into the corridor, telling them to sit in the plastic chairs provided or go somewhere else; she really didn’t care.

The scene is reminiscent of two boys sitting outside of the principal’s office; Charles’ head hides in his hands, leaning forward, still dressed in his fireproofs. He’s tied the sleeves around his waist, the dark undershirt now drenched in sweat from the driving, both on track and to the hospital.

He feels movement next to him, Carlos’ hand dips into his pocket, pulling out something small, silvery. Her wedding ring. He supposes Carlos means it as a sign of goodwill, that he kept it safe. In the Monégasques mind, it’s the fuel to light the fire. Scoffing, he snatches the jewelry off of his teammate, placing the band onto his pinky finger, it’s the only one it would fit on, the only way he could keep it safe.

“Funny. You took it off her.” He’s growing mad, aggravated that Carlos wouldn’t just go away and leave him and his wife alone. Hadn’t he done enough already? “Why don’t you go back to Natasha?” The blonde ex-media woman for their team is referenced. Carlos opens his mouth, ready to snap back, it was a low blow for Charles to reference his history with the woman.

“I know what you did.” He huffs. There’s something…different. Different in the way he speaks to Carlos now compared to every other day. The polite, civil conversation is gone, the fact he couldn’t pass judgment because of his own actions has evaporated. “I know you invited her to Madrid just to make a move.” He remembers seeing the instagram stories, how your eyes were wide, full of life. He made you remember life is beautiful. “You kept her close. You wanted her and didn’t like that she was mine.”

“Yours?” He scoffs. “She’s not your property, Charles.”

“No. But she’s my wife. I’m the one she lies next to every night, I’m the one who will care for her in sickness and health, who’s shoulder was leant on through every bad time.” He pauses. “Who picked her up after you coaxed her into your bed.” He laughs. Actually, laughs. The memory replayed in his head, how sleepy you looked as he guided you back into the SUV, how your heart sank when seeing the blonde approach his front door. In that moment, you had convinced yourself you meant nothing to Carlos apart from lust.

Charles was a jealous man; he had taken pride in stripping off his teammates' clothing, wrapping you in his own, soft hoodie. You were his. Carlos wouldn’t care for you the way he did, he was a man too full of lust. He was convinced the Spainard didn’t make you laugh, didn’t make you smile, didn’t make you come-

“You corrupted her, Carlos.” He finishes. “I know what you did-”

“-And I know what you did.” Carlos snarls. He doesn't care about anything more; he knows all too well that his teammate could go crying to the Ferrari bosses, have him removed from the team in a blink of an eye, throwing some false information out which he would have to comply with. But he doesn't care. His affection has grown too strong for that.

“I know everything, Charles.” He’s monotone, he’s stating facts. “I know how she waited at home for you on her birthday, whilst you were in your mistress’ bed.” Carlos remembers asking you about your plans the previous week, how you had brushed them off. “I know how she made you dinner every night, how you refused to eat it.” Charles feels his stomach drop, the endless leftovers stacked neatly in the fridge, the meals he had never bothered to try. “I know on your wedding night, you came into the hotel room drunk, covered in bites and she slept on the sofa-”

“Enough!” Charles’ voice shouts, standing up from the plastic chair in the corridor. He doesn't have to hear this, he can’t bear to hear this. One mistake a day was something he was always able to brush off. Hearing each and every one of his infidelities laid out in front of him sent his mind into overdrive. “You have no right to comment on-”

“On what?” The Spainard is standing up now, chest out and arms folded. “On your marriage?” He laughs, he smirks. “Can you call it that? A marriage is a bond between two people who love one another-”

“I love her!” Charles cuts him off, stepping closer. “I love her.” He repeats himself. Carlos looks gobsmacked, shaking his head in denial.

“You have a really weird way of showing her you love her.” He continues to poke, to prod. “Sharing a bed with another woman is not how you show love-”

“I admitted to my mistakes!” He’s quick to defend himself, how the restraining order was placed and a lawsuit filed, how he promised if you wanted to know anything, see anything, he would let you. How he would spend the rest of his days always feeling dread and regret. “I fixed them-”

“Who says she still loves you?” Carlos has snapped.

Charles hates to admit that he may be right. Is it really fair for him to expect your love after everything that has happened in the past year? It didn’t matter how many times he begged, he pleaded or promised. The man you had married had spent the better part of 365 days in the arms of another woman, a woman that as he stood here, clinging onto any hope of his marriage, meant absolutely nothing to him.

His slim fingers trail down, circling the cool band which rested on his left finger. He had decided there and then, he would keep it on, always. There would be no more reasoning, none. If Lewis could wear his earrings, Charles would wear his wedding ring. He looks back up, Carlos still boring into him with dark eyes, the anger he radiated almost entirely visible.

“Do you love her?” He presses. He needs to know; he doesn't bring himself to care that you had spent a night in his arms, not when he had done it to you a thousand times over. The idea makes him sick, but nothing compared to the idea that you are in love with somebody that isn’t him, not when he needs nothing but for you to come home, back to your home with him.

Charles swears he feels vomit rise into his mouth when Carlos nods. He’s not stupid, not really. He knows how he fell for you properly in the past few weeks, how for Carlos who has been in awe of your affection and attention, the center of every race weekend you had reluctantly attended. It may have been to support him, but you could still enjoy the fact that Carlos would be there, too.

Your husband isn’t sure what he wants to do anymore. If there wasn’t an examination happening, he would have run into your private room and locked the door. Instead, his glassy eyes gaze up, catching Carlos’ dark ones. It hits him at once; his teammate, somebody who he once considered a close- no, best friend, was the one who had taken his wife away from him. His brain can’t catch up with his body movements, the red mist clouds over once more.

Charles Leclerc punches Carlos Sainz in the nose.

He doesn't intend for it to be a strong punch; Formula One drivers are a lot stronger than they realize, and the contact not only causes the Spaniard to knock back, shouting out in pain, but a sharp sensation rockets through Charles’ clenched fist, wiggling his fingers as they relax. Carlos’ nose is immediately red, becoming scarlet by the moment, though no blood has fallen. Your husband’s immediate reaction is ‘Should have punched him harder.’

He doesn't have time to think about anything else, not before he has two strong hands on his chest, shoving him harshly. The sudden sensation causes him to lose balance, falling to the floor and landing on his back. A shock radiates through his body, Carlos looming over him, clearly ready for a second punch.

That thought is drawn away when the door to your room opens, both men immediately staring at the nurse, her hair worn and eyes tired. Before either man can throw a question at her, she speaks.

“She’s still not awake, we’re going to bring her around in an hour, but she’s going to have to stay overnight for observation. If one of you could get her some overnight things-”

“I can.” Charles immediately cuts off the nurse, pulling himself to sit up and stand from the floor. “I’m her husband. I will get them.” It’s a subtle jab to the man in front of him, Carlos still holding his nose, convinced it was about to start bleeding any moment. He would have gone and sought out attention for himself, if he hadn’t felt a sharp vibration in his back pocket, a phone call. In any other time, he would have ignored it. But he knows who it is, he knows how important it is.

Without a word, Carlos answers the call, rapidly speaking in Spanish as he walks down the hall.

Love is a pocket square at the bottom of a suitcase.

The contrast of Charles leaving the hospital was night and day to him arriving. He hadn’t spoken a word to Joris, apart from expressing that he needed to go back to the hotel to get your overnight items. Although it was barely a ten minute drive away, every minute felt like a century; he wanted nothing more than to go back to the hotel, sit by your side and hold your hand until you woke up.

He could have sent Joris back, given him the room key and told him to grab some things, but it didn’t seem right. The idea of his best friend going through your suitcase didn’t sit comfortably with him. Moreover, he didn’t know. Charles knew; he knew what pajamas you found the most comfortable, what outfit would be easiest for you to travel back in, how you wanted your panties and socks paired together and how your phone charger had to loop clockwise.

The ornate hotel room looks dull without you; your suitcase still rests in the bottom of the wardrobe; you had hung up evening wear, dresses for the inevitable after-parties. Folded in your suitcase remained your other clothing. Charles is quick to select his items; the tropical cotton pajamas. You had bought him a pair in the same fabric, telling him that they would be the comfiest thing to sleep in. Your stitched jumper and comfiest jeans. You had worn those jeans when you had tagged along to his photoshoot for the Ferrari livery, holding his water and the APM Monaco jewelry he couldn’t wear. Your outrageously expensive hairbrush. You had brushed his hair through after a particularly bad race, whispering promises that it would get better, that the car was going to evolve for him, the best driver on the grid.

Bile rises to Charles’ stomach and with no warning, he sprints to the bathroom, dropping to his knees by the toilet and throwing up the barely-there contents of his stomach. He had barely eaten, barely drank any water, but couldn’t help the sickness in his tummy.

He pulls away from the toilet basin, eyes watery, breath trying to catch up with the speed and cries.

Charles doesn't realize it’s happening at first, he hasn’t cried like this in so long; the kind of crying where you can’t fathom words, you don’t make a sound because you’re crying so deeply. The kind where your chest is exploding and your heart feels like it’s going to explode. The kind where all he wants is for his mother to cradle him like she did when he was five, run her hands through his hair and whisper him words of comfort.

This time, he doesn't want his mother, he wants you.

It’s selfish, it’s so incredibly selfish and it hurts to know that it’s taken him until now to realize what you mean to him. It would never happen, but his wound-up head can only close his eyes and visualize you running in, pulling his head into your chest and running your hands through his dark tufts, pressing cool lips to his forehead and promising him over and over that it was going to be okay. You were going to be okay.

He lets himself cry for five minutes; he times it because he wants to collect your things and make his way back, Joris was waiting in the car. When the five minutes are over, he pinches his nose, taking short, ugly gasps until his eyes remain bloodshot but not blurred. The sound of the toilet flushing echoes through the hotel room, making his way out of the bathroom and to the items he had hurriedly dropped atop of your suitcase.

Nimble fingers cradle each item, carefully rolling and tucking them into a pillowcase; he didn’t have a bag big enough to suffice each item and couldn’t bring himself to bring your entire suitcase along, it almost seemed as if once you had it, you could disappear from his life. At least this way, he could have one final farewell if you chose to leave. The items are almost secure, until his grip on the pillowcase folds, glassed eyes catching a glimmer of blue hidden at the bottom of the case. With no hesitation, he pulls on the fabric. His heart drops on the realization of the item.

It’s a pocket square. More specifically, it’s his pocket square from your wedding.

You don’t know when you had started packing it, but you supposed it was from your mother’s own doings. After her wedding to your father, she had always carried around her ‘something blue,’ as a gesture of good luck, of safety. After the first time you had found out about Charles’ mistress, you had discreetly tucked the fabric into your bag, carrying it around, a silent hope your husband would return to you.

It hadn’t worked in Jeddah. In Imola. In Spa. In Monaco. You had reluctantly taken it from your bag one evening, on the plane home from consoling your family, using your pen to doodle in the very corner ‘Mr and Mrs Leclerc,’ a silent fantasy of the loving marriage you had dreamed of.

That night was the first time you and Charles ever shared a bed.

The fabric lingers between his fingers, the blue contrasting against the silver of your ring, still resting on his pinky finger. Now changed into his own clothes, he slides the ring off, wrapping it gently in the pocket square and sliding it into his trouser pocket. As he does, he recognises your handwriting, the titles printed in the bottom of the fabric.

He can’t help the tears rolling down his cheeks once again.

Love is a desperate telephone call.

Carlos is still pacing around the outside courtyard of the hospital, having been on hold for a grand total of seventeen minutes. He is not a man of patience, he is not a man of quiet.

The phone buzzing in the corridor had been a welcome call, despite the situation. His lawyer, finally ringing him back after what felt like days of apprehension. He had dipped from the public eye to try and grab hold of some privacy, slipping in his wireless headphone so as not to hold the device to his ear for hours upon hours.

Almost thirty minutes ago, his lawyer had called him, confirming his thoughts of the previous days.

"You're not wrong." His lawyer has already clarified it once, twice, three times. "If there is evidence beyond a shadow of a doubt, then it is the correct term for a divorce.

Carlos feels his blood run cold. He loves her, he's as certain as that as he is of the fact that the sky is blue and his win in Silverstone. The man wants nothing more than to make her feel cherished, adored. Taking a bite out of his teammate was just a bonus feature.

That had been a few days ago, when the anger had surpassed him after Natasha’s return, how that made him look as bad, if not worse than Charles. He’d immediately sent her packing, blocked her on every form of media, gone as far as to insist if she ever came for a visit, he wouldn’t be present.

The second part, the evidence, had been laid out all too perfectly.

The line suddenly clicks, signaling his lawyer had returned. Carlos doesn't wait for a verbal queue, the audible sign of his return is more than enough.

“Do you have it?” He asks, barely any time to let the man on the other end of the phone respond. “You must have it, no? It should have been sent. I made sure it was sent.”

“I have it.” He clarifies. “I have them right here.” A rustle of paper is heard from the other end of the telephone, content of an envelope being spilled onto his desk. “Are you sure you want me to send these to be confirmed as evidence? That the women in the photographs will not retaliate?”

Carlos had not been entirely honest with you. Not about his knowledge of Charles’ situation. Ever since the confession all those months ago, the understanding that you knew of Charles’ affair, he had been playing a long, patient game. He had photographs, evidence of the mistress’ appearance at each paddock, her arms snaking around Charles’ body, kisses between the duo. How he could continue to do so, whilst you, the epitome of beauty, sat in his drivers’ room, playing the doting wife. At one point, he had considered going directly to the press, directly to Ferrari themselves to out their ‘Golden Boy.’

And then…he had seen you with him in the Paddock that one race, looking through the window of his driver’s room. How your fingers latched onto one another, how genuinely shattered you looked when she had shown up yet again, lingering outside of the hospitality area. The guilt snuck through him, how he had seen her arrive, and yet failed to mention to you, give you any warning of her presence.

Even if he had been the one to invite her. Even if he had been the one to press her about sending the photographs to Charles, not blackmail. Merely a reminder of his actions, how much he supposedly missed his mistress.

“She wouldn’t.” He’s quick to respond. “She wouldn’t care.” He’s not wrong, his mistress being in the limelight would only elevate her status, with the way his teammates’ brain worked, it would more than likely draw them back to one another.

“And Mrs. Leclerc?”

It’s the first time Carlos has hesitated. Even if he couldn’t admit it to himself, he knew that your relationship with Charles had grown, that ambient it was made paper-thin, the trust was slowly beginning to come back. He thinks about how your eyes blinked widely, in awe of your husband on the podium earlier that day, how it supposedly didn’t matter he had spent most of your marriage wrapped in her arms, you still looked at him like that. Did you look at him like that? Like the way he looked at you.

This action could draw out a multiverse of reactions but at the end of the day, he had settled with two. The first was that you understood, that you would see the evidence, and understand the case. Divorce Charles and marry him, even if it meant he would give up everything.

The second is that you would see the chaos he caused and you would never speak to him again.

“Mr. Sainz?” The voice at the end of the telephone draws him from his questioning, running a hand across his red, swollen nose. It wasn’t broken, but god it was hurting. Bruised, most likely. “I need an answer.”

He needed to speak to you.

“Can you just-” He huffs, running a hand through his dark hair, his fingers almost getting caught in the strands. Of course his hair was tangled, he’d been doing nothing but pulling on it ever since he arrived at the hospital. “Let me speak to her. Hold it for 24 hours. You can do that, yes?” It’s not even a question now, nor a request. It’s a demand. He can’t do this, he can’t openly destroy your marriage for his own sake without speaking to you, without knowing for a fact that you love him.

Your name is carved onto his soul, onto his skin. The first thing he thinks about in the morning, and the last thing he would think about at night. There is no life he wishes to live in if you’re not there. Even as his friend.

There’s suddenly a light tap against glass, snapping the man’s attention from his device. He mumbles something in Spanish, telling his lawyer he would call him back, dreading who was coming out into the private courtyard.

He visibly relaxes when he sees it’s just a man, sneaking out whilst tears pool on his lower lashline, giving Carlos a warming nod.

“You don’t mind if I join you, do I?” The Spainard shakes his head. “My wife- she’s just being induced and wanted some space. She’s…” He gestures, trying to explain to a complete stranger how a few minutes ago, his wife wanted to cry and shake her head, but wanted nothing to do with him. It was all his fault.

Carlos offers a warm hand on his back, patting him firmly. “Congratulations. Do you know what you're having?” He’s invested, anything to distract him from his previous phone call, the weight of a decision on his shoulders.

The stranger grins. “A girl.” He smiles harder. “I don’t mind, as long as they arrive happy and healthy. But god- a girl, just like her.” He thinks. Carlos thinks. In an alternative universe, he’s sat by your side, pressing kisses and praises to your skin, holding you tighter as your daughter enters the world, ready to meet her mother and father. She would be like you; your eyes, hair, smile. It would be another you to love, to adore.

“Your first?” Carlos presses his question. The man sighs, shaking his head, shoving his hands into his pockets as he looks into the polished corridor.

“No. She’s…” He pauses. “We got together after hiding how we felt for so long, how we wanted to be with one another.” He looks to Carlos, clearly ashamed and embarrassed of the situation. “I know how it sounds, but sometimes you can’t help it. I- I love her.”

A band snaps in Carlos’ stomach; love knows no bounds.

Love is waking up to think of your person.

The first thing you register when you come around is brightness. You’re not in the soft glow of the luxurious hotel room you and your husband had been given, nor the candle-lit bedroom of Carlos’ apartment. No, the light is bright, blinding. An off-white which made your eyes squint.

Your senses are heightened; the only scent which flares through your nostrils is hand sanitiser and overpowering lilies. Nose scrunched, you attempt to wiggle your body upwards, aware of the IV line pinned into your hand. Panic immediately settled through your tummy, until your eyes flickered to the bag, realizing it was just water, they just wanted to rehydrate you.

Hesitantly, you wiggle each part of your body. Arms, hands, fingers. You’re able to move, though you couldn’t…you couldn’t remember why you got here. Memories are hazy, you remember Charles’ podium, the way he kissed you so deeply, so lovingly. Carlos’ hand on your waist, pulling you back to stop you from the champagne trickling over your body. You were overwhelmed, overworked and…you guessed it just all became too much.

You just about manage to turn your body, the first thing you’re aware of is that your cushion smells familiar. Warm nodes, sandalwood and seasalt. It’s a smell you’ve grown all too accustomed to, burying your face into their chest whilst you took refuge in his arms, in a hotel room. Charles had been there, already. His celebrations had clearly been cut short, whether or not it was for show or because he cared.

The second thing is the coffee cup. Cardboard, the contents clearly already drained, but handwriting etched onto the side in a thick, black marker. The handwriting, the doodle of a tiny butterfly. Carlos had been there, too.

There’s a sharp pinch on your cheek, fingers reach up to your skin and feel the butterfly strips against you. Immediately, a thousand questions come back to your mind, none of them being answered through your own memory. Instead, the door opens, a nurse in clean, bright uniform walking in, closing the door behind her. She beams at the realization you’re awake, shoulders relaxing.

“You’re awake!” Her tone is incredibly warm, seemingly very happy you’ve decided to wake up on your own terms. She’s quick to move to your bedside, pressing the back of her hand to your forehead. “How are you feeling? Have you warmed up?” You’re not sure what she’s referencing, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She takes the look on your face as unknowingness, able to fill in the gaps.

“You collapsed on the track.” She’s trying to get through everything she needs to tell you. “We did some tests, you’re incredibly dehydrated for a start, you need to try and get some rest.” She pauses. “It’s nothing to be concerned about, we have collapses from dehydration every so often, more than you would realize.” Her eyes flicker down, finding it hard on how to phrase the next part of the question. “You also seem…incredibly worried.” You’re not sure how she could tell that from simply examining you, but you nod in confirmation. “Your blood pressure, it’s incredibly low. That’s why you fainted.”

“Yes.” You pause. How on earth were you about to explain the past twelve months to a nurse, a complete stranger? “There’s been some…reasons. You know, for the stress.” Her eyes soften, but the questioning continues.

“Are you trying for a baby?” You shake your head. “Moving house?” A shake. “Have you…lost somebody recently.”

You freeze, memory flickering to your mother, how in the midst of fixing your marriage, discovering your affection towards another, she had disappeared from the world. This time, you nod your head, drawing your knees up to your body, shivering. The nurse is quick to wrap a blanket over your shoulders, closer to the answer.

“I lost my mother.” You breathe out, shaking your head. “I lost my mother, and she’s the only one I can go to.” Now you’ve started speaking, you can’t finish. “I want to make them happy. I want to make him happy.” There’s tears glassing over your eyes.

You want him. You want him right now.

She sympathizes, she understands. “Sometimes, all you need is for them to tell you it’s going to be okay, right?” She lets her words trail off, turning to the door of your room. “He’s outside. He’s been waiting to see you.”

Your blood freezes.

“Would you like me to get him?”

You nod before you’ve even realized, your body clearly knows better than your mind. The nurse stands up straight, pacing towards the door as you feel your heart begin to race harder, frantically. She steps out of the room, a minute mumble on the other side, clearly a warning to be incredibly careful. It’s barely a minute before the door swings back open, dark hair and frantic panting.

You glance up, your heart softens at those eyes.

The eyes that you, the reader, wanted to see as you glanced to the door.

GREEN EYES [CL16 Ending]

BROWN EYES [CS55 Ending]

This is everyone who asked to be tagged! @Mac-daddy-210 @aundercover@barnestatic@omgsuperstarg@chimchimjiminie16@caelum-the-part-time-nihilist @magicalcowboyarbiter @gaslasysblog@junetto @beatrizmel-472 @motorsp0rt@crowdthena@screemqueen@lewislvr@styles-sunflower@itspaddockprincess@adeptustemptations @amalialeclerc @meetmyblondemuffins@formulanando@lorarri@christianpulisic10@gaypoetsblog@thisbitxhs-blog@goldsainz@ru-kru@magical-spit@hrlzy@nooshytushie@gaslysainz@marvel-at-stucky@sugarvibez@adeptustemptations@roseseraj@leclercdream@pjofics@hecatesfavoritechild@poseforme@thisbitxhs-blog @adalynneva @meganlikes2purr @sabrinaselina55 @laneyspaulding19@heavenlyiecreature@pink-teddy-bear@nooshytushie@strawberries-and-racing@milasexutoire@ohthemisssery@florkt@obsessedwiththeideaofyou@ru-kru@myhomeworksnotdone@ineedafictionalman@bregarc@allywthsr@summerslike11@wildcupcake@willowpains@marlenamallowan@leclercloml@katzenwahnsinn@be-your-coffee-pot

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wandamaximoffsbadgirl · 7 months ago

Note

Oooo Drabble requests okay okay

Imagining obsessed fem R and dark Wanda

R is a younger avenger and is absolutely infatuated with the witch. She knows Wanda knows this. How could she not? She makes no effort to hide her thoughts. And she’s ecstatic when Wanda actually asks her out. She’s a little less estatic when she finds Wanda torturing someone in their basement. But it’s Wanda, she thinks. She may disagree with it morally, but surely Wanda has a good reason. So yes if Wanda asks her to stay and help, or course she will. And of course she’ll help her hide the body after that. And the several ones that came after. Wanda relishes in the fact that she has someone so willing, without even having to touch her mind with her powers. And she exploits this daily. But of course she rewards you for good measure. Helped her hide a body? Very good, why don’t you sit between her thighs for awhile and have all the dessert you want. Helped with a torture session? Good girl, let her find a fantasy of yours and act it out for you. And hey, R’s morals? Totally disappeared when she saw a Scarlet Witch fan get a little too close to comfort and ended up as the next victim in their torture room.

This was kinda long, my bad but yeahhh, hope this gives you something to think about! 🤭💕

Let the World Burn

Dark!Wanda Maximoff x Infatuated!Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: You've been infatuated with Wanda for a long time so now that she's yours nothing; absolutely nothing will stop you from being with her.

Word Count: 1.3K

Warnings: mentions of torture, mentions of killing, obsession, infatuation, idolization, mentions of sex, mentions of Wanda using her magic.

Author's notes: This turned out a little longer than I thought it would and I kept things kind of vague because I wasn't sure about actually writing torture, killing, and hiding of bodies. I loved this idea though. It felt refreshing in a way. <3

You can feel the electricity in the air when you’re with her. Wanda Maximoff. The Scarlet Witch. The woman of your dreams, the center of your universe. Your heart beats a little faster every time she looks your way, a smile curving on her lips, knowing your infatuation. It’s no secret; you never tried to hide it. And when she asked you out, you thought you might die from sheer happiness.

The months have flown by like a dream. You’re closer to her than you ever thought possible, and you’d do anything for her. She’s your everything. You’ve told her that countless times, in whispers and cries of passion. You thought she understood, but tonight you’re going to prove it.

When you come home and head down to the basement, you find her standing over a man. He’s bound and gagged, terror in his eyes, and Wanda… Wanda is in control. Her eyes glow a sinister red, and her lips curl into a dark, satisfied smirk. The scene is brutal, a stark contrast to the warmth and love you’ve always associated with her. For a moment, your heart stutters in your chest, the shock freezing you in place.

She turns to you, expecting you to flee or scream or call the authorities. But you’re rooted in place, not out of fear, but out of a deeper understanding. This is Wanda. Your Wanda. If this is what she needs, then you’ll be there for her. You step forward, and she arches an eyebrow, curious.

“Are you going to run dorogoya?” she asks, her voice low, testing.

You shake your head. “No. I’m not going anywhere.”

Her eyes widen slightly, the surprise clear on her face. But then it shifts to something darker, something more intense. A twisted kind of love that matches your own. You take another step closer, your resolve hardening. “What do you need me to do?”

She studies you for a moment, then a smile spreads across her lips. It’s a wicked thing, filled with promises and dark desires. “Stay. Help me dorogoya.”

And you do. You don’t hesitate, don’t flinch, don’t question. You’re hers, utterly and completely. Together, you finish what she started, your hands steady even as your mind races. You’re aware of every movement, every sound, every breath. You’re doing this for her.

When it’s done, you help her clean up. You don’t think about the man, the life you’ve taken. Only about Wanda, and how she looks at you now, with a mixture of appreciation and something far deeper. She knows you’re hers, and that you’ll do anything for her.

This isn’t the last time. There are more nights like this, more bodies to hide. Each time, you prove your loyalty, your love. You become her confidante, her partner in this dark dance. And with every act, you fall deeper, the darkness of your deeds binding you closer together.

Wanda is everything to you, and you’ll do anything to keep her. Even if it means losing yourself in the process. Because you are obsessed, infatuated, and irrevocably in love with the Scarlet Witch.

Each time you help Wanda, she rewards you in ways that make your heart race and your body ache with longing. You’ve helped her hide a body? Very good. You find yourself sitting between her thighs, your senses overwhelmed by her presence, her scent, her taste. It’s her way of saying thank you, of showing you just how much she appreciates your unwavering loyalty. You lose yourself in the moment, your world narrowed down to just the two of you, her pleasure becoming yours.

When you assist with a torture session, she calls you her good girl. The words send shivers down your spine, your heart swelling with pride. She knows your fantasies, your deepest desires, and she brings them to life in ways you never imagined. She makes sure you feel every bit as cherished and desired as you make her feel. Her touch is electric, her whispers intoxicating, and you give yourself over to her completely.

There are nights when she intertwines pleasure and pain so seamlessly that you can no longer tell where one ends and the other begins. During a particularly intense session, she might pull you close, her hands guiding yours, her voice low and sultry in your ear. She makes you part of the darkness, but also part of the ecstasy that follows. Her rewards are immediate and overwhelming, her pleasure your ultimate goal.

Sometimes, she indulges your fantasies during the very moments of torture. She’ll glance at you, her eyes dark with promise, and you know what’s coming. She’ll press her body against yours, her lips finding your neck, your jaw, your mouth, as the room fills with the sounds of her power and the victim’s screams. The line between pleasure and pain blurs until you’re lost in a haze of sensation, her magic intertwining with your desire.

Each reward cements your bond, drawing you deeper into her world. You revel in it, crave it, need it. Wanda is everything you’ve ever wanted, and she gives herself to you in ways that make every sacrifice worth it. You’ve become part of her, just as she is part of you. And as long as she needs you, you’ll be there, ready to do anything for her, to earn her love and her rewards, again and again.

Your morals vanished the day you saw a fan of Wanda's getting a little too close for comfort. She was another woman in her twenties, bright-eyed and eager, clearly infatuated with Wanda. You watched her with a growing sense of dread and jealousy as she hovered near Wanda, her eyes filled with the same longing you once had.

Wanda noticed too. Her eyes flicked to you, a silent question in their depths. And you, already knew what she was asking, nodded your agreement without hesitation. It was enough. That evening, the fan found herself in the basement, fear replacing the adoration in her eyes.

You stood by Wanda’s side, your heart pounding, but not from fear or regret. You felt a twisted sense of satisfaction, knowing that Wanda was yours and yours alone. As the fan’s cries filled the room, Wanda’s attention turned to you, her smile dark and approving.

“You’re not going to run are you, dorogoya?” she asked, reminding you of the first time she asked. You already knew the answer.

“Never,” you replied, your voice steady. Your morals were a distant memory, buried under layers of devotion and obsession.

Wanda’s hands found yours, guiding them to inflict pain, her voice soft in your ear, praising you, urging you on. It reminded you of your first time. The girl's screams became background noise, a testament to your loyalty and your love for Wanda. Each cry, each whimper, only reinforced your commitment.

When it was over, and the basement was silent once more, Wanda rewarded you in the ways you had come to crave. She pulled you close, her lips finding yours in a kiss that was both possessive and tender. She led you upstairs, to your shared sanctuary, where she indulged your every desire.

She whispered sweet praises, calling you her good girl, her perfect accomplice. The darkness of the basement was replaced with the heat of her touch, the intensity of her love. You lost yourself in her, every touch, every kiss a reminder that this was your place, by her side, no matter what.

Your morals were gone, replaced by an unyielding devotion to Wanda. And as long as she was pleased, you knew you would do anything, become anyone she needed. Because in the end, nothing mattered more than the Scarlet Witch and the bond you shared, forged in darkness and sealed with love.

#ley answers anons #ley writes #ley writes requests #ley writes drabbles #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader

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oepionie · 2 years ago

Text

—"GOTTA ESCAPE THE VOID." overblot mc!

SYNOPSIS: The Ramshackle prefect has a reputation for frequently encountering fatal magical mishaps. And when a magical accident involving Crowley almost kills them, Crewel resolves to take matters into his own hands. But it appears that his impulsive decisions cause the prefect to reach their limit and go off the rails.

⊹ [ cw ] — heavy warnings, please read before you proceed. arguments with father, self-depricating thoughts, mentions of blood, protective parent, thoughts of offing self (only once), overblot mc!, miscommunication w friends, crying, physical fights ◞

⊹ [ tags ] — angst! gender neutral reader, crewel really embodies the 'cruel' in 'cruella', ace gets mad at you :(, deuce tries to comfort you through it all, crowley feels guilt (wow), crewel is vry vry angry and punches crowley, crewel has a mother gothel moment<3◞

⊹ [ w.c ] — 2.5k+◞ | 🦇masterlist◞

YOUR VISION WAS NOTHING, but a myriad of colorful blurs and shapes. Muffled voices spoke to you, but everything was practically just incomprehensible, panicked babbling. The heavy pressure of metal was pressed up against your windpipe, restraining your breath as it wound tighter and tighter. Though, a few seconds later, it vanished as if it had never existed, bursting into bright magical sparks.

The gush and pool of blood surrounds your dirtied, tangled mess of hair, a dark scarlet seeping into the knotted strands. Kneeling before your body, Crowley felt his heart skid to a stop. The sight of your fatigued form writhing around the ground tore at his chest, claws of guilt digging in deep and dragging across thick tissue.

"Prefect…Can you hear me?" The crow murmurs, clawed hands pressing against the side of your pounding head as he guides it to rest atop his lap. Vibrant blooms of red stain the dark fabric of his pants, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Dad…it hurts s'much." You slur in hushed tones, your eyes wringing shut from the pain. That was enough for Crowley to put his arms around you.

He shielded your body with his torso, hands clawing at your back as he wracks his mind of what to do next. Hastily turning round, he shifts his gaze to the surrounding students, all of them looking equally mortified.

"What are you standing around there for?! Call the nurse!"

"Y-Yes, sir!"

Drip. Drip

The pungent smell of alcohol and medication fill your senses as you groggily blink awake.

The familiar creaky wood of Ramshackle's ceiling greets you as you pull yourself from dreamland. Looking over both sides of your bed, you smile once you see both Deuce and Ace seated on a nearby couch. Both of them were quick to jump up and approach you, fussing over your bedridden form.

"Thank Sevens." Deuce murmurs, tenderly combing your damp hair back. You roll your head to the side to face him, but wince at the sudden throb of pain in your spine. Ace darts over and hushes you, gently repositioning your head to face front once more, making sure your neck was supported by a pillow. "Hey…It'd be great if you don't move so much…"

“Right. Makes sense. 'Nways…how bad was my injury?” You mutter, your recollections of the past event still foggy. All you could remember was that Crowley had fired a spell, and you somehow got into the crossfire.

“Fucking horrible.” Ace scoffs, looking at you sternly.

"Yeah, take it easy for a bit. The injury was…pretty serious. It was a miracle that the spell missed your head by a thread…" Deuce murmurs as he presses a gentle hand on your bandaged forehead.

Strands of blueberry hair fall loosely at the sides of his face as he stares down at you with worry. "You were out for three days."

"Ah…well—you know, me and my dumb non-magical ass. Always getting into trouble," you giggle, a cheery grin stretching over your cracked lips. Though it rapidly drops when you realize your two friends aren't laughing with you.

Ace shifts his gaze to the floor, hands clasped into a fist. "You're not dumb, prefect…"

"Well—I kinda am," You snort, tugging the blanket closer to your chilly form. "I really have to stop being around the old man's magic shows."

Unconvinced, Ace only shakes his head and scoffs at your jokes. The ginger reclines back into his chair, hands vigorously tugging and pulling at his hair. "You aren't. The real issue here is that deadbeat crow. I mean...hasn't he learnt anythin' from last time? What kind of idiot treats his child—"

"It wasn't his fault, Ace." Pushing yourself off the bed, you immediately interrupt him, voice stern as you rush to defend Crowley. "He didn't mean it. I got in the path of his magic. And—I'm pretty sure he's already beating himself up over this."

Sinking back into the bed, you clasp both your hands together. "It wasn't his fault. Sure, he's reckless and all but…but he's still my dad."

Silence washes over your room.

Ace was visibly frustrated, the blunt tips of his nails dug deep into his skin, nearly piercing past skin. With a final scoff, he stands from his chair and quietly excuses himself from the room.

The door slams shut with a blaring bang as both you and Deuce were left alone.

Sighing, the freshman takes your trembling hand in his, clasping it tight as his body temperature warms the cool skin. He draws your right arm up to press your palm against his cheek, eyes looking deep into yours.

"Professor Crewel is pissed," Deuce whispers as you trace gentle circles on his skin. A pair of shaky cyan eyes meets your concerned ones. "He was planning to—"

Deuce's mouth parted open and close and yet he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. You cast a questioning glance his way, but Deuce shakes his head, disregarding your questions.

"…nothing."

Surprise washes over you as you stare down at Deuce's hunched over form. It…wasn't like your friends to be so dismissive.

You, Ace, and Deuce had always been good friends. Sure you had your differences but you always communicated openly with one another. Nobody has ever been this...secretive.

Just…what was happening?

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

The sickening crack of a bone echoes through the faculty room as the rough knuckle of Crewel's fist connects with Crowley's face. The headmaster reels, mask flying off as his hands fly to his bloodied nose.

Everyone in the vicinity quieted as the only noise heard was the potionology professor's labored breathing.

Then, without hesitation, Crewel surges forward. Loud commotion and screaming could be heard in the meeting room as everyone quickly circles around the two. A couple of hands seize Crewel by the arms, but the professor only grows more agitated, attempting to fight past the herd.

"Let me go!" Crewel roars, tugging his arm free as he attempts to swing a fist at the headmaster. "Dire! This is your fucking fault!"

"Divus! Calm yourself!" Trein scolds, arms locked tight around the man's torso. A few more pairs of hands restrain the professor as he is forcibly pushed down onto a couch.

His face was the epitome of unrepressed rage: With his cheeks drawn back in a deep sneer, eyes bloodshot red, and hair a knotted mess.

Trein stands before the younger man, looking down at him with disgust. "Have you no shame? What will the prefect think once they hear of this?"

Across the room, Crowley spits out a little blood, blinking fresh tears out of his eyes. For the last three days, the crow has been suppressing all of its emotions; however, all of a sudden, he is overcome with an unfettered and unhindered flood of shame and rage.

When the headmaster finally turned around, he fixed Crewel with an expression so scathing that the potionology professor felt compelled to charge at him again.

Once, coldly, sharply, and bitterly, Crowley laughed. "It's my fault, you say? You think I don't know that?"

"Oh please—Dire. I couldn't care less about what you think." Crewel seethes, venom practically dripping from his lips. The alchemy professor strides forward, heels clicking against the floor as he grabs Crowley by the collar.

"You're a failure of a father. All you've ever brought their way is danger." The professor cackles kicking the crow's skin.

Digging deep into his red handbag, Crewel snatches out papers and jams it into Crowley's chest. The crow unravels the creased pages to read the text on the document, eyes ripping wide open as he realizes what it was.

"You…can't possibly." The headmaster sputters, hands shaking as he reads the texts again and again.

"Oh, but I can." Crewel sneers, taking pleasure in the look of fear Crowley sends his way. He snaps around, coat billowing up behind him as he briskly walks towards the entryway. "I expect those papers to be signed by tonight."

Before walking out of the room, Crewel spares the headmaster one final glance. "The prefect departs this Monday."

Days after the event were all followed by violent storms that appeared to go on forever. Every night and day, the rain endlessly poured down from the bitter grey skies and roars of thunder echoed through the dewy clouds. Some days, it was nearly impossible to go to school.

It was almost as though Mother Nature herself was upset.

Just like how everyone was.

Crowley and your other friends shunned you like you had the plague. Even bright Kalim greeted you with a deep frown, a flimsy excuse slipping off his lips as he ran away. Only Deuce stayed by your side through it all.

The blueberry had told you everything was alright—that everything was normal and fine— but you couldn't help but be skeptical.

So when Crewel came to visit, you welcomed him right in. Eager to hear what he has to say.

The clatter and click of your father's heeled boots echoed through the walls of the dormitory as he examined the premises, comparing it to his own much more lavish flat back home in the city.

Finally, after an excruciating 5 minutes. his gaze flitted over to your bedridden form.

And the words he utters out next shatter your entire being.

"I'm withdrawing you from NRC."

What.

The glass clasped in your bandaged hands slips from your grip, smashing onto the oak wood of Ramshackle's flooring. You raise your mortified gaze to scowl at your professor, jaw dropped open in shock.

"What?" you breathlessly utter. "What do you mean?!"

"I'm transferring you to another school." Crewel replies, pushing himself off the fireplace and slipping his thick fur coat off his shoulders. The scant light emitted by the candles atop your study table did nothing to help you navigate his form as he strode around your bedroom.

"Now. You might be asking why? For one, look at the…accommodations Dire provided you with."

Crewel kicks a piece of splintered bark aside while making a gesture towards the disorder and wreckage all around you.

In the evenings, you had to use candles because the ceiling lights seldom ever functioned. The flooring had so many tears and holes that they were virtually falling apart. On occasion, you could even see the scuffle of rats beneath. The roof leaked, horribly; You had no money to fix it so you placed a bucket below instead. The front door was broken, barely hanging on its hinges, evidence of all the times your friends visited and never bothered to knock.

All of these problems and so many more were present, but this dorm was with you since the very start. It provided you with a roof over your head…it helped you survive.

"So what?" You retort, leaning back into your bed and sinking deep into the scratchy yet familiar pillows. "I don't mind it!"

"A foolish decision." Crewel sneers, running a hand into his hair. "Your accommodations aren't the only problem. Your self-destructive habits endanger you as well!"

There it was.

Groaning, you wring your hands through your hair, tangling it up. "When are you gonna stop saying that I'm self-destructive!?"

"When you start acting like somebody that actually cares about their life!" Crewel barks out, hands grasping your shoulders. The sudden increase in volume makes you recoil, but you were stubborn and refused to give in just yet.

"But I do care about my life!" You sputter out. "Why can't you just—"

"Remember what happened when Rosehearts overblotted?" He reminds you, "You charged towards a bloodthirsty tyrant with no protection, no magic, and no plan." Crewel then crosses his arms over his chest, addressing you with a pointed glare. "And you have the nerve to tell me you're not self destructive?"

"Riddle is not a tyrant!" Crying out, you slam your hand against your bedsheets, face twisting into an unsightly sneer. "I was trying to save my friend!"

Crewel gets right in your face, returning the expression of anger you sent his way. "Those friends of yours only care about you when you're useful!" he thundered, jabbing a finger into your chest.

That comment immediately silenced you.

Your hand was clasped over your mouth, jaw dropped wide open in disbelief as a sharp gasp escapes your dry throat.

A poisonous and dangerously harmful feeling gripped at whatever remnant the professor had of a heart. It colored his thoughts with regret as he began to feel a twinge of guilt, the weight of words sinking in.

There was a deep sigh of resignation from Crewel before he put a hand on your shoulder and looked you deep in the eyes, voice lowering to a softer lilt. "Why is it that every other person in that dorm had the sense to run away from the blots, but you didn't?"

Kneeling down, your father gazed at you with such vulnerability in his eyes as he murmurs, "Do you know how terrified I was every time I'd get the same message from Dire that you were out fighting overblots again? Putting your life at risk for those rabid dogs?"

The recognition of your destructive habits hit you like a splash of ice cold water. With a guilty and uncomfortable grimace on your face, you averted your attention to the floor. "I just wanted to help."

Slowly rising to his feet again, Crewel casts a deep frown your way. "I know you do, but you're careless with your life and if you're not careful…one of these days, you're gonna die."

"I will not hear anymore disagreements about this, do you hear? I've allowed you to run rampant around these past few months. You will so as I say and I'll have you transferred by the end of this week." He says simply, dropping a pristine sheet of paper clasped in a clipboard before you. Your dull eyes flicker across the title as you grudgingly reach for the pen he offers you.

TRANSFER APPLICATION.

That blank line at the end of the page is swiftly covered by your shaky red signature and Crewel is powerless to stop the relieved sigh that heaves past his lips.

A surge of victory, certainty, and an intense sense of relief overpowers the tangled and conflicting sentiments of guilt that were swimming through his chest.

You were safe, that's all that matters.

With a grieving heart, you nudge the pen and page back to your father dismissively, placing them both atop the bed. Crewel re-rolled the page and tucked it back into his handbag along with the pen.

The professor raises a hand to gently pat your shoulders as he bends down, pressing a kiss atop your head. "Father knows best."

As Crewel quietly takes his leave, he is none the wiser to the formation of impure, tainted tar-like blot dripping from your tears. Curling in yourself, you tuck your head into your knees, a broken sob spilling from your lips.

A sick and twisted feeling arises in your heart as you replay the argument you had with Crewel, and you start to wish that maybe, just maybe, Crowley's spell had succeeded in striking you.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

"Oi…Henchhuman?"

Drip.

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trashmouth-richie · 1 year ago

Text

master list

eddie! x fem reader

summary: 3 years later; happy birthday

I can’t believe this is almost the end. It is so bittersweet to be uploading this and thanking you all for the continued support on this story. I hope you will miss eddie + tooty just as much as I will. The epilogue is next and then a fun little surprise for you all.

trigger warnings: fluff, sweet sweet fluff 💕

Crinkly paper streamers twist down into even boughs along the cedar planked walls. A homemade banner crafted with the best paint Melvald’s could offer, hung over the sliding patio door, freckled with glitter and deep hues of scarlet and onyx.

Carefully stenciled uniform letters spelling out a greeting for the birthday boy, line the banner— perfectly positioned.

Looking at it now, you can nearly feel the backache it caused from the leaned over pretzel position you were tangled in while attempting to make it look store bought. Instead it took hours and a ruined shirt to paint each letter with precision on your living room floor.

Red plastic cups were stacked in a corner on top of a cheap plastic table cloth adorned with paper plates and plastic utensils. A smaller card table from the Wheeler-Byer’s held a two tiered homemade cake, dolloped with sticky whipped strawberry frosting. His favorite.

Polaroids of the birthday boy were placed, in no particular pattern, with sticky tack to the wall above the card table holding the presents.

Various shots from the past year capturing adventures big and small. He had wanted that.

Wanted to remember every detail— an important step to moving forward, leaving the past in the dust and enjoying the second chance at life you had both been given.

The pictures were mostly candids, snapped in the blur of a moment, memories to be cherished for a lifetime to come. And although some of them were cheesy, or horribly cliche; they held delicate moments of the past two years of you and Eddie, together at last.

You suck the sticky remnants of frosting from your thumb as you carefully arrange a framed picture of his graduation day just so on the table, stepping back and admiring the hard work and weeks worth of planning you had done.

Your fingers dance along the sharp edges of the selected photos you had given Jonathan to print for you. 8”x10”, 5”x7”, colored, sepia tone, and even black and white you had wanted to give it more of a collage feel to the project, and Jonathan did a great job.

The pictures varied from moments that probably didn’t need to be remembered and ones that should have been taken by a professional, but it was perfect, exactly the way you had envisioned it.

A snapshot photo of Eddie’s plump lips wrapped around a brown beer bottle after a night of helping Wayne paint the outside of his trailer, his signature middle finger in the air, the rings glittering with the flash— was propped next to a candle.

One of Wayne and Eddie hugging on Christmas last year, a small tree tucked into the corner of the yellowing smoke stained walls and part of your finger covering the lens, and another one right after the first of them both looking shocked that you snapped the picture.

A picture of you and him, holding fishing poles on the bank of Lover’s Lake. His arm wrapped around your waist, your pole holding a sizable fish, his line snagged on moss and a tattered beat up tennis shoe, a proud smile on his face as he looked down at you, you mid laugh as Wayne teased Eddie behind the lens.

Another of just him in black and white, asleep on the bed you shared his dark tattoos looked piercing against his bare chested. Long angelic lashes closed against pinked warm cheeks, the silver scar barely visible on his bottom lip.

One with Eddie and the boys, sitting in the backyard, the tails of the fire licking into the sun fading sky, his hands wild in the middle of explaining a campaign idea.

A candid of Steve, Eddie, Robin and Dustin wearing their tuxes and running into the ocean. Shoes snug into the sand and socks left forgotten. Steve’s white jacket thrown into the air, half of a laughing, Leighanne all dolled up and beautiful on their big day.

A photo from the same day, but of only you and him, your lips perched on his cheek as he held you in his lap in the back of a limo. His other cheek sparkling with the residue of a lipgloss kiss, one hand holding your strappy lavender heels, the other wrapped around your waist. His dimpled smile wide and toothy.

And finally, your favorite one: one of just you and him, dressed in your homemade costumes as Mario and Luigi. A felt mustache falling from under your nose,his white gloved hands holding up rock n’ roll. Right before you two had won the Halloween costume contest at Nancy and Jonathan’s house.

Wayne had brought baby pictures that he had dug out of an old box in the forgotten storage shed when you had moved in. Dust lining the frames showing a brown haired baby with doe eyes, drooling over a washcloth while in the sink for a bath. A curly haired toddler with a big smile while on the swings at a park. And many more that were placed around the house.

The most special of them all sat on Eddie’s bedside table: a woman with soft honey muddied curls sweeping down to the middle of a white blouse, sunglasses pushed into her hair atop her head, kissing the forehead of a baby swaddled in a blanket.

“Tooty!” Gareth called from the kitchen, “phone call!”

You set the napkins next to Nancy who was meticulously adjusting the m&m dish into its correct place. Trying to balance out the clashing colors with the black and red theme.

“Looks perfect as always, Nance,” you murmur as you squeeze her arm gently when you pass her.

She huffs in disapproval, sweeping a permed curl behind her ear, her finger to her lips as she tuts, “it’s missing something.” You squeeze her arm again and trot into the living room.

Gareth is holding the blue phone by the long cord twirling it around like a pair of nunchucks, shoving the last bits of a hot dog in his mouth, ketchup wedged into the corner by his lips. “ it’s Hig D,” he announciates horribly, “somthin’ about heddie— shit that’s good— something about them just getting ready to leave work.”

laughing at him you can only roll your eyes, “you’ll make a good whore someday deep throatin’ like that,” you tease, taking the phone from his hand.

Gareth chuckles and shoves your shoulder, “haven't had any complaints yet, Oh! By the way, I need a three day extension on rent. Cool?”

Rolling your eyes again, a smile escapes your lips as you flip him off.

Of all of Eddie’s friends, Gareth was the hardest one to crack, but now he was easily your favorite. He reminded you a lot of Eddie in high school. A wild haired mess, always down for a crazy adventure to surely land him into trouble. But a big ol softie when it came down to people he cared about, especially Will.

Curling your fingers around the telephone cord, you talk into the receiver, “hey D, what’s up?”

—-

Argyle and Jonathan arrive through the front door, smelling like purple palm tree delight and balancing pizza boxes in their arms.

Robin spins at least a dozen times trying to find a place for the tower of cheesed pie and nearly knocks into Jonathan in her pursuit of frenzy. The boys slide them into place onto a card table against the kitchen wall, a photo of you and Eddie holding the keys to Hop’s cabin with wide grins on your faces hanging above it.

The brisk May breeze flows through the house, flickering the candles and making the helium balloons bump into one another in a lazy staticky dance.

A blur of red stalks into the house holding two bottles of liquor in each hand, a baseball hat backwards on her head, “hope Eddie likes whiskey because that’s all Walt would sell me,” she says heaving the bottles onto the counter in a clunkered manner, wiping the sweat from her freckled forehead, sporting a fresh new bob cut all thanks to you, “stubborn ass, he charged me nearly double,” she huffs, folding the paper sacks haphazardly, “son-of-a-bitch wouldn’t even let me use my employee rate!”

“Thanks for getting it Maxi-pad,” you say over your shoulder stifling a giggle from the old nickname you hadn’t called her since middle school, “Eddie’ll drink beer from a boot as long as he got a buzz from it—let me know what I owe you.”

She spins on squeaky sneakers and grabs a slice of pizza from one of the leaning boxes, squishing the greasy cheese between her teeth, talking with a mouthful “quit— we’re square for all the times you’ve come over since moving back.”

A sad expression falters behind the mask on her porcelain complexion. But she’s quick to shove it all away. It had been months since she’d been back in Hawkins, and your friend since elementary school was just starting to get her life back into order.

“Eddie’s offer still stands by the way,” you gently whisper, turning away from placing candles into the pink frosting to give her a quick squeeze, the fringes of your friendship mending together after years of not really speaking.

Holding Max at arms length you raise your eyebrows at her, “I’m serious,” a clip in your voice that even Nancy would envy.

She shrugs quickly and looks back with wet blue eyes, not willing to let her guard down on the eve of a party, “I’ll think about it,” her jaw set tight.

“Let's have fun tonight, okay?” she begs, “it isn’t every day Eddie’s old decrepit ass turns forty.”

The giggle she was hoping for to ease the tension tickled your throat, “he’s twenty nine, Maxine,” you tease back.

“Oh-ho-ho,” she chuckles, crossing the linoleum to the fridge in a swift motion, throwing open the door and leaning into the illuminated box, fingers dancing along the brown neck of a Bud Light, a smug smile on her salmon lips, “government names huh, T? I’ll remember that.”

—

Will and Mike were in charge of moving vehicles behind the north tree line away from the driveway and out of sight. Each car owner silently held their breath and the litter of anxiety rising higher as Mike got behind the wheel of each car. 13 tickets by Hopper’s deputies hadn’t slowed him down yet.

Leighanne, and El had just finished hanging the decorative white lights on the back deck and around the trees. The backyard looked like a little cozy oasis. And it warmed your soul to see it all come together.

It was rough when you had first moved in here. Hopper had a buddy who owned the cabin you now call home. It was far from town but hadn’t been renovated in years. Nothing a little elbow grease and nights after work wouldn’t fix, it took six months with help from just about everyone you knew, but the place was perfect.

And after everything that happened in Hawkins, Eddie’s promise stuck.

He got you both out. Started a new life away from the wandering eyes and whispered lies. Even after he was cleared, people still wouldn’t let it go.

But, the cabin was everything you could imagine and more. Perched into a thick grove of trees. Secluded. Secretive. Exactly what you both needed.

It was heaven.

Lounging on blankets in the soft grass, bare toes curled into the soft comforter, the girls sat back and laughed as Steve nearly tipped over the entire pan of grilled burgers and hot dogs.

“Yeah laugh it up you two!” Steve scolded playfully, tugging and shoving a hand into the thick tuft of hair on his head, “you won’t be laughing when there’s nothing to eat!”

“Such sass from The Grill Master,” Leighanne giggled, covering her mouth with a delicate hand, a large diamond on her ring finger.

Before Steve could whip up something cheeky, Arygle’s smooth baritone voice broke amongst the laughs, “Damn my dude,” he chuckled, leading Eden’s small frame through the patio door, “smells good out here.”

Steve huffs again, “Thanks, I’m just doing what I’m told, don’t mind the peanut gallery back there,” he gestures with his spatula to the two giggling gals on the blanket.

The keg was perched on the small back deck, ice melting slowly around the tin base. Steve had been grilling burgers for the last half hour, smears of grease rubbed on the bottom of his red apron embossed with fancy lettering, kiss the cook.

“And you’re doing it man,” Argyle salutes him as a fellow culinary soldier, “it’s art what you’re doing dude, pure fuckin art—like Picasso if he was a chef… piSteveo.”

“Okay man—yeah, I get it,” Steve says all in one breath, rolling his eyes and cracking a grin back at his bride who was biting her own cheek and trying not to laugh. “Dustin and Susie ride with you?”

“Yeah,” Eden scowls, crossing her legs and dragging Argyle down to sit on the picnic bench, her black pixie cut fluttering in the light breeze resembling a real life goth tinkerbell, “that four eyed little shit kept going on and on about the ecosystem and methane gas or whatever, so yeah they’re here— probably terrorizing everyone else about the election or some shit.”

Steve snorts and flips another burger onto the grates, the sizzle of charred seasoned beef signaling the first signs of summer, “sounds about right.”

“Alright guys,” you say stepping through the sliding patio door, the sun close to setting in the west taking the warmth with it, “D said they’re just leaving so everyone get in position.”

“..I’m just sayin’ is all,” D barks, finishing wiping the grease from a gas station bean burrito on the back of his hand from his pudgy lips, “I’ll give you top dollar for it.”

Eddie took another sip from his Mt. Dew, barreling down the highway and thumping his thumb along the steering wheel, contemplating heavily on what Big D had been asking of him.

“fuck I dunno man… it’s like a part of me y’know?”

Eddie rubs the beginning of his scruffy chin, unable to grow a full beard even though he’s nearly in his thirties, Peter Pan syndrome hitting him square in the jaw.

“had it since I was fifteen, fixed it all up with my uncle,” he mumbles lighting a cigarette between his teeth, “it’s a staple to the Munson name.”

D rolls his eyes and tosses the foil wrapper to the floorboards of Eddie’s truck. “that was like twenty years ago man, you don’t even drive it anymore.”

Eddie chuckles through a cloud a smoke, turning the steering wheel to the right down the hidden driveway, overgrown grass on both ends of a rotted through fence post, “easy there asshole— ‘sides, thought you were buying Jeff’s mom’s car?”

D slides belches loud and throws his chubby hand out the window, fresh air wiggling his fingers slowly, “I did, just gotta fix it up, but the van would be my daily driving chick magnet.” He wiggles his eyebrows like two black caterpillars dancing a tango.

Eddie smiles to himself, memories of past times booze cruising to Rick’s and hauling band equipment to the Hideout. Times long gone and fading like the moon into dawn.

A time when he was ruthless, chaotic and hungry for the world’s shittiness just so he could add his own fucked up version to it. A big fuck you to anyone who ever doubted him.

A time before you were officially his.

Nowadays the bear inside of him was tame, licking its paws in laziness, hibernating with the sounds of a calm beating heart. Fed and cared for, content.

“We’ll see,” he replies, blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth, “you still owe me $40 for that service you gifted to that waitress last week, fucker.”

“Pffft,” D says lighting a cigarette, “take it out of my check boss man.”

Eddie cranked his lips into a smirk, it still didn’t feel real.

The roar of Eddie’s diesel truck echoes along the tree line, vibrating against the fallen branches from the late winter storm that snapped full grown Red Oaks like matchsticks when the ice built heavy onto its branches.

The cabin lights were dim, curtains pulled tight to barely show the glimpse of any crack of light. It wasn’t unusual, your lives were kept pretty private after everything that happened, doors always locked.

“The hell?” Eddie grumbled, wiggling the stick into neutral with the palm of his hand and killing the engine, the old dodge sputtering out to quiet, “thought you said Gareth was comin’ over to practice tonight?”

D fumbled for words, reaching for the metal door handle “no, yeah he’s here— maybe Will dropped ‘im off.”

Eddie quirked an eyebrow, the exhaustion from work taking over his features as he let out a loud yawn and arched his back against the velour seats, he climbed out of the pickup, lunchbox in tow.

“alright man, ‘m just gonna shower quick,” he hooks a thumb behind his shoulder, walking up the stone path to the front door, “think Tooty still has the hose hooked up if you wanted to rinse off.”

D stomps around the truck, leaning a thick arm onto the hood, “don’t make any special accommodations for me dude, I’m cool.”

“Yeah yeah you’re pretty cool alright,” Eddie said climbing the two steps with heavy footsteps, and putting a brass key into the knob, twisting it in his grasp, “why’d you think I had the window dow—”

Eddie is almost knocked back into the wall by the room full of his friends shouting surprise! as he entered the cabin.

Shock and a racing heartbeat wash away to a dimpled smile and squinted eyes. It was worth the weeks of planning and aligning everyone’s schedules to make it all work out. And in the end, the crowd turned into a blur when you peaked your head behind the kitchen wall grinning wide at the handsome man at the door.

His girl. His one and only. Spoiling him with a surprise party. Mouthing “happy birthday baby,” from across the room with a warm smile that still was able to tinge his cheeks in the prettiest shade of bashful.

Backs were slapped and shoulders clapped as Eddie made his way around to the guests. His smile was wide and toothy, lighting up the room with his deep laugh and dimples.

He hugged friends like he hadn’t seen them in years, pressed cheek to cheek and apologizing later for grease smudges left on their shirts.

“Shit,” Wayne breathed, as he stepped into the doorway, finding you immediately and looking sympathetic, “sorry we’re late, the missus was wrappin’ a last minute gift.”

Nancy and Mike’s mom stood tucked beneath Wayne’s arm. Four gifts wrapped tight and pristine, held in her arms. The alimony from Ted was still treating her more than well.

“Wayne,” Karen giggles like a schoolgirl, a long manicured hand to his denim jacket, dismissing him with a wink, “here Tooty,” she gleams, walking towards you with her arms outstretched, embracing you in a hug, “it’s just a little something for the two of you, saw it at the mall and couldn’t resist!”

It was an adjustment for the youngest Wheeler when Karen left Ted. Nancy and Mike didn’t seem to care, having already been moved out of the house and living their own lives. But Holly took it hard, refusing to see her mother at all.

“It’s perfect thank you Karen,” Eddie said, sneaking around you, his fingers dragging along your lower back and down your hip, sending shivers to your core. A quick wink to you as he grabs the gifts from her and Wayne.

He was happy for them, he had never seen Wayne with someone who treated him so well before in his life, he gave his shoulder a squeeze, “next time put your glasses on so you can see while driving, might get here on time, old man.”

Wayne rolled his eyes and put Eddie in a headlock, “I ain’t here to see you anyhow, came to see my favorite daughter in law to be if you’d just marry her already, didn’t even know it was your birthday you little punk.”

“Yeah yeah,” Eddie scoffed, “that’s why it says ‘Ed’s birthday’ on the calendar in your office, right? Because you didn’t know?”

Wayne releases Eddie and gives him a side hug, “been celebratin’ this day for twenty-three years with y’ boy, I ain’t never forgettin’”

Karen was always like a mother to you. The Wheeler’s held such a special place in your heart, and you’d always be grateful for the kindness both her and Ted had shown you when you were growing up. Seeing her now with Wayne surprisingly wasn’t that odd. They balanced each other well.

Wayne pulls you into the other side of him, keeping you and Eddie under each arm, “looks real good in here darlin’” He says, looking down at you with icy blue eyes, “sure am glad y’ learned how to tame this wild li’l shit.”

you smile up at the Munson’s and Eddie sticks out his tongue at you.

“Now,” he says addressing only Eddie, “I swear on my mama and daddy’s graves, Ed, you better marry this girl someday or ‘m gonna hang y’ from your toes by that clothesline out back.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but before he can speak, Nancy waves at her mother and stands atop a metal chair.

“Alright everyone, let’s go out back and we can start eating.”

Once the room emptied it was just you and Eddie. The tension was always thick in every room you were in with him, electric in ways that buzzed between your legs and made your head feel fuzzy.

You waited your turn patiently.

Eddie coins a coy grin behind his plump lips, walking with his hands behind his back and moving his shoulder low, cocking his head.

Your hands, busy themselves with arranging presents, fingers slipping between the silky ribbons and plucking the ends to watch them curl. Warm arms surround your waist and you act surprised and let out a squeal.

He sets you down and pushes the collar of your shirt to the side, pressing his lips like angel’s wings to the skin on your shoulder, relishing in the way the goosebumps crawled across your flesh.

“Eddie,” you hum, working your fingers behind you to pull on the tendrils of sweaty hair tucked behind his neck.

“Hmm?” He breathes hot across your neck, working his way up to the dainty gold necklace, the same one brandishing the ring he gave you for Christmas in 1992, nothing compared to the one he was eyeballing at the jewelry store in the mall.

Rubbing the underside of your chin with the bulb of his nose, you shudder and feel his grin on your skin, “all of this for me?”

You nod and whine when a large hand dances across the waist of your jeans. And almost let out a moan when he nips at your earlobe.

Eddie’s work days were long but the nights spent between the sheets were longer, both of you never getting enough of each other. The passion and static was always there.

“Wanted to surprise my birthday boy,” you breathed as your head fell back into his shoulder, and he bucked his hips into you, pushing you into the rickety table and shaking the presents.

“You’re too good to me,” Eddie whispered into your ear, his fingers digging into your hips. “How am I ever going to thank my pretty gir—?”

“Hey you guys comin’ or what?” Steve asks, hands on his hips and a scorch mark on his apron, “Nancy’s making a fucking seating chart out there, and I really hope you have liability insurance because Argyle is trying to teach Dustin yoga.”

Eddie takes his lips from your neck and turns to face Steve, “I mean, we coulda been if you hadn’t barged in.”

“Eddie!” you laugh, slapping his chest lightly, and straightening your shirt, “we’ll be right out Steve, just going to give Eddie his birthday present.”

His eyes sparkle in mischievous wonder, “oooh you think we have time?” He says unbuttoning his work blues, “I like the way you think dirty sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes and tug him down the hallway to your bedroom.

“Jesus Christ,” Steve mutters under his breath, shaking his head and making his way through the patio door, “nah don’t worry I’ll entertain the guests,” he says in annoyance, “maybe we can play parcheesi or hotdog Jenga.”

—

“Don’t peek!”

“Oh c’mon!”

“Eddie.”

“Ugh fine, but you better be naked or I’ll pout.”

“Such a brat...”

“Don’t act surprised babe.”

“Alright open, but I am very much still dressed, that part of your present is later tonight.”

Eddie had showered and was getting dressed shoving his feet into a worn pair of converse when you waltzed into the room, a small oblong box behind your back.

Dropping the carefully wrapped present into his awaiting hands, he holds the box like a carton of eggs. One eye peeked open, “well,” Eddie says rubbing the corners of the box with the calloused pads on his thumbs, “this doesn’t feel like a puppy.”

“You poor boy,” you tease with a shove to his shoulder, and a kiss to his cheek, “how will you ever live?”

Eddie tears the paper with a hook of his finger where the tape joins the pieces, wet tendrils of hair dripping water marks onto the wrapping, “it’ll be hard but I think I’ll manage.”

Biting your lip in anticipation you watch as Eddie tears the paper in boyish glee. And you aren’t sure who’s smile is wider when he finally opens the small rectangle shaped box.

It took awhile to save up for it. Cutting countless heads of hair in the renovated room above Master Mechanic’s, the auto shop Eddie co-owned with Wayne in Bridgeport, and earning a small wage by cleaning houses for a few hours on the weekends.

But every scrubbed toilet, every rolled perm rod was worth it when Eddie opened his present.

“It's about time you saw them live, yeah?”

Tickets to Metallica, the same gift. But this time with the promise of actually going and witnessing their magic.

“Oh baby,” Eddie nearly cried, running his fingers over the inked words carefully, he set the tickets down on the comforter and wrapped his hands around your waist pulling you into him, “why are you so good to me?”

And just like the first time he asked you, years ago, before you were his and he was yours. When you were just roommates exchanging gifts on Christmas. You told him what you should have then.

but you don’t fight to find the words anymore, or wonder if it’ll sound dumb. Everything you've been through with Eddie you could never imagine living life with anyone other than him.

The words come easy, and it’s one of the truest things you’ve ever said.

“Because you’re a good man. Because you’re the reason I wake up smiling every morning. Because I have never loved anyone the way that I love you, and I’ll always, always regret not telling you sooner.”

Eddie smiles with a quivering lip and you lean down to wipe the tears from his eyes, his arms wrap around you tight like a vice grip.

Looking into his eyes, he somehow looked better with every year passing, truly aging like fine wine, and you were drunk on him.

“Don’t cry on your birthday baby, it’s supposed to be a party,” you smile warmly at him, bringing his chin up a bit

so you can press a gentle kiss to his lips.

Pulling you into him so you’re straddling his hips, he whispers an I love you into your ear with your real name attached at the end, all satiny on his breath like a Hershey kiss.

You don’t hear your God given name very often, having hated it for as long as you remember. Stubbornly telling everyone at a young age that your name was Tooty. Even writing it on all of your school papers as early as kindergarten.

But when Eddie said it, it set your soul on fire. Like a secret kept finally being told. Like another wall breaking down with him holding the sledge hammer. Like the first bite of a warm brownie from the oven. It felt good.

He presses slow kisses into your neck and moves his large hands to rock your hips against him, “you’re never gonna get rid of me, you know that right?”

“Fuck I hope not,” you whisper as you nip at his bare shoulder, “I made your favorite cake for tonight and everything.”

“Mmm,” Eddie purrs against the column of your throat, “strawberry?”

Gathering skin between your teeth you suck a small bruise into his pale neck, tongue swirling soft then firm, his pretty noises filling the bedroom walls.

“Yep,” you breathe with swollen lips, and popping the ‘p’, “extra frosting.”

“Lady evil at it again,” Eddie teases, capturing your lips into a hungry kiss, his hands scoring down your back and bringing your hips impossibly closer to where you were both aching.

You giggle as he breaks away, and tickles your sides. He flips you onto the bed. The bulb of his nose wedging between your neck and shoulder as his hips hold you in place, his fingers dig into your armpits, and your ribs.

You laugh until your face is red and your neck is slick and painted with a stain of raspberry teeth marks and the lap of his tongue licking the bites better.

He gives you a wicked grin, out of breath and his lips swollen, his demeanor changes into something serious.

He holds his hand on your cheek, sweeping your skin delicately with the pad of his thumb, holding you so gently as if you were made of porcelain, “I’m gonna make you my wife.”

Your fingernails scratch lightly down his chest, skipping over the tattoo of little angel wings and a halo for the unborn child you didn’t get the luxury of holding, matching the one on your inner arm. The date etched below in Eddie’s own handwriting.

It wasn’t the only new tattoo he had gotten since that day.

He also had a mockup of a cartoon lady, devil horns on her head and a long black demon tail wagging behind her, that sat on his bicep. A pout identical to yours on her pretty little face, arms crossed in a fit. ‘my girl’ in old English font beneath her little stiletto heels.

Your fingertips trace the lines of blank ink on his chest. And you lift your eyes to his.

Opening your soul to him for the millionth time, spreading its wings and joining with his into that dream land he swore he’d take you to, dancing on the rings of Saturn, bathing in the springs of Jupiter.

He smiles softly and so do you, heart soaring and beating fast, “about damn time,” you whisper softly just before his lips close around yours.

Although your life would never be the same after that awful day, the one you were crafting and coloring outside the straight black lines with Eddie by your side, was pretty damn great.

And you wouldn’t change a thing.

🤧

🏷️

@bebe07011 @dashingdeb16 @hiscrimsonangel @luxaeterna13 @enam3l

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #fic recs #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #honey I’m home series

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danikamariewrites · 9 months ago

Text

Nexus Being

Cazriel x reader

A/n: Happy poly week day 3! I am so excited to give you this scarlet witch reader fic and hope you like it. @polyacotarweek

Warnings: slight angst and fluff at the end

You pace in front of the hearth in Rhys’s office. Lost in thought, sorting through the pros and cons of what your High Lord, friend, and brother has just asked of you.

Rhys leaned forward. His elbows on his knees, jaw clenched as he waits for your response. The High Lord didn’t feel good about asking this of you. But Helion couldn’t come up with a solution nor Thesan. Prythian was out of options and you are the last resort.

You stop, inhaling deeply before closing your eyes. Rubbing at your face you turn to Rhys. That distressed look from when he asked you the unfathomable still pulling at your features.

“She didn’t leave me the book.”

“I know, but you have to understand-”

“No, Rhys,” you say as calmly as you can, “she didn’t leave me the book.”

The High Lord nods slowly, taking in the vital information you just dropped on him. “She did leave me other books. Spells that can help but that one is gone. I can come up with something but I need all the time you can give me.”

“I will do what I can, but delaying Koeschi doesn’t seem likely.” Your eyes wander as you think.

“I haven’t done this since before she died. Not even Cass and Azriel know.”

“I can tell them if you want.” He offers gently. “No,” you whisper. “I’ll tell them myself. I just need time.” Rhys nods again. It seems like that’s all he can do right now.

———

The first step was Windhaven. The next, a High Lords meeting. Your stomach was in knots over the thought of telling your mates who you are. What you inherited.

Your mother, an advisor to Rhys’s father, was the infamous Scarlet Witch. A gift that wasn’t supposed to be passed down. Or so harshly. According to Rhys you rivaled your mother in power.

Scared of the potential destruction you could cause to the world or reality you buried your powers. Only letting magic out when there was an unbearable tightness under your skin. You passed it off as the magic you inherited from your High Fae father. But that can only explain so much.

Staring at the suit you made changes to to fit your body and be more in line with your fashion sense. Your eyes quickly glancing over the crown that rests across your forehead has you losing a shuddering breath. An intimidating gift indeed.

You could hear Cassian and Azriel changing into their leathers in their own closet. Speaking in hushed tones.

Your mates still don’t know you are going with them to Windhaven. Rhys couldn’t give you the time you needed. Thanks to Koeschi’s new impatience the plan has been moved up by weeks.

A knock on your closet door had you jumping out of your skin. A ring clad hand resting over your chest to keep your rapidly beating heart inside. It was now or…later you guessed. Better now.

Slightly opening the double doors so your mates could only see you, you stare up at them. They tried their best not to look so tense but failed miserably. “Hey y/n/n, we just wanted to say bye. It’ll be a few days but we’ll be home before you know it.” Cassian said softly, cupping your face in his large hands. Azriel’s shadows began to stir curiously. His eyes narrowed as two floated up to his ears. You swallowed nervously which Cassian mistook as longing for your mates.

But Azriel knew. Knew you were holding back. Opening the doors wider you look down at the duffle bag you packed hours ago when Rhys told you to. The males looked down then back to you confused. “Why are you…” Azriel trails off. One of his shadows quickly darts into the closet to investigate your secret. When it hits the shield you put up a red ripple, like a rock hitting a pond's smooth surface, disturbs the darkness of your closet. Opening the doors all the way you turn your back on your mates. Not wanting to see their reactions.

“I have something to tell you.” Your shoulders tense as you feel their apprehensive gazes on you. Raising your hand a pinkish-red light surrounds your fingers. Waiting to do your bidding, to be shaped in your image. With a slight swish of your fingers the shield dropped, revealing your black and scarlet ensemble with the crown to match.

Turning back to face them you had silent tears running down your cheeks. Their mouths opened as shock took over. They knew that crown. What power you possess. Before the males could ask questions you went on.

”My mother was the Scarlet Witch. As you know she was part of Rhys’s fathers council. I was never supposed to inherit her power, but the universe has other plans. I know she is supposed to be a horror story. But my mother was the kindest woman I knew. She taught me everything to know about wielding this…unusual power.

“I don’t know everything though. When she died her book went with her. I’m not sure if it just turned to dust or if the gods placed it elsewhere. Truthfully, I’m glad it’s gone. The thing turned sane people mad and I had no interest in ever opening it. My first lesson was that all magic comes with a price and there is a lot I’m not willing to pay for.”

You turn to face them, standing taller than before, tears now dried. “I’m coming with you. Rhys asked. And before you say anything, know he gave me a choice. I am doing this to save us.” Your voice broke on the last word. Tears threaten to spill again at their silence.

There was a quiet rage swimming in Azriel’s eyes as he held his tongue, not daring to speak in case he said something he regrets. His eyes glued to your suit. Cassian was in awe of you. Of the power you hold. The bond humming as the full power between the three of you is revealed.

All Cassian did was hold out his hand to you. Showing he did not fear you. Waving your hands over your torso that scarlet light runs down your body, dressing you in your suit and crown.

When your mother wore it you thought it was the most beautiful piece of clothing. Now that you wear it you don’t know what to think.

It is your now though. The cloak clasped around your shoulders is your mother’s broach of the three faced goddess. You kept the scarlet corset, adding a black body suit under it. The elbow length gloves stayed the same except for the fingers. You changed them to a black fabric to mimic your mothers hands after using that damn spell book so much. The boots were new too. A matching scarlet leather with black ruins painted on them for protection.

Taking Cassian’s outstretched hand you grapes your bag in the other. He gave you a small smile. Azriel couldn’t even look at you. Wouldn’t.

As shadows wrapped around the three of you, you reached out to Azriel only to hit a dark wall guarding his heart.

———

The trip to Windhaven went exactly as Rhys had planned. Devlon was terrified to see the Scarlet Witch once more. The soldiers fell into line out of fear, ready to listen to Rhys and Cassian’s every command.

You had trailed them through the camp. Head held high as you kept power eminanting from your hands. You felt uneasy about the whole thing. Like you were lying.

As soon as you got back to Rhys’s mothers house you made a beeline for the bathroom. Gripping the the sink, closing your eyes, you take a deep breath. A soft knock on the door has your head shooting up. Looking at your reflection your eyes glued to the crown perfectly balanced on your forehead. It had never felt so heavy before.

Another knock, a little louder this time, forces you to open the door. Your met with Cassian’s soft face as he looks down at you. “Hey sweet pea, want to talk?” You nod. He steps aside, following you to the empty bedroom. You noticed your and Cassian’s bags were unpack while Azriel’s still sat at the end of the bed untouched.

You nervously pulled at the fingers of your gloves, pacing next to the bed. Cassian gently perched himself on the edge of the bed, waving you over to stand between his massive thighs. Cass dramatically swishes your cloak out and places his hands on your hips.

“I’m very proud of you, sweet pea. Today was tough but you got through it. It is no easy feat to face Devlon and our armies like that.” Cassian pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist. Rubbing a hand up and down your spine.

“Thank you, love.” You softly kiss his forehead, holding his jaw. It’s hard to fully accept that your mates are proud when one of them isn’t here. Azriel hasn’t spoken to you all day. Just to Rhys and Feyre when needed. Other than that he has been doing only the Mother knows what.

Cass sends love and adoration down the bond noticing the shift in your mood. “Give him time. We’ve all had secrets, he’s just processing.” You nod, running your fingers through his hair. “Can we go to bed, it’s late?” “Of course, sweet pea.”

Sleep evaded you that night. Trapped in Cassian’s arms you waited for Az to come to bed. Tears pricked your eyes when the sun started to come up, yet there was no sign of your mate.

—-——

The High Lords meeting had you even more anxious than the camps. Rhys made sure you stayed hidden.

Before heading into the meeting your High Lord asked you to wait until you were called upon. Your mates didn’t like that. They fought with their brother, accusing him of treating you like a party trick when you were so much more. “Whatever it takes to convince them.” You had bravely told the males you love. It made their bickering cease but you could still feel their unease.

As they left Azriel’s gaze lingered on you. Giving him a small wave, sending a pulse of love down the bond.

Pacing in front of the doors to the meeting room you toy with the gold rings decorating your gloved fingers. The Day Court sentries guarding the room were tense. You could smell the fear on them as they looked everywhere but at you.

Rhys tapped on your mental shields. The signal for you to finally present yourself. With a wave of your hand the gold and mahogany double doors open. All eyes were on you except your court. You knew they were sat with smug, nonchalant looks on their faces. “May I present, the Scarlet Witch. Born again and even more powerful than her predecessor.”

There was an sharp intake of breath that echoes around the room. Helion and Kallias and Viviane looked surprised but bowed their heads at you. Tarquin was just exasperated. Sick of the tricks the Night Court has up their sleeves no doubt.

Tamlin and Thesan looked shocked. Like they were ready to attack in case you breathed wrong. You stood by Rhysand, looking like the perfect picture of boredom as you stared down your nose at the Lords.

Beron stood, surprisingly in front of his wife and children. Flames dancing wildly at his finger tips. Pointing at you Beron began his tirade. “We knew how her mother was! How dare you keep this from us Rhysand! The witch must-” Shadows swarmed the Autumn High Lord, binding him to his seat and keeping his mouth shut.

“Must what Beron?” Azriel asked, tone cold as death. Anger danced in his eyes as he moved to the edge of his seat. Poised to attack no matter the outcome. Before the situation could escalate you hold up a hand wreathed in that scarlet light. “Thank you love, but you can let him go.”

“If you want to have a chance against Koeschi I am your best bet.” You say staring down the High Lords. “Now,” waving your hands sending scarlet power out candles appear in a circle on the floor and floating around the room. A stack of spell books in the center of the rune on the floor, “I have casting to do and it would be best to leave me be.”

As they head out Azriel and Cassian linger in the doorway for a few moments. You don’t look back, knowing they’d distract you. Sitting criss cross on the floor you spread the books out with a wave of your hands. Turning your hands palms up the books float up as you do keeping your legs crossed. Closing your eyes you focus on Kosechi, the spell to keep him bound to the lake, and how to rival his power.

Hours later you're finally back in the room you're sharing with your mates. Leaning against the door you rub at your temples. Mother, you forgot how much of a headache spellcasting gave you.

Your mates stood from their chairs in the small sitting area. Looking at you like you were a power bomb ready to explode at any moment. Breezing past them you stop at the vanity, beggining to take off your rings and other accessories. The crown coming off last.

Behind you, Cassian and Azriel are having a silent conversation. Cass urging Az with his eyes to say something. Azriel clears his throat, "Y/n, can we talk?" Letting out a sigh you turn and lean against the vanity, crossing your arms. You raise a brow at him to go on.

"I want to apologize for my silence towards you, my love. Processing your powers has been a lot for me." You couldn't believe your ears. This was a lot for him? "It's been hard for you? Imagine what it's like for me! I never wanted to inherit this or control it. I live in fear of what I could potentially do to the world. I thought you, my mate, of all people would understand, especially with your shadows."

Cassian looked terrified. He just wanted peace between the three of you restored. The stare down going on between the two of you was nothing like he had ever seen before. Two different sets of dark power ready to be let loose.

Azriel broke first. His shoulders slump with silver lining those bright hazel eyes, now dim from shame. "It made me doubt the bond." You and Cassian were caught off guard by his vulnerability. "What," you whisper. Cass stepped up to hold his shoulders, leaving a small kiss on temple. "C'mon Az, tell us what's wrong."

Guiding him over to the couch, Cassian sits next to Azriel as you kneel in front of him, holding his scared hands. "When you revealed you were the Scarlet Witch all I could think of was the reality bending aspect of your powers. I immediately started having thoughts about the bond between the three of us not being real. That the Cauldron didn't gift me this love. That you created it and my world was going to come tumbling down. I know you would never do that after seeing you in the camps and at the meeting today. Hell, I knew you would never do that period.

"I'm sorry I thought so low of you. I just-I got so scared that you kept this from us, y/n. Please forgive me." He give you a pleading look as tears fall down his cheeks.

You can't deny the pain in your heart at Azriel's confession. You could never in a million years even fathom manipulating a person into a mating bond. Closing your eyes your own tears fall silently down your cheeks.

"Azriel, I would never ever do that. To either of you." Your voice wavers from the lump forming in your throat. "I can't say I'm not hurt but I do understand where you are coming from." Standing, you place yourself on Azriel's lap never breaking eye contact. He wraps his arms around your waist to keep you close. Cassian watched you both with hopeful eyes.

Placing a hand on Azriel's chest you send love down the bond. "Do you feel that?" "Yes."

"Does it feel real?" "Yes." You give him a small smile. "Then it's real Az. No spells, no witch craft. That golden thread between us is as real as the Cauldron." Azriel pulls you into a crushing hug against his chest. "I love you," he whispers into your hair. "I love you more."

"I love you most," Cassian chimes in, gathering the both of you in his strong arms. "Lets make a promise that from now on there are no more secrets between us, yeah?" You both stare up at him, nodding your heads. "Promise," you say in unison.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar reader fic #acotar reader imagine #acotar imagine #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #cassian acotar #rhysand #cassian x reader #acotar cassian #cazriel x reader #poly!cazriel x reader #poly!cazriel x you #poly!cazriel #poly+acotarweek2024 #ploy+acotarweek2024 d3

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enbyfrogwrites · 10 months ago

Text

you're so needy, baby pt. 2

so! y'all voted for the content of pt 2. I hope y'all enjoy, again mdni and everything is under the cut <3.

tags: dead dove do not eat, mommy kink, sub!choso, smut, begging, afab reader but reader is nb coded, reader is mix coded but there's nothing pertaining to race outwardly, cockwarming, reverse cowgirl, needy!choso, dom!gn!reader, reader is FAT not chubby or curvy, squirting, 18+; i don't go into details of what reader has, but reader is afab!coded but no outward description of their bottom half. Additionally, no use of y/n, unprotected sex

i'm trying my best, my physical and mental health went down the drain so i'm sorry that it took literal months to even begin this. there's going to be spelling and grammar errors cuz i'm just one person and that's just how it goes. please send me asks of yummy content. i think im gonna make this sub characters blog lmao

thanks for reading <3

word count: ~1.8k

You look back at Choso, his face wet as he pathetically whimpers a combination of pleas and 'Mommy'. You've been playing your game for a while. You haven't checked the time yet, but you figured it was close to an hour since you actually started playing.

"M-Mommy-" Choso huffed hotly into the nape of your neck. "Has it been an hour yet?" His voice was so whiney, the tail end of his question ended in a higher pitch. You chuckle as you felt your boyfriend nuzzled his tear-stained face in between your neck and the soft meat of your shoulder. The sensation caused you to shiver slightly, in turn making Choso groan loudly as you felt his still hard cock twitch inside of you.

"I don't know, baby. I have to check." You answered truthfully, your hand reaching up and ruffled your boyfriend's fine hair. Choso leans into the touch, letting out a small noise. You paused your game and grabbed your phone which sat next to your desktop. You swiftly tap your screen as you bring the device to your face. As you looked at the time, you felt your cute boyfriend grab at your apron belly, squeezing tightly in need, but not enough to physically hurt you.

You notice you have ten more minutes left before it would be a full hour...but you were in between quests in your game. Not only that...but your boyfriend was being such a good boy too...ah, fuck it.

"Yeah, baby." You coo as you take your headphones off and set them in front of you. "Are you ready for Mommy's reward?"

"Please, please!" Choso cried softly into your plump shoulder, his hands skirting up your stomach so he can wrap his arms around your waist. "Mommy, it hurts. Have I been a good boy?"

Your boyfriend squeezes you tightly, whining and sniffling pathetically. You again reach over your shoulder to pat his head lovingly before placing both of your hands on your desk for better leverage. You propel the desk chair backwards, pushing off your desk just enough for you and Choso to get up, not to fling yourself across the room.

"C'mon, Pookie;" You turn your head to look at Choso's beautiful dark violet eyes. "Let's take this to the bed, Okay? Mommy wants you to lay on the bed for them." You slowly pull yourself off his length, making your boyfriend gasp as your wet hole left his aching cock. His cock was slick and shiny from your hole, glistening in the natural lighting in your bedroom. Gods, his cock was beautiful, the head leaked profusely and was a glorious shade between dusty pink and scarlet red. Choso's cock twitched temptingly from the sudden temperature difference. The shaft was just so thick and veiny, and absolutely delectable to look at.

You look up and noticed how wrecked Choso truly was. The shorter front pieces his hair was plastered to this forehead. Your boyfriend's cheeks were so flushed that it somehow made the mark on his nose stand out even more. When you make eye contact with the poor half-curse, his dark circles were more pronounced from how much he was crying and begging. The blush from his cheeks traveled all the way down his neck to just a bit under collar bone that peaked from his V-neck.

You gestured to the bed next to your desk with your hand before gently leaning down to lick your way into Choso's mouth. The mewl that left his mouth as you caressed his tongue lovingly with your own was delicious. You pull away and made the short distance to the bed. You plop down on the edge of it and stared at your boyfriend expectantly as you patted your shared bed.

Choso scrambled off your desk chair, his feet shuffling swiftly and softly across the hardwood floor. He climbed dutifully on the bed and went to the center of the mattress where you patted.

"Scoot up for, Mommy please. Mommy wants their good boy's back on the headboard, can you do that?"

Choso nodded eagerly, his hands pushing the majority of his body weight so he can maneuver to how you wanted him positioned. You move up with him and made sure to tuck a couple of pillows behind him in preparation for his...reward. In addition, you slide your chubby fingers under his V-neck and pulled the fabric off his chiseled abdomen and carefully made sure that it didn't snag on any of his piercings on the way up.

"Mommy, please." Choso choked out, his right hand sneaking past your heated core to grip his cock. Really it's been only a few minutes, but the tone of his voice and desperation in your boyfriend's eyes made it seem it's been like a million years. You giggled as you gently pried his hand off his leaking cock, giving a small peck on his cheek in compensation.

"Relax for me, baby."

You palm your boyfriend's cock with one hand, starting from the base and leave fleeting touches across his tip with your fingertips. You repeat this motion a couple times, making Choso squirm and gasp loudly at the sensation. On the downwards stoke, you continue further down and cupped Choso's balls and gently massaged them. You pull a few more moans and whimpers from him before letting go completely.

You turn yourself around and backed your ass up enough, so your boyfriend's cock lined perfectly with your sopping hole. You hold your breath as you grip his cock and began to sink down on to it. Gods, he was just in you, and he still felt so damned big. You wait a moment after Choso bottoms out to catch your breath before to turning partially around to face the half-curse.

"Let Mommy do all the work, okay? You can cum in Mommy's hole whenever. You were such a good boy today, Cho!"

Choso's only response was a meek 'please, Mommy' followed by a shuttered breath. His pupils were blown wide, his beautiful violet irises almost swallowed whole as he made eye contact with you. You gave him a lopsided smile before facing forward so you can grab at the bed between Choso's thighs.

"My thighs, Mommy!" A pause as you whip your head back towards the half-curse. "I want to feel you grip my thighs as you fuck yourself on my cock, Mommy."

You face heated up immediately. You felt yourself get even more wet on his cock before hurriedly turning back around in slight embarrassment. You go to do what your boyfriend requested of you, but you felt him yank on your t-shirt.

"I love seeing all of you, baby. It's not fair if I'm the only one naked." Choso's tone was between husky and needy.

A twinge of self-consciousness peaked in your head at the thought of riding you boyfriend with all of you exposed. You apron belly, your back rolls, and your stretch marks would be on complete display. But just as those thoughts came into your head, they vanished when you felt Choso sit up more just to grab at your fat stomach.

"Please, baby? I love you. All of you."

You felt your body relax- you didn't even know it tensed up in the first place quite frankly. Warmth blossomed throughout your chest as the love and comfort radiated from Choso. You nodded your head and swiftly pulled off your shirt. You didn't wear a binder or a bra today, so you felt your nipples pebble immediately in the open air.

Fuck, you loved Choso so damned much.

"I love you, too. Lean back so Mommy can take care of you." You twist your head enough so you can watch him obey you before you faced forward again.

You gripped Choso's thighs as you lifted your hips up and slammed them down again. Choso made a choked sound behind you, making you smile at the noise before repeating the motion again. You began to rock your hips at the end, making your boyfriend hit deep inside you. Helpless, you yelp in pleasure as you do it again. Small 'ah ah ah's kept being punched from Choso's lips as you sit fully on him again.

"Fuck, baby, meet me halfway?" You groan the question out as you grind your core on the half-curse's pelvis.

"Yeah, Mama," Choso didn't even hesitate before grabbing your plump hips as leverage to thrust up into you.

You both moan when you meet perfectly in the middle. The skin-on-skin slapping echoed loudly throughout the room, which surprisingly wasn't half as loud as Choso's cries of 'mommy' and his high-pitched keens.

"Mommy, mommy, mommy-" the noise Choso let out following the last plea was between a choked sob and a frustrated whine. "I'm gonna cum! Please! Puh-lease." You twist your head to look behind you and noticed your boyfriend was only using one hand on your hips as he gripped on to his hair with his other hand...in desperation.

You were close too- fuck. Your legs were getting tired, but you weren't going to stop now especially if your boyfriend looked like that. Gripping his thighs even tighter- he's definitely going to have bruises tomorrow- you push yourself even further. Your hips came down harshly and unrelenting. You purposely kept grinding your core on every down stroke to bring yourself closer to orgasming.

"Cumming, Mommy!" Choso keened, he learned forward and grabbed your fat stomach, as he held your hips still to pump his hot seed into your sloppy hole. You felt his cock twitch inside your gummy walls, and you quickly reached between your legs to rub yourself furiously.

It didn't take much, a couple of swipes of your chubby fingers on your nub and the dam broke. A small cry left your lips as you felt a small distant feeling of being...more wet than usual when cumming this time around.

You rested on your haunches as you tried to catch your breath. Unconsciously you rubbed at the now red fingerprints blossoming on Choso's thighs. Speaking of him you felt the half-curse lovingly rub your stomach as he nuzzled his face into the plush middle of your back.

You then felt Choso began to shake uncontrollably, and you began to worry. Just as you tried to turn around, you felt Choso smile into your back, and you noticed that he was fucking...laughing?

"Look down, baby." Choso giggled.

You do as you were requested and look down. To your horror your sheets were soaked.

"Holy fuck! Did I really squirt?" You also noticed that your boyfriend's cock and balls were sopping.

"And here you were trying to play your game, but you wouldn't have done this if you did, Mommy."

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shy-urban-hobbit · 10 months ago

Text

The Cat had a habit and God's alone knew when exactly Lambert had starting indulging it.

"What you working on?" Aiden asked as he came up behind the Wolf, hooking his chin over Lambert's shoulder, hands - as always - folded behind his back in a way he presumed was supposed to come across as harmless (and according to Aiden, removed the temptation to touch) but had Lambert convinced for the longest time those hidden hands held a knife which was about to find itself buried between his shoulders. He had no idea when exactly he'd stopped moving away whenever he heard the other approach, or warning him off completely with a low growl or other threat, but it's what had led him to his current situation. That situation being working on a new bomb with the Cat watching his hands intently.

"Curiosity killed the Cat." Lambert replied, always one to keep his answers vague when it came to his experiments until he was sure it was working as it should. He cursed himself when he realised he needed to swap out the tool he was working with for one which was in his other kit back in his saddlebag, which was way over on the other side of their small camp.

"Hmm." He heard Aiden shift behind him before the required tool entered his field of vision, dangling between dark skinned fingers, "Not just yet, it hasn't."

Lambert said nothing, his brain flitting between his current project and wondering exactly how closely the other had been watching him.

Lambert stiffened under the others weight. He'd grown to tolerate the Cat draping himself over him in one form or another, whether it was plastering himself against the Wolf's back or leaning against his side. Aiden was always quick to move at the slightest hint so it wasn't as if it was too much of a hindrance. The scenting however, was new.

"...Can I fucking help you?"

"Sorry, sorry." Aiden said, bringing his nose away from the crook of Lambert's neck and moving away so he was kneeling next to Lambert instead, the scent of embarrassment growing stronger, "It's been a long day and you're scent...it...."

"You trying to say I stink?"

Lambert was sure if Witcher's could blush Aiden would be scarlet right now, "It's grounding, alright!" Aiden spat out, "It's been an absolute shitshow of a day, and your scent makes me stop feeling like I want to claw my own skin off and don't ask me why because I don't fucking know, but it does!"

"Is that why you've started more or less sitting on top of me some nights, because you like how I smell?"

Aiden shrugged, "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable and I swear I didn't plan to scent you, it just happened. If you want me to set up somewhere else, I understand."

"Aiden." Lambert threw him a look the Cat recognised as the Wolf's silent request to 'shut the fuck up' whilst tilting his head.

Aiden blinked, "You're sure?"

"Just don't make it weird."

Aiden tentatively rested his head on Lambert's shoulder, the tip of his nose cold against Lambert's neck, "Thank you."

"Whatever. I just don't want you getting twitchy enough to go on a murder spree or some shit."

Lambert winced in sympathy as Aiden continued to whimper and cry out, trying not to let his own panic bleed through too much and make things worse as the scent of the other pain made his eyes sting like they'd been rubbed with nettles. The burn was deep, leaving Aiden's left leg a mottled mess of raw red and charred black from knee to hip. It was bad - far worse than their potions and enhanced healing were equipped to deal with alone, especially when Aiden's body had decided to go into shock.

The healer had refused to take any coin in payment, insisting it was the least she could do unless the two of them wanted to have effectively done that slyzard contract for free. Lambert felt he owed her something regardless. The healers assistant had taken care to hold Aiden's legs down, but he'd managed to get a few solid scratches in before Lambert had even thought to do the same to the Cats arms, sitting bolt upright with a screech as soon as the healer had touched a finger to the wound. Lambert could only hold Aiden to his chest, his arms pinned by his sides as he continued trying to squirm away from the salve.

"Aiden, you need to calm down alright?" He said as Aiden almost dislodged the assistant for the third time.

"Hurts". The Cat whimpered

"I know, but she can't treat you if you don't stop moving and then it'll feel even worse. You need to try and keep still."

Aiden gave a bitten off sob as he looked at Lambert, his eyes clouded with pain and adrenaline, "Hurts."

And that was a look Lambert never wanted to see aimed at him ever again.

"C'mere." He quickly shuffled so his head was level with Aiden's before quickly relinquishing his grip on Aiden with one hand to tip the others face towards his neck, Aiden immediately sniffing deeply and greedily, his body losing a little of it's stiffness so whilst he was by no means relaxed, he no longer felt close to snapping he was so tense.

"That's it, calm down for me. She's almost done, it's almost over." He soothed awkwardly, feeling every single one of Aiden's punched out breaths and sniffles ghost over his bare skin as he finally tried to do as asked and hold still, although his body still jerked every now and then, especially when his leg had to be lifted so it could be properly bandaged.

"All done." The healer said, placing a sealed jar and a roll of bandages on the small table by Lambert's elbow, "You're welcome to stay back here until he's a little more coherent. Don't forget to take those with you when you leave."

"Thanks." Lambert said with a nod, continuing to run his fingers through Aiden's hair after his hand has somehow found its way there whilst the other pressed their face deeper into his neck.

Lambert huffed a laugh as true to form, Aiden zeroed in on the crook of his neck - alternating between sniffing obnoxiously, leaving nipping kisses little kisses up and down his throat and licking the sweat off his skin with either a quick kitten lick or a long swipe of his tongue.

"And here I thought you couldn't possibly smell any better."

"You say that like you haven't smelt sweat and sex on me before. Probably smell like a brothel."

"You smell like us." Aiden answered, giving another comically loud sniff, "Did you know arousal smells like cinnamon on you?"

Lambert gave a surprised laugh, "Can't say it's something I've ever been curious about."

"Well it does. Cinnamon and-" Another sniff, "Black pepper. It suits you."

Lambert pulled him up for a deep kiss before flipping them so Aiden was underneath him, nuzzling his neck as his hand found its goal between his legs.

"Lambert." Aiden sighed, arching his back.

"Shush now." Lambert admonished lightly with a nip to Aiden's earlobe, "I'm trying to figure out what yours remind me of and you know if you distract me, I'll have no choice but to start over."

Turns out Lambert was very easily distracted that night.

Lambert turned the small trinket over in his hand. Everything looked in working order, so why the fuck wasn't it actually working? He reached a hand behind him when he felt the bed dip to rest it on the first body part he could reach (a thigh this time) as he tilted his head to the right to make room - always the right nowadays - his Cat liked being able to see his face afterall.

"What you working on?" Aiden asked as he hooked his chin on Lambert's shoulder, wrapping his own arms around the Wolf.

"Just something dumb for Ciri." He answered, placed it on the bedside table, "How was training?"

Aiden gave a short, derisive hum and Lambert smelled a spike of annoyance as Aiden shifted to press his nose to his lovers neck as his arms tightened marginally, "I don't think my knife skills will ever be at the level they were now that my depth perception's fucked."

"Oi, less of that." Lambert admonished, loosening Aiden's hold on him so he could turn to see his face and once again feeling a twinge of fondness for Jaskier that the bard had searched high and low to find a shade of green for Aiden's eye patch that matched his remaining eye (everyone who knew him knew he was surprisingly vain about them).

"You weren't an expert from the get-go the first time you learned all this, right? It's only been a few months, you don't need to be so hard on yourself."

"...I hate when you're right."

"You're proud of me when I'm right. Now c'mere and let's see if I can't cheer you up."

Aiden allowed himself to be reeled in, languid kisses turning needy as Lambert worked on the laces of Aiden's shirt before pressing his face to Aiden's neck to fill his senses with the smell and taste of home.

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #aiden/lambert #aiden x lambert #lambert/aiden #lambert x aiden #lambden #witcher aiden #witcher lambert #lambert

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hoffmanxfurthermore · 10 months ago

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Strawberry Sunscreen

(Chase Harper x reader)

Collab w someone.

Content: age gap, daughters best friend, reader is a 19 year old virgin, taboo stuff lol EVERYBODY IS OVER 18 AND CONSENTING

Word count: 3.9k

(Gif by @angels-holocaust)

"I'll be there at 5 :)" You send the text and smile, setting your phone on your desk. Claire, your best friend, invited you to her family's fourth of July party, and you're beyond stoked. This year has been rough on you. You took the year off of school to help your sick mother. Now, at 19, you're starting your senior year of high school in less than two months.

It's a pool party, so you opt to just wear your bathing suit, a dark purple tankini, under your dress. It's not likely that you'll get into the water, but you like to be prepared. The rosy pink sundress fits perfectly, accentuating your curves, the hem reaching just above your kneecaps. Your wavy brown hair is pulled back into a high ponytail, and you complete your look with a pair of small silver hoop earrings and a pair of black sunglasses before setting off to Claire's house.

There aren't a lot of people at the party, just you, Claire, her dad, and a couple of friends that you'd lost contact with since being out of school. It's a little awkward since you don't really fit in with Claire's friends. But Claire made sure to include you in their activities so you don't feel left out.

When everybody decides to get in the pool, you opt for sitting in the sun instead, watching Claire's dad cook burgers on the grill. You aren't sure, but you swear you could see him glance over at you once in a while, trying to be subtle. Especially after your dress came off, while you're lounging in a lawn chair in your swimsuit next to the pool.

As the night went on, the subtle glances turned into innocent flirtation. You blush, not used to the attention. You shyly turn away as he comments on your bathing suit.

Mr. Harper makes small talk with you, telling you he's proud of you for going back to finish high school, asking how your mother is doing. The sun is setting, turning the sky beautiful shades of scarlet and purple. You two sit next to the pool, chatting, catching up since it's been a while since you've visited Claire.

People start to leave, and the party is just about over. Claire's dad had given her permission to have you over for the night, so you change into a large t shirt and some clean underwear, ready to settle in for the night.

"Thanks for inviting me today, I really needed it," you say to Claire as you're both sliding into bed, just a little past midnight.

"I'm glad you had fun," she replies, smiling, "you know me and my dad love having you over."

You both slowly drift off to sleep, the cool breeze coming in through the open window, cooling down the stuffy room as the heavy down comforter covers your bodies.

3:34am.

The bright red LED analog clock on the nightstand nearly blinds you as you awaken in a panic, escaping from a horrible nightmare. Your mouth is drier than a desert. The oversized t shirt you wore to bed is soaked in sweat. Glancing over at Claire, you slowly sit up, trying not to wake her up.

Making your way down the dark hallway of the house, you hear what sounds like liquid pouring coming from the kitchen. As you approach the kitchen, Claire's dad turns to face you, a glass of whisky in hand. You pretend not to notice him looking at your bare legs, barely covered by the fabric of your shirt. He's dressed only in green flannel pants, hanging low on his hips. You stifle the urge to let your eyes roam his body.

"Hi, Mr. Harper, sorry, I just came in here for some water," you say, your voice dry and hoarse.

"Let me." He smiles at you, setting his glass down as he opens the cupboard, pulling out a clean glass. He fills it up with water from the dispenser on the refrigerator door.

"Thank you," you barely manage as you chug the cool liquid quickly, water dribbling down your chin onto your large grey t shirt. Wiping your face on your hand, you set the glass into the sink, your arm brushing against his as you withdraw your hand. You're not sure how to describe it, but that split second contact sparked something inside you. Is this your chance? Your gaze meets his for a second before you quickly look away.

"I should, umm, get back to bed," you say quickly, turning around to leave.

"Wait," he protests. Turning around, you can see he's walking toward you.

Your heart skips a beat as he steps toward you, placing a hand on your hip. The contact makes you gasp.

"I need to say something... Every time I see you, I can barely contain myself," Chase's voice is low, sultry, lustful, "and you looked so beautiful earlier," he confesses.

Your eyes widen in surprise. You've always had a thing for Mr. Harper, but he's your best friend's father. You'd be lying if you said you'd never had your own little fantasies about him, but the idea of actually doing anything with him scares you, not to mention would be the ultimate betrayal to your best friend. Especially given the fact that nobody has ever gotten further with you than reaching a hand up your shirt. Being a virgin, still, at 19 is a little embarrassing, so it's not something you usually tell people.

He takes a step closer to you, standing only inches in front of you, his hand still resting on your hip. He's taller than you are, and his frame is much larger.

"I saw you looking at me earlier..."

"Mr. Harper," you whisper, "I can't." Your heart is pounding in your chest.

"Chase," he whispers in your ear, "call me Chase."

His hand leaves your hip only to travel up to the back of your neck as he gently laces his fingers through your soft, silky hair, causing a slight moan to escape your lips. Shivers run down your spine as he backs you against the counter, and you grab onto the edge to steady yourself. Your face is inches from his neck, and you have to fight the urge to kiss his skin.

"Claire would kill me," you gasp. Chase leans down and levels his face with yours. His lips are just inches away from yours, and his blue eyes feel like they're staring deep into your soul.

"Then we don't tell her," he whispers before pressing his lips to yours. His lips are soft, and they taste like whisky with a hint of peppermint. The stubble scratches your face as you lean into the kiss, your tongue slowly tracing around his plump lips. At that moment, the fear of Claire finding out and how she may react goes out the window. You want him. God, you want him so bad. Chase pulls away from the kiss, his eyes full of lust and the desire to explore your body.

Kissing your neck softly, his hand snakes up your t shirt, feeling the soft skin on your lower stomach, just above the waistband of your panties. You inhale sharply as you feel his hand move down, his fingers grazing lightly over the thin fabric. There's a warm, tingly feeling between your legs, one you've only ever felt in your own bed, thinking of the very man who had his big hands on you right now. You're eager to continue but nervous at the same time.

"Can we, umm," you take a nervous gulp, "go to your room?"

A smile spreads across his face as he nods. He wraps his arm around your waist, leading you to his bedroom. Luckily, his room is across the house from Claire's. But still, he locks the door behind him just in case.

His bedroom is big. A large bed sits against the wall in the middle of the room with a big blue comforter and matching pillowcases on the pillows. The ceiling light is off, but a tall lamp in the corner of the room shines a soft white light in the room.

Sitting on the bed, you smile up at him, trying not to look scared. But he can see the uncertainty in your eyes.

"What's wrong, baby?" He asks, sitting next to you, "if you've changed your mind, I understand."

"I didn't. It's just... I've never had sex before. I'm still a virgin."

His eyes widen with surprise.

"Really? A pretty girl like you? No way."

"I've always been too scared to go through with it. I'm scared the guy will be too rough, or it will hurt, or that I'm not attractive enough..." Your voice trails off as he slowly tucks your hair behind your ear.

"Dont worry," he whispers as he places a hand on your bare thigh, "I'll take care of you. And I think you're gorgeous."

You cover your face as you blush, giggling nervously. Chase slowly pulls your hands from your face and kisses you again, running his fingers down the side of your face and making your skin tingle.

“I’m going to make you feel so good, baby.” Chase whispers against your lips, his hands moving down to your hips. You moan in response against this lips, your arms wrap around his shoulders as he guides you onto the bed, and your head rests on a soft pillow.

Chase’s hips press between yours, his hardening cock presses against your clothed cunt.

A soft moan escapes your lips as Chase begins to kiss your neck, trailing from your jawline all the way down to your collarbone.

You arch your back ever so slightly as his hand moves the fabric up your chest, offering yourself up to his touch, eager to feel the warmth of his hands against your bare flesh. He pulls your shirt up to unveil your soft breasts, emitting a low growl as he takes your nipple into his mouth.

“O-Oh,” You whisper, his tongue swirls around the soft bud, sending shivers down your spine. Your hand laces through his soft brown hair, watching as he happily takes in your breast while his other hand caresses your thigh.

A soft whimper escapes your lips as you feel Chase’s fingers brush over your clothed cunt, feeling your arousal. “You’re so wet for me, baby.” He purrs.

Before you can reply, you’re cut off by feeling Chase’s finger slipping behind the fabric of your panties and into your wet cunt. He continues to kiss your neck softly as he allows you to adjust, his finger moving slightly inside of you. This is a new sensation for you, and you cry out in pleasure.

"You're so tight... fuck," he groans as he pushes a second finger in, "Let me know if it's too much."

"It's... oh god!" You gasp loudly as he curls his fingers inside you, sending a sudden surge of pleasure through your body. He kisses you to muffle your noises as you moan loudly.

"Tell me how it feels, baby," he whispers, moving his fingers inside you faster, his thumb massaging your throbbing clit.

"It feels so good, Chase, oh fuck!"

Chase moans in response as he pulls his hand away, sitting up on his knees. Biting his lip, he tugs at the waistband of your panties and pulls them down your legs. You can see his cock throbbing against the thin material of his pants, and you lick your lips at the sight of it. You pull your shirt the rest of the way off and toss it to the hardwood floor.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, his blue eyes wide with desire as he looks at your body, laid out before him. His comment makes you blush again. Never in a thousand years did you ever think your best friend's dad would be into you after crushing on him for so long.

You don't even care that maybe he's just looking for a quick lay. You don't want to know. Chase could never have a relationship with you without jeopardizing your friendship with Claire, as well as straining the relationship he has with his daughter. He could never do that, and neither could you.

But you want him regardless. You know he has experience. He wouldn't hurt you. Still on his knees, he slowly lowers his flannel pants, and his dick springs free. You gasp at the sight of it as he removes his pants and throws them to the floor.

"Dont worry, y/n," Chase says, catching you gawking, "Relax..." he leans down, slowly kissing from your knee up your inner thigh. You're completely mesmerized with the sight as he looks up at you, his soft lips making contact with the top of your clit.

"Ooh," you gasp as he slowly drags the tip of his tongue over your clit, flickering over it with just enough pressure to make your legs twitch. You squeeze your eyes shut as his tongue travels around the most sensitive spots, his hand making its way up your body to play with your right nipple.

"Oh my god, Chase..." You run your fingers through his hair and buck your hips up as he swirls his tongue all around your sensitive clit and pussy.

"You taste so good," he growls between licks, "so sweet, like strawberries, mmmm..." he moans, his tongue dancing around your dripping cunt and the sensitive bud above it. His words only add to your pleasure. You moan loudly in response, an indication that you're getting close. Chase digs his nails into your thighs, holding your legs apart as you tremble. Sensing your impending orgasm, he quickens his movements, licking and sucking and nibbling.

"I'm gonna cum, Chase," you moan, your voice breathy, gasping for air. His hand moves from your breast to cover your mouth as you come undone. You squeeze his head with your legs, and you scream against his hand, your fingers claw at his shoulders as you cum. As you're coming down, he slowly plants light kisses around your throbbing pussy, looking up at you as your breathing slowly returns to normal.

He looks up at you, taking his hand from your mouth, licking your juices from his lips slowly, savoring every little bit of it.

"How was that, babe?" He asks in a hushed tone, slowly crawling up the bed next to you.

"It was amazing," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, "Thank you."

Chase leans in to press a gentle kiss to your lips, his touch tender. You can taste your fluids on his lips, and despite the initial surprise, you find yourself strangely aroused by the taste.

Feeling Chase shift and position himself between your legs, a shiver of anticipation runs down your spine. Your heart pounds in your chest, eagerly awaiting his next move.

“Are you ready, baby?” He pulls away from you for a moment, scanning over your face for any sign of unease.

You look down to see Chase fisting at his cock, the tip is red and dripping with clear precum. It’s much bigger than you imagined, but you can take it.

“Yes,” You nod, looking up at Chase with pleading eyes. “I’m ready for you to fuck me. I wanna feel cock for the very first time….”

Chase is taken aback at how filthy your words are, seeing as he’s always viewed you as his little girl’s best friend. “That’s what I like to hear.” His voice is a low growl, a smirk tugs at his lips.

You feel the tip of Chase’s cock press against your slick entrance. He watches as your mouth opens and your eyes widen when he pushes his hips forward slightly, just the tip at first.

“Chase..” You whimper, your face scrunching in discomfort the more he stretches you open.

“Do you want me to stop?” Chase asks, stilling his hips for a moment.

You shake your head, assuring Chase that you don’t want him to stop. “Just relax honey, it’s gonna feel so good.”

"Oh my god!" Tears well in your eyes as he pushes further, slowly. It hurt like all hell, but you figured it would pass slowly. Your brows furrow as you look up at him, digging your nails into his shoulder.

Sure enough, the initial pain you felt at first slowly dissipated, and you soon find yourself drowning in waves of pleasure. In that moment, you give not the slightest fuck about anything else besides this newfound bliss that you'd deprived yourself of all these years.

"Chase," you whine as you move your hips to match his movements, to which he responds by picking up his pace. The sound of skin slapping skin and the blissful moans coming from the both of you fill the room.

“You’re doing so well,” He praises you, kissing your forehead softly. You bite your lip, closing your eyes. The bed squeaks below you as Chase picks up the pace, his thumb goes down to your clit to thumb at the sensitive ball of nerves, adding to your pleasure. “How does it feel, baby?”

“It feels….so good.” You whimper, spreading your legs even further to allow Chase to fuck you deeper. You flash a small smile at him, your mouth opening a little wider as small moans spill from your lips.

“Atta girl,” He locks his lips with yours, cupping your cheeks gently. “Your pussy is so ready for me baby, taking every inch.”

“Out of all the men to fuck me for the first time…I’m so glad it was you.”

"I'm glad it was me too, sweetheart," He whispers. "I've wanted this for so long to be able to share this moment with you."

You smile up at him, feeling a deep sense of connection with him in that moment.

You trust him. You feel a certain way you've never felt with anyone before. Wrapping your arms tightly around his shoulder and moaning in his ear, you've never felt closer with anyone else in your life. The sounds emitting from Chase's mouth only add to your pleasure as he fucks you deep. A warm, bubbly feeling starts to develop within you, making your legs twitch. Chase continues twiddling at your sensitive bud, bringing you closer to the edge.

"Oh my god Chase, I'm gonna cum..." You whisper in his ear as he kisses your neck.

"Cum for me baby girl," he says, keeping the same pace, "I want you to cum for me..."

"Ohhh..." You groan loudly as the impending orgasm builds up, "please don't stop, Chase, please..." You beg.

Within seconds, you're wracked with the most amazing feeling you've ever felt in your life. This is totally different than when you're alone in your own bed, fantasizing about Chase. Your own fantasies never measured up to what this man was doing to you in this moment. Your walls tighten around his cock as he fucks you deep and hard, but he never breaks his focus. He fucks you right through your climax, dragging it out. Your eyes roll back and your mouth is hanging open as he presses his thumb down on your throbbing clit.

"Y/n..." he groans, "where do you want me to cum?"

"I don't care," you whine.

"I'm gonna fill you up," he whispers, his lips grazing your neck, making you shudder. He pulls his hand away from between your legs and gently caresses your face, "would you like that, baby?"

"Yes, please, fuck, fill me with your cum, please..." You beg him, looking at him with desperation in your eyes. Chase looks into your eyes as he bites his lip, breathing heavily.

"I don't wanna cum.. you feel so good, y/n... your pussy is so good for me... fuck..."

"Please," you plead with him, "please cum in me."

"Ohh fuck, I love hearing you beg..." he slows his movements, presumably so he doesn't cum too quickly, "beg me more... beg for my cum..." he continues fucking you deep, but really slow, teasing you.

"Chase, please, please cum inside me, fuck me hard till you cum," you cry out, looking up at him, your eyes wide, begging to feel his hot seed spill inside you.

"That's it, baby girl..." he picks up his speed gradually, holding your legs apart, his hands gripping the back of your thighs hard. His hips slam against the back of your thighs as you moan loudly, begging with your eyes.

"I'm gonna cum, y/n.... are you sure?"

"Yes," you gasp.

As soon as you say that, he sheaths his cock deep inside you, throwing his head back and groans loudly as his warm cum spills inside you. You wrap your legs around him and grind your hips against him, desperate for every last drop of it.

"Oh god," he groans, holding his cock deep inside you, "fuck, y/n, so good..." he whispers as he rides out his high.

Gasping for breath, he rolls off of you. He came a lot. You can feel it dripping out of you and between your ass cheeks as you look over at him, gazing into his beautiful blue eyes. You're unable to form words, but your face says it all. This was the most amazing thing you've ever felt in your life. You don't even care that you just lost your virginity to your best friend's dad at 4 on a Friday morning.

"That was so good," you gasp as your breathing slowly returns to normal. He rolls over to his side, facing you, and wraps his arm over your waist, pulling you close.

"It was amazing," he purrs, "I'm happy I could help you experience your first time."

You roll over and cuddle into his chest. He moves onto his back as your face rests against the soft hair and his warm skin, your hand gently resting on his hip.

"Thank you," you sigh happily as you cuddle him close. He reaches up and softly pets your hair. Your eyes are heavy with sleep. It's half past 4 at this point. His big arms wrap around your naked body as he gently kisses the top of your head.

11:23am.

You awaken in a panic, still in Chase's bed.

"Oh my god, Claire!" You gasp as you jump out of bed and rush to get dressed, praying Claire is still asleep. Your legs are shaky and sore. It takes a moment to find your balance. The sudden movement causes Chase to slowly wake up, and he turns his head to face you.

"Mmm, what's wrong, baby?" He mumbles as he rubs the sleep from his eyes as you pull your t shirt back on.

"I fell asleep in here! Crap, it's already after 11. I gotta get back before Claire wakes up."

"Shit," Chase mutters, sitting up in bed, a panicked look in his eyes, "I didn't even know we fell asleep."

As you slowly pull the door open, you barely have a moment to react when the door swings open with almost enough force to put a hole in the wall. Claire is standing in the doorway, looking pissed as all hell.

"What the hell is this?! Are you fucking kidding me?!" She shrieks.

#saw #mark hoffman #costas mandylor #detective hoffman #sawposting #mark hoffman x reader #fanfic #smut #primal doubt #chase harper #Spotify

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clockwork-ashes · 3 months ago

Text

All You Have Is Your Fire - Part XXX

Find all previous parts on Ao3 :)

Summary: 'I can hear your heart beating through the stone.' For the briefest of moments, Lucien wondered if his mate would know exactly when his heart’s steady rhythm came to a sudden stop.

Note: A huge thank you to the lovely @sad-scarred-sassy who deserves all the credit for the post that inspired me to start writing this :) Another huge thank you to everyone reading! ALSO please look at this post, I gasped it's so lovely. All of @teddyhoneybear's moodboards are stunning <3

Tag List: @anishake / @nocasdatsgay / @mybestfriendmademe / @talibunny30 / @halfbutneverwhole / @wishfulimaginings / @goldenmagnolias / @emmers-bens123 / @cauldronblssd / @xirose / @rarephloxes / @thehighlordishere / @the-darkestminds / @lady-of-tearshed / @what-about-elvenis / @gameafoot /

The sky was a vicious blue, bright and cloudless. The smell of blooming flowers was in the air, strong enough to choke. Elain had to raise a pale hand to cover her eyes, blocking the unforgiving sun. A gentle wind blew, kissing her cheeks. The grass was cool beneath her bare feet, dew drops making the edges of her pink skirts damp.

Elain glanced down, tilting her head when she noticed that it almost looked like blood. It stained the elegant fabric, ruining it. She frowned as she straightened the wrinkles, her brows pinched. Red rose petals were littered between the emerald blades of grass, a perfect path that she chose to follow.

Elain walked with steady steps, unnerved by the silence in the open space. There were no singing birds, no buzzing bees, no trickling streams. A shiver danced along her spine as she continued forward, the scarlet petals shifting until they whirled together like a rushing river.

It looked like hair, she observed. She tracked the length of it, searching. Her mind moved slowly, her thoughts disconnected from what she saw.

Empty eyes stared upwards, unblinking amber gemstones.

Elain woke up with a gasp. Her body moved involuntarily, shooting upwards despite the numbness she felt in her limbs. Someone quickly created more distance between them, and Elain twisted her neck so she could face whoever it was.

“Vassa?” She said, voice a strained rasp. She had forgotten to refer to her using a title. Elain cleared her throat, wishing she could have a sip of water. She let her vision adjust to the night, pretty hair the colour of a copper coin flashed as the other woman nodded.

The cursed queen breathed a relieved sigh, tension leaving her shoulders as she slumped into a more comfortable position. “Elain?” At the tilt of a chin she received in response, Vassa ran a hand over her face roughly. “You weren’t waking up,” she declared, her accent similar to the one in cities that had bordered the wall.

Koschei.

The death god’s name echoed in Elain’s mind. If Vassa was with her, his involvement was the only explanation she could think of.

Elain took a shaking breath. “That happens sometimes,” she mumbled, letting her fingers dig into the soft earth in an attempt to ground herself. She checked her surroundings to decide what she might do next, hoping that she recognised where she was.

The moon was high, and stars glittered tauntingly against the endless dark. Elain was left with the impression that they were laughing at her misery. She could tell that she was near water, perhaps past the forest’s edge and a bit farther than the clearing she found herself in. The air was damp, a humid fog clinging to the trees and creating a rather uncomfortable atmosphere.

Elain was certain that she was no longer in any of the seasonal courts of Prythian, and although she might have been in one of the solar ones, she determined it was quite unlikely. There was something distinctly ancient about the forest, leafless branches reaching up towards the sky like hands made of bone. The wood of each tree was a ghostly white, a stark contrast to the dirt covering the map of roots beneath the surface.

There was magic thrumming all around her, Elain knew, but it was unlike her own. There was something about it that briefly reminded her of Nesta. She frowned, concern replacing all other emotions. She wondered if she was in the Middle, keeping in mind the stories Feyre had told her.

“Had a good night’s sleep?”

The question rocked Elain, snapping her out of her own thoughts. She had not noticed that there was someone else there, but the familiar voice was enough to make anger rush through her veins.

Elain faced Lethe, scowling as she saw how beautiful the other female still looked despite the ordeal they had endured. Her dress was left in perfect condition, no tears in the expensive fabric. She had unpinned her hair, and it fell in an icy sheet to her waist, not a single knot between the strands. Embers sparked to life in her eyes as she raised an unimpressed brow.

“You’re here.” Elain said without thinking, stating the obvious. For a moment, she was glad to have someone she knew with her, but she was quickly reminded that the two of them did not exactly get along.

“I’d rather be dead,” Lethe declared with a sniff. The words hung between them, sharpened by the silence.

“That can easily be arranged,” Vassa offered, but was promptly ignored.

Elain kept looking at Lethe, their gazes locked, when a horrifying realisation dawned on her. “No one knows,” she muttered, heartbeat thunderous in her ears. Panic gripped her like a claw and she tried to pull at the mating bond with no success. While she thought it was probably the distance, a million awful scenarios came to mind.

Lucien.

Elain grabbed at the curls against her scalp, tugging to stop herself from whimpering. If Beron would go so far as to harm Eris, she had a hard time believing he would have second thoughts about doing the same to her mate.

“No one knows,” Lethe confirmed, sounding exhausted.

“Fuck,” Elain mumbled under her breath, the foul language slipping from her tongue easily. “What about Eris?”

Lethe straightened, a commanding air to her at the mention of her friend. “What about him?” When Elain remained quiet, the other woman shook her head. “There’s nothing to be done for him.”

Elain felt the events leading up to that moment crash down on her like a wave. With no outlet for her frustration, she heard her own voice raise accusingly. “Some friend you are,” she spat, the anger making her brave. “We should have helped him, he’s hurt–”

“Hurt?” Lethe snarled, interrupting the rest of Elain’s sentence. “You think he’s hurt?”

Elain winced at the aggressive tone. “I think–”

Lethe laughed, the sound grating like a blade against marble. “You think Eris is hurt?” When Elain remained silent, she waved a hand, the nails on each finger filed to a dangerous point. “I think you’re stupid,” the Autumn noble snarled.

Vassa made a soft sound, a gentle warning. Lethe continued as though she had not heard, teeth bared threateningly. “Eris is dead, and I’m stuck here with the foolish little human girl he felt responsible for.”

“I’m not human,” Elain corrected, a finality to the statement. It was the first time she had said the words out loud, acceptance sneaking up on her as steady as the rising sun. Where grief once would have been, confidence in herself only remained. “I’m not human,” she repeated, “and Eris isn’t dead. He can’t be.”

Elain refused to consider it. There was something constant about the Autumn heir, like the unchanging seasonal court he had been born in, timeless.

All the fight seemed to leak from Lethe, her shoulders curling inward as she bent her legs to her chest. “No one could have survived that.” She rested her chin against her knees, looking very young, voice breaking like glass as she spoke. “You wouldn’t have recognised the dagger, but it’s made entirely of gold and tipped with ash.”

“The ash is enough to kill him?” Elain asked, her question wavering. She felt a burning behind her eyes, and she blinked to keep her tears at bay.

Lethe sighed, but there was no judgement in the sound. “Our teachers in the Forest House told us that the High Lord slaughtered his father with that weapon and forced himself onto the throne.” She paused, using her sleeve to wipe at her cheeks. “Ash wood is like a poison without a cure for the fae.”

Elain closed her eyes, clenching them shut to cut herself off from the rest of the world. There was a sharp ringing in her ears, like the aftermath of a bell’s toll. It took all of her willpower not to break down into wretched sobs.

A gentle hand rested on Elain’s back, a comfort as she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.

“Everything is going to be fine,” Vassa lied. The human queen rubbed at the spot between Elain’s shoulder blades, staying close even as her nerves settled.

“Hope is for those who don’t know any better,” Lethe offered, no matter how unwelcome the opinion was.

“Lucien is going to come for us.” Elain said softly, putting her wish into the universe and hoping against all odds that it would become a reality.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #elucien #elain archeron #elain archeron x lucien vanserra #lucien vanserra #eris vanserra #vassa acotar #all you have is your fire #ashes writes sometimes #thank you for reading <3 #sorry this one took a second to be shared #I got stuck writing lucien pov and then remembered I could do what I wanted LOL

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teteminne · 2 months ago

Note

Just passing by to say i miss Flatlands a lot <3

And Happy Halloween! 🤎🧡🤎🎃🦇👻

Hello! I think this ask might just be the perfect place, then, to post a little snippet of the next chapter! Hope you like it (once again, sorry for the long wait) and happy halloween!!

SANSA

The white wind, entwined with snow, swirls around them, against them, chafing at the pale skin of their faces, bitten red, up at the open extension of the Southern parapet. Jon doesn’t outwardly react to the cold despite the purplish tint of his lips and the blue shade of the skin around his eyes. Even Sansa, with her weary body, so prone to inflammation, has at this point grown so accustomed to winter’s bite that neither cold nor pain is quite enough to remind her to shiver. The sable fur of her hat feels soft against her ears; her breath leaves her nose as a white cloud with a stinging sear, and she blinks against the dry burn freezing her eyes’ sclerae without much thought.

The silence between them feels potent, latent with unsaid, implied truths. Though it’d been half a day since, Sansa nearly feels like she’s sitting in her armchair staring at the fire still, ears ringing with the sounds of Jon’s distancing footsteps long after he’s left, like she, a part of the castle, could hear him walking any and everywhere inside Winterfell.

They don’t look directly at each other, gazing far off into the horizon instead. Sansa takes note of how the snow moves in the wind. In a part of her she’s still stunned he’s even here. Waking up, alone in her stagnant bedroom, she’d been distantly haunted by the silliest, most disturbing notion that he’d never returned at all. That she’d leave the room to find Winterfell empty. A senseless paranoia she knew to be untrue. Even so, the sight of him, present and solid, is a relief - despite how purposely they’d not dared touch -.

“Arya’s told me of Baelish’s fate.”

Sansa’s lips twitch despite the bitterness that coats her tongue at the mention, gathering thick as old honey in her throat. The tenseness that fixes her features isn’t grief, at least not as she’d known it till then, but it is something still; she cannot help but feel it, despite everything.

“Were you glad to hear it?”

“Quite.” his immediate answer surprises her, though she does not show it. She strives to keep her composure then when he turns directly to her before speaking again, sharp-eyed: “But what of you?”

“What of me?”

“What are your feelings?”

Sansa blinks against the painful burn in her dry eyes again, looking away, clinging to the self-control that so meagerly comforts her:

“Wouldn’t you like to hear the minutiae of his tragedies?”

“I would like to hear of you. I care little for him or whatever ailed him.” he puts dryly, matter-of-fact. Sansa swallows, feeling raw, exposed. The time for them to go back inside is nearing; she half considers saying they should step back in.

“I’m unsure…” she begins before her voice trails off. What can she say? The scarlet red of his blood appears vividly behind her eyes, the grotesque sight of his felled neck, his rolling head. She feels nauseous with disgust stacked on top of hatred, with all kinds of guilt: something of him lingers still in her body and it sickens her to the core, almost as much as the thin, feeble string of not-quite-grief that twists inside her whenever she remembers how cold is the finality of death. He isn’t coming back. She’s disgusted with herself. “I know not how I feel.” she finally answers, stale; “All I know is that he is dead, and in that I find some relief.”

Jon says nothing, just keeps looking at her. She avoids the piercing darkness of his eye; he can see everything. He can see through her. How horrifyingly delightful it is to be seen, stripped bare: there’s nowhere to hide without his finding her - she’s never been less alone. It strikes a cord deep inside her; makes it rumble. Her chest feels tight.

“Will you tell me of your Southern affairs?” she asks lowly, voice blending with the wuthering howls of the wind. Jon hears her regardless though, and he scoffs, half derisive - if at the subject matter itself or at her poor attempt to divert the conversation, she knows not for sure, but she suspects: there’s a tight, cutting sort of tenseness to the flesh around his eyes that hints at something greater. Sansa waits:

"I was somewhat surprised you did not bring it up yesterday." he remarks, superficially bitter, but inwardly, much more deeply distraught.

She nearly opens her mouth to speak, but is kept from answering by a mute, unnamable force within her that stops her tongue: she cannot speak of yesterday. She chooses a different answer:

"Why didn't you?" she asks instead. Jon’s eyes flash over her, and she can see he knows her feelings at once. He presses his lips flat before saying:

"It wasn't what I wanted to talk about."

Silence once more. They’re only an arm’s length apart. It is a minute before Sansa finally ventures to ask again:

"What happened in Dragonstone, Jon?”

He doesn’t immediately answer. Instead, he looks falsely into the distance, body tense, mouth pursed. His inner turmoil is so thoroughly understood by Sansa as to leave a taste of its bitterness on her tongue. Her patience is boundless; she could wait for him forever, and it’d pain her not.

"You got my last letter, did you not?" he finally speaks.

"Yes, your sole report." Jon's eyes flash to her with some alarm despite how neutral she’d thought her tone. She doesn’t remark upon it: "You bent the knee in exchange for her aid against the dead."

"Which you knew was to happen already, from the beginning." he puts it matter-of-factly, distantly. Sansa aquiesces. Jon nods, turning away again.

"Deep down, so did I." he confesses.

She remains silent for a moment, not knowing how to comfort him.

"You got something from her, though.” she finally strings the words together in soft tones and gentle demeanor, toiling against the risk of, in her tameness, awakening the lonely, but sturdy fiber of pride that strengthens Jon’s heart without acceptance of being denied: “Her aid against the dead. That alone might as well be seen as a win. Should be. That you’d have to bend the knee… there was no escaping it. We should see this result as a victory, then. Your victory."

Jon lets out a blow of a breath that is half a disbelieving laugh, half a scoff. He turns his whole body away from her in a sardonic spin of his heel, and Sansa frowns, nearly taking half a step towards him before she even notices, body stilling in place, brow furrowing tightly.

“Is that what you told the lords?” he asks sardonically, turning back around. “Did it make them despise me any less?”

Sansa makes a face.

“There are many ways this whole endeavor could’ve gone worse, Jon, and not many ways it could’ve gone better. They’ll have to settle with that, as will you.”

They stew in the aftermath of her spirited, stern piece of sense for a moment before, in a low murmur, Jon breaks through the stiffness of their conversation to turn up its soft underbelly: a step back into deeper intimacy. The wind nearly carries the rumble of his voice away:

"Were you angry at me?” Are you? she hears the unsaid words as though a soft whisper in her ear. Sansa falls silent, looking down at the snow-covered stone floors of the Southern walls. Why had they come here? She knows why. All around them, it is only the white plains struggling to override the near-horizon of the Wolfswood that bear witness to this scandal hiding in plain sight. She can hardly bear the thought of bearing the anguish of the anxiety of obsessing over the possibility of there being someone to hear, to see. Something inside her insists in paranoia despite their every effort; she can’t help but think, it’d take a single look…

"Yes." she confirms eventually, simply, even though she’s not angry now, not really, not anymore. She was angry, very angry, at some point, long before. But now… Now that he’s back, right beside her, with her, after so long… The sight of him nullifies any resentment, any frustration, any grief.

But he needn’t know that, of course.

Jon rubs a gloved hand down his beard, over his mouth, eyebrows shooting up in tired exasperation. Sansa watches him.

"Do you wish to lay it down upon me?" he finally questions, tiredly ready, exasperatedly expectant, awaiting. Sansa raises her brows in spirit, though outwardly her face remains the same:

"Must I?” there’s nothing she can say he doesn’t already know. Didn’t already know then, right then, before he ever left. It’d been part of what’d silenced her, all those moons ago: he knew, he knew it all, he was just leaving anyway.

He understands her meaning thoroughly, of course. Of course. He sighs, looking off at the setting sun again. Besides, Sansa thinks, watching him, tracing the sloping lines of his shoulders, the nearly haggard features of his proud visage; he doesn’t want her to chastise him. He’s tired, Sansa can see. Too tired. He doesn’t want her reprimands, nor does he need them, and, in truth, neither does Sansa want to needle him either. Why pursue grievances when it’d please neither? It is her nature; Sansa would rather move on. But before, she must know - she must confirm:

“Why, then? Why did you go?” she wishes her voice could’ve come out stronger, sturdier, firmer. Less willowy, and so insistently sad. Jon’s brow twists in sorrow, in sympathy. She keeps herself looking determinedly away, appalled by the mere idea of having him pity her.

“How could I stay?” his voice cuts through the wind clearly. He couldn’t, she now knows that’s what he thought: he couldn’t possibly. The soft muscles of her face feel stiff as she blinks away the insistent burn from her weary eyes.

“I delusioned myself into perfect obscurity with you gone.” she reveals, still looking away from him. It is impossible, she finds, to discuss this subject, even this vaguely, while looking at him; even pushing herself far away, she still half doesn’t believe the words are leaving her lips: “Fooled myself for moons.” she finishes pointedly, bitterly. Talking about it… it calls every feeling up her gut, in vivid colours. She tries and swallows it all down.

Jon says nothing. She’s nearly glad of it; they’re submerged in dense silence for a moment, looking away from one another.

“Would you have done things differently?” he questions out of nowhere, vowels straining from his mouth in such a way she knows he’d sttruggled against the question, tried not to say it; it had to come out anyway, despite his every inclination. She knows there’s no way she can relieve his embarrassment at having to ask; she can only answer:

“What does it matter?”

It doesn’t satisfy - that is clear in the quick glance he flashes her way -. Sansa surrenders her words further, then, to his relief - only because she knows he needs to hear them: “No one wanted me to decide anything, Jon. They wanted you. They chose you.”

“Some of them might just regret that.” bitterly.

“Only fools regret.” the answer comes easily. Sansa finds, in the silence that follows, that she does believe that, despite all her inner habits of obsessive self-mutilation. The mind can be paradoxically non-sensible; no amount of sage wisdom, no matter how harshly, intellectually acquired, can squash the true expanse of all her guilt. She could die a thousand times without ever atoning: “You’ve done your best. In the end, that is all.” she means it, for his sake, but she fears the words ring empty for him, too.

“What is done is done.” it is the saddest thing he could say, when spoken in the way he says it. Sansa can feel her whole face being weighed down by the brunt of his sorrow.

A long while after, she finally speaks again to call, softly: “We should go back inside.” her extremities feel numb, and her whole body quivers, stiffened. Jon nods at once, bending his head down, into his chest, as he turns to leave, as he’d do when a boy. Sansa’s lips pull softly outward at the sight, the movement very slight.

As they cross the hallways of the castle, shaking off the snow, Sansa wonders, then, why should she be miserable, with him so near? Jon removes his sable fur hat, hair an overlong mess of curls she’s cut herself, once, surrounding his head like a dark halo; what she truly needs is here. As they go, Sansa’s heart sheds a good part of its listless sadness.

#jonsa #flatlands the fic #sansa stark #jonsa fic

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demoiselettes · 2 years ago

Text

To keep warm

Valentine’s Day event, day 6.

Pairing: Tanjiro x reader/Zenitsu x reader/Inosuke x reader

Category: fluff

Warning(s)/note(s): fem! reader

+ This was supposed to be posted on the 14th, but i accidentally deleted Tanjiro’s and Tengen’s oneshot :( i hadn’t included this one in the event, but i had to write something for the last day since i’m cutting the event short by one day. Happy belated Valentine’s Day<3

@brokeniced , @crimsonkenjii-writes , @holywaterforevery3ne

“Tanjiroooo! I can’t walk anymore- my feet will fall off!”

Exhaling loudly through your nose, you listened to Tanjiro assuring Zenitsu that the walk was almost over, when in truth, you had no idea when it’d end.

“Can’t we find one of those stupid Wisteria House or whatever?” Inosuke huffed, but even his voice was weary. The fight with a poison spewing demon had been long and dreary and all four of you were positively incandescent with fatigue. You cast a wishful glance at Nezuko’s box, wishing it were you sleeping inside. It was dark and cold, with no sign of human civilisation anywhere. You didn’t know when of if you’d find an Inn nearby.

“It’s very late,” Tanjiro announced nervously, nostrils flaring as though trying to sniff the air. “I suggest making a stop..”

“HUH?” Zenitsu yelped. “W-where will we sleep? I don’t want to turn into Inosuke!”

“WHAT DID YOU SAY?”

You trotted towards a big tree trunk that had fallen on the ground and plopped down on it. “Let’s set up camp. We don’t have a choice, Zenitsu.”

Very reluctantly, Zenitsu relented and when there came the question of who would go search for kindlings, he immediately vetoed himself out.

“I’m staying with [Name]-chan!” He hastily wrapped his arms around you. “I can’t leave a girl alone at night!”

“I’m a Demon Slayer.”

Laughing, you made no attempt at pushing him away even as Tanjiro scolds him and Inosuke clicks his tongue.

Somewhere along listening to Zenitsu whine about his hard life while spontaneously switching to wanting to get married and waiting for Tanjiro and Inosuke to get back, you nodded off. Not for long apparently.

« Get off her! »

Tanjiro’s familiar voice echoed in your ears. Your body felt warm and heavy.

« But it’s cold! » Zenitsu whined in reply.

You were still half-asleep and didn’t know if you were dreaming or not. But the way your body was being shaken indicated that you were very much awake.

« Oi! Get off and gimme your place! »

« NO YOU GO AND FIND ANOTHER GIRL TO CUDDLE YOU BOAR HEAD! »

« Stop screaming! [Name]-san’s asleep! »

« You’re shouting too! »

You groaned and pulled yourself to sit up at once. Zenitsu yelped.

« Ah, [Name]-san! » Tanjiro fretted. « We’re so sorry we woke you up! » he wasted no time in executing a full bow numerous times. You shifted and felt something crinkle on you. Looking down you realized you’d been draped in Zenitsu’s orange haori like a blanket.

Inosuke merely huffed, walked over to you and promptly yanked a whining Zenitsu off you. “Make way.”

He settled down next to you and copied Zenitsu’s earlier actions, except he got underneath the haori too.

“Inosuke, what the h-“ you protested.

“Monitsu said you’re warm and i’m freezing!”

“That’s not what he meant!” Tanjiro’s face was now nearly scarlet and he waved his hands in front of him frantically. “That’s inappropriate, Inosuke! Let go of-“

“Why does he get to coddle a cute girl?” Zenitsu whined. “You guys are always stealing her attention- that’s not fair!”

You blinked owlishly at Zenitsu, then at a very red Tanjiro, trying not to pay too much attention too Inosuke hugging your arm.

“It’s true!” Continued Zenitsu without any qualms. “The other day she was tending to your injuries and you were-“

“[Name]-san was just being nice!” Tanjiro’s tone matched Zenitsu’s shrill one for the first time since you’d met him.

“What’s there to fight about? I’m obviously her favorite fighter!” Inosuke roared.

“Zenitsu!” you groaned, too tired to listen to them fight. “I was just helping out. If you feel like i’m not paying enough attention to you then here,” you nodded your chin towards your left flank. Zenitsu wasted no time in making a beeline for you, hugging you so abruptly he nearly slammed you into Inosuke (who then slapped him on the head.)

You threw a sly glance at Tanjiro. You couldn’t tell if it was the sleepiness making you think so boldly, but it happened for you to ask: “Do you want to join?”

“I-“ he choked. “I’m alright, th-thank you!”

You stared at him through half-lidded eyes before you gave an eloquent shrug. Inosuke was already snoring and Zenitsu quickly slid down the log to rest his head on your lap, giggling drunkenly. It took a long time, but eventually the three of you had fallen asleep with Tanjiro stating he’d keep watch. When he saw your breathing deepen, he quickly pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his erratic heartbeat. A pang of guilt shot through him when he felt envious of his two friends snuggling up to you. It wasn’t right, but maybe next time he’d accept your proposition.

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #nan’s valentine.#tanjiro x reader fluff #zenitsu x reader fluff #inosuke x reader fluff #kamaboko squad x reader #nezuko x reader #nezuko kamado #tanjiro kamado #zenitsu agatsuma #inosuke hashibira

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scrapsovereign · 9 months ago

Text

Obedience Brings Blessings: Ascended Astarion x Female Tav x Gale Part 1 of 2

Trigger warnings: Not beta read. Extremely NSFW, bondage, dubcon, tentacles, unhealthy relationship dynamics, being really bad at boundaries and feelings, probably dead dove do not eat

Summary: Astarion, still bitter about Tav being elected to the seat of Grand Duchess decides he’s going to teach her a lesson about what embarrassing him in public gets her…with Special Guest Star Headmaster Gale Dekarios of Blackstaff Academy!

Post-Canon, set after the events of the end of Baldur’s Gate 3.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55683643/

As always, I’m sorry.

🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

“Sweet Mother of Magic!” Gale drops the drinks he’s holding, Astarion catching them deftly beneath his hands.

“When you said Tav was tied up for the rest of the day, my assumption was that it was not going to be so literal,” Gale says, flushed with arousal at the sight of Tav tied and bound by scarlet red silken cords to the 4-post bed she shares with Astarion.

“My lady wife wouldn’t have to be if she had been a good girl earlier, isn’t that right pet?” Astarion clips, still angry from her very vocal disagreement with him at the Lord’s Council over the matter of refugee settlement.

It’s humiliating enough that Ulder Ravengard passed him up for one of the empty seats on the council of four, choosing Tav over Astarion.

It was intolerable to be made the fool like he was earlier. If her transgressions were committed in public with an audience present, it’s only fair that the favor be returned in kind.

While she had won the battle this day, she was most certainly going to lose the war. Sex was one of the many tools he had at his disposal for reminding her who was master. Gale in particular was a very effective way to deliver his punishment- it was an open secret how he lusted after the Grand Duchess and her gorgeous husband.

For Gale to remain fully complicit, however, he had to be kept ignorant of the truth behind his involvement.

At least, for now.

“I-I don’t think it’s right for me to be here. This…ah, seems to be a private matter between the two of you and it would be remiss of me to participate any further,” the wizard stammers out.

He tries to step forward and leave but is blocked by a single step of Astarion’s, enraptured suddenly by the dark lidded, predatory stare of the vampire lord.

He takes a sip of the wine, observing the wizard’s body language. There were so many things he could name that would add up to the arousal building at the sight of Tav tied up and wanting in the bed.

The easiest to spot, of course, was the tenting beginning to show in his trousers.

Tav watches her husband in anticipation of what his next words are, anxious to hear where he is leading them when she sees his wicked grin over the lip of the glass.

“Now…Gale,” he drawls out, watching the mage shiver at how he takes care to caress the name with his mouth.

“You’re a man of discerning taste. You see, I’ve been having trouble with finding a befitting punishment for her Grace. I thought, perhaps…you would have something in mind?” Astarion directs his pointed gaze at Tav while he speaks, tracing a finger up and down the line of the erection contained by the dark color of Gale’s clothing.

“Fuck, Astarion…” Gale coughs, almost choking on the wine he had been in the middle of drinking.

“Oh, not yet. Not until she’s endured enough suffering to deserve it. There’s got to be something in that brilliant head of yours,” Astarion’s statement is punctuated by his caressing of the tip of Gale’s clothed penis, fully erect and threatening to peek up through the waistband of his trousers. The mage’s eyes roll to the back of his head, shuddering with his touch, hips twitching forward against Astarion’s hand for purchase.

Tav licks her lips and begins to feel her mouth water. She hates how much this turns her on, even more so now that Gale’s involved. She watches closely for two reasons- the first that it makes her burn with arousal and jealousy, seeing Gale succumb to her husband’s familiar seductions.

The second? She could always use another excuse for a tax write-off for the replacement glassware, and what a better way than to have them destroyed at the mage’s undoing?

Astarion’s eyes are still on her when he pulls his hand away and stashes away the wine glasses to rest on an accent table.

“It’s a stretch, but do you remember that spell we found a month after we were cleaning this tomb? The Evard’s modification?” Gale rasps out, now fully recruited by the vampire ascendant’s seduction.

Tav’s eyes go wide with surprise. He wouldn’t.

“Can’t say I do,” Astarion pouts, tugging Gale closer to him with his fingers curled under his waistband. “Would you be so kind as to give us a demonstration?”

“Don’t even think about it, Gale Dekarios! A gentleman such as yourself would never!” Tav calls out in warning to the Wizard at the foot of the bed.

“One can’t…always be a gentleman,” he sighs out in bliss while Astarion resumes palming his erection.

Tav looks on in horror as Gale effortlessly casts the spell.

She cannot free herself fast enough to avoid the milky tentacles that sprout up around her and begin to wrap themselves around her appendages. One tentacle immediately takes to rubbing her swollen clit while it slides along the slippery expanse of her slit.

“Now remember darling- whatever happens, you can’t cum,” Astarion calls out over the squelching noises and strangled moans only a mere few feet away.

Another voice is panting out small noises of pleasure, softer, closer to him. The wizard’s head is tilted towards the ceiling, eyes closed as Astarion allows him to chase his pleasure against his hand.

“Eyes on her, Gale…don’t you want to admire your marvelous spellwork?” Astarion snatches his jaw turning it in the direction of Tav, the wizard’s eyes flying open in surprise at the aggressive show of dominance.

Gale stops breathing for a moment.

Oh hells, what has he done.

Tav’s struggling has earned her the following: two tentacles wrapped around her legs that thrust languidly in and out of her tight holes, another tentacle that has encircled her hip and has its suckers placed over her clit, and two smaller tentacles that wrap around her breasts that wriggle around the pert and erect buds of her nipples. Her eyes flutter open and shut, fighting to muster the willpower to obey Astarion’s command.

This has to be the most depraved thing he’s ever seen… and heard. The sounds that Tav and Astarion used to wake the whole damn camp with are nothing compared to the obscene noises made only a few feet away from him.

She’s panting out hard through her nose, trying to swallow the moans that rip themselves from her dry vocal cords. The conjuration’s greedy limbs are covered in Tav’s sweat and its own viscous slick- the combination making a squelching and squishing noise from the writhing over her skin and plundering of her entrances.

Good thing Astarion has stopped touching him, another well-placed stroke would have very well ruined his trousers. He thinks he’s in the clear from making a mess of himself until he feels the lips of the other man brushing against the hot, flushed curve of his earlobes.

“She is gorgeous like that, isn’t she? You always do nothing short of extraordinary work. Aren’t you the least bit envious of those tentacles? Wouldn’t you rather be the one defiling her instead of your conjuration?” Astarion purrs, gripping Gale’s face tighter. The mage breathes out with a shudder at the increased pressure, wishing that hand was gripped around his cock.

“I wouldn’t dare to consider the possibility, even in my wildest dreams, especially when she had never been mine to speak of. Not when her heart belonged to another,” Gale’s lovesick mourning earns him a disapproving eye roll from Astarion.

“Oh please. You’ve wanted her hands on the wand in your pants ever since the day she pulled your arm out of that bloody portal. Anyone with eyes could see as such. It’s a simple question, darling. Do you want her, yes or no?” The vampire’s terse reply is the push the mage needed to confess his forbidden desires. Gale is about to speak when the voice of Tav rings out above the unearthly noises of his spell.

“It’s a trap, Gale! He’s planning to use you in more ways than one! Cast Hold Monster and get your magical ass back to Waterdeep!” Tav gasps out, her voice cracking from the overstimulation of the tentacle’s thrusting.

“Such impudence from that pretty little mouth,” Astarion tsks in annoyance. “I don’t suppose you have some way to occupy it?”

Gale’s desire to earn Astarion’s approval has intoxicated him beyond rational thought. What if…he wants to be used? He craves- no, needs it, the hunger for the vampire’s praise rivaling that of the Netherese orb he has recently rid himself of.

“It would be my pleasure.”

The wizard makes a motion of his hands, Tav’s noises of protest are silenced by the sudden intrusion of another appendage that forces its way past her lips. She sobs out in muffled cries, eyes rolled to the back of her head as the elongated, slick length slides back and forth in her mouth.

“Well? What’ll it be, Gale Dekarios?”

Gale pauses, considering the vampire’s offer. He had fantasized about similar scenarios before, his hidden desires placated in the moment by the stroking of his hands. There’s no doubt the dynamic between them will drastically change, and that Astarion certainly would use their tryst to compel them in to doing his bidding in the future.

There’s also a warm bloom of hope in his chest at the chance that he’ll be invited back to their bed if his performance is satisfactory- and maybe the possibility of more between them than just the pleasures of the flesh. He’s worn out and exhausted from resisting temptation for so long, surely giving in to it now won’t ultimately be the ruin of him, will it?

Gale is alight with excitement before he replies, his chocolate eyes tracing the paths of the slick, undulating tentacles that slither over, under, and inside of Tav. She’s going to be terribly angry with him for what he’s about to say to the vampire…

…And it’s going to be worth every last bit of enduring her wrath.

“Yes.”

“Hells, took you long enough. Now that’s out of the way, you are to obey the following rules,” Astarion huffs out a laugh and drags Gale by the waistband until they are standing parallel to the edge of the bed.

“One- she is mine. You are not allowed to touch her, put your lips upon her, or do anything else to her person without my explicit permission,” the vampire’s possessive growl that makes up the first of his commands startles Gale. He knew Astarion didn’t like to share, but he was still surprised at the intensity behind the man’s words.

“Two- you must follow my instructions,” the mage tilts his the side as Astarion continues, squinting in consideration. “…to the letter. I require nothing short of total submission from you, wizard.”

“Three- If you stay, understand that this moment is the point of no return. You have no choice other than to comply. Should you leave, we shall forget all about this. No awkwardness, no ill will. Things will remain the same between us. You have my solemn word,” Astarion waves his hand with a flourish towards the door, offering Gale one last chance at walking away.

“Do I have your consent?”

The vampire watches as Gale looks from him, to Tav, to the bedroom door, and then back to him.

Astarion smiles wickedly at the sound of the bedroom door being locked shut by Gale’s Mage Hand.

“Sounds like a recipe for disaster. But you know what? I'm learning to enjoy the taste of chaos. Count me in. ”

“Splendid! I knew you’d make the right choice,” Astarion grasps on to the fine silks of Gale’s clothing, leaning forward to claim his lips. He slants his mouth against him, feeling the prickles of his impeccably kept beard against his own smooth skin.

Astarion presses closer to him, hearing Gale moan with relief as he plunges his tongue in the wizard’s pliant, willing mouth. It’s nothing short of vulgar, almost like he was trying to lick the very last drops of blood from the bottom of a champagne flute. He twitches his hips ever so slightly, their aching erections barely rubbing against one another.

He gives Gale a little shove away from him when the wizard returns the swipe of his tongue, their combined saliva tricking at the corner of his mouth.

“Remove your clothing and place it at the foot of the bed,” Astarion intones coldly.

The transition from passionate kiss to frigid instruction is jarring to the wizard. He is about to open his mouth to object when Astarion puts his index finger against his plush, soft lips to shush him.

“Remember…you agreed to follow my instructions…to the letter. Strip. Now. I won’t ask again,” the edge beginning to creep in the vampire’s voice makes Gale’s throat dry- he did agree to being on his very best behavior.

Gale removes his clothing, all of it, as instructed.

A cruel, toothy smile that Gale hasn’t seen since the goblin camp when the priest of Loviatar flogged Tav spreads across Astarion’s face.

The vampire’s lustful eyes leave no surface of his skin unobserved. Gale shudders in anticipation when he sees him swipe his tongue across his upper teeth, eyebrow raised in appreciation for every inch of his figure. It’s a confidence boost for Gale to see Astarion’s reaction, he’s been rather self conscious lately about the softness that has replaced the lean and starved man he once was.

“On your knees.”

Gale willingly sinks down without a single thought. He is reflecting how at peace he feels, focused on Astarion when the vampire grabs him by the face. A manicured, painted thumb presses against his flush lips and Gale parts them for entry. The vampire that looms above him chuckles darkly while he holds down his tongue.

Astarion looks to Tav, meeting his eyes with hers. Oh, she is furious. She’s cursing him with the foulest phrases she knows in between gagging on the tentacle that fucks her throat. How ironic it is that he has such power over her. The Grand Duchess of Baldur’s Gate, the great hero of the city continuing to endure this debauchery at his behest.

He laughs, the bright and beautiful sound floating above her muffled voice.

“See how good he is for me, my love? No smart mouth, no fighting...look at how beautifully he submits to me. Obedience brings blessings- what would you like as your reward, dear mage? Would you like to taste her?” His question earns an enthusiastic nod, but it’s not the response he wanted.

“I want nothing more,” the wizard affirms, having intended that to be his reply.

Astarion knows he’s holding back. He clears his throat, prompting the wizard to speak up while he looks down at him expectantly.

“Use your words. Tell me what you desire, don’t spare any of the details,” Astarion’s eyes twinkle with malicious intent. Yes, it’s obvious he’s trying to humiliate the wizard, but he’s also assessing the extent of his depravity…which he suspects runs deeper than even Gale himself knows.

“To answer your inquiry- my desire is to be with you, both of you, in any sense of the definition you find acceptable and agreeable. There is no act too depraved for me if it brings you both pleasure, it matters not if I can be by your side.”

Gale bows his head then, taking in a shaky breath to keep the tears that sting his eyes at bay.

“May you both forgive me, but I…I’ve had feelings for you both, for quite awhile. I’m terrified of them and what it could possibly mean. I'm only beginning to forget the pain that I bore for so long in the wake of my complicated relations with Mystra. In fact, that’s the first time in months I’ve mentioned her name outside of an academy lecture. I fear the pain in my chest I suffered at the hands of the orb has been replaced by a bittersweet ache that is only relieved in your company,” he pauses for a moment to think after his confession. Astarion is clearly offering something to him he’s long desired. The wizard would do well to be as specific as possible.

“At present, I do find myself quite curious on the subject of if Tav could endure a little more pleasure from the ministrations of my talented tongue,” The end of Gales’s monologue is punctuated by Tav’s muffled groaning.

If he listens closely, he might be able to make out a ‘Gale, no, please’ despite her currently occupied mouth.

“I suspected as much, and I may permit you the indulgences you seek. But first, we'll need to see if that ‘talented tongue’ of yours is worth pleasuring her with,” Astarion takes two fingers and runs them along the overstimulated sex of Tav, coating them in a mixture of tentacle slime and the clear slick of her juices.

“Open up,” Astarion instructs, shoving the slick digits in to Gale’s inviting mouth.

Gale emits a noise of surprise from the flavor. It’s unexpected but not unwelcome- a delicious combination of something tangy, salty, and a little sweet. Gale wraps his tongue around Astarion’s fingers, eagerly lapping with his tongue and sucking until he has consumed every last drop.

He whimpers in disappointment when Astarion withdraws his fingers, looking on in confusion when the other man begins unlacing his trousers.

“Oh, my sweet wizard,” Astarion chuckles, “That wasn’t the trial itself- it was only to see if you were worthy of the opportunity. If your mouth is as good to my cock and I find it satisfactory, you’ll have your reward as promised,” he says reassuringly, amused by the wizard’s adorable response to his teasing.

Taking his erection in hand, Astarion can see that he is already salivating for a taste. He languidly strokes himself, watching Gale’s eyes trace the length of him with his movements.

“Put your hands behind your back,” he instructs as he peers down, admiring the pretty flush that blooms on the other man’s cheeks. Gale is so, so beautiful like this, flushed and hanging on to his every command. Astarion hums, drunk on power, musing it’s almost as if he was made to serve him.

Holding himself out in front of Gale’s face, he watches on as the human leans forward to take a timid lick at where the head meets the shaft. Astarion’s cock twitches in response, and Gale replies with another lick on the underside with the flat of his tongue from base to tip. He stops just underneath the head, pressing his lips to the sensitive spot and flicks his tongue across it.

Astarion throws his head back and gasps in delight, his hips stuttering against the slow circles of the wizard’s ministrations.

“Hells, Gale…stop your wretched teasing and take me in your mouth.”

The corners of Gale’s mouth quirk upwards while he looks up at him innocently, mouth open, tongue pressed up at the base of his tip. Astarion gasps softly when his lips close around him, beginning a pattern of moving slightly down the shaft, tracing the underside with the tip of his tongue, and swirling around the head.

“That’s it, that’s my good boy,” the vampire purrs, moving his hips in time with the rhythm Gale sets.

His nimble fingers release the fine clasps and buttons of his jacket and waistcoat, exposing the lean, sculpted muscles underneath. He’s glad he chose not to bother with a shirt that day, the current trappings of his embroidered and jeweled silks suddenly too warm with Gale taking him in so well.

Gale begins moving deeper, increasing the pace, hollowing his cheeks ever so slightly as he bobs his head back and forth. Astarion groans in bliss, his hands gently raking through the hair of the man working his length with a lewd slurp. They wander to cradle the sides of Gale’s face, looking down at the mage’s glassy brown eyes that stare up at him in adoration.

“Tav, my love, it would be…unfair to keep him all to myself,” Astarion barely breathes out, never breaking eye contact with Gale.

Tav sobs out in frustration around the flesh of the conjuration in reply, now having been pushed well beyond her breaking point. The fight in her has been completely drained by the strain of resisting her peak the tentacles threatened her with over and over again. She’d give anything to feel the immense relief of her release at this point.

If Gale licking her to completion is what it’s going to take, she’s more than willing to participate.

Astarion cards his hands again through Gale’s windswept, sweaty locks before he grabs and pulls. The sensation elicits a low moan from Gale that vibrates deliciously around him. He greedily considers how good it would feel to have him moaning wantonly around him, absolutely certain that he can wrest more from the wizard.

Extending his leg forward, the vampire puts the bottom of his shoe to rest against Gale’s painfully hard length. He swipes at it with the flat of his leather soles, gasping out in delight from the deeper, louder vibrations that make up Gale keening around his cock. The sensation is incredible, he needs more, deeper…

“Relax your throat, darling. Prepare yourself- I’m not going to be gentle,” Astarion croons softly to Gale, stroking the back of his other hand against his cheek.

Taking a fistful of hair in his grasp again, he begins thrusting his hips with force, watching as Gale closes his watering eyes in concentration. Oh no, that won’t do at all.

“Eyes on me, yes, that’s good…oh Gale, oh hells you’re so, so good for me,” Astarion rasps out, brutally pounding the wizard’s quivering mouth that dribbles with spit, looking down at his pleading, watery eyes.

Gale loses focus at hearing Tav’s sobbing over his spell that had continued to ravage her. He momentarily forgets he has Astarion’s rock hard length between his lips and involuntarily gags. The vampire cries out in ecstasy with the muscular contractions of the wizard’s throat that threatens to eject him, continuing the unrelenting pace he had set.

He notices the rutting he had felt against the bottom of his shoe stills as Gale obediently struggles to keep from heaving the contents of his stomach from the assault he endures. He’s trying so very hard to be such a good boy, continuing to take Astarion in despite the protesting of his body.

Gale’s submission alone could have made him spill his warm seed down the wizard’s throat, but he has a better idea.

He pulls out of his abused mouth with a sickening pop, wrenching free the hand that had been pulling on his hair. Astarion gives the wizard a moment to cough, catch his breath, and quell his roiling nausea before issuing his next command.

“Dispel the tentacles.”

Gale does as he is told, barely able to rasp out the incantation while he tries to steady his breathing. Tav takes a deep gasping breath herself, followed by a sputtering cough.

Leaving the wizard where he is, Astarion strides over to the other side of the bed, removing the rest of his finery as he reaches the opposite post where Tav is restrained.

She’s a mess. A beautiful one, but still a mess. Her skin glistens with sweat and tentacle slick, breasts bobbing and jiggling with the heaving of her chest, tears leaking out the sides of her lovely, flushed face. Her expression is tensed with eyes squeezed shut, softening as he leans over and gently kisses her forehead.

“Tav, darling, you didn’t cum with all that excitement did you?” He runs his fingers through hair damp with sweat, moving any errant strands that had plastered themselves to her forehead away from her face.

Tav whispers out a barely audible no, her head shaking as she speaks.

“Marvelous. You did splendidly following my directions, my sweet,” he kisses her gently on her bruised lips as a reward, breaking the tender kiss to untie the restraint closest to him that holds her to the bed.

Her muscles relax for a moment in anticipation that she’s finally free, tensing again when he scoops her up and sits her on the edge of the bed facing Gale. She furrows her brow in suspicion when he secures her to the other post with a sideways glance.

Before Tav has the time to think of the question she wants to ask, he is sitting on the edge of the bed beneath her, holding her by the waist, her slick entrance lined up with his tip.

“Only a little bit more, treasure,” he murmurs, pressing tender kisses against her shoulder blade to relax her. He sinks her down slowly with a huff, relishing the perfect arch of her back against his chest as he penetrates deeper into her throbbing warmth. Hooking his legs underneath hers, he pries her knees apart carefully, feeling her sink only a bit further down with the change in the angle.

He points and snaps his fingers, a direction for Gale to move in between them. The mage settles in between her legs, fixated on where Astarion fills her slick, heated center.

“Do you want this, Tav?” His question is gentle, speaking to her as if she was a frightened stray cat he was coaxing with a bit of food. She feels the warm, reassuring hands of the wizard rest on top of her thigh.

The lusty, dewy brown eyes that look up to her hide a tempest of emotions. There’s mostly desire, but also sadness, longing- and something else that Tav knows has remained unspoken since the day they met.

Being honest with herself, she has her own storm of mixed feelings she is finally able to recognize now that her every thought isn’t commanding her body not to climax. While she brushes off her arousal as an unavoidable side effect of the events that have played out, she finds she’s actually fairly angry with the two men.

Astarion’s brand of bullshit she was used to. While she’s unhappy about his corruption of Gale in whatever game he’s playing at, she knows she can usually work with him by patiently enduring things like this or giving him space until he’s ready to talk.

But Gale? He says all the right things and might even believe them, but when he gets pushed by that stupid, sexy vampire he goes willingly without a fight.

Gale isn’t fooling her with this shy and sweet act, staring up at her like a sad puppy dog. How dare he ask for her consent now, well after his magic violated her, working her up into a shaking, wanton, furious mess?

Astarion and Gale are to entirely to blame for the state she’s in, and they’re going to fix it.

“Listen to me, Gale Dekarios of Waterdeep, and listen well. If neither of you doesn’t finish what you’ve started, you’ll wish I was still bound by these ropes,” Tav bites out, her fury aimed to pierce like an arrow through the wizard’s bleeding heart.

“Can you believe what I have to deal with? It seems you have your answer, Gale,” Astarion laughs out in amusement. He licks a stripe up the salty skin of her neck and flicks his hips upwards, a lewd cry escaping her.

“Shh, little love. Let him take care of you,” Astarion gives a nod to Gale, granting him permission. The wizard hesitates for a moment when he hears Tav whimpering above him, feeling the warm puff of his exhale against her sensitive sex.

If she’s already this worked up, Gale’s going to have to go slow and be gentle so she can really enjoy all he has to offer. He wipes a broad stripe up with his tongue to tease her with the lightest amount of pressure, catching the base of Astarion’s length that slowly rocks inside of her.

He smiles to himself when he hears both of them cry out for him. Experiencing the real thing is so much better than the major illusion of this exact same situation he had cast months ago.

He cycles through a series of different types of licking patterns to figure out what Tav likes, settling at a rhythm that involves broad, sloppy circles around her folds, across Astarion, and then suckling at her engorged clit white he teases it with the softest swipes of his tongue.

He looks up at them again.

Tav’s breasts are bouncing in circles as Astarion fucks up into her. Her head bends back to rest against his shoulder as the vampire cuts a shallow laceration with his teeth on her neck. They both groan sinfully when he fastens his mouth to her, sucking a bruise that begins to bloom on her skin.

“Isn’t he gorgeous like this, darling? Worshipping us with his tongue? Needy and wanting? He’s devouring you- almost like it’s not enough,” Astarion murmurs, breathless against the next set of purple marks he makes.

“You want more, don’t you, Gale? If only you could feel this delightful cunt of hers clamping down around my cock,” Astarion gasps out, his voice strained as he increases the pace of his thrusting.

Gale coughs while his mouth is fastened over Tav’s clit, choking from the filthiness of Astarion’s words.

“To say that I haven't imagined it would be a lie,” he rumbles in between lapping at her folds and the underside of Astarion’s penis. The added sensation with his speech makes her arch her back and whine against the vampire.

Speaking of Astarion- to Gale’s ears, he sounds like he might be closer to climax than Tav is. The indecent moans and gasps of the vampire and his consort is the sweetest music he’s ever heard. Gale focuses his attention on him, sucking and flicking the base of the length drenched in Tav’s slick.

That’s all it takes for Astarion to climax with a shout, the noise muffled by the curtain of Tav’s sweaty hair that he has his face pressed against.

Astarion’s chest heaves while he rides out the aftershocks of the orgasm that shook him, kissing up and down Tav’s temples, her neck, and her shoulders like a man possessed. The wizard wastes no time lapping up the salty, tangy, slightly sweet fluids that begin to leak out of Tav’s throbbing sex.

Watching them with his face coated in their slick, the wizard is enthralled at the sight of how thoroughly she is ravished. He finds it interesting that Tav hasn’t climaxed yet, but Astarion has- if he was in her place (and he wishes he was) he probably wouldn’t been able to stop from cumming.

Gale quirks up an inquisitive eyebrow when she continues to try and ride the front of his face, and teases her in return with an agonizingly slow swipe of his tongue.

“Insatiable, isn’t she? What do you say, my little love? Do you want to feel him inside you?” Astarion’s question goads the wizard on to resume his feast on her folds, but it sends the alarm bells ringing again inside Tav’s head.

She silences them. She knows this is a trick question meant to trap her. Honestly, she doesn’t care who it is- she just needs someone to fill her and give her the release she desperately craves.

“Don’t make me beg, please Astarion,” she whimpers, thrusting her hips greedily at Gale’s mouth.

“You already are, my love…,” he murmurs against the shell of her ears, nipping at the cartilage while he withdraws from her.

Gale is just barely able to stand up on his shaky, tingling legs.

The vampire looks up at him with a dangerous, half-lidded gaze, issuing an unspoken invitation as he wraps his arms around her, thighs held open wide with his own and drenched with the evidence of their coupling.

“You may take your pleasure from her, but you are forbidden from emptying yourself in her- that is for me alone.”

He is hyper-aware of how Astarion watches him like prey, following the bob of his adam’s apple as he gulps nervously. Gale thinks he might spill on to the carpet at that moment with the other man’s demands.

Taking his aching, drooling cock in hand he steadies himself above them, pressing against Tav’s slippery entrance. Gale’s breath hitches as he presses the head of his length in slowly, her hot, throbbing core pulling him deeper until he meets resistance.

He is about to ask if Tav’s okay and if she really wants this when Astarion surges forward to kiss him, grabbing his throat to hold him in place while he hungrily claims his lips.

The hand around his throat releases him, Astarion breaking the kiss when he begins to pump his hips cautiously back and forth.

“I think she can take more than that, can’t you, pet?”

She nods in wordless agreement. He’s bigger than she’s used to, the foreign stretch of him inside her giving way to a fullness that she finds she needs more of, harder, and faster. She ruts against him desperately to encourage him to pick up his pace and pull him deeper inside her.

“Gods, Gale…don’t you dare hold back, not now, not after all this,” she cries out, struggling weakly against the vampires’s chest. Gale casts mage hand again, this time to work the swollen bud in between Tav’s legs in circles.

Gale works up to a frantic pace, and the next thing he knows his hands are on her knees, spreading them apart. Her tense muscles relax and give way, rubbing against and past the euphoric smoothness of what he can only assume is her cervix. She very nearly screams when he does so, begging him not to stop.

He thrusts with all the heartbreak, all the bittersweet missed moments where he could have told her but every time he tried he couldn’t speak. Her thighs shake underneath his hands and she clenches tighter around him as he continues to batter the spot deep within her.

Gale is lost, unsure of where he ends and she begins.

He is starting to fall over the edge when he finds the strength to speak his unrequited truth to her, a feeling that’s tortured him ever since he laid eyes on her.

“Tav, I love you- I love you so, so much...”

Astarion’s eyes flash red for a moment, an animalistic, possessive growl rumbling at the back of his throat.

“Mine.”

He shoves Gale away from her.

Astarion watches with a sneer as the wizard spills his ruined orgasm over his abdomen. Gale covers his red-hot face in shame with his forearm, poorly disguising the tears that stream from his eyes. He lays back on the imported rug that broke his fall, gasping for air, throat dry and breathless.

Their attention falls on Tav, who had come so close again, only to be denied her release once more.

“Astarion, Gale…I don’t care how you work it out between the two of you, just…please, I need more, damn you…” Tav begins to weep, her anger giving way to desperate sobs. Astarion strokes her hair, kissing her tears away, caressing the side of her face.

“My sweet, were you still following my instructions? Were you not able to finish because of what I said earlier?”

“I held back for you, because I thought that’s what you wanted…you hadn’t given me permission…” Tav curls up in Astarion’s arms, burying her tear streaked face in his chest.

Astarion sighs contentedly at her confession. It’s truly a decadent feeling to ruin a Grand Duchess and a former Archmage at the same time, training and breaking them so they are willing and eager to please him. With these two wrapped around his finger, he could easily become the most powerful person on the continent of Faerun. No bloody titles needed.

Holding her to him firmly, he presses a kiss to the sweaty locks of his most precious thing.

“Shh now, little love. Let’s get you out of these restraints, I think we’ve had enough of these for one day…”

#astarion #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 smut #astarion fanfic #astarion fanfiction #ascended astarion #really darling tentacles again?#astarion x gale x tav

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inkblot-inc · 1 year ago

Text

A Simple Meet-Cute

Summary: A slow night at your job picks up with the presence of a certain woman in red, this meeting also serves as the precedent for your life-course to shift...

Pairing: ???Wanda Maximoff x Hyena!Mutant!Reader

[S.S AU Masterlist]

Warning(s): Dark Themes; there's no smut in this one, but this is an 18+ AU aka MINORS DNI. To start we got depictions of breaking bones (not in depth, but it’s there, suggestion of murder, mention of mutant trafficking (did I really go back there again? Yeah, but this time with a dash of discrimination toward mutants), let’s see… language and general violence, cuz hey, you know what I get up to...kinda-

Note(s): This timeline-wise is way before "The Bigger Picture". I figure after I had my medias res moment, I wanted to go ahead double back to show how Wanda and R met. Were they done around the same time? Yes….And your point? I'll also go ahead and say that they're both a part of the Scarlet Syndicate AU. The masterlist should be up pretty soon, and I hope you enjoy this one :3

Word Count: in the realm of 1.8k

*squints* I give NO ONE permission to repost or translate my work. Make your own shit!

Mutants. The next evolution in human genetics can manifest at any time and take many forms. Some develop their mutations when they're in the throes of puberty or while in adolescence. Others have had their mutation since they were born or haven’t had them appear until they’ve gone into adulthood.

In this world, humans far outnumber mutants in population, and people are more content to ostracize those who are mutants, as man has well been known to fear and even hate what they do not understand...

“Table seven is clear, hon,” You turned to see Miss Monica pointing to the back area. Nodding, you grabbed your rag and made your way to the newly unoccupied table littered with pools of water left by sweating drinks and crumpled napkins.

It was only maybe a quarter past eight, but the bar was already running thin with patrons. The quieter hum of voices compared to the usual clambering of laughter and muddled conversation clued you in to the change easily. As you cleaned, you caught a glimpse of the designated VIP section of The Photon Call. There you saw a small group that had been there for at least two hours now.

The woman at the head of the table was dressed in a form-fitting burgundy suit paired with a glossy black heel, blacked out sunglasses framing her face. A muted fruity smell with a hint of something else followed her stride. She came in with two men and another woman, who were all dressed formally. Monica merely nodded toward the woman when they came in before she had Jimmy lead them to the VIP area.

Looking at the group now, you noticed their “leader” of sorts had now taken off her sunglasses, moving some of her auburn hair out of her face. Her green eyes were just visible in the lower light. They had an extra person with them who was sitting across from the woman dressed in deep red. This man you remembered from a short time ago. he came in some time after the group he was now seated with. he was a bit of a crude figure, and he’d been rather transparent about his distaste toward you, his nose turned up at your short tail and pronounced ears as you directed him to the VIP area. You’d been privy to a few choice words muttered under his breath as well.

There was a light sheen on his forehead now that there wasn’t before, now that they'd all finished eating. His scent was more pungent as well; he’s nervous now, and a bit fearful. Though his posture is upright, there was a stiffness to his movements when he was speaking. It was a stark contrast to the others sitting at the table who remained confident and relaxed, though you noticed the growing boredom and aggravation from the head lady as she swirled the drink in her glass lazily.

When the gray-haired man finished speaking, the woman across from him simply raised a brow and checked the watch on her wrist. The other woman in the seat next to her, who was also a redhead, shifted in her seat. Her aggravation had been there since he’d started talking.

The leading woman set her glass down lightly, “Your offer has already been considered and denied, Hayward. I have other matters to attend to, so I believe we’re done here.”

The bluntness and brevity of her statement noticeably took the man aback as he floundered for his words. “B-but you have to understand, Wanda! This is for the benefit of the company-”

“What I understand is you can’t take a hint, Tyler. You call me out past my business hours, which should be well known to you, to propose an increase in mutant laborers as a ludicrous idea to increase production rates for my company. You also know my stance on such practices, which is why I’m left confused as to why you thought I would agree to it to begin with. I wonder if you’re having a gargantuan lapse in judgment, or if you’re really at the meeting point where bold meets stupid.”

The woman, Wanda, remained unflinching as the older man, Hayward, abruptly got up from his seat in outrage. Your hand slowed wiping down the booth seats as you noticed a spike in anger and resentment along with a feeling you’ve come to recognize as violent intent. The other redheaded woman shifted forward a bit, probably as a natural response. Hayward’s back was to you, and he garnered a lot of attention all on his own, so no one really noticed you move closer behind him.

“You don’t think you’ll defer to me? With one call my associates and I make motion to flip your company around on you so fast it'd make your head spin. So, I'll tell you what, you little bitch-”

It was when he went to move and touch Wanda that you restrained the man, your rag wrapped around his wrists and his arms behind his back. His right arm was now bent in a weird way, the connected shoulder probably came out of its socket, but that didn’t make you stop. All the while, Wanda and the people with her remained calm, if a bit surprised.

Wanda raised a brow at the actions of this new person restraining one Tyler Hayward. Now, Natasha warned her that her own senses were going off due to Hayward’s visible increase in anger, and she didn’t need to read the man’s mind to confirm it. Had he gotten anywhere close to harming her or was even capable of it, she would have ended him not even with a flick of her wrist.

But now she’s simply watching you effectively take the unsuspecting man to the floor, both of his arms were bent oddly and essentially broken at this point. A twisted growl streamed out of your mouth with sporadic hiccups here and there. Hayward continued to hurl threats at you as you kept your knees on the backs of his thighs, keeping him from moving.

Nothing seems to register as you simply looked up at Wanda and those with her, eyes shifting between each of them to make sure they weren't disturbed. You kept Hayward’s broken arms locked behind his back with one hand, reaching around and forcefully gripping his face with the other; shutting him up for the most part. You hunched over Hayward’s shoulder and turned his head to face you with your eyes meeting his, your eyes now giving off a dull orange glow.

Followed by what might be considered a misplaced giggle passing your lips, Wanda watched as Hayward seemed to fold in on himself. His thrashing to retaliate turned into a struggle to seemingly just get away from your gaze.

"Done yet?" Your voice came out low and close to his ear, and you heard his heart rate pick up further as your hand clenched harder in his hair.

‘Please, please, please! I don’t want to be here! I have to get out, dammit!’

It was odd for all of them to see this sudden change in attitude, no doubt caused by the mutant busboy who still had yet to say a word to them directly.

You looked up to see Wanda and those with her rising from their seats, the two men moving toward your form still holding Hayward to the floor. The old man was basically blubbering at this point, almost incoherent due to his erratic breathing.

“I believe Sam and Bucky can handle things from here. Do you mind?” Wanda’s voice was even as she spoke to you. You moved off of Hayward’s body and out of the way for, who you now know as Sam and Bucky, to heave him off of the ground. “Take him out back boys. We’ll let Monica know on our way out, give her a heads up before we send in the sweepers.” Her gaze settled on you as you stood up from the floor. You felt a spike of curiosity coming from the woman left with her that only persisted when Wanda stepped closer to you.

Wanda eyed you up and down as your eyes shone back at her. “I’d like to thank you for your assistance, regardless of the necessity. I don’t think I’ve seen you work at Monica's bar before,”

You gave a single nod, “I’m new.” Your voice was gravelly and clipped, Wanda noticing that there was noticeable scarring around your throat that would lead one to assume you sustained an injury of some kind.

Looking into your mind was its own venture. Your immediate memories were a mirror of the events that transpired, the people talking in them making unintelligible noises, not unlike the adults in Peanuts cartoons.

The further back Wanda looked, the fuzzier they got, like the hippocampus was affected directly. There were some that were clear as day: The day your father traded you to the prime minister of Niganda for his own freedom. Your first days under a “Dr. Paine” and your short-lived freedom after the lab was taken down. Some of your time in mutant trafficking including a few of the “masters'' who had you. A clear recollection of the man who had your vocal cords clipped for being mouthier than he’d like. The day you escaped, and finally to the day Monica found you wandering Mutant Town before hiring you here about a month ago.

These "core memories" were on a subconscious and grating loop in your mind so that you couldn't forget them. Everything else in between was basically lost as it was like trying to look through frosted glass. There was little direction and purpose other than surviving to the next day.

Equal parts distressing and intriguing to say the least…

As Wanda spent the last minute or so staring you down, your focus shifted to the woman behind Wanda. You didn’t catch her name, but you know she was a mutant based off of the distinct sweet smell complimenting her rainwater and pine trail.

They’re obviously close; she hasn’t stepped away from Wanda’s side once. Not too many humans would willingly put themselves in the company of mutants. Guess you can count this Wanda woman among those in the minority along with a few others like your boss.

When Wanda comes back to the present, she stares at you with a new light in her eyes as they dipped down to your nametag. “I like you, Y/n. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing more of each other.” She rested a hand on your shoulder and suddenly you smelled a change in her scent- no, it became clearer.

Wanda’s scent was a sugar-coated apricot with a spike of cinnamon as it accented the air around her, then it hit you:

Wanda is also a mutant.

And somehow you knew you’d remember her for the long haul.

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