#reflection | i have been the hunter; i have been the prey | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

madschiavelique · 11 months ago

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𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐛 — 𝟏

⟢﹒ pairing : matt murdock x vigilante!reader x frank castle

⟢﹒ summary : you’d met them, became their teammate, and the one night you got severely wounded, they took you to their place to patch you up.

⟢﹒ content warnings : i am not a doctor nor do i have any knowledge on how to take care of wounds like that properly so very inaccurate patching up session, mentions of blood, wounds, mentions of needle (to saw reader’s wound), afab!reader, stubborn reader, but stubborn frank, no use of y/n, not proofread

⟢﹒ word count : 7,2k

⟢﹒ note : this is the first part of a 2shot where the second part will be a smut with hunter/prey dynamic ! have a good read <;33

⟢ next part : here

The clouds were brown tonight, covering the inky blackness of the sky like a mass of cotton gathering up the streetlights of Hell's Kitchen. Everything seemed to be reflecting off a lake, the puddles of rain from earlier in the day having settled on every rooftop in the city in a myriad of mirrors.

It was quiet, abnormally quiet even. Hell's Kitchen wasn't exactly your typical idyllic holiday destination; on the contrary, it was the place to flee if you had the chance. Crime had its patch on every street corner, and not a single day or night went by without something happening.

But now, nothing. No problems. No calls for help. Just the calm of an evening.

Sitting on the edge of a roof, your legs dangling boredly in the air, you listened to your little radio set beside your thigh, hoping that one of the police stations would report a problem. But everything was peaceful.

It had already been a few months since you had taken on the attire of the night, taken on the role of vigilante in Hell's Kitchen, and every evening you found yourself chasing crime out of town like a broom sweeping dust out of the way.

It wasn't necessarily an easy rhythm. After an already long day at work, you usually tried to get some sleep before starting your patrol. You'd realised that although there was no particular time for crime, most of them started after midnight.

But it was already one o'clock in the morning and there was nothing to report. You wondered whether perhaps you were doing your job as a vigilante too well. If you did, this kind of evening was set to happen, because if you did eradicate every crime all at once, there wouldn't be any left for later. The bitter reassurance that, unfortunately, crime, born since the dawn of time, would only die with men, gripped your heart.

The pace of it all was sometimes exhausting, but the advantage of all this was that you weren't really working alone any more. At first, the idea of joining forces with anyone to bring justice to the world of night seemed complicated, for several reasons.

Firstly, coordination: having team-mates implied having a certain connection so that even without words being spoken, everything ran smoothly.

And secondly, attachment. An environment like this where every night can be your last if you don't keep a minimum of vigilance can prove destructive. It would be too painful to lose an ally, and even more so if it was your turn to leave and they found themselves grieving.

But colleagues - no, partners? Friends? Whatever, the allies you found on certain nights were probably the most resilient human beings you'd ever met, to the point where the very thought of them dying was impossible. After all, when you're working with two people who have both withstood a bullet to the head and who are sure of themselves, you can't help but feel safe - or very small and miserable in their presence.

You had met them on patrol when the sounds of banging and groans of pain could be heard in an alleyway. Immediately, you had split the sphere of your personally modified Bolas and had helped in the fight after observing the side you had to take. Recognising criminals had become like a sixth sense, but above all you had recognised Daredevil's outfit in the semi-darkness and the silhouette that appeared to be that of Frank Castle.

You were familiar with the work of both of them, had seen enough of their appearances in the newspapers and heard their actions on the radio enough to know that the two men fighting the dozen or so others below were none other than these two.

You had helped them, immobilising a man here, strangling a man of the thread of your bolas there, while the two acolytes were both taking part in the fight. It was only at the end of the latter that the barrage of questions began.

"Who are you?" was of course the first question Matt asked.

"Who do you work for?" was the first question Frank raised, naturally.

It didn't take too long for you to explain that crime was swarming around the city like cockroaches in a dirty carpet and that you wanted to clean up just like them.

Frank was suspicious, Matt was calm, and you were sweating buckets, dreading their every reaction. They weren't exactly idols to you, but you had great respect for them.

It was when Matt agreed that you were sincere and that there was nothing to fear about you that Frank relaxed a bit, without letting go of his grouchy and suspicious attitude. You'd assumed at first that Frank wouldn't appreciate such a radical change of routine that included bringing a new member into the evening vigilante group, but Matt had assured him that having one more person would allow them to be more effective.

And soon, you'd be meeting up from time to time in the evening if you were lucky enough to bump into each other.

First, you didn't reveal your identity immediately. There was a kind of silent agreement between the three of you on the subject. Of course, Frank's identity was no longer a mystery, but Matt's remained particularly anonymous for a long time.

Once enough trust had been established for Frank not to grumble at you at every given occasion, you were officially introduced.

You learned that Matthew Murdock was a blind lawyer with very heightened senses, and that Frank Castle lived with him, taking on a series of remote jobs under a different identity since his name was not really known in a very positive way.

You didn't see each other outside of work, often too busy with your own lives to find time to see each other, even if you didn't discuss your free time... at first anyway.

You had exchanged phone numbers, in case an emergency arose and you suddenly needed help. Your exchanges were very cordial, sending addresses or locations when help was needed or to investigate something suspicious.

The first much less professional encounter was on a more turbulent night than the others, when you were cut badly on the leg, flank and arm, with an additional cut to your lip from a punch.

According to Matt, your costume was similar to the one he wore when he first started as Daredevil. Dark clothes, something to hide your face and combat boots, needless to say that with just these to cover you up, you were extremely vulnerable.

When the fighting stopped, you didn't even have time to wince in pain that Matt was already beside you with a glove off and removing his helmet as Frank observed the situation.

"How bad is it?" Frank had asked, tilting his head to the side as the fabric covering your body darkened with blood.

"As bad as it looks to you and feels to me," Matt sighed as his fingertips brushed the skin of your side.

"It's all right," you assured them, moving slightly away from Matt and his touch, "really, it's fine."

"Are you sure? You look like you can barely walk properly." Matt had asked, obviously knowing that no, everything wasn't all right.

Probably because he'd used that speech over and over again himself, that and the simple fact that your body looked like a cute little pinocchio with a nose extended to its ears.

"Yeah yeah, no big deal - argh!" you started before Frank put his hand on the gaping wound in your arm. “Hey!”

"No big deal, eh? If it was no big deal ya wouldn't be reacting like this."

"It's nothing, really."

You had no idea if you sounded convincing… well, from the look on both their faces, you weren’t. Frank crossed his arms over his chest, looking you up and down as he bit the inside of his cheek.

You felt tiny under his gaze like that, barely lifting your eyes to look into his. There was a dark insistence in his stare, and you could tell he was frustrated, only whether it was about you or the situation in itself you weren't sure.

"What d’you say Red ?" he said after seconds that felt like minutes.

You turned to Matt, his gaze fixed as usual on a point in the void. But that didn't stop his eyes from being expressive, and the rest of his face reinforced them. You watched in the half-light the way his jaw muscles twitched in the lamplight and your heart fell in your stomach.

"Our flat is closer to here than hers," was what he ended up saying.

Your heart went right back up your chest as you blinked fast, frowning at the sentence he had so casually said.

"I'm sorry, what?" you asked, "how do you know I'm-" but you didn't finish your own sentence before starting the next, "you followed me all the way to my place?"

Matt put both hands on his hips with a sigh, biting his lower lip before finally answering.

"We had a bit of a scare the other night when you were cut on the shoulder. We just wanted to make sure... that you got home okay."

Your lips parted in surprise, shifting then from Matt to Frank, who was looking at his feet as if the ground was far more interesting than anything he had to say at the moment. You weren't sure how to feel about that.

In a way, you found it strange that they'd followed you home without telling you anything about it, but Matt with his keen senses would probably have known where you were sooner or later. Besides, it was well-intentioned, and the sudden thought that they cared about you - no, about your state - was surprisingly heart-warming.

"In any case," Matt continued, clearing his throat, "ours is a lot closer than yours, and in your current state, you could do with some treatment when you get there."

"I'm not planning to stay the night, am I?" you laughed nervously.

"Why not?" said Frank, raising his eyebrows and his shoulders in one gesture.

From now on, victory would go to the one with the most convincing argument.

"Well, I've got work tomorrow," you began, already thinking about the pain you'd have to endure in the morning when you woke up.

You could still feel your warm blood clinging to your clothes, and the sensation was becoming increasingly unpleasant.

"Say you're unwell, isn't far off the mark," Frank replied, pointing with a lazy wave of his hand at your body.

"But I don't have any clothes to spend the night in." You retorted, although the argument was easily contradicted by Matt's remark.

"We'll lend you some, it's no big deal," he assured you.

"I don't have a toothbrush," you retorted, as if that couldn't possibly be of any importance in this setting.

"We're not Cro-Magnons, we have backup ones," Matt laughed softly.

It was becoming a little more complicated to come up with relevant arguments. The blood loss was making you dizzy, weak, and preventing you from standing properly without grimacing every second while focusing all your attention on each cut and the intense burning sensation it gave you.

It wasn't so much that you didn't want to go, because on the contrary you found yourself enjoying their company more and more. It was simply the fact that...

"I'm afraid of imposing myself on you and bothering you." You said, looking away.

You were colleagues up to now, people who shared a common interest in justice, and you didn't mind their company. Only, you'd added to the mix completely unexpectedly. They'd already been working together before, even living together. You didn't know a great deal about their private lives and here you were, the millstone, getting hurt in the middle of a patrol and not being able to make a move without everything hurting.

You turned towards them again. The look on Frank's face was like the typical reaction of a human being who has just witnessed the greatest absurdity of all, while Matt's mouth was half-open in surprise. It almost seemed to you that saying that simple sentence had been a mistake.

"That's it, you're coming with us," Matt confirmed.

"Definitely," Frank affirmed as he approached you and placed one of his hands behind your back.

"Hey wait-" you had no say in the matter, though, as Frank's second hand came up behind your knees and lifted you off the ground.

Your hands barely grasped the back of his neck, wincing as you writhed in pain. You wouldn't have minded being carried. The fatigue of the evening weighed on each of your limbs as if they were full of lead.

You knew how to walk, one step in front of the other like most, and the suddenness of being lifted so easily into the air felt funny. You couldn't help fidgeting, caressing the hope of finding a position more comfortable than one that made you feel every inch of your skin open to the night air.

"Stop movin’ like a chicken ‘bouta have its throat cut," Frank grumbled as the two of them started walking.

"Put it on the ground and the chicken will calm down," you breathed through clenched teeth of discomfort.

"It's not a very long walk, I promise." Matt reassured you.

You huffed, clutching the collar of Frank's jacket to prevent yourself from squeezing the back of his neck too hard and getting another remark. You were torn between the uneasiness of the stir he made with every step, which you felt in every wound, and the new comfort you found in the embrace of his arms.

You felt so... safe that way. And not just with Frank, because you felt the same sense of tranquillity with Matt. They were both involved in your life in such an unusual way and they still managed to make you feel comfortable.

You'd never been so close to him, snuggled up against him and held in his strong arms. As close as you were to his body, you could smell him. A mix of cool and warm.

He carried the smoky but crisp scent of the night, the fresh but dark air, like the smell of a just-cut apple leaving its cool scent on the blade of the knife that has just sliced it. And all of this was strangely relieving.

Your eyes drifted to his neck, which was inevitable considering how close you were to it. Your gaze focused on his Adam's apple, ready to be covered by his perpetual stubble, letting your eyes slide up to his marked, strong jawline. You weren't in the habit of observing someone so closely, especially when that someone was handsome.

The journey across his face continued, passing from his full lips, to his nose bumped by the many blows he must have received in the face, to conclude this pleasant silent voyage with his eyes. Beneath a pair of stern eyebrows were two onyxes, shyly illuminated by the few street lamps on the deserted streets you were travelling through. You had seen them turn black like those of a shark that had smelled blood.

If you didn't know that look would never be meant for you, you'd be afraid of them.

You'd spent enough time with them in combat situations to know that their rage alone could bring a man down with a look. You hoped you'd never have to pay the price of it.

But this close, you didn't feel in danger, although the very idea that such dark eyes of vengeance and bitterness and death might pass over yours made you shudder.

“You’re staring, little one,” Frank remarked, his gaze never wavering from the path in front of him.

Too embarrassed by your own behaviour, you nestled your head on his shoulder, resting your forehead on it as your neck and cheeks heated up. You felt a little foolish as you felt your heart beating frantically between your ribs, and the very idea that Matt could undoubtedly hear it made you want to be swallowed up by a hole in the ground and disappear.

When were you going to get to that bloody flat where you would - hopefully - never again have to be so close to one of them without your thoughts getting carried away ?

Your wishes were granted, as you soon found yourselves standing in front of a door that Matt habitually opened, letting Frank go first as he pressed you closer to him to get through the doorway. With a single breath, his scent invaded you more and more until, for a few moments, your thoughts were focused on nothing but him.

The sudden closeness of him made you feel your cheek brush against the nape of his neck, cool in the night air, but enough for your own skin to heat up slightly.

Internally, you were slapping yourself in the face. Now was not the time to let yourself be bewitched by your colleagues, although the fact that you would be spending the night with them would intensify those thoughts.

Your reflections kept you prisoner enough that you didn't realise until you'd climbed the stairs that you were about to enter Matt's flat. No... their flat.

This reality dropped into your stomach like a heavy stone. They're together, so don't try or think anything that might disappoint you. Tonight... It's just business. It's just help they're giving you, that's all it is.

Perhaps it was a cruel lack of affection that made you repeat all this to yourself, but whatever the case, your inner monologue gradually died down as your attention was drawn to the inside of the place.

It was big, really big for a flat, and for a moment the idea of Matt and Frank being rich occurred to you. It wasn't until Frank moved further into the living room that your eyes fell almost painfully on the neon lighting that illuminated the whole room.

And the more you looked, the more the charm of the place intensified. Of course, the neon had to be a problem. And yes, the walls had faded wallpaper and cracked paint. And maybe the windows could have done with a bit of a wipe down.

But the cosy atmosphere the flat had was delightful. The warmth that greeted you as you entered was gentle and reassuring. You noticed that there was little smell in the flat, nothing too strong at least so far.

"On the sofa, she's already lost enough blood for the evening," Matt pointed out as he left for his kitchen.

Ah, right, Matt's senses, you almost forgot. The reason for the absence of perfume or overpowering scents in their flat was surely that it could prove abrasive on his olfactory sensitivity and generally on his senses.

Frank didn't hesitate for a moment, gently lowering you onto the leather sofa, which you felt sink under your back. The sudden change of position made you wince and whimper, the pain of your wounds hitherto camouflaged by your comfort in Frank's arms resurfacing to inflame your skin.

Frank watched you for a moment, frowning as he observed with serious eyes the dark stains that soaked through the various fabrics of your outfit. Without a word, he walked away, and a few seconds later Matt appeared in your field of vision, a bottle of amber liquid in his hand.

"We're going to need you to take off your top and trousers, do you think you can do that?"

The heat rose to your cheek, making you realise that with those wounds on your body, it was inevitable that you would end up naked if they wanted to do anything to help fix you.

You pressed your teeth into your lower lip, keeping it prisoner for a moment and grunting as the gesture made you reopen your little wound.

"I'll try," you croaked, trying to unclench the hand that had been glued to your side until now.

The bleeding seemed to have eased, the blood slightly caking to your hand as you pulled it free with an exhaled whimper. The sudden contact of air on your skin felt like an icy slap, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to calm yourself.

Your head tumbling back on the comfortable leather, you tried to get your hands to the sides of your T-shirt, pulling at the fabric. The material rubbed against your gaping wound, and you gritted your teeth as you breathed heavily.

Matt swallowed, clenching his jaw before kneeling in front of you.

"I can help you, if you don't mind," he offered, his hands coming to rest on your ankles as he began to remove your shoes.

Your reflex would usually have been to say no, your determination to achieve everything on your own without help from others blocking such opportunities. But the more you thought about it, the more the taste of resignation grew in your mouth.

At the rate you were going, getting undressed would take a considerable amount of time, time that Matt and Frank could probably have spent doing something more interesting than helping someone like you. So you gave in.

The blood from your split lip spilled back into your mouth, your tongue running over the cut and burning you. Wrinkling your nose in pain and breathing through your teeth, you nodded vigorously as you readjusted yourself on the sofa.

Matt sat up straight on his knees and faced you, his hands first feeling the leather of the sofa to find your thigh. He gently skimmed along the fabric, his hand brushing the wound on your thigh and making you grunt slightly.

"Sorry," he murmured softly. "The bleeding seems to have stopped," his confirmation letting his hand travel up to your waist.

His second joined in, avoiding the path of his twin again, and finding the sides of your top.

"Can you put your arms up for me?" he asked softly.

You swallowed, chewing the inside of your cheek as you took a deep breath. Then you did the seemingly impossible by lifting your arms. Your shoulders felt like they were made of lead, and your whole body seemed to be made of nothing but aches and pains.

When the fabric and movement rubbed against the wound on your arm, which you had barely raised, your hand instinctively came to press against it, letting a small, contorted whimper escape from your lips.

Matt let out a sigh, but he didn't seem exasperated or annoyed, more concerned or sharing your pain. Just then Frank came back into the living room, a first aid kit in hand as he came up beside you.

"We're going to have to cut your shirt off," Matt warned.

You sighed, feeling deeply incapable. When did taking off a shirt become so complicated? Every cut on your body was starting to burn severely, and you felt like throwing yourself into a lake of ice water to soothe the pain.

Frank pulled the scissors out of the kit, sitting down next to you and letting the sofa sink beneath him.

"We'll get you a new one," he promised as the cold kiss of the scissor blades touched your skin for a moment near the wound on your arm, bringing a short-lived respite.

Frank tugged at the fabric to pull it away from your skin, then after a few scissor strokes tore the material of your t-shirt as if it were paper with a sharp tear.

The cold skin of his fingers, still covered in the cool of the outside air, came to rest on your skin, and it was as if night met day, as the moon touched the sun with its fingertips, illuminating each of its craters and cuts.

Meanwhile, Matt unbuckled your belt gently, unbuttoning your trouser button at the same time and pulling on the fly until his fingers brushed the birth of...

"Sorry about the whisky but we didn't have anything else," he said apologetically as he took hold of the edges of your trousers.

"Aren't you guys sponsored by first aid kits at this point?" you asked through clenched teeth.

Waiting for Frank to move the scissors away from your skin, you raised your pelvis so that Matt could slide your trousers down more easily.

"There hasn't been any disinfectant in any of them since last night," he explained with a small smile.

The scene was strangely intimate, Frank's hot breath spreading across the back of your neck as he cut off your shirt, and Matt's hands sliding your trousers down your thighs.

You couldn't help but let out a grunt as the fabric of your pant leg brushed against the wound on your thigh, though Matt was doing his best not to cause you any discomfort, whispering small apologies as he did so.

You then realised the context of all this, and the heat rose to your cheeks when Frank threw the last shred of your old T-shirt somewhere in the background: you were in your underwear in front of them.

For a moment, their fingers on your body felt much less professional. The passage of their digits over your skin left behind a trail of sparkling powder underneath.

Placing a towel under your thigh, Matt indicated to Frank the bottle of alcohol which he uncorked.

"This might sting a bit," Matt advised just before Frank started pouring the cool liquid over the wound on your arm.

You stifled a muffled gasp, your thighs trembling slightly from the heat of your wounds. Matt's face scrunched up, his hands resting on your thighs in the hope of easing your pain or distracting you from the excruciating sensation you were going through. As for Frank, he didn't seem to give a damn, his face filled with his constant annoyed neutrality.

You had wondered several times whether Frank hated you, or whether it was difficult for him to stand you. Whatever the case, he didn't seem to have you in his heart. Maybe it was mistrust, but whatever the reason, he seemed irascible towards you.

He continued to pour the contents of the bottle quite generously onto your side, your eyelids closing so tightly that you felt you were seeing stars. You gritted your teeth so hard that for a moment they cut off your hearing, then released the tension.

"It's almost done," Matt murmured in the hope of encouraging you.

Frank ended up cleaning your trembling thigh. You brought your hand, closed into a fist, up to your mouth, biting the skin of one of your fingers to channel the pain.

Your head jerked back, breathing heavily as tears welled up in the corners of your eyes. The worst had undoubtedly just passed.

You heard them rummaging around in the kit, and as you straightened your head, you saw them pulling out needle and thread.

"No pain killers," you managed to say as your mouth felt almost pasty.

Frank chuckled, preparing the needle properly.

"Gotta get this done first, no painkillers for your princess ass now."

You let out a half-sigh, half-laugh.

"Silly me to assume you'd care." you mumbled, already feeling the discomfort from the alcohol on your gaping skin soften.

"It' all be over soon," Matt asserted, his thumb running over the skin of your thigh.

"And I who was looking forward to living in agony for the rest of my life,' you breathed.

Frank brought one of the armchairs closer to the sofa, needle in hand.

"Gon try and be gentle, softy." he added, the little nickname making you scoff.

"No, Frank, being gentle isn't your area of excellence. You shine mainly in murder and mutilation."

He raised his eyes to yours, still red and wet from your previous pain and reflecting the famous 'gentleness' he had shown in his actions. He frowned, but this gesture was unexpectedly accompanied by a smile mixing surprise and amusement, stretching his face in a way you'd never seen from him before.

He brought the needle up to your thigh, grasping the skin with his large hand as firmly as gently. He pierced it, making you wince at the sensation.

"Just gonna pretend I didn't hear that," he finally said, his concentration seemingly unwavering.

But the simple idea of saying this when this same man was stitching you up at the moment only enchanted you for a short moment. He had a needle in his hand that he could very well stick anywhere but in the wound that needed to be closed. And although it was an immensely small needle, you were well aware that anything can become a deadly weapon if you have the will to use it.

So you said nothing, letting that little irritation fade away as you let yourself be stitched up. The pain was bearable in the end, nothing too horrible. It was better than going home and cauterising the whole thing with your straightening iron.

Now that the pain was more bearable, your attention eventually drifted to something other than that feeling, and more to the rest. The feel of their fingers on your body brought a whole new sensory experience, causing a warm cloud to settle in your belly.

Matt straightened up, your thigh already missing the presence of his hand on it. He sat down beside you, his fingers brushing your arm without injury.

"Your lip's cut," he remarked.

"It's not the worst thing on the menu," you laughed nervously, immediately regretting your gesture as your smile stretched your lip and reopened it again.

He fumbled for the kit, taking a cotton ball and grabbing the bottle to soak it in.

"Here," he said, his hand coming to take your chin tenderly and turning it towards him.

He pressed the wet cotton to your wound, and you hissed as your nose wrinkled in pain.

"It might sting a bit when you drink," he murmured.

The proximity gripped your heart, Matt's face close enough to yours that you felt his breath hit your skin gently and evenly. You tried to calm your racing heart in your chest, swallowing as you let him finish disinfecting your lip.

You took the opportunity to watch him more closely, to see the way his stubble ran gracefully across his jaw, the way his brown eyes watching the empty space were full of softness, the way his lips, which you were used to seeing outside the mask, were full and pink.

He seemed incredibly gentle, and if you didn't spend some nights a week in his company fighting crime, you'd never have bet he was fighting like the devil himself: unleashed, full of rage, the taste of revenge and the desire for a better balance blinding him beyond measure.

"You'll take our bed," Matt said, Frank just finishing stitching up your thigh.

You immediately frowned, your lips parting.

"Since I'm on the couch I might just stay on it," you laughed nervously as Frank moved to the wound on your waist.

His hand grabbed your hip and pulled you to the edge of the sofa, looking up at you:

"Sit straight and still," he says in a tone calm but firm enough to convince you that he wouldn't repeat that command twice.

You straighten up slightly, letting him come and stitch up the wound in your side.

"Of the three of us, you're clearly the one who needs comfort and rest the most, not us," Matt continued, placing the now useless cotton wool on the table.

"I can assure you that I've rarely been on a sofa as comfortable as this one," you added.

You'd invite yourself into their home unannounced, they'd take care of you, and on top of that they'd make you sleep in their bed while they slept elsewhere?

"Do we really have to drag you there?" asked Frank, tugging at the thread.

"And let me squirm and ruin all your previous efforts on my wounds?" you huffed as you looked into his eyes, a muscle near your eye twitching as Frank continued his work. "I'd ruin your sheets, that's really not necessary."

"Listen-" Matt started, but you stopped him.

"No," you assured him, turning to him, "and anyway I can already feel sleep stalking me."

Frank breathed in as he opened his lips to speak and contradict you again, but you stopped him.

"Really," you assured him, "I'll take the sofa."

Frank bit his cheek in irritation, obviously not so happy to know that someone in this town shared being so stubborn. He turned to Matt, who also didn't seem to be enjoying the situation any more than that.

"Alright, but there's no way I'm going to hear you complain as soon as you wake up, is that clear?" finished Frank as he tied the thread over the cut in your abdomen.

"Scout's honour," you sighed.

As Frank started your last cut, Matt got up and went to the kitchen to get a glass. He filled it with water, while you and Frank seemed to be engaged in a stare-down between two obstinate, stubborn people.

"Thanks Matty," you thanked sincerely, taking the two delicious items in your hand.

He seemed surprised by the nickname, a nervous chuckle forming a smile on his lips.

"I'll grab you some clothes," he replied as he left for their shared room and began the process of changing his costume.

You placed the tablet on your tongue, then brought the glass to your lips. As promised, it stung. A cloud of red diluted on the contact with your lips, and as you observed it you wondered how you would justify it to your boss.

You sighed, reminding yourself that you should email them first thing in the morning to let them know you were absent. All you had to do the next day was explain that you'd been attacked in the street for stealing your bag, but you'd managed to get away, and that in a state of shock you didn't feel like coming to work the next day. This would probably do.

Frank finished stitching you up fairly quickly, and when he cut the last thread he still looked at you with that annoyed look he never seemed to shake off.

"Thank you, Frankie" you thanked, using the nickname in a more playful tone than you had with Matt.

He let out a single sharp breath from his lungs before getting up and leaving in his turn for the bedroom, from which Matt emerged in much more... normal clothes.

It was the first time you'd seen him in civilian attire, in a simple hoodie and jogging bottoms. Your eyes went wide, your mouth half-open for a moment, and you had to blink several times to pull yourself together.

"Here," he said, placing the pile of clothes next to you on the sofa. "Do you think you can stand this time?"

Now that the adrenaline had worn off, and everything else didn't burn as much as if hell itself had invited itself under your skin, you tried to stand up. You wanted to avoid any sudden movements, but eventually, with a bit of effort, you managed to straighten up and start pushing on your legs to get up.

Your knees trembled slightly from the stress and everything else that had gone with it during the night, and just as you thought you'd be sprawled out on the floor in the next few seconds, tasting the parquet floor, Matt grabbed your arm and pulled you towards him.

"Hey, take it easy little fawn, we don't need you damaging your nose on top of everything else," he laughed as he steadied you, letting your legs wobble a little more before you felt comfortable enough to stand.

Your whole body hurt like hell. And no wonder: in addition to your various cuts from the evening, your body was dotted with clouds of bruises that would make all the blueberries jealous of their colour.

"Let me help you," he finally smiled gently as he picked up the T-shirt from the pile.

He helped you into the top, taking care not to let the fabric come into contact with your freshly stitched skin.

"I'll need to borrow one of your shirts tomorrow when I leave," you said with a small smile, "mine's had a bit of a problem."

Matt laughed softly as he poked his head into your top. " May it rest in pieces."

You laughed softly at his little joke, slipping the rest on and feeling his hands roam over your covered skin, the size of the t-shirt far too big for you and reaching the top of your thighs.

Matt lowered himself to his knees in front of you, and you looked down at him as he rolled up the sweatpants so he could slip them around your ankle, guiding your hand over his shoulder so you could find some support.

The vision was heady, taking hold of your heart like an intoxicating scent you want to chase down so you can bury your whole face in it and never leave. You wanted to run your fingers through his hair, to let them get lost in its meanders, to let your nails graze his skull before tugging lightly on it...

But you pulled yourself together, the thought once again creating a warm cloud in your lower belly as he straightened up and pulled the fabric up your legs, his fingers brushing your skin as if you were a statue forbidden to be touched.

"You're gonna have to see that with Frank though," he said as he tied the two laces around your waist, "it's his shirt."

That's how the same smell you'd first smelled when you were in his arms came back to mind, but you remained stoic, preventing yourself from grabbing the collar of the shirt and bringing it up to your nose.

"Challenge of the year," you sighed, smiling though, "thank you. For all of this."

"That's normal, it would be a shame if our partner found herself unable to exercise," he reassured you.

The word sent a shiver up your spine and into your cheeks.

"Red?" called Frank from the bedroom.

"Coming," he answered over his shoulder before turning away from you.

You sat back down on the sofa, tiredness beginning to weigh heavily on your eyelids. You lay down, the multiple events of the evening knocking you out more easily than any sleeping pill.

You had no trouble falling asleep, even with the neon lights on, even without a blanket, and even when the two of them came back into the room.

When you woke up, your back felt like it was sinking into a cloud. The surface you were lying on was soft, and when you turned on your side, your hand came to rest on a material that was not at all like the leather of the sofa: silk.

You propped yourself up gently on one elbow, observing the place you were in, and that's when you realised: they'd moved you into their bed while you were asleep.

"Bastards," you muttered, and bit your cheek to stop the little smile forming on your lips from breaking out.

A funny feeling sprang up in your heart, making it light and rosy. But that feeling quickly faded as you sat up straighter and your whole body ached. You felt like you'd just come out of a washing machine, all tossed and turned.

You stood up, trying to stretch but stopping immediately when the pain from your stitched-up cuts threatened to reopen. You didn't want to mess up their clothes, you'd probably never forgive yourself if that happened.

You came out of the bedroom and found Frank and Matt talking in the kitchen. Matt turned to you, sending you a smile.

"Good morning," he offered.

You were limping lightly, and bent slightly, walking slowly towards them through fatigue and pain.

"At last the groundhog graces us with her presence," Frank grumbled, turning to you.

"Am I rather not a sleeping beauty ?" you returned with a smile, "I wonder if sleeping beaty had a breakfast date when she woke up. I mean, look at me this is such a tempting offer," you said as your posture could easily have been a cross between an old lady and a pregnant woman, leaning on your hip, alternating between the curve of your back and the arch of it, making your whole body crack into a grimace of relief.

But surprisingly, they both smiled at your joke, and the awkward silence you might have expected or the abrupt change of subject to move on never came. But that didn't stop you from apologising on the spot.

"I'm sorry, I don't want my words to sound inappropriate, but I know that you two... well, you're..." together was the word you were looking for, but your fingers pinched the bridge of your nose.

Try again, you thought. You'll end up rowing champion if you keep paddling like that. But Matt immediately reassured you.

"There's nothing to worry about, and besides, on my side you have to be forgiving when you don't have the 'pause' button."

Right, you thought, even though the heat was rising to your cheeks and neck enough for your cool hand to come and rest on it, massaging it nervously.

"I find you singularly witty, Red," Frank said, arms folded across his chest.

Of course, there was nothing new under the sun about Frank. His sharp tone brought you back to solid ground in no time.

"How are the wounds?" he asked as he turned to you, his eyes lingering for a moment on the fact that you were wearing his shirt.

"Very well," you assured him as you lifted the sides of your shirt to show the one on your side and the one on your arm, turning back to him, "I think the blue really brings out my eyes, don't you?"

He smirked, and you couldn't quite work out whether it was genuine annoyance or amusement. It all seemed a bit too perfect, and that's when it hit you.

"Fuck!" you exclaimed, looking for where they'd put your trousers where your phone was.

"What is it?" asked Matt.

"My boss," you said, searching the hallway and finding your trousers there, "I didn't tell him-"

"We called him this morning," pointed out Frank.

You stopped in your tracks, turning back to them.

"You what ?" you questioned.

"We called him," Matt informed, "we told him that we were close to you and that after you were mugged last night in the street you decided to stay home for the day out of shock."

"You-"

"It's all sorted, you don't need to worry," Frank grunted, taking his drink in hand, surely in search for you to shut up and let him enjoy his morning cup of coffee.

You stood there like a houseplant in the middle of the living room, and Matt invited you to take a seat for breakfast. Bemused, you took a seat and the three of you ate and chatted for a while.

Matt mentioned taking you to see a guy he knew so that he could cover you up with something other than such a simplistic and obviously flimsy outfit that could put you in danger again.

And after breakfast, you left at the same time as Matt, who was leaving for work. You said your final goodbyes and went your separate ways.

Little did you know the proximity of last night would change many things.

⟢ next part : here

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seriiousgiirl · 5 months ago

Text

𝓞𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓴𝓷𝓮𝓮𝓼, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓹𝓻𝓪𝔂

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ݁ 𝓅𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈𝓉!𝒶𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝓍 𝓋𝒶𝓂𝓅𝒾𝓇𝑒 𝒽𝓊𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇!𝒻𝑒𝓂!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

❛ Who are you? Demon to some. Angel to others. ❜

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. On the run from death after an unsuccessful night's hunting, you seek refuge in a small church deep in the forest. The priest, Astarion, takes you in, promising to take care of you.

Little do you know that despite his angelic face, he has devil thoughts.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. kind of enemies to lovers, smut with plot, age gap, somnophilia, taboo kink, dominance and submission, bondage, sensual education, forced proximity, tender worship, rough sex, corruption kink, oral sex, fangs and more...

Despite the angst, this has a good ending. I promise.

➜ ┊: oneshot ⋅ 17K words. A lot is happening. ➜ ┊ a/n: there's been a hype about Astarion as a priest on twitter (thanks to Neil's role) so that's inspired me, nothing offensive is intentional. Just enjoy!

Blood seeped from your wounds, each drop marking your path through the dense, oppressive forest. Every muscle screamed in agony, and your senses were on high alert. Vision blurred, the moon overhead glowed a sinister red, as if mockingly reflecting the blood you were losing. The woods appeared to extend indefinitely, comprising a maze of shadows and gnarled branches that seemed to reach out and entrap you.

You were a hunter, trained to track and kill the very creatures that now pursued you. The irony was not lost on you; tonight, the roles were reversed. You weren't used to being the prey, but tonight, everything had changed.

The ambush had been swift and brutal. The vampire had pounced on you with a speed and ferocity that left you breathless. Its fangs had sunk into your flesh before you could react, and though you had fought, the creature had overpowered you, leaving you broken and bleeding in the dirt.

The pain was a constant, throbbing reminder of your vulnerability. Each step was a struggle, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you pressed a trembling hand to your side, trying to stem the flow of blood. Your thoughts were a chaotic whirl, a mix of survival instinct and despair. You couldn't afford to stop. Not here. Not now. The forest was unforgiving, and every heartbeat echoed with the fear of what might be lurking in the darkness.

As your strength waned, you scanned the forest desperately for any sign of shelter. Just when despair began to creep in, you saw it: a church. Its silhouette emerged from the shadows, an ancient structure that stood in stark contrast to the wild, untamed forest around it. The stained glass windows glowed softly, illuminated by flickering candles within. The sight was almost surreal, like a beacon of hope in the endless night.

With a renewed sense of determination, you staggered toward the church. Each step felt like an eternity, your legs threatening to give out beneath you. The candles inside seemed to beckon you, their warm light a promise of safety in the darkness.

Finally, you reached the steps of the church.

You stumbled, nearly falling as your strength gave out, but you managed to catch yourself against the stone. As desperation clawed at your senses, you knocked frantically on the door, hoping against hope that someone inside would hear your plea and grant you safety. A church was a holy ground where no vampire dared to tread, for fear of the searing pain it would bring.

But as each moment passed without a response, the whispers of the night grew louder.

"Please," you begged, your voice raw with desperation. "Open the door! I'm in danger!"

The urgency in your tone carried the weight of your peril, the fear that gripped your heart driving you to implore for sanctuary within the sacred walls of the church. "I beg of you," you continued, your voice cracking with emotion, "I don't have much time. Please, you have to help me!"

But as the moments ticked by without a response, the gnawing sense of dread only grew stronger. You could feel the presence of your pursuer drawing nearer, its malevolent intent palpable in the air. Panic threatened to overwhelm you as you realised that time was running out, and the safety of the church remained out of reach.

With one final, desperate plea, you pressed your forehead against the door, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "Please," you whispered, the words barely more than a prayer, "don't let me die out here. Please, open the door."

Just when you feared all hope was lost, the door finally creaked open, a sliver of light cutting through the darkness like a lifeline. With a surge of relief, you stumbled inside, your heart racing with the knowledge that you had narrowly escaped the clutches of your predator.

As the door finally creaked open, a wave of relief washed over you, and you crawled inside, your body trembling with exhaustion and pain. Strong, muscular arms lifted you gently from the cold ground, cradling you in his embrace as you staggered into the warmth of the church. Your head fell back onto the broad chest that held you up, and you let out a shaky sigh.

Your breathing was ragged, your heart pounding, and your mind still reeling from the terrifying encounter. A voice, smooth as silk and seductive, washed over you like a siren's song. "My dear, what happened to you?"

You clung to the figure's robe, your grip tight as you struggled to find the strength to speak. "I... I was attacked," you managed to gasp out, the words coming in a hoarse whisper. "By... a vampire."

A shiver ran down your spine as his hands gently, but firmly, began to examine your wounds with gentle, intimate strokes. The contrast between the cruelty of the vampire's attack and the tender care he was showing you was overwhelming. You could feel his fingers gently tracing over your skin, sending electric shocks of sensation throughout your body.

As you tried to look up at him, your vision blurred and swimming with tears, sweat and blood but you caught a glimpse of his face. Even through the haze of pain and exhaustion, you could see how devilishly handsome he was, with his silver curls framing his strong jaw, and his ruby-like eyes glinting with concern.

Then, the charming priest's expression twisted with regret, and his hand brushed against your cheek, the gentle caress sending shivers to your core. "I'm so sorry, my dear," he murmured, "I should have been here sooner. But you're safe now. Let me take care of you."

His words were a balm to your battered soul, offering comfort in the midst of chaos. You nodded weakly, feeling a sense of gratitude wash over you like a warm tide. Despite the pain that still throbbed in every fibre of your being, you felt a flicker of peace begin to stir within you.

As your head rested against his broad chest, you could feel the rhythmic pulse of his heartbeat, a soothing lullaby that eased your racing mind. His voice, a deep rumble that resonated through his body, washed over you like a comforting wave. His voice, deep and resounding, carried the power of wisdom and experience.

"My child, you have been through a harrowing ordeal. Your wounds are deep, and the path to recovery will be long. But here, within the sanctity of my church, you will be safe and nurtured."

Your cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and gratitude as you asked, "I’m sorry… Am I... a burden to you?" The vulnerability in your voice was palpable. You hesitated, unsure if you were deserving of such grace, but his smile, gentle and understanding, promised everything you needed at that moment.

"Quite the opposite, my dear. Your presence is a blessing. I'll do everything in my power to see to your recovery. I will tend to your wounds with the love and compassion that only a servant of God can offer."

Your heart swelled with gratitude, the weight of your tribulations lightening with each syllable of his holy promise. "Thank you, Father," you whispered, your voice a soft caress against his chest. "I trust in your care." His words, paired with the sincere look in his eyes, left you feeling both reassured and oddly drawn to him. You agreed, surrendering to the temptation of his promise, and allowed yourself to settle further into his embrace.

As the priest cradled you in his arms, holding you close like a cherished treasure, the world around you seemed to blur. Your vision wavered, and you clung to him, trusting in the strength of his arms to guide you.

The holy man eased you onto the bed, his strong hands supporting your weight as your legs buckled beneath you. The room was dim, decorated sparingly with candles, books and a desk. You could feel his eyes on you, and when they met yours, they were filled with a devotion that was both comforting and unnerving.

"Lie down, my angel," he instructed gently, his voice a hypnotic purr as he helped you onto the bed. The mattress was soft, enveloping you in its embrace as you settled onto it. Slowly, he began to undress you, his gaze never leaving yours. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows on the walls, a soothing dance that contrasted with the rhythm of your heartbeat as you could feel his feather-light touch over your skin.

In a vain effort, you tried to stop him. "N-no," you stuttered, trying to cover yourself with your arms.

The coolness of the room against your heated skin sent shivers down your spine, the sensation electrifying under his watchful gaze. "Don't be afraid, I’ll be gentle," he whispered, his voice a promise of safety. "You are in my care, and I will ensure that you heal."

Seeing your reluctance, he added, "Listen to me," he said softly. "I am only doing this to tend to your wounds and help you heal. You have nothing to fear from me."

Despite your best intentions, you found yourself unable to resist the comfort his words offered. Your defences crumbled, and you allowed him to continue uncovering your body. He unlaced the back of your bra, his fingers grazing your sensitive skin, and gently slid it from your body. The tenderness in his touch sent a flutter through your chest, a sensation that was both foreign and enticing.

Once vulnerable, your nipples hardened in response to his gaze, sensitive buds aching for attention. Your body quivered under his watchful eyes, the heat between your legs growing as you succumbed to the temptation of his nearness. The priest's voice, a melodic rumble, continued to soothe you, his words a balm to your restless spirit.

"This might sting a bit," he warned as he applied a salve to your wounds. The cool, wet sensation was a shock against the warmth of your body, the sting a reminder of your ordeal.

You bit your lip, the pain a small price to pay for the healing touch of this mysterious man. "Thank you," you breathed, your voice a soft exhalation.

With great care, he examined your injuries, his eyes narrowing with concern as he located the worst of them. He murmured prayers under his breath, his voice a soothing lullaby as he tended to your wounds, applying healing salves with a practised hand.

As the priest meticulously cleaned the blood from your body, his fingers gentle yet firm, you could swear you heard the sound of his ragged, heavy breaths. The low, appreciative groan that echoed in the room was indistinct, your mind hazy and dizzied by your injuries.

You clung to the reassuring rhythm of his voice as he continued to soothe you, his words a balm to your aching soul. The priest tended to your wounds with a deft, almost sensual touch but you couldn't tell if it was real or a figment of your imagination, the line between dream and reality blurred.

"You're doing well," he praised, his voice thick. The priest's gaze lingered on your flushed skin, his fingers trailing gently over your body as he worked. "You'll be healed in no time," he said, a low growl that seemed to vibrate through your very core.

You moaned softly as the cool liquid touched your wounds, the sensation both painful and soothing. He placed a gentle hand on your forehead, his touch comforting as he whispered, "Sleep now. Trust in me, and I will make you whole once more. I promise."

His words, his touch, his very presence, enveloped you in a feeling of warmth and safety. You closed your eyes, drifting into the welcoming arms of slumber, your heartbeat slowing as you entrusted your body and soul to the care of the man who had become your saviour, your protector, your guardian.

"Rest now, my sweet Y/n," he said, his voice thick with longing. "I will be here, watching over you, ensuring your safety and your recovery."

In the dim light of the room, the flickering candles casting dancing shadows on the walls, the priest stood over you, his ruby gaze never leaving your form. He whispered more prayers, the soft murmurs a lullaby for your weary spirit as you finally allowed yourself to succumb to sleep.

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

In the hazy realm of your dreams, the pleasure of his touch lingered. As you slept, you could feel a familiar pain in your neck, the sensation of fangs sinking into your skin. But this time, unlike the violent encounter that had brought you to this point, the bite was pleasurable, a sweet agony that coursed through your veins.

A low moan escaped your lips, your body arching instinctively into the sensation. Your dreams were of lust and desire. The charming priest who saved you was there. He was a predator, a creature of the night, his eyes burning with an insatiable hunger.

But it was an alluring craving, one that invited you to indulge in your deepest, most primal urges.

It felt like the devil kissed your neck, but it felt like heaven. His tongue traced the path of his fangs, eliciting a shuddering sigh from your lips, the air thick with the scent of sweat and lust. Your limbs twisted, your body responding to the touch of your saviour, his hands roaming over your skin with a deft expertise.

His fingers found your breasts, squeezing and teasing your nipples, the sensation a symphony of sensations that echoed through your body. You arched against him, your hips grinding against the hardness that pressed against your thigh. The dream was a carnal feast, his body enveloping yours, a fusion of flesh and desire.

You could feel the weight of his body pressing against yours, the intoxicating scent of his musk filling your senses. His hands roamed your body, achingly slow, each touch a promise of pleasure that lingered like the echoes of a distant song. Your moans grew louder, punctuating the rhythm of the dream, your body trembling as the pleasure built within you. The line between the dream and reality blurred, the boundaries of consciousness dissolving in the face of the overwhelming sensations…

You jolted awake, your heart pounding in your chest as you found yourself bathed in sweat. The haze of your dreams dissipated, leaving you acutely and painfully aware of your surroundings. Your vision was no longer blurred, and as you blinked, your sensations alighted shamefully on the wetness between your legs.

The feeling startled you, the outrageous state of arousal you found yourself in starkly at odds with the holy ground you now resided in. You couldn't help the flush that crept up your neck, a delicate blush colouring your skin. As your mind raced to comprehend the situation, you noticed the bandages that covered various parts of your body. The night gown you wore was soft, clinging to your skin. It was embroidered with intricate patterns and smelled faintly of fresh flowers, indicating that it has recently been washed.

Your gaze landed on the priest, who sat at a study, his back to you. The sight of him brought a flurry of questions to the forefront of your mind. "Excuse me?" you called, your voice shaky with uncertainty. "Did you... change my clothes?" Your memory was foggy, the details of the night blurred and indistinct. The vivid dreams of lust and desire, the taste of blood on your lips, and the sensation of pleasure that still lingered in the pit of your stomach left you unsure of what was real and what was not.

The priest turned, his wine gaze meeting yours with a steady, unblinking intensity. "I did," he confirmed, his voice a soothing rumble that seemed to calm the chaos in your mind. "You were in no state to do so yourself, I had to wash your blood and tend your wounds — I wanted to ensure that you were comfortable."

His words were simple, yet they carried with them a weight of authority that left you feeling oddly reassured. Your heart continues to race, the sensation of being so exposed, both physically and emotionally, leaving you vulnerable, yet oddly at ease.

"I... I can't remember much of what happened last night." you said, your voice small as you recalled the shivers of pleasure that had coursed through you at his touch. A vivid image of his long fingers brushing against your skin flashed in her mind, the memory both tempting and terrifying.

As you slowly regained consciousness, you noticed the unfamiliar surroundings. The room was modest, yet warm and inviting, filled with the scent of burning candles and aged wood. You realised you were most likely in his personal quarters, assuming that such a small church wouldn't have many rooms. The bed you lay on was simple but comfortable, covered with a soft, worn quilt that smelled faintly of lavender.

Your shyness crept back into your demeanour as you asked, "Father, where did you... stay for the night? Where did you sleep?" Your voice held a curious inflection, a hint of fluster in your tone.

The enigmatic priest, sensing your discomfort, couldn't resist teasing you with a sly smile. "A good priest never sleeps when there's a soul in need," he replied, his voice a silky rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "I stayed awake the whole night, ensuring that you didn't experience any pain," he confessed, his eyes never leaving yours. "Your well-being was… my top priority."

As you settled back into the bed, the priest moved closer, kneeling at your side. "I realise I haven't properly introduced myself," he said with a slight bow of his head. "My name is Astarion."

You nodded weakly, offering a faint smile despite the pain that still throbbed through your body. "I'm Y/n," you replied, your voice soft but steady.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Y/n, despite the circumstances," Astarion said, his tone gentle.

As you spoke, a sharp, faint pain in your neck caused you to wince. Instinctively, you raised your hand to the spot, fingers brushing over the tender skin. You felt the unmistakable indentation of bite marks and a shiver of unease ran down your spine. You didn't remember the vampire biting you there yesterday. The memory of the attack was vivid—how you had fought back, the searing pain of its fangs in your side—but the neck was new.

Astarion noticed your discomfort immediately. "What is it?" he asked, concern flashing in his crimson eyes.

"There are... bite marks on my neck," you said, your voice trembling slightly. "I don't remember the vampire biting me there."

Astarion's gaze softened with empathy, and he placed a reassuring hand on your cheek. "The vampire that attacked you was relentless. In your weakened state, it is possible that it struck more than once, leaving marks you weren't aware of at the time."

His explanation made sense, yet something about it left you uneasy. The way he spoke, the intensity of his gaze—it all seemed so personal, so intimate—seductive. But as you looked into his eyes, you found a strange comfort, a sense of safety that you hadn't felt since the attack, it felt nice.

"Try not to worry," Astarion continued, his voice soothing. "You're safe now. The wounds will heal with time, and I will ensure you are well cared for."

You nodded, trying to relax despite the lingering fear. "Thank you, Astarion. I don't know what I would have done without your help."

Astarion's smile was warm, almost tender. "It's my duty, Y/n. Now, rest. You need to regain your strength."

Astarion’s soothing voice continued to fill the room, a gentle murmur that seemed to lull the very air around you. “Rest now, Y/n,” he whispered again, his tone carrying a warmth that seeped into your bones. “You’re safe here. Let your body heal.”

His hand reached out, fingers brushing lightly against your forehead before trailing down to caress your hair. Each gentle stroke seemed to ease the tension in your muscles, coaxing you further into the embrace of sleep. “You’ve been through so much,” Astarion continued, his voice a melodic hum that wrapped around you like a comforting blanket. “But you’re strong. You’ve survived, and now it’s time to rest again, angel.”

Your eyes fluttered closed, the steady rhythm of his voice and the gentle touch of his hand lulling you. The pain and fear began to melt away, replaced by a profound sense of peace.

“Let go of your worries,” he whispered, his fingers continuing their soothing path through your hair. “I’ll be here, watching over you.”

The last thing you felt before sleep claimed you entirely was the warmth of his hand, the tender way he cared for you, and the deep, calming presence of his voice. In that moment, as consciousness slipped away, you knew that whatever questions and fears still lingered, you could face them later. For now, in the sanctuary of the church and the comfort of Astarion’s care, you allowed yourself to finally rest.

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Days had passed since that harrowing night, and you had been secluded in the church, healing under Astarion's watchful care. Your strength has gradually returned, allowing you to move around more freely. This morning, as the sun filtered through the stained glass windows, casting colourful patterns on the stone floor, Astarion invited you to take your breakfast outside.

The church's cloister, a serene, partially shaded courtyard, became your dining area. While you basked in the sunlight, feeling its warmth seep into your skin, Astarion, however, always remained in the shadows, moving with an uncanny grace that kept him perpetually out of the sun’s reach.

As you savoured the simple breakfast, your mind began to piece together the puzzle that had been forming since your arrival. It was easy for a good vampire hunter to notice the signs. The fangs that sometimes glinted in Astarion's mouth when he spoke and smirked, the way he meticulously avoided sunlight, and the fact that you had never seen him eat. It all pointed to one unmistakable truth: Astarion was a vampire.

Your heart pounded as the realisation settled in, mingling with the fresh morning air. You glanced at him, standing elegantly in the shadow of the cloister, his hand behind his back. His red eyes watched you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. Yet, despite the fear gnawing at your insides, you knew one thing for certain: you were trapped. Your injuries, though healing, still left you weak.

There was no way you could fight or escape him in your current state.

Astarion's voice broke through your thoughts, smooth and soothing as always. "How are you feeling today, Y/n?" he asked, a genuine concern in his tone that made your situation all the more confusing.

"I'm feeling better," you replied, forcing a small smile. "Thank you for taking such good care of me."

He inclined his head gracefully. "It's my duty to ensure your recovery. I'm glad to see you improving."

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. "You never join me for breakfast," you said, your voice casual despite the tension coiling within you. "Aren't you hungry?"

Astarion's lips curved into a faint, charming smile. "I have my own ways of sustaining myself. Your well-being is my priority." There was something unnerving about his answer, the implication that his nourishment differed from the conventional. The way he focused on you, though endearing, you knew bordered on possessiveness.

You shifted slightly in your seat, the movement causing a dull ache to flare up in your side. Astarion noticed and stepped closer, still within the shadows, his expression one of concern.

"Are you in pain?" he asked, his voice softening.

"A little," you admitted. "But I'll manage."

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. As you sat there, the sunlight warming your skin while Astarion remain cloaked in shadow, you couldn't shake the feeling that Astarion, with his devilish good looks and soothing voice, was both your caretaker and your captor.

For now, you had to play along, especially as Astarion continued to care for you, providing you with food and shelter. He was attentive, almost doting, ensuring that you were comfortable and your needs were met. Each day, he brought you meals, fresh linens, and soothing herbal teas.

Despite your growing suspicions, you couldn’t deny the care he provided. Every bandage was changed with meticulous precision, every meal prepared with consideration for your weakened state. And so, you allowed Astarion’s gentle care to soothe your wounds, both physical and emotional, all the while preparing for the inevitable moment when you would have to face him for what he truly was.

Astarion's eyes softened as he regarded you, his voice a velvety whisper. "You must let me know if the pain worsens, angel. I cannot bear to see you suffer." He whispered, the endearment—now quite familiar, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. His hand reached out, his fingers brushing gently against your cheek, sending shivers down your spine. The contact was brief but electrifying, igniting a desire within you that you couldn't quite comprehend or control.

Your heartbeat quickened as he withdrew his hand, stepping back into the shadows, a wicked glint in his eye.

"Now, eat up. You need your strength for later." The coded suggestion in his tone left you breathless, your mind racing with possibilities as to what 'later' could entail. The way Astarion spoke, his voice dripping with innuendo, only served to heighten the growing tension between you. It was all so forbidden.

You hesitated, your breath catching in your throat as his fingers traced along your jawline. The subtle flirting, combined with his intimate care, blurred the lines between priest and enemy, leaving you both vulnerable and enticed. "I... I don't want to trouble you," you stammered, though your body betrayed your words, craving his touch and the comfort he offered.

Astarion smiled, his hand still resting on your cheek, his thumb grazing your bottom lip. "It's no trouble at all, Y/n. You needn't worry about anything but your recovery."

You wanted to believe Astarion wasn't a danger, even less a vampire. His gentle hands and soothing words made you feel safe. Every interaction with him felt like a contradiction, a dissonance between what you knew and what you wanted to believe.

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

As the days turned into weeks, your strength gradually returned. The deep wounds had healed to a dull ache, and the fog of pain that once clouded your mind began to lift. You and Astarion fell into a comfortable routine, each day a mirror of the last. You would wake up each morning to the soft sounds of quill on parchment, finding Astarion at his study desk, deep in thought as he wrote.

“Good morning,” he would greet you, his voice smooth and pleasant, as he set aside his work.

The deep wounds might have healed, however, the bite marks on your neck remained stubbornly fresh. Alongside these wounds, vivid and intense dreams continued to plague your nights. Dreams filled with lust and desire, so real that you could almost feel the touch of hands on your skin, the press of lips against yours. Each morning you awoke feeling drained, a sore feeling between your legs, and a throbbing ache where the bite marks were. But you kept that all to yourself, far too embarrassed.

He would then prepare breakfast, guiding you to the garden where you could bask in the sunlight. Astarion would remain in the shadows, his elegant form always just out of reach of the sunlight. He would watch over you as you ate, his presence a silent reassurance. After breakfast, he would excuse himself, his voice tinged with the same gentle concern as always.

“I have some matters to attend to,” he would say, disappearing into the depths of the church. You assumed he went to sleep, retreating to whatever secret place he kept from the daylight.

Left to your own devices, you found solace in the books that lined the shelves. Despite the church's modest library, you read about heroes and history, getting lost in the words. On days when reading felt too isolating, you tidied the church, arranged flowers, and dusted pews, even though no one ever came to attend his services.

Lunch was a simple affair that you prepared for only you — the act of cooking gave you a sense of purpose, a small way to contribute to the strange sanctuary you now called home.

Astarion would return in the late afternoon. You would eat dinner in the kitchen, the soft light of the candles casting long shadows on the stone walls as he watched over you. Conversation flowed easily, your guardedness slowly eroding as the days passed. He would listen intently to your thoughts, his eyes never straying from yours, making you feel seen and heard in a way that was both comforting and unsettling.

As the night closed in, you'd meet him in the bathroom, where Astarion would await, his eyes fixed on you with a hint of intensity that sent shivers down your spine. He would offer you a small stool to sit on, allowing you the space to undress in his presence. At first, the act of exposing your body to him, an unfamiliar stranger only a short while ago, left you bashful and flushed. Your fingers fumbled with buttons and laces, your gaze darting to the ground, averted from his unwavering gaze.

Astarion, however, seemed unfazed by your hesitation, his attention solely focused on you, his eyes drinking in the sight of your exposed skin. The feeling of being so intimately observed, of your vulnerability laid bare, was both forbidden and intimate, a tug-of-war between modesty and desire.

The first time you squirmed under Astarion's touch, he chuckled softly, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. "You'll have to stand still, Y/n," he teased, his voice low and husky. "You're making it difficult for me to tend to your wounds." Your cheeks flushed at his teasing. He looked at you with a hot gaze as he leaned closer, his breath washing over your skin, whispering, "If you're concerned about my touch, I can show you what happens when you're more willing to submit."

You were left breathless, and he seemed content with your reaction based on his prideful smirk. You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your ears. "No-No I’m okay... I do trust you, Astarion," you stammered, your voice barely audible.

Astarion smiled, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. "Then stand still, my angel," he coaxed, the pet name laced with tenderness. "Let me take care of you as you deserve."

As the days passed, though, the discomfort ebbed away. Astarion's gentle demeanour and the necessity of your healing fostered a sense of genuine trust between the two of you. Astarion's methodical approach to cleaning your body was as deliberate as it was unhurried. He would begin by wetting a soft cloth with warm water, the liquid shimmering as it caught the light. The scent of herbs and flowers wafted from the basin.

With the cloth in hand, Astarion would then gently wipe away the grime and sweat from your body. His fingers traced the contours of your form, the arch of your waist, the curve of your breast, the slope of your hip, and the dip of your lower back. He moved with a tender dexterity, each stroke a promise of care, an unspoken vow to protect and heal.

As he worked, the fabric slid over your skin, leaving a trail of dampness that soon dried under the influence of the air. The sensation of being washed, of being cleansed by Astarion's skilled hands, was both intimate and comforting, the touch of his fingers electrifying your body.

Astarion's fingers lingered so subtly on your nipples, brushing them gently. "So sensitive, aren't we?" he mused, his gaze flicking to your face. He trailed the cloth down to your inner thigh, the tip brushing against your most intimate parts. "Such a delightful creature you are, my angel," he remarked, his voice laced with desire.

"I relish in the privilege of tending to you." He looked up at you through his lashes, his voice low and teasing.

Your heart would race as his hands lingered on sensitive spots, the tips of his fingers brushing against your nipples or the inner folds of your thighs—just enough to be appropriate, but still exciting. The moments of intimate contact were fleeting, yet they stirred a hunger deep within you.

The way he examined your wounds, the way his eyes lingered on your flushed skin, painted a picture of a man who was devoted to the healing of your body and the nurturing of your spirit. It was a dance of necessity and desire, leaving you in a dangerous but exciting situation.

As the evening sun cast long shadows across the kitchen as you and Astarion sat down to dinner, it was another one of those days. The room was filled with a comfortable silence, broken only by the clinking of utensils and the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth. Astarion watched you intently, his red eyes shimmering in the dim light.

As you took a bite of food, he spoke, his voice low and contemplative. "Y/n, may I ask you something?"

You looked up, meeting his gaze with a slight nod. "Of course, Astarion. What is it?"

"Why did you become a vampire hunter?" he asked, his tone gentle yet probing.

You paused, your fork halfway to your mouth, as memories of the past flooded your mind. "It's because of my family," you began, your voice tinged with sadness. "They were killed by a vampire when I was young. I was left with nothing, no home, no family. I had to fend for myself."

Astarion's expression softened, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. "I'm sorry for your loss," he murmured.

You nodded, a bitter taste lingering in your mouth. "At first, I became a vampire hunter out of necessity. I needed to survive, to seek revenge for what happened to my family. But as time went on, it became more than that. It became a way for me to protect others, to prevent anyone else from suffering the same fate."

Astarion listened quietly as you spoke, his gaze never leaving yours. "It's a difficult path you've chosen," he remarked, his voice soft. "To carry such a burden, to face danger at every turn."

You nodded, the weight of your past pressing down on you like a leaden shroud. "It hasn't been easy," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "But I couldn't do anything else. I couldn't just stand by and do nothing." A silence settled over the kitchen, heavy with unspoken thoughts and emotions.

"I understand," he said finally, his voice filled with quiet sincerity. "You've endured so much, my angel." Then Astarion's eyes narrowed, his mind wandering as he mused. "Vampires are often seen as monsters, creatures of the night that feed on the blood of the innocent," he began, his voice laced with a hint of bitterness. "But are they truly any different from those who hunt them? They do what they must to survive, to maintain their existence. They are not inherently evil, merely misunderstood."

He met your gaze, his expression earnest. "In their quest for sustenance, there are some who stray, who forget the cost of their actions. But all beings are capable of good or evil, it's a choice we make, not a preordained path.” Astarion shifted, leaning back in his chair. "You, my dear, have chosen a path of justice, fueled by loss and a desire to protect. Your heart is in the right place, and that is something to be admired."

Astarion reached out, his fingers brushing against yours, sending shivers down your spine. "Do not be so quick to judge, to condemn those you do not understand," he urged, drawing closer. "For in doing so, you may miss the beauty of the beast, the soul that lies beneath the surface."

He put his hand on the table covering yours as his thumb caressed your knuckles. The simple touch showed he could seduce you so easily. It was a devilish whisper that made you question your beliefs.

After a brief silence, Astarion's eyes glimmered with a mischievous light as he reached for a bottle of wine and two glasses. "Would you care for some wine, Y/n? I find it has a way of easing troubled thoughts."

As Astarion stood, he moved gracefully towards the wooden cabinet in the corner of the room. With a skillful flick of his wrist, he opened the door and withdrew a decanter filled with a deep, ruby-red liquid. "Allow me to offer you a glass of wine," he said, his voice a low, sultry rumble.

He approached you with the decanter, his eyes locked on yours. "A little something that's sure to help you unwind after your ordeal," he suggested, his words laced with a flirtatious undertone.

As he poured the crimson liquid into two crystal glasses, the light from the fireplace casting dancing shadows on the walls, Astarion's charm seemed to weave a spell around you. The room grew warmer, more intimate, the soft flicker of the flames a testament to the growing intimacy between the two of you.

You nodded, grateful for the distraction. As he sat back down, he moved closer to you. He handed you a glass, his fingers brushing yours in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. "To new friends and shared stories," he toasted, his smile warm and inviting.

"To new friends," you echoed, clinking your glass against his and taking a sip. The wine was rich and smooth, its warmth spreading through you.

As he leaned back, he couldn't help but brush his arm against yours, the spark of arousal igniting between you. "Strength, resilience, and determination are traits to be admired," he said, his voice a sultry, velvet-coated whisper. "And they become all the more enticing when wrapped in a package as enchanting as yours, Y/n."

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, the blush a testament to his words. "Thank you, Astarion. It's been an arduous journey, but I suppose it's made me who I am today."

His gaze never wavered, and he leaned in closer, the firelight casting shadows that danced on his chiselled features. "And that, my dear Y/n, is a woman I would gladly be drawn to. You possess a radiance that's as alluring as it is dangerous."

You felt your heart race at his words, the intensity of his gaze making it difficult to think clearly. "You have a way with words, Astarion. It’s quite... disarming."

He chuckled softly, his smile widening. "I've been told that before. But enough about me flattering you. Tell me, Y/n, how did you come here? Were you hunting a specific vampire?"

You nodded, taking another sip of wine to steady yourself. "Yes, I had heard rumours of a powerful vampire terrorising the nearby villages. I thought I might be able to do some good here, to put my skills to use."

Astarion's eyes flickered with interest. "And instead, you found yourself in need of sanctuary."

"Yes," you said, the memories of that night still fresh in your mind. "But I suppose fate had other plans."

He smiled, a hint of something darker lurking beneath the surface. "Indeed, fate can be quite unpredictable."

You shifted in your seat, your curiosity piqued. "Astarion, you’ve been so kind to me, but I realise I know very little about you. Why did you become a priest?" The question hung heavy in the air, the weight of its implications a daunting shadow in the room.

Astarion's eyes darkened, a flicker of pain crossing his features. "A priest," he mused, his voice laced with a heavy sense of regret. A shadow crossed his face, his smile fading slightly. "Ah, that's a story for another time," he said, his tone vague. "It's a lonely path, one fraught with self-imposed torment. It's a form of penance, a never-ending punishment for sins long committed."

Your brows furrowed in confusion. "Punishment? For what?"

He waved a hand dismissively, the charming smile returning to his lips. "We all have our sins to atone for, don't we? Some of us more than others." He placed his hand back on yours, his touch was soothing.

After a moment, Astarion's gaze grew distant. "To partially answer your question, Y/n, one must first understand the nature of a priest's vow. Chastity, piety, and dedication to a higher power. It is a life of self-denial, of sacrificing one's personal desires for a greater cause," he began, his voice heavy with the weight of his past.

"In my case, my path to the priesthood was not driven by divine inspiration, but by a profound need to purge the darkness within me. The sins I've committed run deep, and the road to redemption is a long and arduous one."

His smile, when it returned, was tinged with sadness, a bittersweet acknowledgment of the life he once led. "In essence, I chose this path as my penance, as a way to atone for the transgressions of my past. The harsh discipline and chastity I adhere to are a constant reminder of the price I must pay for the sins I've committed."

The intensity of the moment weighed heavily on the air as you digested his words. The sincerity in his confession was palpable, a testament to the internal struggle that plagued him. "I'm sorry, Astarion, for your suffering," you offered, your fingers intertwining with his, to offer a reassuring touch. "But perhaps, in your service and devotion, you have already found some measure of redemption."

The fire crackled, its dance casting shadows on the walls as Astarion's eyes darkened, the intensity in his gaze growing. "But, I must admit my angel, that since your arrival, I've found it increasingly difficult to keep my distance, to not succumb to the forbidden desires that once consumed me," he admitted, his voice thick..

You felt a shiver run down your spine, a mixture of fear and anticipation. Trying to maintain your composure, you played innocent, your voice trembling slightly. "I don't understand what you're implying, Father."

He chuckled softly, a dark, knowing smile spreading across his lips. "Oh, but you do, my dear. How can you pretend to judge what is good and bad when you've lived such a sheltered life? How can you truly know grace if you’ve never tasted sin?" His words hung heavy in the air, laden with implication.

You tried to deny the accusation, shaking your head. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Astarion’s eyes gleamed with a dangerous light as he leaned even closer, his breath brushing against your skin. "Your soul is too pure, too untouched by the world to understand. You’ve spent your life fighting monsters, but you’ve never truly faced the darkness within yourself."

Your heart raced, his proximity and intensity making it hard to breathe. "What are you saying?" you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Astarion reached out, his fingers gently tracing the line of your jaw, sending a jolt of electricity through you. "I’m saying, Y/n, that you’ve been living in a world of black and white, of good and evil. But life is far more complex than that, and you’re so young... To truly understand grace, you must also understand sin."

His fingers moved to your neck, brushing over the bite marks he had left, a reminder of his power over you. "I saw it in your actions," he continued, his voice a soft, seductive whisper. "When I was cleaning you, taking care of you, I saw how innocent you were, how… untouched."

You shivered under his touch, the mixture of fear and something darker swirling within you. "How can you pretend to judge what is good and bad, what is pure and tainted, when you yourself have never truly tasted the depths of desire and temptation?" He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin. "You must experience the temptations that pull at your soul, the desires that make you human," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "Only then can you truly understand what it means to be alive, to be whole."

You tried to pull away, but his grip on you tightened, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made it impossible to look away. "You cannot know true grace without first experiencing sin," he whispered, his voice a hypnotic cadence that drew you in despite your fear.

"You cannot know the light without first embracing the darkness."

Astarion's words wrapped around you like a silken web, his touch igniting a fire within you that you had never felt before. You hated yourself for the way your body responded, for the way your heart raced and your breath quickened at his proximity. "How can you understand the beauty of purity if you’ve never been tainted?" he asked, his voice a seductive purr.

"How can you know the strength of virtue if you’ve never faced the allure of vice?"

You swallowed hard, your mind reeling from his words. "And you think you can show me this… complexity?"

“If you trust me,” Astarion's smile was both predator and enticing. "Yes, I know I can. Let me guide you, angel. Let me show you what it means to embrace both the light and the darkness."

His words were a dangerous lure, pulling you towards an abyss you had never dared to explore before and with anyone else. Despite your instincts screaming at you to resist, a part of you was undeniably drawn to him, to the promise of forbidden knowledge and the thrill of the unknown.

"I…" you hesitated, your voice faltering.

Astarion’s hand slipped from your jaw to the back of your neck, his touch firm yet gentle. "Trust me," he murmured, his voice a silken whisper that seemed to wrap around your very soul. "Let me show you what it means to truly live." And in that moment, as Astarion’s eyes held yours, you realised that the lines between good and evil, grace and sin, were not as clear as you had once believed.

He had the face of an angel.

But devil thoughts.

Astarion's gaze softened, though the intensity in his eyes remained. He took your hand in his, his touch warm and reassuring. Your breath caught as he gently tugged you to your feet. The touch of his hand was both comforting and electrifying, as he led you through the dimly lit church.

You followed Astarion down a narrow, spiralling staircase that led to the church's basement— you never dared to wander there before, it was all so new and overwhelming. The air grew cooler, and the faint scent of incense and aged wood filled your nostrils. At the bottom of the staircase, Astarion paused before a heavy wooden door.

He glanced at you, a devilish smile playing on his lips. "What you are about to see is a sanctuary, a place hidden from the world. It is where I find solace and where you might begin to understand the complexities of grace and sin." He pushed the door open, revealing a hidden sanctuary.

The room was illuminated by soft, golden light from numerous candles placed strategically around the space. The walls were lined with bookshelves filled with ancient tomes and artefacts. In the centre of the room was an ornate altar, adorned with intricate carvings and symbols that seemed to pulse with a faint, otherworldly glow.

Astarion led you inside, his hand never leaving yours. He guided you to the altar, his movements graceful and deliberate. "This," he said, his voice a hushed whisper, "is where I seek redemption, where I grapple with the darkness within me and strive to find the light."

Astarion's fingers intertwined with yours, his touch a comforting anchor in the swirling uncertainty. "Come, my angel," he said gently, guiding you towards the heart of the chamber.

You looked around, taking in the sacredness of the space. It was unlike any church you had ever seen—and for the time, you wondered if he was a real priest. "It's... beautiful," you whispered, your voice filled with awe.

Astarion smirked, his eyes lingering on the curve of your lips as you spoke. He stepped closer, his body pressing against yours, forcing you to lean back against the cold, hard surface of the altar. You could feel his arousal, a throbbing, insistent pressure against your thigh. "Grace," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "It's not just a matter of beauty, my angel. True grace is about balance, control, and submission. It's about becoming one with the divine, surrendering to the sacredness of all that is."

As he spoke, his hand slid up your thigh, his fingers teasingly close to the hem of your nightgown. You felt your breath catch in your throat, your nipples hardening under the weight of his gaze. "Let me teach you," he whispered, his voice now tinged with desire. "Let me show you the beauty and power of true grace."

With that, he hooked his fingers beneath the hem of the fabric, tugging it up your legs. The cold air of the sanctuary brushed against your sensitive, exposed flesh. You couldn't help but squirm, your thighs parting instinctively, aching for him to fill the emptiness between them.

Astarion's fingers trailed along the curve of your hip, then lower, over the tender skin of your inner thigh. They danced closer to the dampness between your folds, your hips arching to meet his touch. He smirked, his eyes darkened with lust. "You crave it, don't you?" he whispered, his voice a growl.

"You crave knowledge and pleasure?" You nodded, your voice caught in your throat. Astarion chuckled softly, a wicked, predatory sound. "Then let us begin your education, my angel."

Astarion's lips trailed down your throat, leaving a trail of soft, wet kisses, his tongue flicking across the sensitive skin. His hands roamed over your body, cupping your breasts, weighing them in his palms.

You gasped as his teeth nipped at your tender neck, his tongue teasing your nipples through the thin fabric of your nightgown. Slowly, he unbuttoned the garment, letting it fall to the floor, throwing it aside to unveil your swollen, erect nipples. He leaned in, his hot breath making you shiver, before taking one of your nipples into his mouth. His eager tongue flicked over and around it, his lips sucking gently.

You arched your back, your fingers twisting in his silver hair, tugging him closer.

Astarion's hand slipped over your thigh and up to your damp panties. He pushed them aside, letting his fingers graze over your clit, making you moan. His mouth latched onto your other nipple, the dual sensations sending jolts of pleasure through your body.

He lifted you, and Astarion's eyes were dark, hungry, as he stared at the glistening wetness between your legs.

"You are exquisite," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "You are the embodiment of grace and beauty, and I am honoured to worship you." He laid you down on the cold, hard surface of the altar, your breath hitching at the suddenness of the move. Astarion's gaze never left you as he positioned himself between your thighs.

Lowering his head, he inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring as he took in your arousal. He ran his tongue along the seam of your folds, making you arch off the altar. He continued to tease and taste you, flicking his tongue against your clit, eliciting a choked moan from you.

"Oh, gods," you panted, your fingers now gripping the cloth of the altar.

“There are no gods here,” Astarion smiled against your wetness, his fingers teasingly circling your entrance. "But you taste divine," he purred, his voice muffled by your folds. He dipped a finger inside you, curling it to find your sensitive spot. You cried out as the sensation overwhelmed you, your hips bucking against his hand.

Astarion continued to lavish attention on you, his tongue and fingers working in unison to bring you to the edge of ecstasy. You writhed beneath him, your body a mass of trembling desire.

You moaned, the sensation of Astarion's mouth and fingers driving you wild. "This, this is forbidden," you whimpered, your voice hoarse.

Astarion's eyes gleamed, his mouth a wicked grin as he continued his ministrations. "The forbidden is where the true pleasure lies," he whispered, his fingers flicking against your clit in just the right spot.

Astarion's skilled mouth and fingers worked in perfect unison, his lips and tongue worshipping you, coaxing you to the precipice before pulling you back, over and over. His grip on your hips tightened, leaving a red mark behind, his sharp teeth nipping at your inner thigh, driving you to the edge of madness.

And then, with a final, fervent thrust of his fingers and fierce suction on your clit, he sent you careening over the edge, your body shuddering, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Astarion licked the last of your juices from his lips, his eyes gleaming with victory and desire.

"You've embraced the first lesson, angel. Now let's move on to the next one." He pulled you towards him, his lips crashing against yours in a bruising, possessive kiss, his tongue seeking entry. As you fought for breath, Astarion's hands found their way to the buttons of his trousers, releasing his throbbing, erect cock.

"You'll learn to worship me, just like I worship you — to take me into your mouth and guide me deep within your sweet, tight cunt," he breathed against your lips. "You'll learn to obey, to serve, and to find joy in the power you give and receive." With a forceful tug, he pulled you to your knees, staring down at you with a mixture of lust and expectation. You gazed up at him, meeting his lustful gaze, your heart pounding in your chest.

You looked down at Astarion's erect cock, unsure of what to do. "I-I've never... done this before," you confessed, your voice small and hesitant.

Astarion's lips curved into a wicked smile. "You'll learn, angel," he said softly, his hand cupping the back of your head, guiding you forward. "Just as you've learned to embrace the divine, you'll learn to embrace the carnal."

You tentatively reached out, your fingers wrapping around the base of his cock. The heat radiated from his shaft, the veins pulsing beneath your touch. You hesitated, your eyes flicking up to his, seeking guidance. Astarion placed his hand on the back of your head, gently guiding you closer, your lips brushing against the head of his cock. He gave you a nod, urging you to take him into your mouth.

Gingerly, you parted your lips, sliding your mouth over the head of his cock. A salty, musky taste filled your mouth, and you hesitated, your eyes widening.

"Don't be afraid," Astarion cooed, his voice low and soothing. "Savour it. Worship it."

With a deep breath, you took him deeper, your tongue flicking over the sensitive underside. You felt Astarion's hand tighten in your hair, his breath catching. He guided you, his fingers gently urging you to move in a rhythm that felt natural, your mouth swallowing and releasing his cock, your tongue exploring every inch. Astarion's eyes closed, his head falling back, a low, guttural groan escaping his lips.

Your hands slid up his thighs, squeezing and kneading the muscles as you continued to worship him with your mouth. Astarion's hips began to move in time with your motions, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

He was your teacher, your guide, showing you the art of submission and worship. You embraced it, your body eager to learn, to follow the path that Astarion laid before you. As you continued to pleasure him with your mouth, Astarion's grip in your hair tightened, the sound of his ragged breaths growing louder. You knew you were bringing him closer to release—and it felt… satisfying.

And with a low, guttural moan, Astarion came, his hot seed filling your mouth. Your eyes widened, unsure of how to handle it, but Astarion's hand cupped the back of your head, gently encouraging you to swallow, to accept the gift he offered you. You did as he commanded, your body learning this new form of submission, this new kind of divine pleasure.

Astarion's eyes met yours, his face flushed with pleasure. "A beautiful first time, angel," he praised, his voice thick with satisfaction. He pulled you to your feet, his cock still glistening with your saliva. Astarion's hands gently cupped your face, his eyes filled with a mix of desire and concern. "Tonight, you've learned much," he said softly, his voice a low rumble. "It's time to rest, to let your wounded body heal and regain its strength."

He pulled you into his arms, the warmth enveloping you, his solid form a comforting presence. "We'll continue our lessons tomorrow," he promised, his lips brushing against your temple in a tender kiss as he pulled your nightgown back over your body and put his clothes back on with one hand.

Astarion guided you from the altar, his strength evident as he carried you up the stairs to the bedroom. He laid you down gently on the soft bed, the silk sheets cool against your heated skin. He adjusted the covers, tucking them around you, making sure you were comfortable. Once you were settled, Astarion straightened, his ruby eyes meeting yours. "Sleep well, Y/n," he said, his voice a seductive purr.

You couldn't help but shiver at the sound of his voice. "Thank you, Astarion," you murmured, your eyes heavy with fatigue.

He brushed a lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek. "You are safe here," he assured you, his touch both soothing and electrifying. "Tomorrow, we will continue our journey."

Your heart fluttered at his words, the promise of more to come both thrilling and daunting. "Astarion," you said softly, catching his hand as he moved to turn away. "Why are you doing all this for me?"

He paused, his eyes darkening with a mixture of emotions. "Because, angel, you have a light within you that is rare. It is something worth protecting, worth nurturing." He leaned closer, his breath warm against your skin.

Your grip on his hand tightened, a sense of trust and connection forming between you. "I hope you're right," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He smiled, a genuine warmth in his eyes. "I am," he said confidently. "Now rest. You need your strength."

You nodded, releasing his hand reluctantly. As Astarion turned away, you couldn't help but feel a pang of longing, a desire to keep him close. "Goodnight, Astarion," you said, your voice tinged with a mixture of gratitude and yearning.

He glanced back at you, his smile softening. "Goodnight, Y/n," he replied, his tone gentle. With a final lingering look, he left the room, closing the door softly behind him, leaving you alone in the darkness.

You closed your eyes, your body exhausted but content. The events of the night played over in your mind, the promise of Astarion's guidance and protection a comforting thought. As you drifted off to sleep, your dreams were filled with images of the sanctuary, of Astarion's intense gaze and his soothing touch.

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

The morning light filtered through the small window of the bedroom, casting a soft glow across the room. You stirred, the ache in your neck pulling you from sleep. As you shifted under the covers, a sharp pain shot through your neck, causing you to wince. The memories of the previous night flooded back, and the sensations that had seemed so intoxicating now felt like poison seeping through your veins.

You reached up, gingerly touching the bite marks on your neck. They were tender, the skin around them inflamed and sore. A sense of unease settled over you as you realised they weren’t healing as they should. The implications hit you like a cold wave, and a chill ran down your spine.

Unable to deny the truth any longer, you understood why: Astarion was using you. He was feeding on you, causing your strength to fade away each night, slowly but surely leading you towards death.

You forced yourself out of bed, every movement a painful reminder of what had transpired. You made your way to the small mirror hanging on the wall, examining the bite marks with a critical eye.

Your mind raced as you tried to come to terms with the revelation. How could you have been so blind? The signs had been there all along, but you had ignored them, lulled by his charm and the sense of safety he provided. You felt a mix of anger and despair, the reality of your situation crashing down on you.

Determined not to fall into despair, you knew you had to confront Astarion. You couldn’t continue to let him feed on you, to let him drain your life away. Gathering your courage, and with a heavy heart, you made your way to the kitchen. The weight of the knife in your hand felt foreign, its cool metal sending a shiver down your spine. You hesitated for a moment, the blade glinting in the soft light of the room.

Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself for what was to come. Gripping the knife tightly, you hid it behind your back as you made your way back to the garden. You found Astarion in the garden, standing in the shadows of the cloister as usual, reading his book. He looked up as you approached, a smile playing on his lips. "Good morning, Y/n," he greeted, his voice as smooth as ever.

"Did you sleep well?"

You didn’t return his smile, your expression serious. "Astarion, we need to talk."

He raised an eyebrow, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. "Oh? About what?"

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. "About this," you said, pointing to the bite marks on your neck. "About what you’ve been doing to me."

His smile faded, replaced by a look of mild concern. "Y/n, you’re still recovering. Those wounds will heal in time."

"No, they won’t," you countered, your voice trembling with anger. "They’re not healing because you’re feeding on me. You’re draining my life away."

Astarion sighed, a hint of resignation in his eyes. "I suppose the truth was bound to come out eventually."

You felt a surge of anger. "Why? Why are you doing this to me?"

He looked at you, his expression a mixture of regret and something darker. "Because I need to survive, Y/n. And you... you were convenient."

“Convenient?!” His words cut deep, a mixture of betrayal and heartbreak washing over you. "I trusted you," you whispered, your voice breaking, tears threatening to fall. "I thought you were helping me."

Astarion's gaze softened slightly, a hint of remorse in his eyes. "I am helping you, Y/n. In my own way. You’ve learned a lot, haven’t you? About the world, about yourself."

"At what cost?" you demanded, your voice rising. "My life? My humanity?" With a swift motion, you brought the knife out from behind your back, the blade catching the light as it gleamed in the dim garden. "If I have to," you said, your voice trembling with anger and resolve, "I'll use this to protect myself."

Astarion's smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by a flicker of surprise. But then, to your dismay, it transformed into a knowing grin. "Ah, I see," he said, his tone mocking. "So it's come to this, has it? My, my, you really are full of surprises, my angel."

You held the knife out in front of you, your hand steady despite the turmoil raging within you. "Don't test me, Astarion," you warned, your voice firm. "I won't hesitate to use this if I have to."

He tilted his head to the side, studying you with a mix of amusement and curiosity. "And what do you intend to accomplish with that little toy?" he said, his tone taunting. "Do you honestly think you can threaten me with such a thing?"

You felt a surge of frustration at his dismissive attitude, but you refused to let it shake your resolve. "I'll do whatever it takes to protect myself," you repeated, your voice growing more determined with each word.

Astarion stepped closer, the smirk never leaving his lips. "Oh, come now, Y/n," he said, his voice laced with amusement. "Are you flirting with me?"

You recoiled, taken aback by his cavalier response. "This is not a joke, Astarion," you said, your grip on the knife tightening. "You’ve been using me, draining me of my life force."

He tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with a mix of mischief and something darker. "And what if I have?" he said, his tone teasing. "What if I told you that you were simply a means to an end? A pawn?” He then chuckled, the sound sending a chill down your spine.

“But… What if I told you, that along the lines, I fell in love with you?”

“You would lie, again.” you replied harshly, despite your heart pounding at the idea he could feel more for you.

After a moment, he said, "Oh, Y/n," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into."

With a sudden movement, he lunged towards you, his hands reaching out to grab the knife. Instinct took over, and you reacted without thinking. With a swift motion, you brought the knife down, the blade slicing through the air with deadly precision.

But instead of fear or pain, Astarion only smirked, his eyes alight with amusement— you had missed him. "Well, well," he said, his voice filled with mock surprise, his grasp on your wrist thought and commanding.

"Looks like we’ve reached an impasse."

You stared at him, the realisation sinking in. He had known all along, had anticipated your every move. You were no match for him, not when he held all the cards.

Astarion stepped back, his smirk widening into a devilish grin. "What will you do now, Y/n?" he said, his voice dripping with challenge. "Will you run? In fact, running doesn’t matter, I’ll hunt you down if I had to.”

“Because I crave you, angel.”

His words sent a chill down your spine, a mixture of fear and confusion swirling within you. Despite the pain and betrayal you felt, there was something unnerving about the way Astarion spoke, something primal and alluring that drew you in despite your better judgement.

You took a step back, the weight of the knife still heavy in your hand. "I won't let you do this to me," you said, your voice trembling with defiance. "I won't let you drain me until there's nothing left."

Astarion's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with a hunger that sent a shiver down your spine. "Oh, but my dear," he purred, taking a slow step forward, "you misunderstand. I don't intend to drain you until there's nothing left. I intend to keep you alive, to keep you by my side for eternity."

Astarion's devilish grin sent a jolt of desire through you, despite your best efforts to resist it. The primal urge to submit to his will, to give yourself over to his control, tugged at your very core. His words, laced with carnal intent, only served to stoke the flames of your deepest, darkest desires.

Your grip tightened on the knife, your heart racing as you took a step back. "I won't let you destroy me," you hissed, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and arousal. "I refuse to be nothing more than your plaything."

Astarion's eyes glinted with a wicked light as he closed the gap between you. "Oh, but my angel," he purred, his voice seductive, "you're already mine. And you'll find that there's no greater pleasure than being my plaything."

Your bodies were mere inches apart now, and you could feel the heat radiating off Astarion. The intensity of his gaze washed over you, as he reached out, gently cupping your cheek. His thumb traced the outline of your lips, causing you to shiver. "I'll make you crave it," Astarion whispered, the promise in his voice leaving no room for doubt, "the pleasure, the pain, the ecstasy. I will push you to your limits and beyond…”

“And you'll love every moment of it."

Your breath caught in your throat, the conflict between your desire to run, to resist, and your ever-growing need to surrender to his will warring within you. Astarion's fingers brushed against your neck, the heat from his touch sending a flood of sensations coursing through your body.

You could feel your resolve slipping, the knife in your hand wavering as you stared into his captivating eyes. The line between pleasure and pain blurred, and you found yourself swaying closer, your body betraying your mind, surrendering to the enchantment of the man before you.

Astarion's lips met yours in a searing kiss, his hands moving to your waist, pulling you against him. The world around you faded, leaving only the two of you locked in a passionate embrace, your defences crumbling, your body responding to his with a hunger it couldn't suppress.

The knife fell from your grasp, forgotten on the ground as you explored each other's mouths, your tongues entwining, your lips clashing, a symphony of desire and submission unfolding between you.

Astarion broke the passionate kiss, his lips lingering for a moment on yours before he pulled back, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction, as you complained about the lack of contact, your lips chasing his. "Oh, you've been very, very bad," he purred, his voice thick with wicked intent.

"And punishment is necessary when you stray from the path of grace."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, a mixture of fear and desire coiling in the pit of your stomach. You couldn't deny the power he wielded, the allure of his dominance provoking an arousal that heightened your senses. As you lay there, defenceless and exposed, Astarion held you in his arms, putting you back to bed. With practised ease, he bound your hands to the headboard, the restraints tight to restrict your movements.

"You're my captive now," he declared, his deep voice a promise of both pleasure and pain. "And I'll do with you as I please." The vulnerability you felt, the loss of control, only served to amplify your arousal. Astarion's gaze raked over your body, his eyes lingering on your heaving chest, the rapid rise and fall of your breasts betraying your excitement.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Are you ready to submit to your master? Because I'm not going to stop until you're mine, body and soul."

Deep down, you knew there was no escape, and as much as the thought terrified you, a wicked and exhilarating thrill coursed through your veins. You cursed yourself for that, for the way your body betrayed you, responding to his touch despite the danger he represented. Because in truth, Astarion had already claimed you, body and soul, and now, you were his to mould, to break, to pleasure, and to torment.

You had fallen for the kind you hated, a vampire.

The very creatures you had sworn to hunt and destroy. And Astarion had played you perfectly, manipulating your mind, making you believe that some vampires were good, that they could be trusted.

The memories of the past weeks flooded back, each touch, each word, all calculated to worm his way into your heart. You thought back to the days and nights you spent together, the gentle caresses, the tender words that seemed to reach into your very soul. All of it had been a part of his plan.

Astarion smirked as he admired you, a devious glint in his eyes. He leaned down, his lips pressing against yours in a possessive kiss, his tongue pushing against your lips, demanding entrance. And yet, you still opened it for him willingly, the taste of his saliva invading your mouth.

He pulled away, his lips trailing down your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, making you shudder. His fangs elongated as he prepared to feed, the tip of one piercing your flesh. You gasped, the sharp sting of his bite quickly dissipating as your blood flowed into his greedy mouth.

"No," you whimpered, trying to deny the pleasure as Astarion's fangs elongated, the sharp points poised to pierce your flesh. "I... I don't want this." Your body bucked against the headboard, your hands straining against the silk restraints as he began to feed. The pleasure coursed through your veins, your core aching with each draw of his lips. "Astarion..." you moaned, your voice tinged with a mix of pleasure and desperation.

"You want this," he purred, his voice thick with satisfaction as he continued to feed. The room spun around you, the pleasure reaching an almost unbearable crescendo. "You crave it, just like I knew you would."

You tried to resist, your voice trembling as you replied, "I... I shouldn't enjoy this. It's wrong."

The pleasure that enveloped you as his mouth sucked your blood was indescribable, your body arching towards him, an animalistic moan escaping your lips, “Oh, yes gods.” You cried out. He sucked greedily, your blood a sweet ambrosia to his thirsty lips. The more he drank, the more intensely you felt the pleasure, the orgasmic waves crashing over you, leaving you trembling.

Then, Astarion's hands moved to his own trousers, his fingers fumbling with the button, unzipping them to reveal the thick erection straining against the fabric of his underwear. His eyes never left yours as he pulled out his cock, the head glistening with pre-cum, the veins pulsating with desire.

"Every night, I've fed on you. But, I've also found other ways to amuse myself while you slept," he confessed with a smirk, his hand wrapping around his shaft, stroking it with slow deliberate motions. "I've watched you, so beautiful and vulnerable in your slumber, the way your breath hitches, the way your nipples harden, the way you squirm in your sleep, all signs that even while unconscious, your body craves me."

His strokes grew more fervent, his hips bucking in small motions, the slick sound of his hand moving up and down his shaft filling the room. "And I've touched myself, imagining myself burying my cock in your tight, wet cunt, fucking you until you screamed my name."

As he stroked himself, the sounds of his hand moving up and down, slapping against his shaft, filled the room. You blushed, the realisation of how much he lusted after you, the intimate invasion of your privacy, making your pussy dampen, your desire for him growing more insatiable.

Astarion's eyes bore into yours, the hunger and lust in his gaze undeniable as he continued his lewd confession. "I've come so many times, my release tasting of you, a tangible reminder of this unending obsession I have for you. And now, angel, I want to take you, to finally—finally fill you with my cock and claim you as mine."

Astarion's voice grew thick with lust, his hunger for you apparent as he declared his intentions. "Let me see your submission, let me see how badly you need me." As you gazed up at him, he reached forward, his hand cupping your chin, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. "Open for me," he demanded, and you did, your lips parting to reveal the wet, inviting depths of your mouth.

“Good girl.” He purred with a low appreciative growl.

Without hesitation, Astarion guided his cock to your lips, the head brushing against them before he thrust forward, burying himself in your mouth. You gasped, the taste of him, the feel of his thickness. Astarion urged you on, his grip tightening on your head as he demanded more. "Suck me, use your saliva to lube my cock."

You did as he bid, working your saliva along his length, the slick substance coating his cock as you took him deeper in your mouth. The taste, the sound, the feeling of him, heightened your arousal, your body quivering with need. Suddenly, he stopped you, pulling out of your mouth with a low growl. You gasped, your lips parting to reveal the absence of his cock. He then positioned himself between your spread thighs, his eyes locked on yours, the lust and desire burning brightly.

"No preparation," he growled, his hand guiding his cock to your entrance. "This is your punishment, remember, and I want to feel every inch of you, raw and unbridled."

His rigid member pressed insistently against your swollen, slick folds. Before you could even gasp, he thrust forward, burying himself inside you, the sudden invasion making you cry out in both pain and pleasure.

He began to fuck you relentlessly, his thrusts deep and powerful, filling you completely with each stroke. Your breasts bounced with each impact, your nipples brushing against the rough fabric of his robe, sending jolts of pleasure through your body as he stretched you.

Astarion's hands gripped your hips harder, his thrusts becoming more frenzied as his anger boiled over. "Never, Y/n. You will never be free from me," he snarled, his voice deep and guttural. "I could give you the entire world, everything you could ever desire, and you still refuse to submit to me." he hissed.

You felt the veins on his cock pulse with each thrust, the intensity of his anger amplifying the pleasure coursing through your body. Your pussy clenched around him, your body betraying your resistance as he pounded into you with a force that bordered on violence. The room was filled with the sounds of your bodies colliding, the wet smacks of skin on skin punctuating his threats.

"You may think you want freedom, but what you truly crave is my control, my dominance," Astarion growled, his words heavy with conviction. "You can't resist me, and I won't let you go, Y/n."

He leaned down, nipping at your earlobe, the sharp pain mingling with the pleasure of his cock stretching you open. It was almost as if he was branding you, claiming you, as he continued his relentless assault on your body.

Your resistance crumbled beneath the onslaught of his passion, your arousal growing with every harsh word. Your body shook, your pussy clenching around him in desperation, and you whimpered, not able to form a coherent thought or sentence.

His vampire's kisses became more urgent, his tongue duelling with yours as his hips moved at a frenzied pace. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, each vein rubbing against your inner walls, causing sparks of pleasure to radiate through your core. "Fuck, you're so tight, angel. I'm going to fill you with my cum," he growled, his hands gripping your hips tightly, pulling you closer with each thrust.

The base of his cock rubbed against your clit, each impact bringing you closer to the edge. Your pussy clenched around his cock, milking him with every spasm. The room filled with the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh, wet and primal, as you fucked with a desperation born of need and lust.

You could no longer deny the truth in his words. You arched your back, your hips meeting his thrusts, your body begging for more. "Fuck, yes, Astarion. Don't ever stop," you gasped, your voice shaking with need.

"That's it, Y/n. Take it. Take my cock, your body was made for it," he growled.

Astarion leaned down, nipping at your neck, leaving tiny marks in his wake. His fangs grazed your skin, the mixture of pleasure and pain making your orgasm crest, crashing over you in waves. Astarion's movements might be more violent, his body a tempest of raw, carnal desire as he fucked you. But the contrast between his tender kisses and the aggressive force with which he took you was arousing, a betrayal of his tender nature.

His lips left yours, a trail of wet, hot kisses making their way down your neck, the sharp points of his fangs grazing your skin as he growled, "You make me lose control, Y/n. Every time I touch you, I'm reminded of the beast I am."

You cried out, the pleasure building to a fever pitch within you. "Astarion," you pleaded, your voice shaking. "Don't stop, please... Please don't stop." At your words, his thrusts became more erratic, the violence of his movements a stark contrast to the tender, loving kisses you'd received only moments before.

The combination of his conflicting emotions and the relentless assault on your body left you breathless, your orgasm overtaking you. The tenderness of his kisses, the violence of his thrusts, and the desperation in his voice all converged, creating a whirlwind of sensations that left you at his mercy.

The sensation of your pussy convulsing around his cock was too much for Astarion, and he roared, his cock pulsating inside you as he unleashed his hot, sticky cum deep within your quivering depths. Your bodies heaved, entwined, as the aftershocks of your orgasms continued to reverberate through you both.

Slowly, Astarion pulled out of you, his cock leaving behind a trail of cum and your fluids. He fell back, his breathing as ragged as yours, and gazed at you with an expression that was both lustful and tender—prideful, as if he could never get enough of you.

As Astarion pulled out, your body felt empty, the void left by his departure a stark reminder of the loss. Your legs trembled, and you sagged against the bed, the weight of your arousal now replaced by an aching, throbbing sensation that echoed through your body.

Your eyes observed your own form, taking note of the red marks that adorned your hips, the bruises on your wrists from the restraints, and the trickle of blood from the bite on your neck making its way down your collarbones. You looked at Astarion, this man who had brought you to such heights of pleasure, however, you saw him as a monster, a creature who revealed in the act of inflicting pain while claiming to love you.

Tears began to stream down your face, the realisation dawning that your pleasure and his desire for violence were intrinsically linked. The more he hurt you, the more he pleased you, a twisted, tortuous dance that left you aching and unsatisfied. "Why?" you managed between sniffs, your voice fraught with hurt and confusion.

"Why do you do this to me?"

Astarion's expression softened, and he reached out to you, his hand cupping your chin as he tilted your face up to meet his gaze. "Because you're mine, Y/n," he said, his voice low and filled with an unshakeable conviction. "Because you bring out the best and the worst in me, and I can't help but be drawn to the darkness you unleash within me. It's not something I can control, Y/n. I love you, and I hurt you because I can't help it."

"This is not love— You're a monster," you whispered, the tears falling faster as the full weight of your situation settled upon you. Despite the blissful orgasm, you couldn't escape the truth.

Astarion flinched at your words, a flash of hurt crossing his face. He let out a shuddering breath, his grip on your chin tightening slightly before he released you. "I know," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know what I am, and I know what I've done to you. But it's because I can't lose you. Not now, not ever."

You looked at his pain expression, your heart heavy with a mixture of sorrow and fear. "I can't stay here, Astarion," you said, your voice trembling. "I can't live like this, constantly torn between love and pain."

For a moment, you saw the conflict in his eyes, the battle between the man he wanted to be and the monster he used to be. "Y/n," he began, his voice breaking, "Please. I need you."

You shook your head, fresh tears streaming down your cheeks. "I can't," you repeated, your voice firmer this time.

"Y/n, I... I didn't mean to hurt you. I lose myself sometimes, and you bring out a side of me that's... feral, wild, and I can't control it."

You looked away, unable to meet his eyes, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on your heart. You felt a mixture of fear and confusion, your desire for him warring with the pain he had unintentionally caused.

Astarion's hand gently brushed against your cheek, his touch tender now, his tone filled with remorse. "Please forgive me. I don't want to hurt you, Y/n. I promise, I'll find a way to control myself."

Tears streamed down your face as the realisation of your situation sank in. "I… I don't want to stay," you whispered, your voice fraught with hurt and confusion. The weight of your decision pressed heavily on your heart, but you knew it was the right choice for your own sanity and well-being.

Astarion's face contorted with a mixture of pain and resignation. His hand lingered for a moment, trembling slightly, before he reluctantly reached for the knot that restrained your wrist. With careful precision, he untied it, his fingers brushing against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

As the restraint fell away, you rubbed your wrist, feeling a sense of freedom mingled with an aching sense of loss. Astarion's eyes met yours, a storm of emotions swirling within them. "If you truly wish to leave," he said, his voice low and heavy with regret, "then I won't stop you. But let me take care of you one last night. Allow me to tend to your wounds, and ensure you're well enough to go."

You hesitated, the conflict within you raging. Despite everything, a part of you still longed for his touch, for the care he had shown amidst the darkness. Finally, you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Alright. One last night."

Astarion's shoulders relaxed slightly, a flicker of relief in his wine eyes. He guided you gently to the bed, his touch tender and careful. He helped you lie down, adjusting the covers around you with a practised ease. The silk sheets felt cool against your heated skin, a soothing contrast to the turmoil within.

He brushed a lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek before he turned away to gather the supplies needed to tend to your bite wounds. You watched him, your heart heavy with a mixture of sorrow and longing. Despite the pain he had caused, there was a part of you that couldn't help but care for him.

You felt a pang of sadness, an ache that went beyond the physical pain of your wounds.

You had spent so much time with Astarion, sharing moments that were as mundane as they were precious—reading together, talking late into the night, tending to the garden. The thought of leaving him, of abandoning him back to his loneliness, was almost unbearable.

He moved with grace, his touch gentle and precise as he cleaned and dressed the marks on your neck. Each movement seemed filled with an unspoken apology, a silent plea for forgiveness. When he finished, he looked down at you, his eyes softening. "Sleep well, angel," he murmured, his voice a seductive purr.

"I'll be here if you need anything."

As he turned to leave, a sudden wave of loneliness washed over you. You reached out, your voice trembling.

"Astarion, wait."

He paused, turning back to face you, a hint of surprise in his eyes. "Yes?"

You hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. "Will you stay with me? Just for tonight?"

Astarion's eyes widened slightly, a myriad of emotions flickering across his face. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "After everything... are you sure you want me to stay?"

You nodded, your eyes filled with unshed tears. "I don't want to leave you alone," you said softly. "Not tonight."

For a moment, Astarion seemed at a loss for words. Then he moved closer, sitting on the edge of the bed. He reached out, taking your hand in his, his grip firm but gentle. "Thank you," he said quietly. "You don't know what this means to me."

He looked deeply into your eyes, his gaze softening. Without a word, he gently moved closer, sliding his arms around you with a tenderness that belied his strength. Slowly, he drew you into his embrace, his touch warm and reassuring. You felt his chest rise and fall with each breath, a steady rhythm that began to calm your racing heart. His nose pressed against your hair, and you felt the soft caress of his breath as he exhaled.

"Shhh," he whispered, his voice a soothing murmur. "It's alright. Just relax. I'm here."

You nestled into his arms, the tension in your body gradually dissipating. Astarion's presence enveloped. His hand gently stroked your back in slow, comforting circles, and you felt the weight of his chin resting lightly on top of your head. "Close your eyes," he whispered, his voice a lullaby in the quiet room.

"Let go of your worries, just for tonight."

You obeyed, your eyelids growing heavy. The scent of him, a mix of bergamot and something uniquely him, filled your senses, and you found yourself drifting closer to sleep. His other hand came up to cradle your head, his fingers threading through your hair in a gentle, repetitive motion.

"I'll be right here when you wake up," he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. "I promise."

His words, filled with a sincerity that you had rarely heard from him, wrapped around your heart. You felt the last of your resistance melting away as sleep began to take hold. In his arms, you felt a sense of safety and warmth that you hadn't known you needed until you met him.

As you drifted into slumber, Astarion continued to hold you close, his presence a comforting anchor in the night. His nose remained pressed against your hair, and his steady breaths lulled you deeper into sleep.

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

I'll be right here when you wake up.

I promise.

When you woke up, the first thing you noticed was the cold emptiness beside you. The space where Astarion had been was now vacant, the bed's sheets cool to the touch. It was another lie, another illusion of safety and care shattered by the harsh reality of his absence. You sighed, a mixture of sadness and resignation settling over you. Part of you had hoped that perhaps he would be there, making a desperate attempt to change your mind, to convince you to stay. But the room was silent, and Astarion was nowhere to be seen.

You gathered your things slowly, your movements heavy with the weight of disappointment. Each item you packed felt like a small piece of your heart being torn away. You wandered through the church, your footsteps echoing in the empty halls. The place felt even more desolate than before, the shadows longer and the silence deeper. You searched for him, a flicker of hope driving you to check every corner, every hidden space.

But Astarion was gone. There was no trace of him, no sign that he had ever been there.

Days passed in a blur of longing and despair. You found yourself lingering, unable to leave the place that had become a twisted sanctuary. Each day you waited, hoping against hope that he would return, that he would explain, that he would ask you to stay. But the days turned into nights, and Astarion never came back.

You stayed a couple of days, the church becoming a prison of your own making. You tended to the garden, read the books on the shelves, and kept the place as tidy as you could, as if maintaining it would somehow bring him back. But each sunset brought only more loneliness, and each sunrise reminded you of his absence.

Finally, with a heavy heart, you came to the painful realisation that you would never see him again. Astarion had vanished, leaving behind only memories and unanswered questions. The love you had shared, however twisted and complex, was now just a ghost haunting the empty church.

With a final, sorrowful glance around the place that had been your refuge, you gathered the last of your belongings and walked out into the night. And as you took your first steps away from the church, you carried with you the bittersweet memory of a love that could never be, and the knowledge that because of him you had survived, even if it meant leaving a part of yourself behind.

As you stepped out into the night, a sense of unease washed over you, prickling at the back of your mind like a warning. Your hunter instincts surged to life, urging you to pay attention, to be alert. The forest seemed to whisper to you, a cacophony of voices urging you to act, to help.

Astarion.

Without a moment's hesitation, you raced through the darkened woods, your heart pounding in your chest. The urgency of the situation fueled your movements, driving you forward with a singular purpose. Images of worst-case scenarios flashed through your mind, each more horrifying than the last.

As you drew closer, the putrid scent of death and blood assaulted your senses, causing your stomach to churn with nausea. Your steps faltered for a moment, dread pooling in the pit of your stomach. But you pushed forward, steeling yourself for whatever lay ahead.

And then, you saw him.

Astarion lay on the ground, his body battered and bloody, surrounded by the lifeless corpses of other vampires. The sight made your heart ache with a mixture of fear and sorrow. Despite everything, despite the pain and betrayal, you couldn't bear to see him like this.

Without a second thought, you rushed to his side, dropping to your knees beside him. His breathing was shallow, his skin pale and clammy to the touch. You gently cradled his head in your arms, your fingers trembling as you assessed his injuries. "Astarion," you whispered, your voice filled with concern.

"Can you hear me? What happened?"

He stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours. There was pain and confusion in his gaze, but also a glimmer of relief at seeing you there.

"Y/n, my sweet angel" he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "I... I didn't think... you'd come."

You shook your head, your heart breaking at the vulnerability in his voice. "Sorry it took me a while, but I heard you," you said softly.

A weak chuckle escaped Astarion's lips, his voice strained with pain. "Before you leave," he said, a hint of humour lacing his words, "I thought I should take care of those pesky vampires that were threatening the village. Wouldn't want you to leave thinking I'm not capable of protecting you, now would we?"

His attempt at levity brought tears to your eyes, and you blinked them away, your vision blurred with emotion. In that moment, you realised the truth—that he had done all of this for you. Despite everything, despite the pain and the betrayal, he had risked his life to keep you safe.

The realisation hit you like a punch to the gut, leaving you reeling with a mixture of gratitude and sorrow. How could you have been so blind, so quick to judge him without understanding the depth of his feelings?

As you looked into his eyes, you saw the truth reflected back at you—a love that transcends boundaries and defied logic. In that moment, you knew that you couldn't just walk away, not when there was still so much left unsaid between you. "I'm proud of you, Astarion," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion.

"I always have been."

He smiled weakly, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "Thank you, Y/n," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "For everything."

“Don’t thank me yet,” Taking a deep breath, you helped Astarion to his feet, one arm around his waist for support, the other cradling his head. You could feel the heat emanating from his body, the sharp sting of pain etched across his features.

Despite his weakened state, he leaned on you, allowing you to guide him back toward the church. The sun was setting, painting the sky with hues of orange and gold, its warmth a stark contrast to the chill that enveloped the village. His steps were slow and uncertain, each breath laboured, yet he pressed onward, driven by a will that was as unyielding as the love he bore for you. You couldn't help but feel a surge of admiration for the man who, despite his flaws, never faltered in his devotion to you.

The journey back to the church felt like an eternity, each step a struggle against the darkness that threatened to engulf you both. But you refused to falter, refused to let Astarion succumb to his injuries.

Finally, you reached the safety of the church, its walls a sanctuary against the horrors of the night. With careful hands, you guided Astarion to the very same bed he had welcomed you a while ago.

Now layed down, Astarion watched you with a mixture of gratitude and awe. "I never imagined the day when I would be at the mercy of a human," he admitted, his voice tinged with irony. But you didn’t laugh.

With trembling hands, you gingerly began to tend to Astarion's wounds. Each movement was a delicate dance between fear and compassion, the weight of his suffering pressing down on you like a heavy shroud. The sight of him in pain pierced your heart like a dagger, and you fought to keep your composure, to stave off the overwhelming tide of despair threatening to consume you.

As you worked, your mind raced with a cacophony of emotions—grief, anger, and an overwhelming sense of helplessness. How could you, a mere mortal, hope to heal the wounds of a creature as ancient and powerful as Astarion? Yet, despite the odds stacked against you, you couldn't bear to stand idly by while he suffered.

Astarion watched you with a mixture of gratitude and concern, his wine eyes filled with unspoken words. He reached out to you, his touch gentle against your skin, a silent reassurance in the midst of chaos. "Shh, Y/n," he murmured, his voice smooth and soothing like velvet. "It's all right. You’re doing great angel."

His words offered little comfort, but you appreciated the gesture nonetheless. With a deep breath, you focused on the task at hand, pushing aside your own emotions as you worked to ease his pain. Each touch, each bandage applied with painstaking care, was a silent prayer for his recovery, a desperate plea to whatever gods might be listening to spare him from further suffering.

Astarion watched you, his eyes filled with anguish and concern. Feeling your turmoil, he reached out to take your hand, his voice a soothing murmur as he spoke. "Y/n, listen to me. I haven't been truly honest with you. When I spoke of my sins, the sins of the flesh, that's what I meant."

His words hit you like a hammer, and for a moment, you couldn't find your voice. Astarion continued, his confession laced with pain and regret. "Most of my life, I was used. A pawn in a game, my body a tool to lure others into a trap. My master, the one who made me into what I am, he used me for his own wicked purposes. And when he died, I came here, to take penance."

He looked up at the ceiling, the pain etched in every line of his face. "Every day, the holy ground is a punishment for me, a constant reminder of my past. But being here, it's my way of making amends. And you... you showed me something I never thought I'd find. I know I'm not perfect, Y/n. I've made mistakes, many of them, and my past is one I can't escape. But I want to be better for you. I want to start anew."

You listened to Astarion's confession in stunned silence, the weight of his words sinking deep into your heart. Anger flared within you, a fiery inferno that threatened to consume you from the inside out. How could anyone be so callous, so cruel as to use another person in such a way? The thought of Astarion's past filled you with a righteous fury, a burning desire for justice that pulsed through your veins like wildfire.

But as he continued to speak, his voice tinged with regret and remorse, you felt the anger give way to something else—a sense of empathy, of understanding. Astarion had never known affection, had never experienced the simple joys of human connection. His life had been one of pain and isolation, a constant battle against the darkness that threatened to consume him.

"When you came here," he confessed, his voice soft and vulnerable, "I didn't know what to make of it. I had never felt anything like it before—the warmth, the kindness, the affection. It was overwhelming, and at some point, I think I fell in love."

His words hung in the air like a heavy fog, the weight of their meaning pressing down on you like a burden too heavy to bear. You had never imagined that your presence could have such an effect on him, that your simple acts of kindness could inspire such profound emotions.

"But I didn't know how to express it," Astarion continued, his voice filled with regret. "I was so caught up in my own pain, my own anger, that when you threatened to leave, it... it turned into something else. Something ugly. I lashed out at the only thing I could control—you."

Tears welled up in your eyes, the conflicting emotions warring within you like a stormy sea. On one hand, you felt a deep sense of sadness for the pain that Astarion had endured, for the loneliness that had plagued him for so long. But on the other hand, you couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal, of hurt and anger at the thought that he had lashed out at you in his moment of weakness.

"I'm sorry, Y/n," Astarion whispered, his voice filled with remorse. "I know I've hurt you, and I don't expect you to forgive me. But please... please understand that I never meant to cause you pain. I love you, Y/n, and I would do anything to make things right between us."

Tears cascaded down your cheeks in a torrent, a floodgate of emotions unleashed by Astarion's heartfelt confession. His words were a symphony of pain and longing, each syllable carrying the weight of his regrets and the depth of his love. You couldn't help but be moved by the raw vulnerability he laid bare before you, his soul laid bare like an open book, pleading for understanding and forgiveness.

As his voice trembled with emotion, you felt your own resolve waver, the walls you had erected around your heart crumbling in the face of his sincerity. "I love you too, Astarion," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, yet weighted with a lifetime of unspoken truths. "I don't want you to suffer for something that wasn't your fault. You deserve happiness, just like anyone else."

Silently, Astarion's hand, weakened by his wounds, reached for your cheek, his touch gentle and tender against your skin. With a soft sigh, he guided you towards him, you felt the gentle pressure of his lips against yours, a tender caress that said more than words ever could. His kiss was a balm for your wounded soul, and you knew he felt the same about yours.

"You have to make me a vampire," you whispered, your voice trembling with both fear and resolve. "We'll leave this church, and we'll build a new life together. We'll find a place where we can be happy."

Astarion's eyes, clouded with a mixture of relief and love, met yours. His lips curved into a weak smile that was both tender and heart-wrenching. It seemed as though the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders, and in its place, there was a joy that shone forth from the depths of his very being.

"Yes, my love, I would love that," he replied, his voice thick with emotion. As his lips lingered on yours, you felt a sense of belonging wash over you, a sense of fulfilment that you had longed for all your life. For that brief, fleeting moment, you were no longer alone - you were one, united by a love that defied all logic and reason.

As you surrendered to the bliss of his kiss, you knew that in the embrace of his love, you had found your home, your sanctuary.

Your salvation.

❛ masterlist ⋅ ao3 ❜

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion imagine #astarion fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 smut #astarion x female reader #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion smut #astarion fluff #astarion x you #bg3 fic #astarion fic #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 astarion #astarion x fem reader

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multi-fan-dom-madness · 1 year ago

Text

Midnight Masquerade - Hunter

Chapter Summary: The bottle lands on Hunter, and you get a classic monsterfuck.

Chapter Warnings: minors be gone; werewolf!Hunter x f!reader, kinks: predator/prey + knotting; desired fear, discussion of consent and rules, thrill of the chase, hiding, oral (f receiving), slightly graphic description of werewolf transformation, pain, unprotected PiV sex, multiple orgasms, creampie, lots of cum, breeding kink if you squint and hold it sideways, mentions of blood, one instance of near dub-con (reader says “i can’t” and Hunter says otherwise), some aftercare

Word Count: 4.0k (i'm not even ashamed of this one)

A/N: please please heed the warnings on this one. while there is a discussion of consent at the beginning, once the werewolf appears, there is no more discussion. I will say right now: reader wants everything that happens. the fear reader experiences is akin to the desired fear one gets from going through haunted houses or watching scary movies. it costs nothing to keep on scrolling if you don't think you're the intended audience for this fic.

also yes i'm posting this on the full moon. and yes it's the Hunter's Moon. i planned this >:)

...Hunter.

As the bottle rocks to a halt, you glance up to meet Hunter’s piercing gaze. He’s always been extra perceptive, always had the ability to make you feel like he’s seeing through you, but tonight, with magic coursing through him, his eyes pin you in place. A smirk tilts the corners of his mouth up.

Your breath shudders out of your chest in anticipation as you let your eyes wander over his costume-turned-reality. Ragged lumberjack plaid stretches over his broad shoulders, torn in places to reveal the continuation of his skeleton tattoo. His teeth have sharpened into points, bared in a grin as the smirk on his face widens. Even his hair, usually so neatly held back by his bandana, is fluffier, longer, wilder.

The strobing, dancing lights reflect yellow eyeshine in his gaze, and you shiver. Arousal already begins to pool in your lower belly, molten heat stirring faintly. Hunter’s nostrils flare as he breathes in. The way his eyes flutter lets you know that he can smell you even amidst the press of sweaty bodies, spilled alcohol, and sickly sweet fog. A whimper falls from you, unheard by anyone except him.

Hunter twirls a fresh shot of clear alcohol between his fingers. “Well, mesh’la?”

“U-Um,” you say. The rest of the troopers at the table don’t even bother to hide their smug smirks. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”

Downing the shot, Hunter slams the glass on the table, shaking his unruly curls out of his face. Then he stands, his broad shoulders and narrow waist drawing your gaze down. Already you catch the hint of a bulge outlined at the apex of his thighs. Your mouth waters, body coming alive with electric desire, and you resist the impulse to squeeze your legs together.

Following his lead, you stand as well. He tucks you against his side and leads you through the crowd. Pressed against him, your senses are flooded with the furnace-like heat he radiates, the unique scent of spice and dirt that fills your nose, the tingling sense of controlled danger where his claw-tipped fingers scratch ever so lightly against your waist. You swallow heavily. Kriff, this is going to be a fun night, and you’re grateful once again to whoever sent you the invite to this party.

To your surprise, Hunter steers you towards the bar. With gentle pressure on your lower back, he guides you to one of the leather stools, but remains standing himself. He leans his forearm on the sticky bartop next to you, his other hand resting on the swell of your thigh.

“Need some more liquid courage, Sarge?” you say with a teasing smile, your words sounding much more cool and collected than you actually feel.

He barks a short laugh. “Hardly. No, I would rather keep this experience between us from start to finish. I...” He trails off, eyes studying your face before drifting down to your body, sitting stiff and wound up before him. His tongue darts out to wet his lips. “...want you to know what you’re getting into.”

“And what is it that I’m getting into?” you ask. You lean closer to him, so close you can feel his warm breath puffing over your face.

“An experience that requires a few ground rules.”

You nod for him to continue.

“One: when I catch you, don’t run,” he says.

The bottom of your stomach drops out with excitement. “‘When’?”

The grin he gives you is wolfish—there’s no other word for it. His teeth bare in a smile masquerading as a snarl, eyeshine glinting once again. “That’s right.”

“W-What’s rule two?”

“If you change your mind, you fight as hard as you can. And hit the panic button on this comlink.” He slips the small metal device from his jeans pocket and holds it between clawed fingers. “I don’t know how much I’ll be able to stay in control if I transform.”

Gripping the comlink with shaking fingers, you locate the panic button and, with a nod, tuck the device into your pocket. “Rule three?”

Hunter tilts his head, seeming to look through you again. You fidget in your seat until you realize he must be listening to your body—you become intensely aware of the way that your heart hammers against your ribcage, pulse racing, and of the heat scorching through your veins only to pool deep in your core. When he refocuses on your face again, your cunt clenches around nothing at the hungry look in his eyes.

“Rule three,” he echoes, “don’t hold back.”

He tilts your head up to capture your lips in a searing kiss. You moan in surprise, body melting with little resistance into his touch. His teeth nip at your bottom lip, not enough to draw blood, but enough that the quick sting sends a jolt of pleasure through you. Resting your palms on his chest, you delight in the way his muscles flex and how he seems to quiver. Like he’s holding himself back, despite his order for you to do the opposite.

You break away with a gasp. Hunter nudges your face to the side and, growling, presses his nose to the pulse point below your jaw. You gasp as he inhales your scent.

“Fuck, mesh’la,” he rasps, his words only meant for you, “you smell good enough to eat.”

You bite your lip to keep your moan contained, still aware of the bartender shooting you a mildly amused look and of the dozens of people around you right now. As if he can sense you holding back—because he probably can—Hunter bites your neck.

“Rule three,” he husks.

“I’ll follow your rules if you follow them, too,” you gasp out. “Don’t you dare hold back, either.”

He pulls back from you, hooded eyes meeting yours. Whatever he searches for in your gaze, he must find, because a slow, predatory grin spreads over his face.

“Deal,” he says. “I’ll give you a head start. And then I’m going to fuck you, wherever I find you. Understood?”

You can’t stop the whine that slips from your throat. “Y-Yes. Understood.”

“Good.” He steadies you as you slide off the stool onto shaky legs. “Now run.”

Your brain is several seconds behind, still stuck on the barely-contained growl in his voice and the way your skin shivers with goosebumps, but your body reacts immediately. Legs pumping, you take off through the crowd. Half-assed apologies tumble from you as you knock into people. You have no idea where you’re running to—you don’t even know how much of a head start he’s giving you. You just know you have to hide. Every instinct in you screams to run, to get to safety, to evade the burning gaze you can feel on your back even as you duck and weave between troopers.

You dash through an open doorway and skid to a halt, chest heaving with adrenaline. Before you lie several choices: a branching hallway filled with doors, an exit dead ahead, or a stairwell climbing up to a second-story exit. Glancing over your shoulder, you don’t see Hunter following yet. Part of you, a depraved, wholly needy part of you, wonders how much you should even try to hide—but an even more depraved part of you urges you to make it a challenge. How long will it take for him to find you if you try?

Mind made up, you take the stairs two at a time and shove against the push-bar so the door swings open. But you don’t step through it. Instead, you let it shut on its own, then you turn and, emboldened by equal parts thrill and desire, you brace your hands on the metal bannister. Heaving yourself up over it, you try to keep as little contact with the railing as possible.

Your stomach lurches as you drop the ten feet to the permacrete flooring. Thankfully, no joints sprain, and you don’t feel any pain in your shins from the impact.

Unharmed and feeling pleased with yourself, you bolt through the ground-floor exit.

Outside, the cool night air kisses your skin and wicks away the sweat that’s already gathered along your forehead. Head turning in either direction, you frantically search for someplace to hide. There’s the crystal forest, sure—but you don’t fancy getting poked with a thousand tiny shards like the ones you walked across when you arrived. You could sneak around the building and run back to the tiny spaceport. But that feels too...predictable. Why run when you can try to hide in plain sight?

To your right, a ladder leads up to the second-floor rooftop. Grabbing onto the cold rungs, you pull yourself up, hands and feet flying. You reach the top and, panting, survey your options.

This rooftop is barren, save for the doorway you assume leads to the stairs you leapt off. But the next building over has several clusters of chairs and tables, tucked into the shadows of a decorative art piece that twists with elegant curves towards the cloud-studded sky.

You go to take a step when an idea strikes you. You rip off your jacket, baring your arms to the chilled air, and drape it over the edge of the rooftop next to the ladder. Maybe the extra body heat, sweat, and scent clinging to the fabric will draw his attention and throw him off?

You slink to the closed doorway, then leap past it. You really have no idea how much of your scent you’re leaving behind, or what clues he’ll use to find you, but leaving as few footprints behind seems like a safe bet. Once you’re past the doorway, you break into a sprint again. The next-door rooftop isn’t too far, and after a relatively easy jump, you stumble toward the table tucked closest to the art piece.

As quickly and quietly as you can, you crawl under the small, square table and arrange the chairs to block your body from view. It’s not perfect, by any means, but it’s the best you can do.

And it’s not a moment too soon. The door on the other rooftop slams open. Hunter’s dark silhouette stalks out. Even from this distance, you can make out the way his head twitches back and forth as he tries to sniff out your trail. Clenching your jaw, you do your best to calm your labored breathing and urge your racing heart to slow. Anticipation trembles in your limbs.

Hunter jogs to the ladder and picks up your discarded jacket. He leans precariously over the edge of the roof, searching, and for a moment you think you’ve won.

The wind shifts.

Cool air sighing past you, you shiver as the sweat dries on your skin. A moment later, Hunter’s head snaps up, and he looks straight at you.

His teeth shine as he bares them in a dangerous smile.

“Oh kriff.”

You gather your feet beneath you before you remember rule one: don’t run. All you can do is sit, frozen and shaking, beneath the would-be safety of the small table. Hunter prowls toward you.

When he makes the jump between rooftops, you whimper, scrabbling backward until your shoulders bump against the swirling art piece, deeper into the shadows. You know it won’t help, but the darkness is comforting. Cold seeps into your bones even as your body alights once more with fresh arousal. Kark, have his shoulders always been so broad?

He comes to a stop directly in front of the table you hide beneath. For a moment, you hold your breath, and the world around you seems to freeze. What is he waiting for?

The table and chairs scatter with a crash as he yanks the furniture away from you.

You yelp, surprised fear thrumming through your veins. Above you, standing tall and imposing, Hunter cocks his head at you. He tosses your jacket in your lap.

“Nice trick,” he says. His voice grates against your skin, causing you to shiver. “Woulda worked if the wind hadn’t changed.” Then he shakes his head. “Well, it woulda worked for a moment. Could smell your cunt all the way over there.”

He lowers until he crouches in front of you. In the faint starlight, his skull tattoo stands in stark relief, a terrifying visage of death. Your lips part as you pant with need.

“Fuck, you have no idea how good you smell,” he murmurs. His dark gaze rakes over your cowering form, his tongue wetting his lips. “C’mere.”

Clawed fingers wrapping around your ankles, he yanks you towards him. You yelp, body stretching flat, and he uses your momentary surprise to tear your pants from you. The fabric yields with a loud rrrrrrip, only to hang in tatters from your waist.

“K-Kriff,” you swear. “Hunter—”

He shushes you gently. “Let me taste you.”

He hooks one claw under the flimsy elastic band of your underwear and, with a sharp tug, the fabric snaps twice against your skin. When he peels back the ruined undergarment, you both groan at the faint, shimmery line of slick that pulls away with it.

Like a man starved, Hunter presses your legs wide open and buries his face in your wet pussy. All concerns about your ruined clothes flee as soon as he licks through your folds. You cry out, pleasure rippling through you as his warm mouth envelopes your center. Propping yourself up on one elbow, you twist the fingers of one hand into his curls, holding his head against you. Your hips rock in pure reaction. Hunter growls, the noise vibrating against your clit. His eyes pierce yours, dark wells of lust and need. Your mouth falls open as you moan. The sounds of your pleasure bounce off the sculpture behind you.

“F-Fuck, Hunter!” you squeal as he sucks on your clit.

He drags his nose through your folds, inhaling your sweet scent. “You’re soaked, mesh’la. Did you like running from me, huh? Liked running from the big bad wolf?”

“Ye-e-e-es!” you keen, throwing your head back as he fucks you with his tongue. Deep in your belly, the molten lava of your desire begins to solidify into something more solid, something that promises bone-melting pleasure.

Overhead, past the art installation, you watch with hazy eyes as the clouds drift lazily across the sky. Steadily, the night grows brighter. Though your upper body remains in shadow, your legs, and with them, Hunter, become bathed in silvery moonlight.

Hunter’s grip on your thighs turns painful. His claws press a little too hard against your soft skin. Wincing, you snap your attention back to where Hunter’s mouth closes around your cunt. A moan punches out of your chest as you watch his eyes blink rapidly, shifting from lust-blown to golden and shining, alight with an intelligence that isn’t quite human.

He shoves himself back from you, stumbling away, his entire body convulsing. “D-Don’t run,” is all he manages to grit out before—

Snap!

You gasp, unable to do anything but watch with wide eyes as Hunter’s body violently contorts and transforms before you. His limbs elongate, knees bending unnaturally, ribs cracking as a new form tears itself out of his skin. Fear and desire chase each other through your body; you don’t know which one you feel most intensely.

With a deep, sonorous howl, the Hunter you know is replaced by a hulking wolven beast. Crouched on two legs, the werewolf pants heavily, staring down at massive, clawed hands. Hunter’s clothes hang off the beast in rags, shredded by the way his body swelled and grew during the transformation. But what strikes you the most is his fur. Dark gray fur, shot through with white streaks, falls in a shaggy coat all across his body. With a jolt you realize the white fur matches exactly the skeleton tattoo Hunter bears—in his wolf form, the tattoo is still humanoid, reflecting the person now trapped within.

“H-Hunter?” you ask, voice shaky and tentative.

The wolf snaps his attention to you. Those bright, intelligent golden eyes lock onto yours as a snarl, animalistic and deep, tears from him, his teeth bared. His snout, rough and ridged, twitches as he scents you. Your legs remain open, slick folds still bared and glistening in the moonlight.

Dropping onto all fours, the werewolf sniffs the air again. Then, quicker than you can fully process, the wolf pounces. His claws dig into your sides as he drags you closer once more, a startled scream tearing from your throat. The sound only seems to encourage him. Growling deep in his chest, Hunter—the werewolf—he lowers his head and licks a stripe up your pussy.

You gasp at the odd sensation. His tongue is long and rough against your sensitive skin, but you find it strangely pleasurable. A shudder runs up your body as the wolf laps at your dripping core; the heat simmering in your lower belly blazes back to life, a raging inferno of need blinding you to the fear of what this wolf really could do to you if he wanted. But you don’t dare move within his grasp.

You fight to keep your hips still as you watch the werewolf lick your cunt. Gasping for breath, you catch sight of something—something thick and red, hanging between his thighs.

A groan claws out of you. “F-Fuck. Hunter, please.”

Whether the werewolf understands you or not, you’re unsure, but he withdraws his mouth, the fur around his lips soaked with your juices. You heave a shuddering gasp as he hooks one large hand under your ass, angling your body. His other hand wraps around his large, throbbing cock. Watching in fascination, you moan as the slim, pointed tip drags through your soaked folds.

“Please,” you whimper. “Please.”

With another low growl, Hunter thrusts into you, burying his thick length to the hilt. You shout, pleasure and pain biting through you in equal measures, as he splits you open. Walls fluttering around the intrusion, you go boneless, forcing yourself to relax.

Hunter sets a brutal, punishing pace. His cock reaches parts of you no one ever has before, stretching you in ways that you’re sure will ruin you for anyone else. High, heady moans tumble from you with every sharp thrust of his hips, your nipples pebbled in the cold night air. One of your hands squeezes the soft flesh of your breasts, the other snaking down between your bodies to circle around your clit. Pleasure spikes within you, orgasm drawing closer as you play with yourself.

“G-Gonna—” You let out a choked moan. “Gonna cum.”

Maybe the wolf does understand you, because he bares his teeth in a terrifying display, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. Spit drools onto your heated skin. Gathering some of it on your fingers, you return to your clit to rub frantic circles there.

Hunter adjusts the angle of your hips by a fraction, and you cum with a scream as he drives into that one devastating spot inside you. Back arching off the permacrete ground, your vision whites out as the wolf fucks you through your orgasm. Wave after wave after wave of pleasure crests over you, until you’re sobbing from overstimulation.

Pushing with weak arms on the wolf’s chest, you somehow manage to get him to pull out of you, to give you a moment to catch your breath and recover. The wolf looms over you, panting and drooling. His cock twitches when you reach down to stroke the strange appendage.

“Good boy,” you mutter, leaning up to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. On a whim, you reach up to scratch behind one of his ears. The wolf’s eyes slide shut, a pleased hum vibrating in his chest.

Then his instincts seem to kick back in. With a huff, Hunter flips you, his nails scratching across the soft skin of your tummy. Chest pressed to the ground, ass in the air, you whine brokenly as he pushes his length into your tight heat once again. You rock your hips, meeting him thrust for thrust, mind melting into incoherency as he fucks against that shattered piece of heaven in your cunt. A second orgasm begins to build in your lower belly, and you desperately chase it, circling your clit once again.

Hunter is getting close as well. His incessant growls are steadily becoming higher, more akin to whines than snarls. His claws dig into your flesh hard enough to break skin; tiny rivulets of blood slide down your front. You don’t care, just so long as he makes you cum again. Tears form in the corners of your eyes as your body winds tighter and tighter, orgasm threatening to pull you under at any moment. In your slick cunt, Hunter’s cock pulses, and seems to bulge.

Then, without warning, he buries himself in you as deep as he can go. You cry out, body shuddering with pleasure as his cock—swelling and knotting—presses against your walls. You cum on his knot like that, squealing in delight, nerves obliterated and frayed as he cums with a howl. Knot pulsing, he paints your insides with ropes of hot cum that just don’t seem to stop. He fills you to the brim, and then some—you can feel his hot spend dripping down your thighs where it leaks out past his cock.

Slowly, Hunter begins to transform back into himself. His fingernails shrink, pulling the tips from your body. His fur dissolves into ash, and now against your back, his sweaty skin sticks to yours where he gasps for air. But his cock remains knotted in your cunt, both of you swollen and sensitive.

You regain the ability to talk before he does. “H-Hunter. Hey. You okay?”

He hums, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades.

“I need a verbal answer,” you say between pants.

“I’m—fuck, I’m good.” He pushes himself off you with shaky arms. But he remains kneeling behind you, locked in your tight walls. “Did I hurt you?”

“Not in any way that I didn’t like,” you say. “Honestly kind of forgot about the panic button. Not that I wanted to use it,” you hurry to add. “That was... I don’t even have the words. ‘Amazing’ doesn’t cut it.”

He chuckles, and the vibrations make you both moan. Your pussy clenches weakly around him. With warm, human fingers, Hunter squeezes the flesh of your ass and rocks you gently back and forth.

“Oh stars,” you breathe. “I can’t, Hunter, it’s too much—”

“You can,” he murmurs. His hands help you move, each gentle thrust loosening the knot still swollen inside you. “You can take it, mesh’la.”

Keening, your hands scrabble for purchase. Fingers wrapping around his wrists where he holds you, you crane your neck to look back at him over your shoulder. His face is sweaty, hair plastered to his skin, and his lips are flushed and swollen. His eyes are half-lidded and still dark with lust. In a word, he looks debauched. When his gaze meets yours, he smirks.

“That’s it,” he encourages, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your hips. “Just like that.”

You cum again, preening under his praise despite the way your aching body screams for rest. This orgasm is slow, bone-deep and debilitating in its power. But the extra gush of slick is enough to push Hunter out of you. You both groan at the sensation of separating.

“Look at that,” Hunter murmurs. When you glance back again, his eyes are transfixed on your cunt. His cum, all of it, wells up and spills out of your spent pussy. Seemingly without realizing it, he gathers some of the sticky substance and pushes it back into your cunt with his thumb.

You hiss. He withdraws his hands, then tugs you up onto your knees and cradles you to his chest. “You did so well, mesh’la.”

“You, too, Hunter,” you mumble against his skin. For a long while, the pair of you remain there, wrapped in a comforting embrace, until you chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” he asks.

“Our clothes are ruined,” you say. “How are we supposed to go anywhere?”

He laughs with you, despite not having an answer. That’s alright, you think, it’s an excuse to get him into one of those rooms downstairs....

Ragu: @the-hexfiles @thorsterstrudle @dystopicjumpsuit @clonemedickix @freesia-writes @littlemissmanga @wolffegirlsunite @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @sinfulsalutations @523rdrebel @sunshinesdaydream @moonlightwarriorqueen @sev-on-kamino @starrylothcat @deejadabbles @starqueensthings @mandos-mind-trick @idontgetanysleep @eyeluvmusic21 @wizardofrozz @mythical-illustrator @sleepycreativewriter @dreamie411 @bobaprint @imarvelatthestars @originalcollectionartistry @droids-you-are-looking-for @goblininawig @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @9902sgirl @jedi-hawkins if your name has a strikethrough, I can't tag you so check your settings! (if you'd like to be added or removed, click here!)

#tbb hunter x reader #hunter x reader #rhiwrites #midnight masquerade #hallowkink 23 #werewolf smut #werewolf x human #the bad batch x reader #tbb x reader

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del-thetiredwriter · 2 years ago

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Saintess of Dragons part 1

Part 2, part 3

Yandere/dark Targaryens-Velaryons x female modern reader

English is my second language

Gif is not mine

“My lady, Prince Daemon has informed that he wishes to see you.”

You put the paintbrush on the table at the voice of the maid.

"I understand. Help me get dressed. Do not touch the canvas, place the materials in their usual places, and finally, no one enters my study while I am away.”

As you passed through the corridors of the court , you saw the officials rushing in for the celebrations. It was that time of the year. The day everyone loved but you hated: "Rising Star Celebrations".

A new Star rose in the sky 11 years ago tonight, a Star never seen before, brighter than any other. That night, the dragons roared in unison as if celebrating someone's arrival, and the 'gods' sent a savior, a saint.

That saint was you. When you woke up one night, you found yourself in a bed in the Red keep, surrounded by council members and the royal family. You couldn't believe your ears when they explained their situation to you.

The whole thing was like a terrible joke. You really were in the book 'war and blood' that you read. Of course it sounds like amazing thing that living in your favorite series but actually it wasn’t.

⁎

You finally arrive in the room where Daemon is waiting for you.

“You took a long time to come.”

" There's nothing can be done. I'm busy" you said expressionlessly

“You look the same. Like I saw you 11 years ago tonight. You're still the same except for your clothes and that expression on your face. Indeed, as expected from the Saintess sent by the gods, the gods love you so much that they don't let time change you. You never age."

Daemon said, that look in his eyes that you don't like. He was staring at it like a Hunter looks at his prey.

“Are you jealous? Unlike you, I will always remain young and beautiful” You replied.

A laugh broke out from Daemon at your words.

“How are Laena and the girls?” you asked.

"They are good . They arrive in Kingslanding tomorrow. You know Laena is pregnant so she can't come directly on the dragon.”

“Yes,” you whispered.

‘She will die soon. Just like everyone’ you thought.

⁎

“Where have you been! You have to get ready for the night,” Rhaenyra said in a sweet angry voice.

“I was with Daemon. ” You said as Rhaenyra combed your hair.

“Daemon? Did he do or say anything strange to you?” Rhaenyra asked.

“Here's the usual Daemon. He didn't say anything very important." You said.

A deep sigh came from Rhaenyra. She looked sadly at your reflection in the mirror. She placed her chin on your shoulder and wrapped her arms around your waist.

"Rhaenyra?"

" You are very beautiful. Tonight is a special night that brought you to us, to me, but sometimes when I look at you, it feels like you will leave me at any moment. It's like you're going back to where you came from."

You didn't know what to say at Rhaenyra's words. She was right, you still wanted to go 'home', but you didn't know how. Living here in this world was exhausting and dangerous. You were afraid to change the future at the slightest mistake. You hated see peoples deaths and misery but order to stay alive and make sure future stays same you had to.

“Sometimes I want to lock you in a place where no one can find you, not even the gods, so you can’t leave me ” Rhaenyra whispered.

"What did you say?" You didn't hear what Rhaenyra said.

" Nothing . Now we have to go ." Said Rhaenyra, and you went to the celebrations together.

#yandere hotd #yandere house of the dragon #dark house of the dragon #dark hotd #dark hotd x reader #yandere house of the dragon x reader #hotd fanfic #yandere house targaryen #yandere rhaenrya targaryen #yandere daemon targaryen #yandere daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen x reader

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psychedelic-ink · 1 year ago

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𝐂𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍.

DAY FOUR OF HAUNTED HOEDOWN

prompt: artificial intelligence au + "here, you are. you tiny thing."

pairing: ai-enhanced!miguel o’hara x f!reader

genre: explicit smut, minors dni, sci-fi, enemies to lovers

summary: there are codeborns and codebreakers. In this world ruled by ai and the people who want to keep it that way, codebreakers fight for freedom while the feared codeborns (ai-enchanced humans) do everything to keep the so-called 'peace'. You are one of the codebreakers, hunted by one of the most menacing codeborn yet, miguel o'hara.

word count: 3k

warnings: hunter/prey, chase kink, size kink, power imbalance, fear kink, dancing on the line of dubcon due to the power imbalance, but reader very much wants miguel, hate sex, piv, possessive!miguel, biting (it has a slight aphrodisiac effect because why not), some blood, dystopian, bondage with mechanical arms, double penetration thanks to said mechanical arms, dirty talk, degradation kink if you squint,

a/n: i don't know with this is, it kinda sorta happened and, honestly, i don't hate it.

In a city perpetually cloaked in gray, oppression is an unrelenting weight. Surveillance cameras leer from every corner, tracking your steps and every muttered word.

This city used to thrive, alive with energy. Now, it's stifled by a regime that rules with an iron fist. Holographic banners hang in the air, projecting sanitized slogans that mask the truth. Rain splashes onto pixelated cobblestones, the wet ground echoing the neon lights into your eyes.

Heart pounding, you dart through the alleyways, every step echoing. You hear them chasing you, the CodeBorns, they were the AI-enhanced sentinels of this world. Their purpose; bring order to the intricate dark web of the city. You scoff as you run, what a load of bullshit. The sentinels are nothing more than mindless robots that have a barely working human heart—and brain—for that matter.

Very fittingly, you’re part of a group called CodeBreakers, a group of dedicated people trying to dismantle the regime and censorship. You just recently hacked into the cinema, which might seem not like a big deal, but you just had to save those poor people from watching the same damn thing over and over again.

Making people watch something else that wasn’t handpicked by the goverment might’ve not been a big deal, but breaking into the system certainly was, and something not everyone could do.

“Shit,” you hiss, accidentally tripping over a loose cobblestone. “Shit shit shit—”

The worst thing about the CodeBorns is the fact that they can do a lot that regular folk like you can’t. For example, they’re all ridiculously fast, they can see in the dark, they can hear exceptionally well, they have superhuman strength—

You hear a wall shattering behind you and heavy steps grow closer, you’re relieved when you realize it’s only one set of steps, but as you realize who those steps probably belong to, your chest caves.

Fucking, Miguel O’Hara.

You hear the familiar creak of mechanical limbs and the familiar sound of your name falling from his lips. Another thing about the AI-enhanced sentinels, they have body upgrades they can take off whenever they want to.

“You can’t unrun me!” he roars. “You know you can’t!”

He’s right, you can’t run a beast of a man like him.

You need to be smarter.

Ducking into another alleyway, you thank whatever god is left in this world overrun by technology for the web of light the neon signs provide. You quickly spot a string of utility boxes, It’s dangerous, but you manage to squeeze yourself between them and the hard stone wall. Heat radiates from the boxes. If Miguel doesn’t lose track of you soon, the damn thing might heat up enough to burn you.

The clatter of mechanical limbs echoes closer.

And then you see him.

The neon light reflects off his holographic suit, its dynamic red details reminiscent of flickering pixels. He's a towering figure. Spider-like limbs protrude from his back, their gleaming metal glistening with the moisture of the rain-soaked air. They move slightly as if looking around, trying to sense her. With panic, you hold your breath, the small hairs on the back of your neck standing with attention.

His brow is slightly furrowed, something you recognize he does when he’s either angry or annoyed—or both. His lips, however, curve into a faint, almost menacing smile, revealing a glimmer of satisfaction in this pursuit.

The alleyway seems to shrink around you as his steps grow nearer. Your pulse quickens, synchronized with the flickering lights around you. This isn’t your first run-in with Miguel, and you doubt it will be the last.

You squeeze your eyes shut. The fear you feel poisons you, making your stomach churn and your mouth taste of death. He’s captured you before but never actually handed you in.

Arousal rears its head among the fear, coating you in a sheer sweat. You can’t help it. It’s a Pavlovian response at this point, you see him and your body starts leaking like a damn faucet. Miguel had captured you twice, and in both of them, you ended up with his cock deep between your legs.

You just never know with him. He never contacted you outside of this, never acted in a way that would indicate that something had happened between you two.

All he gave you is this, the chase, the fear, the wondering if this might be the time he throws you in a needlessly futuristic cell—

"Here, you are. You tiny thing."

Shit.

It’s comical really; the way you look up with wide eyes as his red ones peer down at you. His smirk is non-existent, yet you can still feel his satisfaction in finding you. Your chest heaves painfully, you can move, struck with uncharacteristic fear. He might not be an animal you get the sense that he smells the horror sticking to your skin.

You’re about to make a run for it when the mechanical arm’s sinewy grace coils around your ankles. Miguel pulls you out of your hiding place. All the blood rushes to your face as you hang upside down.

“Dammit, Miguel!” you hiss. “Put me down!”

He raises a sole brow elegantly, his eyes moving up and down your body, his gaze almost predatory. “Rather bold for a criminal,” he answers, voice nonchalant. The limbs tighten around your ankles, just a shy away from being painful. The arm draws you nearer, your breath mingling with his in the dewy air. “I’m starting to think you enjoy getting caught.”

“Does it look like I have a death wish?” you ask. His lips twitch and you quickly add. “You know what, never mind, don’t answer that.”

“What if it was one of the others who found you first? Were you going to spread your legs for them too? ” he snarls. “Is that how you’ve been getting away from hacking our systems for this long?”

This time when the limb squeezes harder around your flesh and bone, you scream. The sound is drowned by the constant buzz of the world. “I should just take you in,” he murmurs. “Be less trouble.”

Due to the blood gathering in your skull, you might be imagining things but you swear you saw a hint of actual worry instead of anger in those crimson eyes. But that shouldn’t be possible. Codeborns didn’t feel; sure they felt anger, but they were programmed sentinels made not to care about anyone who went into their criminal system.

“Careful, your emotion is showing.”

Maybe you do have a death wish, after all.

“Bitch.”

His sudden anger chokes the air from out of your lungs. You’re suffocated. The limb around you suddenly scorching hot, his eyes redder than normal, bright enough to match the neon raining from above. He bares his teeth at you, sharp and venomous, when he wants them to be. Miguel leans further into your personal space, his scowl deep—you begin to shake all over, your heart begging for your body to move away but you can’t. All you fear and think is fear.

Arousal sneaks between the sinews of emotions. You taste it on your tongue, the scent of it searing as you take quick, sharp breaths.

Miguel’s nose brushes the tender skin right under your ear, the sound of his inhale deafening “Afraid?” he rolls his tongue, his voice nothing but gravel. Before you can answer, a chuckle halts your tongue. His breath dans over your damp skin, goosebumps rising across your skin. “Or aroused? Or perhaps both?”

You say nothing and it’s not for a lack of trying. You’re stunned into it, your tongue feeling limp and big in your mouth. The sharp edges of his teeth nip at your upside-down cheek, and despite yourself, a whimper escapes.

“No seas tímida ahora. Where’s all that bite from before? Cat got your tongue?” you joly at the sudden feel of his warm tongue, your nipples hardening under the fabric of your shirt. “Beg for it.” again, a darkness curls around each and every word.

This situation shouldn’t be getting you this hot and bothered. The want between your legs pulses so bad that it hurts.

“P—Please, Miguel,” you say barely above a whisper. “I. . . I want it.”

“Want what?”

Fucking asshole. “Your cock. I want. . . you to fuck me.”

His smile does nothing to quell the fear, “Good girl,” he rasps, the words echoing in your ear.

The rest happens in a blur.

Suddenly you’re not hovering upside down anymore, instead, you’re shoved up against the hard, cold surface of a wall, your pants being lowered for you. Now it’s your wrists that are bound and pinned above your head, your legs spread from the ankles thanks to the mechanical arms. Miguel’s large presence looms right behind you, his clothed cock flush between the crevice of your ass.

“Let’s see how wet you are,” he coos, ripping your panties into two. You make a strangled sound of disapproval, but all he does is click his tongue. “Be grateful I didn’t shred your pants.”

Grateful is the last thing you’re feeling as two fingers spread your folds, the middle one dipping between. Your body speaks for itself. Swiping his fingers up and down, he gatherers your slick around the digit and traces your entrance, pushing in. Your body jumps at the beach, pleasure licking the base of your spine. “So responsive,” he murmurs and you hear the familiar glitching sound of his suit.

Then you feel the heft of his cock laying right above the curve of your ass, both his hands cradling your asscheeks. The limb around your wrists coils tighter.

Miguel parts your cheeks, getting a better look. Your cheeks burn in response. The cool air hits your other hole and you hate the way your body clenches at the cold. His thumb traces the rim and a loud exhale of air rips from your lungs. Your legs start to shake, slick dripping down the insides of the tender flesh.

“Gonna fuck this pretty asshole one day soon,” Miguel gloats. Experimentally, he pushes his thumb forward, nearly knuckle deep until you start squirming. You’re dripping for him, your asshole fluttering around the digit. The mild pain only makes your pulse race. “Unfortunately for you, I can’t today.”

You hear his smile in his voice. The smugness that is laced into his every sentence. Your breath hitches when he pulls out, a moment later the warmth of his finger is replaced with something cold and metal.

You tense as you hear the machine whirring, the hardness of it is replaced with something rounder and softer. “M—Miguel. . . ?”

His lips touch your ear, “Shhh, don’t worry about it, princesa, just a little something to keep you satisfied while I fuck your pretty little cunt.”

The arm merely moves over your hole, a feather-like touch that warms your skin. When it gently prods at you, you arch your back instinctively, your ass moving up into the air.

Miguel only chuckles, the sound dark and low, a faint slap is delivered to your ass. You yelp but he doesn’t say another word.

He’s big.

You have no idea if it’s just lucky genetics or due to the ai-enhancement but whatever it is; he’s well-endowed.

He makes you feel every tantalizing inch as he pushes himself further into your cunt, your walls throbbing while adjusting to his width. Your jaw drops, mouth gaping. He presses deeper and deeper, every centimeter of your cunt claimed by him. Your knees buckle and for the first time, you’re grateful for the robotic tendrils holding you up. He growls into your neck, those same venomous fangs skimming the tenderness of your neck. You feel the sharp bite of his nails digging further into your hip.

Towards the base, his cock thickens and your eyes roll back as he shoves the last of it deep inside you. Your breasts feel heavy, tingling with pleasure despite being untouched.

Miguel doesn’t wait, he pulls back his hips and snaps them forward. Your stomach clenches with a delightful shiver. While slamming into you, the arm that holds your wrists together starts to pull you back until your back forms the perfect art, a mild discomfort steaming at the base of your spine. The way he’s angling you above his cock coaxes sweet, load moans from you. If possible, he’s even deeper now, hitting that devastating spot you can’t seem to reach when you’re on your own.

“You like being my little plaything?” he groans, kissing the sweaty skin between your neck and shoulder. You moan again when the rounded tip of the mechanical limb starts pushing into the tight ring. A fresh pulse of wetness soaks you and trickles down his length, leaving your body trembling. “Fuck,” thrust. “So,” thrust. “goddamn,” thrust. “wet—”

You attempt to say his name but all you manage is the pathetic repeat of the letter “m”. His lips curl cruelly and the tip of the arm forces itself deeper, fucking you with shallow thrusts. “Pathetic,” he spits. “You’re so fucked out that you can’t even say my name? You can’t help drooling around my cock, can’t you? This is why I think you enjoy getting caught, you tiny thing,” the hard edge of his voice softens as he drags his nose down your neck. “So pathetic.”

When he nips at your neck for the nth time tonight, you bare yourself to him by tilting your head. You want it. Want him. You need to feel him tear into your flesh, you want to feel the sting of his bite for weeks.

His movements slow on both ends. “It’ll hurt,” he warns.

“I don’t care,” you choke out. “P-Please— I–I can’t—”

You really can’t talk. Your cunt squeezes around him, begging for the hard pound of his hips. Miguel doesn’t make you say it twice. He sinks his teeth into the same pace he kissed not a moment ago, the pain is instant, the trickle of warm blood making you squeamish. He doesn’t suck, only bites, not that you ever thought he would be sucking your blood. You imagine it’s just something he enjoys doing, like a primal need. You feel the soft webs of psychedelic venom seep into your veins. Your body grows limp, your lids growing heavy, he resumes his thrust and the pleasure you feel is tenfold.

“Oh god,” you gasp, slack-jawed. “Oh my fucking god—Miguel—”

He pulls out his teeth, kissing the marks he made that were shiny with blood, “I know, I know,” he grinds his hips, the pleasure shooting up your spine like electricity. “The effects won’t last long.”

His words go through one ear and out the other. However. Your body singing with pleasure and nothing else, the word around you fading into reds and pinks.

Miguel snapped his hips hard into you, meanwhile, the limb resumed its thrusts, stretching you further with every stroke. Some part of you is reminding you that Miguel, as of right now, can see every part of you, your most intimate parts completely bare. But the soothing venom lurking in your veins whispers words of encouragement. You focus on being stretched further, your hips move in need to meet his thrusts, but having nothing to brace yourself against, you surrender and allow him to take you apart wholly.

His grunts became louder, Miguel pushed deeper and deeper, both cocks thrusting into you at the same time. Spit dribbles from the corners of your lips. Your mind empties with slack-jawed bliss as both lengths repeatedly strike your sensitive spots, pounding you with pleasure.

You let out a loud gasp when the limb pulls out of you suddenly and you’re left empty, Miguel’s arms wrap around you, hands sliding under your shirt to cup the heavy weight of your breasts. He presses flush against you, striking your ass, he fucks into you with short, deep thrusts.

His fingers pinch at your hard nipples, slightly turning them, “Gonna fill you up,” he groans. “Gonna fuck myself deep inside of you so no one will dare touch you.”

The possessive tone, the brutal pace of his thrusts, the large hands on your tits—all of it pushes you down the edge, your body going rigid before relaxing entirely. You gush around him, wet sounds echoing in the narrow alleyway as he fucks you through it, not slowing down in the slightest.

However, you do feel the hold around your wrists recoiling along with the ones holding your ankles apart. Miguel holds you close as you fall loosely like a ragdoll, animalistic sounds are grunted into your ear, another burst of arousal awakening on your tongue.

The tip of his tongue dances along the bite marks when he spills into you, his cock deep, just like he promised.

There’s so much, you feel the heat of it spreading inside of you, some of it spilling around from where his cock stretches you wide. His hips twitch, his arms forcing down the grind of your hips. You let out a whimper, your head falling over his shoulder.

The two of you remain like that until his cock begins to soften inside of you, Miguel slowly pulls out and lowers you to the ground so you can sit. He finds your pants and throws it towards your lap.

Sadly for you, your brain registers none of that. The dumb muscle only starts working again when he stands tall in front of you, that same menacing stance returning.

“Don’t let me catch you again,” he says, voice stern. He looks down at you as he stuffs his cock back in his pants. “If I do, I’ll have to lock you up. This was your last warning.”

And with that, he leaves.

A bitter laughter bubbles in your throat as the back of your head hits the hard surface of the wall. Rain begins to drizzle, the first tiny drops landing on your cheeks and sliding down to your neck.

Among all the people you could’ve fallen for, why did it have to be him?

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x f!reader #miguel o'hara x fem!reader #miguel o'hara au #miguel o'hara smut #atsv fanfiction #oscar isaac characters #across the spiderverse fanfiction #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you

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mandoalorian · 2 years ago

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taste of heaven

Joel Miller x F!Reader [smut]

Summary: You and Joel leave the quarantine zone in search of some medicine, when you come across a variant of the Cordyceps, taking life in the form of a pretty red flower. Whilst exposure to this mutated fungus doesn’t prove fatal, it does have some lasting effects.

Warnings: explicit, no minors. Sex pollen fic, exhibitionism, f!masturbation, fingering, tit play, degradation, jealousy, lots of begging, yearning/pining, implied age gap, mention of drugs/reader being drugged, cursing

Authors note: Please reblog to spread this fic around and it’s not showing up in tags! My requests & commissions are officially OPEN again! If you have any questions drop me a private message.

Masterlist / Want to support me further?

'Nature vs. nurture' has been a discussion which had dominated centuries of wonder, and even in the year 2023, when the world had been wiped clean from humanity and only the hardened walked the streets, it was something that still preyed on your mind. The theory could be applied in many aspects; but one that you couldn’t quite navigate no matter how hard you tried, was how you had lasted this long living in a war-torn world. You often reflected on how you had kept yourself so clean and away from infected and bad people. You figured that for the first few years you had just gotten lucky. Your state was notified of the Cordyceps Infection before it hit and so you were given the opportunity to escape your city early. They were already building Quarantine Zone’s and conscripting Fedra military in August.

Until Christmas 2003, you stuck by your family. They were with you, alive, for the first three months of the outbreak. By this point, the Cordyceps infection wasn’t exactly seen as a ‘permanent’ thing and the government had yet to give up on finding a cure. One by one you lost your parents, grandparents and siblings, but not before you found solitude in a Quarantine Zone northwest of Rhode Island.

Those fragments of peace and liberty lasted a whole three years before Fedra wiped the town clean, and you had no choice but to evacuate. You headed towards Massachusetts, stopping by different QZ's, meeting new folk along your way.

But nothing was permanent. Ten years ago you found a home in Boston Quarantine Zone.

It wasn't a nice place, full of selfish people doing what they needed to do to get by. Rats on every corner, literal and personified, and so you did your best to stay out of trouble.

You’d take on little jobs and run errands to earn ration cards, and you would follow Fedra's orders to a tee. If there was such thing as a 'golden girl' in this world... well, that would be you.

And then you met Joel.

Joel wasn't a good guy, and he made sure you knew that when you first laid eyes on him. He was ruthless; a killer, and the type of person you should’ve stayed away from. You’d survived this long by keeping away from guys like him and yet, you found yourself drawn to him. There was something about his rugged handsomeness and dedication to survival that appealed to you. When you first met him, you noted that he was a man of a few words. He rarely offered you even a glance and if he did give care to give you his time of day, it would be nothing less than to mumble a warning to you.

It took Joel a while to warm up to you. The man seemed more than satisfied with his partner, Tess, than to even want to give you even just a bit of the minimal attention that you craved. You were unsure of Tess. She was very beautiful, with shoulder-length wavy hair and bright green eyes. You wondered if she and Joel were anything serious, or if they were merely just friends, or perhaps something in between. The pair were inseparable and often participated in smuggling runs together, or were hired as bounty hunters.

It was a smokey grey morning when Joel entered the makeshift QZ pharmacy where Fedra had you working. His dark eyes appeared sunken in and tired, a deep frown crossed his lips.

“I need fentanyl, morphine, oxycodone... something to take away pain.”

He was avoidant of eye contact, looking uncomfortable to even have to ask you of this.

Your jaw slackened slightly and you furrowed your eyebrows together at the man's request. “Are you- are you okay?”

Joel scoffed and rolled his tongue over his lower lip. “It’s not for me.” He snapped back, already becoming irritated that you were questioning his request. It had nothing to do with you.

Unamused by his attitude, you decided on shutting him down immediately. “I don't. We don't sell opioids here.” you glanced away from the man, feeling your cheeks become hot under his stern gaze. Now he was making eye contact and he knew exactly how to intimidate you. If Joel was anything, he was determined and if Joel wanted something he made sure he’d get it, no matter the means or consequences.

“Fedra don't permit anything as... strong as that to be traded in the QZ.”

Joel grunted and slammed his fists on the cashier desk. “Don't play coy with me, girl,” he sneered, hissing through his teeth. “can’t have been the first person to come in and ask for this. You have to know where I can get it from.”

You swallowed, looking around the empty pharmacy for answers. “I know someone,” you said timidly. “Well, know of someone.”

“Take me to them.” Joel demanded, without missing a beat. His desperation was becoming clear.

Seeing your hesitation, Joel brought his fingers down to the pistol that he'd stuffed in the back of his jeans, having been used to being able to make a sufficient threat. But then, before making any rash judgement, he stopped himself and placed a hand on the desk in front of you. He couldn't hold you at gunpoint. You were sweet, kind, and soft. In the many years of knowing him, you had been nothing but nice to Joel. It would be wrong to scare you like that.

Adjusting his composure, Joel took a deep breath and let his body relax. He could ease up around you. You wouldn't even hurt a fly; let alone pull any stunts on someone like him.

“Please." he said quietly, his brown eyes now appearing to be more pleasing than harsh. He could read you like an open book and he knew exactly how to wrap himself around you. You huffed out a sigh and contemplated giving him the information that he so desired.

“There's a guy I've heard Simone talk about. He's housed up on the outskirts of Boston, about a three-hour hike from here. He's her dealer. He'll have what you're looking for, but Joel…" you reluctantly placed your hand down on top of the desk, next to his. “It's in Fairmount. But I don't feel comfortable leaving the QZ. I could get in trouble. And if this is for you— or your own personal dealing, then—��

And for the first time in weeks, Joel's lips curled into a small smile. He moved his hand over yours and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“You'll be okay,” he promised, and from the longing look in his eyes, you believed him.

“Can I ask, who is the medicine for?” you interrogated shyly after a few moments of silence. Joel's rough hands were still atop yours.

Joel broke eye contact with you. If he wanted you to be fully on board, then he had to start being honest. “Tess.”

“Is she okay?” you became alarmed, moving your hand away from Joel and already beginning to grab your supplies for the journey.

“She got into a fight with Robert and his men, she's badly beaten up. She just needs something strong to help her fight through it. She'll be okay. She's tough.” Joel wanted to curse himself for offering you so much information, knowing that Tess would've been mortified if she'd learned that he was telling you all of this. But he really needed your help.

“We best get going then,” you said, grabbing your rucksack from behind the countertop.

For a brief second, Joel admired your dedication to helping Tess. It bewildered him a little, knowing that Tess didn't exactly care enough about you to help you the same. Tess often muttered snide words about your inability to shoot a gun or your law-abiding attitude. She hated the way you would sink under authority, but Joel understood it. He understood that everyone had their different ways of surviving, and as long as it was working, then he wasn't one to judge. But right now, that didn't matter. Joel was just thankful that you'd agreed to go with him.

———

Somewhere along the journey, you noticed a shrub peppered with four-petaled flours, painted red with golden pollen in the centre. You’d never seen anything like them before, and you had studied horticulture a few years back in Rhode Island QZ. You found yourself magnetised by their beauty, and with Joel a few yards back from you, you decided to take some time to analyse the plant. Picking one from the bush, you rubbed the soft petals between your fingers and let the grains of pollen sink into your skin. When Joel got nearer, you stuffed the flower in your jacket pocket and continued walking alongside him.

You were about an hour away from Fairmount when you started to get dizzy. You weren’t hallucinating but your perception of your surroundings had certainly changed. The road ahead seemed short and thick and upon the horizon was a glowing pink line.

“Do you see that?” You asked Joel, squinting your eyes as you extended your hand to point to the horizon.

Joel tried following your moving index finger but shook his head. “You’re pointing at everything and nothing. C’mon let's keep going.”

It started out with a burning sensation, your loins ignited and blazed inside of you. You tried to regulate your breathing and found yourself slowly losing concentration on whatever Joel was saying. You wanted to pay attention, you really did. You loved his voice, it was like honey and velvet and there was something about that damned Texan accent of his… you didn’t notice it before, but you were certainly noticing it now. Your nipples felt tender as they hardened and poked out from underneath your shirt and you silently prayed that they weren’t visible through your denim jacket. The air around you was suddenly humid and thick and moist. Moist… you let out a small whimper and stopped dead in your tracks.

Joel stopped too. “Are you okay?” he asked, observing your sudden reaction to the forbidden flower.

“I just need a second to catch my breath.” You exhaled, closing your eyes and desperately trying to cling onto oxygen. Joel glanced back at the trail you’d both been walking along. There had hardly been an incline.

Joel gave you a few moments and when you finally opened your eyes, you offered him a queasy yet confident smile.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Mhm,” you mumbled. “Let’s keep going. Nearly there now. What were you saying about the—ah, fuck.” You stopped again, feeling a sudden wetness in your panties. Bolts of electricity were shooting up and down your body and within just a matter of seconds, you felt the primal need for something to fill you.

You looked at Joel and then looked away.

Joel said your name softly, drawled it out slowly like he was trying not to spook you. You refused to make eye contact with him, looking down at your feet.

“Don’t lie to me,” Joel said. He placed a hand on your arm and you flinched away from him. “What’s going on?”

You bit your lip, pressing your thighs together hoping for some kind of relief to the ache between your legs. You’re looked around your surroundings, finding a large rock just a few acres away. Ignoring Joel, you sat down and he followed you on your tail.

This was embarrassing. This was so embarrassing.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” you admitted, dabbing at the beads of sweat that laced your hairline. “I feel hot and heavy and it’s hard to breathe, I feel like my clothes are constraining me and I’m… I feel…”

Joel crooked his head to one side.

“Joel,” you whispered. “Fuck Joel, fuck…” you hissed through your teeth. “Joel, Joel…” you panted his name like it was a sacred prayer. Joel would’ve been lying if he said hearing you chant his name like that didn’t turn him on.

Extending your arms, you reached out towards the man. He obliged, coming closer and kneeling down in front of you. He placed both of his hands on your thighs to illustrate comfort and gazed into your eyes.

“What is it?” he quizzed further.

You nervously swallowed and reached into the pocket of your denim jacket before bringing out the now crumpled-up flower you’d picked earlier. The pale yellow pollen slipped between your fingers and you dropped the flower on the floor. Upon seeing it, Joel’s dark eyes widened and he leaned away from you.

“No, no, no,” you begged him, opening your legs and pulling him back into you, this time holding him as close as could be. “Fuck Joel, I— I don’t know— I don’t know what’s happening,” you squeaked, tears filling your eyes.

“Oh, sweet girl,” he shushed, but there was no denying the slight air of worry sprawled across his face. “What have you done?”

“I think it’s the flower… I just picked it up earlier because I thought it was pretty and, figured I could make a hair clip out of it or—“

“I’ve heard stories about those flowers,” Joel shook his head. “They’re a mutated form of Cordyceps… a variant that’s been growing like ordinary fungus, in environments, masking themselves as plants. I’ve never seen them before but… that’s what I’ve heard they look like.”

“Holy shit,” you whispered. “Am I infected?”

“No! No, no girl. You’re fine. You’re gonna be fine. These plants… they’re known to have a primal effect on their host. They want their host to reproduce so they release endorphins and, I… don’t know the science behind it but,”

“Joel,” you whispered. “Joel…” your voice trailed off, bringing your hands up to his cheeks as you cradled his face. Your thumbs brushed over his stubble which adorned his jaw and you admired the little missing patch of hair there that you’d never noticed before. “I’m fucking horny.” you breathed into admittance.

If you weren’t so worked up right now, you would’ve barked out a laugh at how ridiculous those words sounded leaving your lips. Joel swallowed, his adam’s apple bopping up and down in his throat. You licked your lips and waited for him to say something— anything. But he stayed quiet, only the slightest movement in his hand as he brought it to the inside of your thigh.

You tossed your head back at the gesture and Joel felt his cock throb in his pants at the sight of you coming undone over him. He noted the vein in your neck and the way your perfect lips parted in an O shape as he trailed his other hand up your waist and along your torso to the hem of your jacket.

“We don’t have to do anything, we don’t have to… I’ll be okay if you just give me some privacy and I can… I can… you know,”

“You need me and you know it,” Joel said gruffly, peeling back your jacket and letting it pool into a discarded pile on the floor. You already felt an air of relief wash over you as you lost an item of clothing. You hummed and leaned in closer to him, pressing your breasts which were now tight against your shirt into his face. “Say it.”

“I need you Joel,” you obliged. “Fuck, I need you so bad.”

“Tell me what exactly you need, baby girl,” Joel requested, bringing his hand to your breasts and massaging them through the material of your shirt. He pinched his finger over your protruding nipples and circled around them. He imagined nibbling it and sucking on them, and his mouth began to water.

“I need you, need your cock to fill me up. I want to wrap myself around you, tight, oh God, please,” you begged, grinding on the rock beneath you. The friction between the rock and jeans have you something, but it wasn’t enough. Joel discarded his jacket and unbuttoned his flannel shirt, throwing them to one side on the floor.

“You want me that bad huh?” Joel chuckled, reaching down to his belt and unbuckling it. With a clink, that was on the floor too.

“Need,” you corrected him. “This— this is fucking— fuck— I should be embarrassed.”

“But you’re not, because behind that sweet, good girl persona, you’re just a dirty, unfulfilled whore.” Joel seethed. If you didn’t know any better, you might’ve thought that was an insult, but his degradation only spurred you on more and you let out a moan.

“Your whore,” you told him with a smile. You stood up and pulled down your jeans so you were now sat on the rock wearing nothing but your t-shirt and panties. Your legs still open, you dropped your hand to your crotch and started to rub yourself through the material of your panties.

“Ah-ah,” Joel chastised, taking your hand away from your aching pussy and interlocking his fingers with yours. “Look how wet you are. From now on, only I’m allowed to touch you, okay?”

“Mm, sounds like you want me just as much as I want you,” you teased him, even surprising yourself at that little comment which escaped your lips.

“I do,” Joel answered, bringing your hand down to his own crotch, allowing you to feel his bulge that was straining through his jeans. As if that wasn’t proof enough.

“What about Tess?” you couldn’t help but ask. Even while you were in heat, you found yourself thinking about what Joel and Tess got up to. What exactly their ‘partnership’ amounted to.

Joel smirked and pressed a kiss into the crook of your neck. “You jealous?” he mumbled against your skin. The low octave of his voice sent vibrations through your body. He licked a stripe down to your collar bone.

“Nuh-uh,” you shook your head.

Every touch of his left a stain of fire.

“I think you are,” Joel teased. “You get jealous thinking about me fucking Tess— bending her over and taking her from behind.”

You groaned. “Fuck you,” you whined, running your fingers through his greying brown hair.

“Wouldn’t you like that?” Joel chuckled.

Then, something caught your attention. You were drugged— ‘under the influence’— if you wanted a nicer way to put it. You wanted Joel but you had that damn mutated flower to blame, and yet Joel… this was raw. This was all him. He had nothing to blame other than himself because the truth is, he’s wanted you from the moment he laid eyes on you.

“I fuck Tess,” he announced and you felt your face sour at his declaration. “But I wish it was you every damn time.”

You huffed as you let him take off your t-shirt. His eyes widened when he saw you weren’t even wearing a bra.

“Somehow I doubt that,” you muttered with a roll of your eyes.

“Let me prove it to you.” Joel replied, this time his words holding the utmost meaning.

Joel unzipped his jeans and pulled them down to his knees, alongside his boxer shorts, revealing his long, thick cock. It was perfect, the dark pink head already leaking with milky white trails of precum.

“You’re huge.” you couldn’t help but gasp out, making Joel laugh. You immediately eased at the sound of his chuckle. It wasn’t teasing or fake, but it was genuine and authentic. Dare you say, cute.

But the little butterflies that fluttered in the pit of your stomach were short-lived. Your loins ached even more just at the mere sight of him and you eagerly ditched your panties within seconds. Leaning back, you made yourself as comfortable as you could be atop of the rock and spread your legs for him. What a sight to behold, you were.

Joel admired your glistening folds as he eye-fucked your entire naked body. You brought your hands to your tits and began to play with them as you let him observe you.

“Please Joel,” you begged. “Let me feel you.”

Joel hovered over you and pressed his cock between your folds, rubbing the tip up and down, separating you. Obscene and lewd wet noises filled the quiet atmosphere as Joel gathered your juices on his manhood.

“Such a pretty pussy,” Joel sighed, before bringing a thumb to your clit. He began to draw circles over the bundle of nerves, causing your body to jolt with the overbearing rush of pleasure. You knew you wouldn’t last long and you could feel your orgasm begin to creep upon you. But you needed more.

“Fuck me Joel, I need you inside of me.”

“Like this?” Joel asked and with one smooth motion, Joel thrusted his cock inside of you, your wet walls squeezing around him. “Oh shit.” he croaked out, taking a moment to adjust himself to the ethereal feeling of you wrapped around him.

“Yes, just like that,” you praised. “Move now, please.”

For the first time, Joel followed your instruction without any tormenting or teasing. He’d wanted this just as bad as you did. Joel rocked his hips into you, building up a rhythm that you just couldn’t resist. His movements began to set out a pace but in time he quickened himself, focusing on getting closer to his high as he felt your own body quiver and shake underneath him. You knew he was close when his thrusts became sloppy and he chanted your name under his breath.

Joel delved his face into your neck and you screamed as your climax came crushing down. Joel felt it too— the effect of your orgasm and what it had done to your body. Without any warning, Joel shot ropes of his cum into your pussy before slowly pulling out of you. The warmth of his seed painting your walls was enough to help you come down from your high.

Joel rolled off you and laid next to you, atop of the rock.

The sky was growing dark now and nightfall was approaching.

“Thank you.” you whispered when you regained your breath. You let yourself have a few moments to try and come to terms with what had just happened. By far, the best experience of your life.

Joel leaned over onto his side and looked at you, feeling completely enamoured with your beauty. You were still flushed and sweating but the effects of the flower had worn off now, and you were doing much better.

“Before, when I said I thought of you when I was with Tess… I wasn’t lying,” Joel admitted. “I don’t want you to think…”

You smiled, tangling your fingers into his hair and pushing his face down to meet yours. You offered him a soft, tranquil kiss and Joel moaned at the affection. Your lips were so soft, exactly how he’d imagined. If he could, he’d kiss them forever.

“Is she your girlfriend?” you asked after pulling away.

“It’s not like that at all,” Joel replied. “We just… we’re there when we need each other, y’know?”

You nodded your head silently.

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” Joel announced, feeling a rush of nerves and anxiety race through his body. “I mean, not the Cordyceps flower. And not just the sex. But I want to see you again, after today. And I understand if you don’t feel the same way— I know, we’re so different and I ain’t a good guy. Maybe a girl like you would be better on your own, but damn it, I like you and—“

“I like you too,” you cut him off. “Maybe when we get back to Boston, you can take me out on a date?”

Joel grinned, a dimple appearing in his right cheek. There was those butterflies again.

“Alrighty then.” Joel beamed and you pressed another kiss to his lips. “It’s a date.”

-------

taglist: @januarycolor @anapnovo-blog @pardebellesnuits @mi0o@supervengerslock@alitaar@bigpepperpicker@pedrostories@pedroprinces@

#pedro pascal #joel miller #the last of us #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal x you #smut #tlou

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pandorascrush · 2 years ago

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HUNTING YOU

HI EVERYONE! This is actually my first attempt at writing smut. So please please please let me know what yall think.

ALL WORK IS MY ORIGINAL WORK!!!

CHAPTER ONE : PREY

SUMMARY: The reader is a part of the Metkayina clan. She couldn't help herself as she watched and wanted Neytiri and Jake. Maybe it was because they were the first forest people she had ever seen. But she wanted them like a hunter wants its prey. Little did she know that they had also wanted her and were willing to hunt her if that was the only way they could have her.

WARNINGS: nsfw(18+), smut, minors dni, clit play, degradation kink, fingering, squirting, avatar/na'vi!jake, dilf!jake, fem!bodied reader, metkayina!reader, creampie, unprotected sex, breeding kink, dry humping, pet names (babygirl, dirty girl), poly relationship

PAIRING: jake sully x neytiri, jake sully x reader, neytiri x reader

➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵➵

At first it had started out as a small tease between him and Neytiri. He had made a comments of your beauty and your welcoming eyes. He always refrained from making further comments.But today he couldn't help himself but mention how out of all the Metkayina women, you had been the curviest. The only reason he even mentioned it was in order to try and crack out a smile from Neytiri. He was fully expecting a hiss from Neytiri's lips but what she said next surprised him like nothing else had.

“Yes she is, her hips are fuller than the other women,as if she’s had a babe. She is better suited to carry one. Her frame is strong and legs sturdy. She would be a good mate.” All Jake could do was stare at her in disbelief.

“Neytiri, I was just joking.” Jake said in shock and disbelief. He fully prepared himself from a smack upside the head at his comment. Especially because he said it infront of his mate.

“I am not, I have been watching her since we arrived. She has been the kindest to us and the children.”

Neytiri was surprised at the words that came out of her mouth. She had no idea what came over her but she could hide it no longer. Yes she had a mate and loved him with all her heart, but she could not deny the beauty she saw in you. She had been observing you for quite some time. Like a predator stalking its prey. Maybe it was the instincts she developed from her younger years after being a hunter, but she couldn't help it. She liked what she saw. And so did Jake.

“Ma Jake, do not be offended by my words. She is a beautiful woman and I cannot help myself. I love you more than myself but I find myself wanting her, needing her, hunting her like a predator to its prey.” She felt relieved to finally get it off her chest.

The truth is she found herself staring at you more than she would like to admit. Ever since arriving at the reef she has felt like an outsider. An outsider because she simply could not adapt as quickly as the rest of her family had. She found herself drawn to you the moment she saw you.

When you would visit their mauri she would find herself entranced by your voice. The way your lips moved and the curve of your mouth. The way your eyes shone with the reflection of the sun. And the movement of your chest and you breathed. She couldn't help herself. She was drawn to you. She wanted you. And now with Jake's words she found like a weight has lifted off her chest. Her mate felt the same.

Jake had noticed you almost immediately around the same time Neytiri had. He couldn't help himself from staring at the sway of your hips. The fullness of your breast, and the curves he noticed underneath your top. But what truly captivated him was the curve of your lips and the roundness of your eyes and how they showed your innocence. The moment he noticed that it was like a light switch went off in his mind. Afterall he had developed the mind of a hunter. He was a predator and he wanted you to be his prey.

“Neytiri, tell me, have you thought about her?” He asked her still with doubt in his mind. Neytiri couldn't help but walk in front of him grabbing his waist and pulling him towards her. Chest to chest.

“Yes Ma Jake. I see her the same as you see her. I can't keep it at bay any longer.” By this point they had their foreheads pressed to one another, breathing into one another. Neytiri grabbed her braid and he did the same grabbing his. They hugged one another and connected their queues and that's when they felt it.

They wanted you. They needed you, between them, under them, and over them. They wanted you psychically and mentally. And that’s when they made you their next mission. They were making you their prey. And you would be theirs.

They couldn't help themselves and slammed their lips together. Their want overcoming them.No matter how long they've been mated for, every time they connected their queues it was exhilarating and overwhelming as if it was the first time.

“Ma Jake I need you.” Neytiri couldn't help but push out in between gasps. With this Jake grabbed her and laid her on the ground pulling himself on top of her letting his weight on her.

“I need you too, baby girl.” He said as he gripped her hips and grinded his own hips into hers. He let his finger slip down to her loincloth, slipping them between her lips at the same time as Neytiri clung onto him by the shoulders and let out a hiss at the newfound friction on her clit.

“You're already wet, my dirty girl. Is this because of me or because all you think about is being in between y/n’s legs?”

“For you both ma jake.” She couldn't help but let out in between gasps. She grinded her hips against his fingers practically humping into his hand. Her wetness trickinging down his hand, and she went to grab his cock. She started pumping him between her hand practically tugging him to her entrance.

Jake took this as a sign and quickly tore his loin cloth off and discarded hers as well. He leaned down to kiss her in an attempt to battle for dominance over the kiss and he lined himself up to her cunt. In one swift and powerful thrust he was inside her.

“Yes! Right there, please don't stop.” She practically cried out as she dug her nails into his shoulders and brought her leg on his hip. Jake grabbed her other leg and threw it over his shoulder.

“I should have known you wanted her.” He let out between grunts as Neytiri bit onto his shoulder in an attempt to contain her moans.

“I want her, Jake. I want you both at the same time.” She couldn't help but say in between moans. The way she was clenching around him was making Jake close to cumming. He grabbed her other leg and threw it over his other shoulder. He had her sandwiched under him and started hammering into her, thrusting even deeper than before at this angle.

“She will be ours, my love. ILL. MAKE. SURE. OF .IT.” He said, emphasizing each word with a hard thrust. He reached down to her clit and rubbed hard yet with intent.

“Ma jake, MA JAKE! I'M CUMMING!” Neytiri practically yelled. With this he thrusted into her and rubbed her clit simultaneously. Jake came with a loud groan into Neytiri and Neytiri came around his cock biting down on her lip. He lazily kept thrusting until he cum was leaking out of Neytiri. Slowly he stopped his thrusts but stayed deep inside of Neytiri.

“We have to make her ours.” Neytiri said softly yet with determination as she lightly caressed his face pulling him into a deep kiss.

“She will be ours, my love.” Jake promised to her in between the kiss and stared into her beautiful eyes.

“Even if we have to hunt her down.” He said softly as he laid his head on Neytiri’s chest, still refusing to pull out of her warmth. With that promise they slowly drifted off to sleep in their mauri.

But what they didn't know was that you had been outside their mauri listening to everything. You pulled your left hand from your lips that had been covering your mouth, and your right hand from underneath your loincloth. That was the hardest you had ever came. They wanted to hunt you and make you their prey? Let’s see who becomes whose prey first then. After all, you were a hunter yourself. And you were determined to make them yours.

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AHHH!!!! Okay that was my first ever attempt at writing smut and let me tell you, not as easy as it seems. But yes this is most likely going to be a mini series. Get ready to see the reader fight for dominance against Jake and Neytiri. And just to reiterate this WILL be a poly couple. So all three will be in a relationship. Can’t wait for yall’s feedback and to write some more. Things are gonna get heated yall! TOODLES <3

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weptpride · 2 years ago

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misc briala edits 2/?

see original post tags before reblogging.

#mutuals and queenaeducan may reblog #reflection | i have been the hunter; i have been the prey #queue.#have you admired your local revolutionary today? now you have

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heartfullofleeches · 2 years ago

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Yandere Fae King + G.N Huntsman Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Drugging, Kidnapping, Angst

What’s your favorite fairytale?

You hardly remember it now. It's been so long since you've been able to kick back and think back on all those old tales you once loved. Been a while since you've been able to do anything, really. The days drain away by the second with each life you take, and the nights in wait for the next cull. Your equipment receives better care than you’ve had in years.

If you were another person, maybe you'd seek for a change. Scrounge up every coin you earn and never looked back on this world, living free and without needless bloodshed. If only such a life was meant for a person like you. The person deserving of that dream died ages ago, on the day they learned to block out the screams.

He..lp me…

At least… The ones that no longer mattered.

You shift towards the source of the plea, equipping your trusty steel from the fire in which it brewed. It damaged the durability, but was the only way you could properly snuff the weakened voice. Its frightened face reflects in the flat blade of your axe; the bloodstains you weren’t able to remove marking its place as another victim to the flame. You've lost track of how many have fallen before it. At one time, you carved a mark into the handle of your weapon, but you lost the original piece for which you did so. You can’t recall if you stopped keeping track before or after that happened.

You stalk towards your captive like the cautious hero sneaking up to the wicked wolf to save the damsel in red, yet the only one who needs saving is one of you. Your feet grow colder the closer you approach, but lost in determination is not the cause. The snowy flesh and frozen tears of your prey chills the very air to a still. It's your first run in with such a creature, but far from the last. You raise your axe high.

“Please… Have you no heart?”

You would’ve gagged it if you had more rope. There's no reason to reply, for your eyes speak volumes. Silence rains as you bring down the axe.

A wet thud sounds as you toss the spoils from your kill on the ground.

“Found this in your barn. It's what's been freezing your crops.”

The farmer's face contorts in disgust, but they keep silent as they shove your payment in your hands and slam the door shut. You hear shouting over whether who will clean up the mess you made, but that's all behind you. With their miscalculation in pay, you should be able to get a decent meal in your system along with the supplies you need. The thought was a little too hopeful as the very second you allow yourself to rest, the ghost of your past comes knocking once more.

“Hunter.”

A note slides across the table you sit at, sealed with crimson wax.

“Your majesty requests your immediate attention.”

You take small bites of your food. The messenger sighs.

“Need I remind you that it's mandatory?”

“Do I have to remind you that I no longer work for that man?”

“This isn't about you or your issues with our king. It's about another.”

Their seldom glance towards the window is all you need to know. You settle your rumbling stomach with a drink of water and pour the remaining contents over the letter.

“Let's go.”

The messenger looks confused, and slightly worried. “I really think you should read-"

You quickly place your axe on the table, blueish blood embedded into the metal. “I said we're leaving. Take me to him, now.”

The messenger returns to the castle pale as a sheet and with you in tow. They hand you off to a younger hire to avoid the backlash of your arrival themselves; the servant leading you directly to the king's throne with the same tactic you used on the other party. The king sits in his chair, chatting away to anyone who'll listen to his personal retellings of the past. His general expression shows fearlessness and glee, but the trained eye could see the anxiety practically dripping from this shell of a man. A fear that unsheathes itself as he turns his head towards you. Not a thing has changed since you left.

“Hunter!” The king masks his faulty start with a well placed cough as he rises to his feet, arms raised. “It's been a while, hasn’t it, old friend? I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow. We had a feast planned and everything.”

“I'm not here for pleasantries. Are you finally putting an end to this petty war or not.”

The king struggles to maintain his smile. “Ah, right. Never were one to allow yourself a break were you? Well once this task is complete, you'll have all the time in the world. We believe we've found something that will put an end to everything once and for all.”

He calls a servant to bring the item in question. It's a map. Hand drawn from what you can see. You drew one similar in your youth.

“With the noble sacrifice of our men, we've successfully navigated a path through the cursed part of the forest and straight to the fae king’s castle. There's theory that a hidden passage exists along its walls, but we have yet to figure it out. If anyone is able to, let alone kill that creature, it would be you. We'll prepare you a steed and armor by morning-"

“I'll leave before dawn.”

The king's eyes bulge out of their sockets like you just threatened his life. “Aha, surely you jest. There's the preparations, plus wouldn't it be better to leave on a full stomach and the support of your people.”

“No.”

Your flat, direct tone cancels any further argument. “If that is what you wish… old friend. Allow my staff to escort you to your room.”

You settle down for the evening in a room of the king's choosing. The bed is softer than you're used to, but too foreign to provide you with any actual comfort. You don't sleep that night, thinking of the life you'll have after you bring an end to the opposing forces' rule. A happy ending isn’t in the cards for someone like you, but maybe, just maybe- you'll be able to return home.

You refuse the servant's billionth attempt at offering you a warm meal, wolf down the dinner roll you snuck in, and tried to get some sleep with the remaining time you had.

You're up once again before the sun can peak over the horizon. The king, reluctantly giving in to your demands, greets you at the front gates with all the equipment his guard had prepared. You pick through it, only taking a water canteen, lantern, and the shiny new axe. The king appears uneasy with your hall.

“I do not doubt your skill, but is that really all you'll take? The journey may take less than a day, but you'll need to eat and walking yourself will only lengthen that time.”

“I know the beginning of the forest like the back of my hand. I'll be fine until I reach the creek. What happens after isn’t any of your concern. There's bigger fools than me ready to play hero if I don't come back.”

“I suppose you're correct…” He holds out his hand. “For luck? …and old times?”

You toss your bag onto your shoulder as you turn your back to the man.

“Suit yourself. Goodbye, Hunter.”

Word of your travel reached the village due to the drunken ramblings of an unnamed, yet frightened individual. The folk that shunned you lest they need your aid all watch as you set out towards the forest. Some try to give you words of encouragement or extra support, but you’re long past the need of their help. Taking your first step into the forest you feel the first thing you’ve felt in ages. Grief. It quickly passes once you cross the threshold of burnt wood laid out along the ground.

The start of the journey is as easy as you expected and remembered. Just a pleasant stroll through the woodlands, if you ignore the warning signs and nail marks in the tree bark. Some are faded and thin, but the majority are far larger and much fresher. They’re getting bolder. Best to hurry.

You make it to the creek with a few hours of daylight to spare. The bridge across it broke when you were a child, but now you were old enough to cross straight through without the fear of being swept away. The water barely reaches mid calf when you roll up your sleeves and step in. You hear splashing from nearby, but they quickly disburse with the squeak of a small gasp. The wise ones knew to steer clear of anyone who matched your general profile.

Crossing into the forbidden area of the forest, you expect more danger than you're met with. In this business, it's more worrying to go without danger than to be right in the middle of it. The only sounds you hear are the crunch of leaves beneath your boots – and the rumble from your stomach.

You stop to take a break at an overturned stump. The weight of the situation is really getting to you. Normally you’re about to go at least a day or two without something to eat, but now your body was fighting just to keep upright. You check your bag to see if you had anything left over from the last time you packed. It's empty, besides a single snack cake at the bottom of the sack. And a note.

“Dearest Hunter,

I know things between us have soured over the years. Your home was taken from you in the crossfires and that is truly one of my deepest regrets. I wish the fates could have turned out differently for you, but all I can do now is offer you my prayers and this final gift in hope that you'll forgive me in another life. Know that I do not even forgive myself. In the future, I pray you are cared for well.”

You crumble the letter and toss it back in your bag. Could be used for a fire if need be on your way back. You take careful bites of the cake. It's sweet and a bit tart, filled with some sort of jam which taste you can't put your finger on. It gets caught in your throat after you swallow the rest in one mouthful, but you dislodge it with a sip of water and continue on your way.

It's night by the time you make it to the castle. The snack gave you some of your energy back, but your legs still felt heavy. You bite through the fatigue and lift them high as you cross over to the unfamiliar land. You were warned of the king's carefree attitude, but you never expected it to be this lax. Not one guard manned the front gates nor the road to doors from what your blurring vision could see. The wiser choice would have been to round the back of the castle like the original plan, but the prospect of freedom and the growing headache lead you down the riskier path.

The heaviness of your legs travels upwards with each step you take. It isn’t long before you can barely keep a grip on your axe. You want to turn back, but something keeps you moving forward. The races through the trees. Cutting firewood in the fall. You want to be the person that loved those things so dearly in the past. You wanted to be you again.

Opening the gate with a shaky palm, you fall limp in the arms of the one person who could fulfill that dream.

Welcome home, my heartless spouse.

When you wake you find yourself in shackles. They're loose enough to give you a taste of freedom, yet they fit around your wrists just right to condemn you to the bed you lie in. You look around the room. It's impossible to move your body. Everything is so heavy and your throat is dry. A cool towel wipes away the sweat beading down your forehead.

“Are you finally awake? I’m so sorry for the confusion you’re likely experiencing. This was the only way we could be together with our people coming for your head.”

His hands creep up your neck. Soft, cloud-like skin more inviting than the pillow your head rests upon, but twice as cool. His eyes meet with yours, too beautiful pools of love and adoration, and so, so much sadness. Almost enough to drown out your own. You know this man. You’ve never seen his face, but you know.

“They'll come around someday. Maybe not a month. Maybe not a year, but they will. I know they will come to love this version of you just as I.”

His fingers sap the warmth from your skin. “What ever did happen to that sweet human I promised myself to ages ago? Worry not for any attempt at change, for my love for you counters any tide.”

You close your eyes. You don't want to hear another word of what he says. His lips ghost by your ear.

“Trust is a two way street. I should start our rekindling by informing you that it wasn’t just I who willed this fate upon you, but the king of the people you gave your years to.”

Your eyes snap open. The realization brewing gifts you the will to speak. “You're lying.”

“I wish I was. I know this hurts for now, but in the future you'll see it's the best for us all.”

Your breathing grows ragged. “You're a liar.”

“You and I both know that what I say is true. Deep down you know that the fire that broke out that day was not an accident. It was not by coincidence that the former king came across your weakened form. He was in need of a new tool, and you were in the prime condition to become his blade.”

You grit your teeth; nails sinking into the flesh of your palms. Precious memories break from the chains you had locked them in since that day. Your peaceful upbringing in the forest, the kind man who carried you away from the flames. The same man who made you kill those who you once called friends.

“You don't belong anywhere, my love. Raised right in the middle of the battlefield, neither side has use for you besides the things you can do. We are alike in that aspect. It's probably the reason you imprinted on me when we met for that brief moment he took you away. From that very second I knew – you were my everything.”

“Stop. Talking.”

“Don't be so cruel, my dear. There surely must've been a time when even you had a heart. I know that better than anyone. I will do my best to pick up those pieces and make you whole."

You can't keep it in. The floodgates you tried so desperately to keep up burst, and the decades of misery resurface. You thrash against your binds, kicking and spitting at the man who only draws his spit covered fingers into his mouth, and smiles so warmly at you.

“I'll kill you! I'll slaughter the people this land protects, and then I'll go after that bastard and his! I’ll kill you all and I won’t stop until I make sure every single one of you is dead. Don't fucking touch me!”

The fae king hushes you as he hooks his arms around your flailing form. He does his best to comfort you, even when one of your hits finally connects, and long after your screams turn into hoarse cries. He brushes your tears away just as he'll do someday when he takes away all your pain permanently.

“Worry not, my broken heart. You'll get your revenge when I bring you the broken body of that man to serve as the centerpiece for our wedding. We'll rebuild your cabin and live out the remainder of our days in nothing but happiness and pure devotion. Grief will only be a bad dream by then, but for now, just rest.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere headcanons #yandere x you #yandere insert #male yandere #yandere blurb #yandere fae #yandere story #yandere drabble #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #yandere writing #yandere fantasy

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jollmaster · 6 months ago

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finally: asile!AU, Alastor, wicked deer

biography

° son of a white french creole woman and dark-skinned creole man with ethiopian roots

° inherited his mother's red-haired appearance

° from father Alastor inherited only tall height and musical ear

° mother gave him born when she was barely eighteen, widowed at twenty-two and wasn't the best mother in the world, but they loved each other

° spent his life in a rather difficult era, which included racial segregation (Alastor could have been persecuted if he had visible black roots), World War I (mother was afraid he would be taken away to war), the spanish flu epidemic (mom died during the epidemic), Prohibition and the Great Depression

° Alastor is a quadroon

° throughout his life he had to hide his ancestry because of Jim Crow laws

° as a result, he dissociated himself from the black community and, perversely interpreting a subconscious desire to "clean" himself, lynched black people suspected of crimes

° was shot in the woods by the widow of one of his victims

° in Hell, Alastor drank demon blood to bind himself to the underworld (blood magic is used extensively in this universe)

° also ate a demon's liver and tongue

° highly tainted, better adapted to the underworld and well versed in blood magic

° there are only a few mortals who can tolerate such meat-eating, and Alastor is one of them

° deer's appearance is a symbolic reflection of the change from hunter to prey status; predator's features are a consequence of defilement and demon blood

° the demon who helped him with this ritual was Rosie

fun facts

° periodically Alastor sheds antlers :D

° one pair of them he uses as a coat rack

° another antlers performs the same function in Rosie's home

° got Niffty a job in a cannibal town before he disappeared for seven years

° spent seven years in mortal world, but came back with no regrets

° uses the N-word

° wears spinal corset

° very good at couples dances; his mother worked part-time as a gigolette for a while and taught son how to dance in case he needed quick cash or having a nice time

° around the same time, Alastor developed a slight misandry because he sometimes had to protect mom from pesky suitors

° speaks good Creole French (also thanks mom)

° illegitimate child

° jokes that he died at Jesus Christ's age

° often skips overlord meetings

° overlords generally don't like him because he's upstart and opinionated

° platonically married to Rosie

° there was no ceremony, they just decided they'd be husband and wife

° Alastor likes Rosie to bite his neck and ears (and bites her, too), and won't let anyone else touch neck and ears but her

thanks @yorking1 for request! 💕

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel au #hazbin hotel redesign #alastor #alastor radio demon #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor redesign

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madschiavelique · 10 months ago

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𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐦𝐛 — 𝟐

⟢ summary : getting closer to them unleashed a desire within you that cannot be tamed…

⟢ content warnings : NSFW, reader kinda being a perv (she’s obsessed and touch starved), masturbation (reader), reader listens to matt and frank while they’re at it later in the chapter (and she gets off on it), afab!reader, no use of y/n

⟢ word count : 6.7k

⟢ note : remember when i said this was going to be a 2 shot ? well, this is going to be a 3 shot in the end :D (i promise next chap you’ll get that hunter/prey dynamic sweeties)

⟢ previous part : here | next part : here

You'd come back to your flat and taken the opportunity to get some rest. When you're in a small 3 cubic metre room with just enough space for a bed, a mini kitchen and a tiny shower with a lousy toilet, it doesn't take long before you're crashing on your mattress.

Matt and Frank had shown you how to take care of your wounds, giving you a few things to help you out. You'd done everything right, reflecting on that evening all day long.

You couldn't stop thinking about everything that had happened, how you'd felt in Frank's arms, how Matt had comforted you and looked after your lip while Frank stitched you up. You thought about how the devil had stripped you and dressed you in their own clothes, how you'd spent part of your night in their beds.

You'd got rid of your trousers, which weren't very comfortable for lying in bed and resting. At this moment, with your back hard against the bed, it wasn't as comfortable as the silk of their sheets. Scanning your ceiling as if it were of some importance, your eyes looked at nothing in particular as your mind replayed those few major moments in your body, your heart and your thoughts during the evening. You were still wearing Frank's T-shirt, and the urge came over you.

You brought the collar of the T-shirt you were wearing up to your nose, the smell of Frank permeating the fabric but you dropped the collar. You shouldn't be doing this, it's inappropriate, it's unprofessional, it's... It's...

You let your nose discover the fabric again, pulling it close to your nostrils and inhaling the perfume left on it.

Your eyelids closed of their own accord as you exhaled softly, your shoulders drooping as the scent itself brought you the comfort of a night full of feelings. The same coolness of the night filled the black fabric as if the garment had been cut from the dark night sky, where you lost yourself.

You let the smell intoxicate you, searching for it everywhere, in every fibre, every seam, every patch, as if you were going to lose it at any moment. You were looking for him in the meanders of what he had left there, and soon enough, you were looking for them.

Had Matt's plump lips rested on the back of his neck, near the collar, where his warm breath would have sent a shower of shivers down Frank's skin?

As one of your hands gripped the fabric and pressed it to your nose as if it held the only scent you could bear, the fabric's folds lifted the shirt enough to expose your panties and bare thighs. It was then that the sudden coolness caressing your thighs and their insides made you aware of the intense heat that had settled in your lower belly.

Almost feverish, carried away by the smell, your free hand went down your body to reach your inner thigh. Your hand slipped under the elastic of your underwear, moving down until a light touch on the sensitive bundle of nerves made you press your thighs together tighter. Taking a heavy breath as your head fell back on your pillow, you let Frank's scent fill your lungs like new oxygen.

Would a guttural growl have escaped as Matt ran his nimble fingers along the fabric of his ribs, reading every curve of his body?

One of your fingers continued lower, slipping as it passed between your lips into the warm wetness of your desire. You pressed it lightly, coating it with your own juices with incredible ease before sliding it in and arching your back slightly at the sensation.

In the throes of euphoria, it wasn't long before you began slow back-and-forth strokes. You tugged at the collar anew, looking for more of the scent as your own warm breath muted the nuance of it.

Would his fingers have run up and down his back, up between his shoulder blades as one went down to his lower back?

The heat in your lower belly spread further, and as a single finger couldn't satisfy your desire, a second was added, curving and sinking into you in a way that made you curl your toes. The freshness of the scent fed the burning fire in your body, urging you to move faster.

Would he have grabbed the sides of that t-shirt, letting his fingers brush mischievously against Frank's skin as he slid it up his body?

You turned onto your side until you were on your stomach, your breath coming in short gasps as you nuzzled your nose close to your shoulder under the shirt and gripped your pillow, squeezing it tightly between your fingers as your back arched.

You eased your fingers away, returning to your aching clit. It almost hurt to touch it with such slow torment, and you began to make faster circular strokes around it.

Would he have taken it off gently, letting the fabric catch every little ounce of perfume on its way before he just pulled it off his arms and the back of his neck to throw it behind them...

The heat intensified, the knot in your lower belly tightening more and more as your movements accelerated awkwardly in your frenzy, losing a steady rhythm as tingles rose in your cheeks.

He would have run his fingers over his jaw, his thumb pressing against his bottom lip before releasing it so that his lips could caress Frank's…

Your teeth sank into your own lip, the latter still stinging as the fresh cut from the night before reigned over it. But the ecstasy in which you found yourself prevented you from giving a damn, letting small splinters of voice die out in your throat and never escape your lips.

What were you doing imagining this intimate scene, these delicate gestures full of unpronounceable words, the language of which only the skin knew. What were you doing as your eyes, hidden behind your eyelids, let you glimpse the projection of this secret duo? What were you doing, mentally observing them as if through a doorway, while Frank turned to you with an intrigued look.

You're staring little one.

The sentence in your mind made you open your eyes again with a jerk, as if the door behind which you were enjoying the spectacle had just slammed shut.

You yanked off the T-shirt and tossed it across the room, as if it had come too close to you, as if it had burnt so close to your skin that it carried with it a curse, or worse: something you wanted but couldn't afford.

Out of breath, feverish, you watched the almost ridiculous heap it formed on the ground, as if the weight of its lightness was not carrying the heaviness of desire. It was too entrancing, you couldn't allow yourself to give in to it.

That shirt was your shame, the extent of your desire, greater in the moment than your mind. You couldn't see it any more, you couldn't, the mere idea of approaching it now twisted your heart like a can.

Pull yourself together, you thought to yourself as your head spun, as you turned away to turn your back on it, moving back in your bed and lying down to look at your wall.

Your heart still pounding, the heat you'd felt growing inside you still present but gradually calming down, you felt the shame hanging over your cheeks and shoulders.

This idyll that you considered, this fantasy that you wanted to make go away was not possible. A flash of the two of them smiling at you in the kitchen earlier in the day came back to the front of your eyes, and you shook your head, closing your eyelids firmly until you saw multicoloured shapes on the skin of them, as if the gesture was going to erase everything.

Your mobile vibrated, and the screen displayed a message from Frank. Of course, while you were chasing them away in your mind, they were tormenting you with messages. Biting the inside of your cheek, you grabbed your phone. They knew you didn't have much contact apart from them, so unless you'd had some sort of problem or were at work you'd be able to reply.

The idea of ignoring the message was to be ruled out, if by some chance they thought you'd had a problem and one of them arrived here in no time to see you in that state... you didn't want to imagine.

Trying to calm your body from its previous emotions, you took your mobile in hand to read his text message.

No patrol for you for the next 3 days, if any of us come across you on the rooftops between now and then, watch out. Frank.

You swallow, your way out to take your mind off things and potentially forget your urges had just flown out the window. There's not much to do in this shabby flat. There's not really much furniture or shelves to work on, or to read, or to do a hobby, or to do anything else, just your chest of drawers to keep your clothes in, the rest being laid out on the floor.

Going out to fight, to decompensate by exercising and spending yourself enough to simply collapse at night and not have to let the possibility of any thought pierce that rhythm, that was your escape.

But now you were stuck in your flat, tomorrow you'd have to go back to work, and you'd have to live with the shame that seemed to bore into your eyes as soon as they rested on the shirt.

The three days were a constant torment. Clients and colleagues looked at you either as an alien or as a porcelain vase ready to break at any moment, while when you looked in the mirror you seemed to be staring at a wreck.

The first evening was already an ordeal for you, not going out as soon as it got dark to roam the rooftops and streets of the city. Still tired from the pain of your wounds though, you finally found a way to fall asleep and get a long night's sleep.

The second, you were irritated, unable to think of anything other than them doing whatever it was you were itching to do. You ended up putting Frank's T-shirt in your dirty clothes and going down to the launderette to get rid of the torment once and for all. You weren't sure how far Matt could smell or hear anyone's every move, but you sincerely hoped that this short night out wouldn't lead them to you for a slap on the wrist.

On the third night, the urge to go out was itching like an addiction. You couldn't bear the idea of standing still and doing nothing when you were perfectly aware of everything that was going on outside. Having located yourself in an area that wasn't very quiet, you had the urge to grab another shirt and get outside as quickly as possible to follow the sirens that were sounding from a distance. You had to discipline yourself to stay in bed and wait for the night to end.

After a few days of sobbing monotony, the routine resumed the next evening when you met them on the rooftops as usual. Questions were exchanged about your injuries, your new t-shirt for your costume - which they disapproved of once again - and then the night continued as if everything was normal.

However, as the nights multiplied, so did the delightfully unusual instances. A gentle tap of encouragement from Matt's hand on your shoulder that lasted a little longer than it should have, an honest smile from Frank that for once seemed less annoyed that you opened your mouth, a look or touch from one that lasted longer than it should have.

The 'patch-up' evenings began to increase in their turn, resulting in you often coming to their homes in the evening to help tend to them when they no longer had the strength to do anything other than lie down and grunt in pain. This time, you made it a point of honour to sleep on the sofa and not in their bed.

The next mornings for them were rewarded with good coffees that you prepared for them. If working in a café gave you any expertise at all, it was waking up a grouch and a sleepyhead in the morning in a pleasant atmosphere.

Soon, the evenings at their place became more recurrent than those you spent in your flat. So much so, in fact, that they installed an extra mattress near the stairs leading up to the roof for you. It wasn't much, but it was much nicer than the general atmosphere in your flat. Later, after this stage, they came to visit you at work.

The first time this happened, it was Matt who had turned up with his colleagues as if nothing was wrong at the café counter. Playing innocent at the time had been a strange experience.

"A mocha? Really" laughed Karen.

"What ?" retorted Foggy, "it's the most professional way I've found of not having a hot chocolate straight away, so consider yourself lucky for this exemplary behaviour.

"Oh yes, extremely professional."

"Come on," Foggy said indignantly before turning to you.

"Any cafe can look professional if you don't take a closer look at what's in it," you admitted, offering an inverted smile and raising your eyebrows.

"Finally a sane person here," Foggy said, raising his arms slightly in the air victoriously.

"So a mocha with extra chocolate?" you offered. "Extra's on the house."

"Careful with that, I might just become your next regular," pointed Foggy.

"I don't see what the warning would be," you laughed, noting down his order. "For you?"

"A latte, please," Karen replied.

"And I'm the one being unprofessional here."

As the two were zealously debating what a proper professional coffee is, and how the only thing that differentiates their two choices is the fact that Foggy's coffee had chocolate in it and Karen's didn't, Matt walked over to you. You were tempted for a moment to say "the usual?" but, not knowing what he'd told his colleagues about whether he'd come here often or not, you simply waited for him to tell you what he'd ordered.

You were aware of his habits and routines. In the morning, it varied from the fact that he simply needed something strong to wake him up, in which case he'd have a turkish coffee; or if he had more time and wanted to indulge himself, he'd have a latte with sugar, or tea. In the evening, he'd have tea or herbal tea, maybe even camomile tea, even though you knew full well that, tired as he was, camomile tea wouldn't even help him fall asleep.

"A red berries tea, please.

"Not even in the coffee family now, what is this meeting." Foggy grumbled.

You let them take their places in the café, at a table towards the back, preparing everything with care. You were already doing your job well on a daily basis, but the fact that Matt was there, accompanied by his colleagues, made you want to make a good impression.

Do they know? you wondered. Were his colleagues and friends aware that many of his nights were filled with doing his own justice when the Court couldn't do it? You brought them the tray, much to Foggy's delight.

"The mocha for you-" you said, placing Foggy's cup in front of him.

You nearly shook your tray as a sudden sensation spread through you from a gesture invisible to Foggy and Karen, who were too focused on the arrival of their drinks: Matt's fingers had come to rest on the back of your leg, gently tracing them up and down.

You were used to a few touches from him. Since he'd taken care of your lip and dressed you again, his gestures towards you had become more frequent. Of course, there were the taps on the shoulder to congratulate you, but there were all the points of honour he seemed to give himself for your fingers to brush against each other when you gave him his cup of coffee.

You'd already twice simply put his cup on the counter, notifying him of the fact that you'd finished making it, but he seemed to be making up excuses to get you to bring it to him.

"I think this ankle's a bit sore this morning, could you bring it here for me please" or "I think one of the hits I got last night messed me up a bit, I'm going to need some time to recover" and other excuses to get you to take the cup from your hands.

So, soon enough you realised that there was no alternative but to give it to him yourself. You wondered if he was doing this because he could hear your heart beating slightly faster as soon as your skins touched. Matt wasn't the lazy type, so it didn't take you long to realise that he was taking a malicious pleasure in his meagre contact with you.

The confirmation was amplified by the fact that whenever the two of you had the opportunity to share a moment, even just sitting next to each other led to situations where his fingers brushed your thigh. You could feel it sometimes, when he was the one examining your wounds, that his fingers stayed against your skin longer than they should have.

And the sudden feeling of his fingers on the back of your leg sent a shiver up your spine. Did he even have the slightest idea of what this could do to you?

Yes, it was hard to doubt, especially at that moment.

"The latte," you tried to pronounce as you managed to keep your composure, even though Matt's fingers were exerting delicious caresses just behind your knee, making you fear at any moment that you might bend and fall. "And the tea."

You placed his cup in front of him with the bag and the little teapot of hot water, his free hand obviously coming to grasp the cup while your fingers still encircled it. A shit eating grin spread across his lips as you straightened up and brought your tray back close to you.

"Oh, could you pour the water please?" he asked as his whole hand gently came to grip the back of your thigh. "I would, but I'm afraid if I do that the table will turn into a pool of boiling water."

You knew that wasn't true, that Matt could probably have poured the water into his tea a metre high between the cup and the teapot that not a single drop of water would have settled on the table.

Neither Foggy nor Karen seemed to notice of this hidden treatment he was giving you, Foggy humming against his mug in anticipation of drinking his coffee, while Karen rummaged in her bag for documents.

"Sure," you agreed as you picked up the teapot, placed the bag in the cup and began to pour.

Matt's hand gently pressed against your thigh, his thumb circling the fabric of your pants which could have very quickly become enough of a distraction to burn your hand as you poured the hot water.

"Hmm," Foggy hummed as he took a sip of his coffee, "Matt why are you only suggesting this place now?"

His hand moved slightly up your thigh, though not into the field of vision of his two colleagues, bringing the heat up into your lower belly gently like embers being blown on to rekindle a fire.

"I suppose I like to keep my little gems to myself." Matt said, turning to Foggy with a satisfied smile, the phrase making your heart drop into your stomach as you calmly finished pouring the water into his cup.

"Matt gatekeeps, I've seen it all," Foggy huffed.

"All done," you confirmed to Matt as you straightened up.

"Thank you," he grinned at you before letting go of your thigh for a moment, which you seized to leave the table and walk in what you hoped was a normal attitude to the back of the shop.

Closing the door behind you, you let your back press against it. Your heart was beating in your chest like you had just run a marathon. You pressed the back of your hands to your cheeks, warmed by the previous gestures you could still feel lingering on your clothed skin.

You didn't know what you were supposed to feel any more. Was this attraction that you thought impossible to feel for each other, and that you forbade yourself to feel, even possible?

You had to take a few minutes to pull yourself together and get out of the storage room, hoping you wouldn't have to come and serve them any more than you wanted to.

The nights of fighting together resumed as always, Matt seeming excited to see you each time, and Frank gradually seeming less grumpy in your presence - to say that he too was 'excited' by your company would have been a suspicion you thought unlikely.

The next time, however, it was Frank who came to visit you at work.

You were in charge of closing that evening, and Frank had unexpectedly turned up shortly before closure, when no-one was there but you. It was downpouring that evening and you'd been cursing yourself for not having an umbrella.

He seemed as surprised as you were to see you, as if his own presence here in front of you astonished him. There was always a twinkle in those dark eyes, a curious glint that you couldn't quite put your finger on.

It was a little light waltzing hesitantly across his look, which as soon as he got into a fight vanished to make way for two pools of ink, obsidian pearls reflecting nothing but anger, shark eyes mingling with the storm bombarding down his throat.

He was standing in front of you, towering over you as you looked up at him from behind the counter. His eyes were staring at you, shining with a message you couldn't read. You felt tiny like this, under his eyes, under his mass, under the mountain he was facing you.

"Hey," you finally said, clearing your throat.

He seemed to come out of something himself, as if your voice were a gentle hand reaching out to gently touch the bubble surrounding him. He blinked a few times, his gaze drifting over the many different objects on the café counter.

"Um," he began, obviously searching for what he wanted to say to you as he frowned and swallowed. "Could I get a coffee?"

Your eyes widened slightly, the simplicity of the question making your parted lips stretch into a smile, a single laugh swelling your chest for a moment.

"What's so funny," he then asks, confused by your small smile.

"Nothing," you laugh as you pull yourself together, moistening your lips with a flick of your tongue before looking up at him again, a teasing frown knitting your brows together. "Keeping an eye on me?"

He tilted his head back to the side, his eyes looking down at you as he chewed on a bit of his cheek.

"Making sure you don't end up burning the place down," he said with a vague gesture, pointing at you with his chin as he raised an eyebrow.

"You think I'm that incompetent?" you ask playfully, placing both hands on the counter and leaning forward slightly.

"Clumsy and risk-averse sound better," a pout coming from his mouth as he shrugs.

"Risk-averse?"

"You're the one who wears clothes a little too thin for a fight where all hits and weapons are allowed," he says, placing a hand on the counter as he leans towards you, "am I wrong?"

You bite your lip, he had a point, that was for sure.

"Are you here to make sure I don't cut myself on the label of those bloodthirsty tea bags?" you asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

" You'd be capable of it," he admits, straightening up, "But I'm here for one coffee, no actually, for two coffees."

"Two?" you ask as you pick up a mug, followed by a second which you place on the counter as you start to prepare everything. "Did you invite Matt?"

"Not really," his eyes follow your movements carefully before returning to your own.

At the time, you attribute this request to thirst. He's a big man, with a big stomach, and enough grump in him that several coffees in one day is only enough to soften his irascibility. So his pragmatism had led him to have two coffees in one go, you thought.

"What do you want?"

"Just a normal coffee."

"What about the second one?"

"I don't care, just pick one."

You took your usual choice, starting to prepare it under Frank's observant gaze. You began the process with a skilled hand, accustomed to all measurements and other gestures.

"You do this to a lot of people?" you ask over your shoulder as you get everything ready, "to come in just before a place closes."

"Only for my little trouble," he admits.

The nickname sends a shiver down your spine until your cheeks heat up.

"To make more trouble?" you ask playfully.

" Everyone's got their own caviar," he huffs as he watches you at work.

You continued all your preparation, your back to him. He wasn't that far away, and you could feel his stare pressing into your back, covering the entirety of your covered skin like a blanket.

You were trying your best to keep your mind on the right track, to make sure your thoughts didn't wander back to the T-shirt.

You hadn't had a chance to give it back yet, not taking it out on patrol for fear it would end up a rag laced with bullet holes and knife cuts.

"I didn't know I was so much fun to mess with," you admit as you pour the first coffee into a mug.

"Yeah, 'guess surprises can never be taken for granted."

You pour the second coffee into the second cup, placing both in front of him, satisfied.

"Two coffees for you, sir," you smiled, wiping your hands on a cloth.

The nickname 'sir' seemed to leave an impression on him that was at odds with the mood of the conversation so far. His jaw clenched, the muscle at the corner of it tensing, but he pulled himself together and took the two cups in hand. Looking at how tiny they seemed between his fingers, you were surprised when he called out to you:

"Don't stand there rooted to the spot, get over here."

It was then that you realised that the second coffee wasn't for him, but for you.

Frank was inviting you in for a coffee.

The realisation almost took you by surprise, and your heart made its presence felt in your chest all at once. You put the cloth down on the counter, moving to the other side of it to follow Frank.

The lights in the café were almost all switched off, except for those in the reception area, which gave the atmosphere a very intimate, secluded quality.

The rain was pouring down, beating down from drop to drop, crashing against the window near where Frank sat on the seat. You took your place, coffee cup on your side opposite him.

Your fingers wrapped around the warmth of your cup, letting them slip through the handle. Frank was already starting to drink his own coffee, his fingers crossing the handle in a way that made you immediately look down at the contents of your cup before squinting on his phalanx.

Fuck, even the way he's holding a goddamn cup makes you feel all gooey.

"So you're inviting me in for a coffee?" you ask, bringing the hot drink up to your lips to blow on it.

He puts the mug down in front of him, his finger hooking over the cup to catch a single drop of coffee dripping onto its immaculate white surface.

"Take it as you wish," he said, bringing his finger to his lips to retrieve the brown pearl.

You took a sip of your coffee, setting the cup down on the table and letting your hand rest beside it. You raised your eyes to his, watching you as if you were the missing piece of a puzzle he had been trying to solve for some time.

A small smile spread across your lips, and he frowned, waiting for an answer from you on this reaction. You shook your head, looking at the contents of your cup as if it were about to turn into tea and you could read the leaves to find out where this conversation was going.

"'To think that you hated me in the first place, and now we're both together over coffee."

"Hated you?" he repeated as if the word felt peculiar on his tongue, as if it tasted wrong. "No, I was suspicious."

"It didn't take long to realise that you'd be suspicious of a hen if she looked at you for just a little too long," you remark as you grab your coffee again, sinking a little deeper into the leather of the bench seat.

"There's a reason to be suspicious of chickens," he counters, "these horrors are descendants of the freaking dinosaurs."

"Of course, these days they're a huge risk," you shrug.

"Make fun of me." he grinned, a wolfish laugh rising from his lungs as the mere sight of him smiling made your cheeks heat up.

He took his cup in hand, bringing it close to his lips without drinking just yet. He pressed his tongue against his teeth, his lips parted, and the sound was like lighting a cigarette lighter. He stared into space, mentally weighing up the pros and cons of what he had to say.

"You're growing on me better than I'd like to admit," he muttered before taking a sip.

Your heart suddenly felt soft, like a marshmallow on the fire getting all melty and warm. The heat spread to your shoulders and throat in a delicious way.

"Really?" you asked.

"Yeah," he admitted, staring into your eyes.

You tried to hold his gaze, intense as it was. Playing with the shape of the handle of your cup, you tilted your head to one side.

"Like a pretty flower, I hope," you smiled.

"More like a weed," sighed Frank, his lips stretching into a sneer nonetheless.

"The addictive ones?" you brought your mug close to your lips again, the still-warm vapour containing it mixing with the heat of your cheeks.

"No, like the ones you want to get rid of," he replied.

The tone wavered between joke and reality, and you didn't know exactly where you stood, but you waltzed along with the conversation as best you could.

"Too bad for you," you said, shrugging your shoulders and sighing, "they're the most resilient."

"Yeah, that's the problem," Frank glanced at you, his eyes surprisingly soft.

Then you felt your chest tighten, closing in on itself as you'd let your little heart uncover itself and welcome the warmth of a brief moment of delight just to snatch it all away at once.

"Because I'm the human version of a migraine to you?" you asked, your tone suddenly more irritated and cold than the playful attitude you'd adopted since the start of the conversation.

"Because you've entered me and Red's lives so easily, in a way that makes me doubt you'll ever come out of it."

Nothing in his eyes or voice conveyed any discomfort at the idea. Was it really what they were both thinking?

You wondered for a second if he hadn't finished his sentence, if a furtive "but" was going to slip in just after those words and shatter whatever little seeds of hope had been planted in your mind and were gradually sprouting on your heart.

He still had time to trample all that underfoot, to make sure that under his big combat boots he could crush what remained of your wishes. But he did nothing, there was no trace of searching for words on his face, he just seemed to be waiting. Waiting for you.

With your cup in your hand, bringing it close to your lips, you exchanged a glance with him for a moment, and you felt that your next words had an undeniable importance in his eyes. The idea that everything about you was actually important to them gave you a special feeling that you wanted to grasp and snuggle up to, lest it slip away.

"I'm beginning to think you're right," you managed to say before taking a sip from your cup.

"Everything happens," Frank smiled at you, joining in the gesture.

You had finished your coffee, and the rain had calmed down enough outside until not a single drop had fallen against the café window, and Frank decided it was time for him to go back to the flat.

"'Never hated you by the way,' he said once outside the café. "Alright little one?"

You smiled at him, nodding as he turned to go home.

Things began to get really complicated on one particular evening.

At first glance, it was nothing out of the ordinary. You'd had a fairly normal patrol for what you had to deal with on a daily basis, and you'd gone back to the guys' house to disinfect a few small scratches here and there, nothing too serious.

You had eaten a little, chatted as usual, and gone to bed. It was already late at night, and the desire to drink a glass of cool water woke you from your sleep.

Walking slowly on tiptoe, you ventured into the kitchen and silently filled yourself a cup of water. Once you'd quenched your thirst, you made your way back to your mattress, but when you reached the exact spot between your sleeping area and their bedroom, you heard a low voice.

Wondering if they were awake, you stood still for a moment, simply taking a single step towards the wall of their room.

"Hm," you managed to hear through the tiny crack in their sliding door.

You smiled softly, the idea of one of them talking in his sleep making you laugh inaudibly. You were just about to make your way back to your bed, when this time you managed to distinctly hear in the silence of the flat:

"Oh fuck."

Your hand had never reached your mouth as quickly as at that moment, trying as best it could to reduce to zero decibels the sound of your breathing and your heart having travelled up to your ears and obliterating all sound there.

Had you heard correctly?

You moved closer to the wall, your hand pressed so hard against your lips that you had to loosen it very gently to give yourself a chance to breathe. None of them were talking in their sleep as you might have thought, unless the dream in question included so much movement in their sheets and so many interspersed breaths.

With your back against the wall just outside the bedroom, you calmed your breathing, the feeling that your heart could be heard in the whole flat forcing you to find a rhythm that wasn't delirious. Gently, you let yourself slide down the cold wall, sitting with your knees close to you as you listened.

You shouldn't, you kept telling yourself as the memories of the sensations you'd experienced what seemed like the closest eternity ago on that day in your flat with Frank's T-shirt pressed against your skin.

It was when an additional murmur mixed with a groan came from the slight gap in the sliding door that your doubts were certified.

You should have left, should have taken refuge under your sheets and lay down on the mattress, pulling your blanket over your ears to muffle what you could hear...

"Don't stop..."

Inhaling as quietly as you could through your fingers, your thighs squeezed themselves, the search for any friction kicking off deep inside you.

You could feel your lower belly heating up, a persistent warmth settling in the hollow of your thighs and preventing you from thinking about anything other than whatever sound was coming from their rooms.

You could hear the lustful sounds of sucking, of a slight jerk of the body that you could guess was hips bucking into something, a hoarse rumble rising from the very depths of the other's chest.

Your free hand moved down your belly, past the elastic of your sweatpants and your underwear at the same time. You stayed like that for just a moment, hesitating about your next move.

It was wrong, it was revelling in their intimacy like that. But you were now awake, and so painfully aware of your own needs that you couldn't go back.

Your head tilted back and your eyelids closed on their own at the cool touch of your fingers on your damp skin from their hold on your glass of water. The contrast was intense, your digits heating little by little between your lips as they coated your fingers over their entire length with your essence.

You stifled your own moan as you let one, then two fingers sink into you, your shoulders pushing forward, caging your chest as your legs spread a little wider to ease the movement.

Turning your head to the side, pressing your warm cheek against the cool wall, you tried to hear more.

You could clearly hear one voice out of the two, one that was holding back, that seemed to be struggling to find a steady breath. His sighs were laced with muffled moans, his inhalations blocked with a fully open mouth before only letting his breath expel from between his lips.

Each moan spread a shower of embers under your skin, all heating up more and more inside you, a summer fog stretching in your lower belly with intensity. You were attentive to every sigh, every little quickening of breath mingled with the acceleration of rhythm that the other was making with sticky noises.

Your fingers reached the spot inside you, the little spongy part towards the top of your gummy walls that made you see sparks. You were close, your breath becoming less and less regular as you tried to make as little noise as possible.

"Shit Frank," Matt's voice stammered in a forced whisper, "I'm gonna-"

But he never finished his sentence, groans interrupting whatever words he was hoping to utter. Frank's response was not heard, you could only hear a muffled dark grumble followed by a muffled groan from Matt as he shook.

You heard the rhythm pick up, the movements on the sheets becoming more clumsy as Matt's breathing quickened. Your heart was pounding as your fingers continued to curve back and forth, your palm rubbing against your clit for friction. You were practically biting your cheek until it bled as the knot in your gut tightened and tightened and...

"F- Frank..." stuttered Matt as his breathing became increasingly laboured, "Frank," he called as his voice rose in pitch, "Frank!"

And everything exploded within you, like lightning striking metal and spreading waves of electricity through you like a second heart. Your thighs trembled, pleasure surging through you from your toes to the back of your skull.

But you couldn't enjoy this climax for long. The movements on the other side of the wall seemed to subside, Matt's breathing coming steadily as a quiet descriptive pop sounded.

The sheets moved again, and you realised your situation. Your breathing returned to normal as your cheeks felt as warm as the sun. Moistening your lips as you took your hand away from your lips, you watched a spot in the void in front of you.

You made the greatest effort to sit up in total silence, hoping that Matt's mind would be sufficiently scrambled not to have heard you as you returned to your mattress. With your heart still pounding, you slipped back under your blanket, the warmth of your body fading.

Hopefully none of them would find out.

⟢ previous part : here | next part : here

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psycheetamore · 25 days ago

Text

Desert game, or when the hunter becomes the hunted

Summary: our lord encounters a Fremen warrior, and she will not leave his mind. After she has an intimate encounter with him, he hunts her down.

Tags: MDNI, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen Is His Own Warning, anticipation of smut (thanks to talkative Feyd), predator/prey, scarring - the author regrets nothing

Part 1 of 6 of my contribution to the predator/prey thrope for Kinktober of @lady-phasma - nr 1-4 are chapters of 1 story (1-3 Feyd/OC hunt related, nr 4 is the reward for our lord), and nr 5-6 is me sharing my favourite chapter that I have written to date with the hunt between Rabban/OC. The 6 bits will be posted through daily posts.

Word count: 3.8k

Somewhat based on: chapter 7 and 8 of Choosing to Follow Destiny

After the unannounced visit to his chambers in Arrakeen, she tried to seek sleep in caves on several hours of walking distance. Yet, there were thoughts that would not leave her mind and kept her awake. She relived every bulge of muscles she had touched on his body. The soft warm skin that would involuntarily contract acknowledging her touch. His breathing was controlled, countering his brisk heartbeat. His eyes that saw everything she tried to hide. His vile words. She couldn’t help but feel his longing. It woke something up in her. Never before had a man looked at her like that. Made her crumble within mere moments.

She had heard the description that the lord na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen was physically imposing. This description did not do him any justice. He was imposing even when rendered harmless and kneeling in front of her.

After their visit, Feyd-Rautha could not find sleep either. He would recall the unexpected encounter. He remembered the vulnerability. Having his arms tied behind his back, and being bound to his couch, he felt hands roam his body to dislocate his weapons, starting with the bottom of his legs and working their way up. He noticed they paused shortly after they started. As if they were startled by what they had found. They continued slow, very slow. Deliberate. As if they were not seeking to find weapons but mapping his body. He was used to having hands explore his physic, but never uncalled for. Never had he encountered something like this. A level of vulnerability he inflicted on others, without ever having undergone it himself. He knew what these hands would feel. The weapons they would find. The bodily shapes the cold hands would touch while they combed every centimetre of his frame. The hands that slowly explored him, while also disarming him, from a slender and fairly small person with almond shaped eyes that only held a hint of spice induced blue within a sea of black.

He had managed to find these eyes and pierce right through them. After another startle, now reflected in these gorgeous eyes growing rapidly in size, they looked down. As if in shame. As if he had caught them in a devious act, or thought.

His assailants said they were three men strong. But he knew a woman when he saw one. They were there with two men and one woman strong. There must have been a reason they referred to her as a man, as it was common that women also participated in raids and fights. He concluded that they did not know she was a woman. And would he be the one to spill that secret? It could only be to his benefit.

While she was kneeling between his legs, he could not help but close them to press on her while he tried to lean forward. Not to frighten her; this predicament he would not be able to overcome easily. But to reflect the longing he recognised. The adoration. The interest. Again, he noticed the faintest of startles. She knew what he was doing, and she accepted it. As she leaned in to finalise her check on the back of his shoulders and his neck, something she could have also done by standing behind him, he whispered “do you like what you see? What you feel? Smell?” He heard a faint gasp and continued “it will be my turn soon.”

While he stared straight at her, penetrating her with his hard blue eyes, he was met with a blow to his head. After he woke up, they were gone, leaving him laying bound on the ground.

It was a new experience. It enticed him. It excited him, mentally and physically. He wondered whether his assailant noticed that during her observations. Perhaps she even felt his blossoming groin, as her frisk was well performed. He craved for more. He craved for the person that touched him.

+++

With not enough information to go on, he was left with no other choice than to go hunt her down. Feyd-Rautha decided that he would be respond to all upcoming attacks on his harvesters.

+++

Several days later, he responded to yet another attack. Feyd-Rautha and his guard leaped out of their ornithopter and started running. In the golden hue of the evening light, Feyd-Rautha surged. His body was nearly fully covered in black leather, with protective yet form emphasising padding over his shoulders, arms and groin, while leaving his neck uncovered. His cape flowed, giving the illusion that he was flying. Contrary to his guard he did not carry a mask or a machete. He only held a sword, next to the daggers in his belt. Despite his many tries, he was not growing tired. He was growing angry and impatient.

He would find her. Teach her this was no way to treat a lord. Teach her how he should actually be approached. Punish her for their insolence. Over the last days, his fantasies had grown wilder and wilder. Every day his urges were not answered, they turned darker. He longed to have her begging on her knees in front of him. To end her suffering. To start her pleasure. How he was looking forward to breaking her into his new pet.

While slaughtering guards under the belly of the crawler, she suddenly noticed Feyd-Rautha's looming figure at the other side of the harvester. She slit the throat of the soldier she was fighting and started to run for the nearby rock formation.

Feyd-Rautha looked at the sudden disperse of Fremen warriors. He noticed this happened almost immediately after he came in eyesight of the fighters. It could only mean that he was recognised by an uninvited guest.

With new energy flowing through his mind, he decided to follow the smallest one, running towards the rocks. He was so close. He could smell victory.

Soon he reached the rocks, not long after his targets, his guard following suit. Despite sweat flowing down his back, he was not even panting. He was exhilarated with the prospect. He couldn’t wait any longer. He shouted: “Come to your lord!” But no response came.

He started to trail the route they were following. He was aware of the risks, but felt confident. He was chasing them, not the other way around. They saw him and they fled. He loved being a hunter, reward always being so sweet. His longing caused his blood flow to be redirected. He did not know if he could control himself if he would find her here.

After having climbed quite a few rocks, he lost all trails. Frustrated, Feyd-Rautha called a nearby ornithopter, and received confirmation no-one had left the rock formation. That meant they were still here. His hope increased again. He felt he was close.

Driving on this knowledge, he continued to scout the surroundings. Every corner, every cave, he hoped to find her. Putting up a fight, but laying her weapons down eventually. While his mind roamed freely, seeing himself ravish her on these very stones, he landed in an ambush in a narrow strait between high rocks. One Fremen warrior stood on the top of the rocks, with the smaller one in front of him. Within the blink of an eye he was back again in this world. But rather than being scared, he was still on the hunt, so he tried to look in their eyes to recognise whether this was the woman he was looking for. But he wasn’t sure, just yet.

“You wanted us. Here we are. Kneel and drop your weapons!” a nervous voice said, trying to mask itself with determination.

“Why?” he replied tauntingly. His mind told him to pay attention, to not underestimate the seriousness of the situation. But he couldn’t. He was on a quest.

“Kneel and drop your weapons, NOW.”

Feyd-Rautha knew the guard that followed him would be here any moment now. That would throw the Fremen off, and would shuffle the cards in his favour. He needed to buy time though, so he decided to provoke a conversation.

“You are standing here with two. I am just by myself. You should not fear me”, he said as sweet as possible, while he taunted his adversaries by switching his sword between his hands.

As he looked to the person standing before him, he felt his knees being kicked in, and his hands slammed to the ground. The person that was standing on top of the rocks had jumped down and removed his sword.

The person before him continued to speak: “you should not be here.” He could hear a slight tremble in the voice.

Cockily, the na-Baron said: “I rule over this planet. Everywhere is mine to go” as he tilted his head, trying to look at the person behind him. Talking means no killing.

“You are so stupid. Why would you be here? All by yourself? I could have already killed you and leave your corpse here to rot.”

A knife was pushed under his chin by the person standing before him, forcing him to move his head up high, back to the person in front of him. He complied and saw black almond shaped eyes under the face covers. Eyes surrounded by long lashes. Butterflies wrapped around his abdomen. He had found her. He could not contain his smile as he seductively said: “why fear me? You know why I am here. We know why you did not kill me, again.”

He was beautiful, in his own unorthodox way. Enticing. Mysterious. Despite his body being nearly entirely covered, she could see his face, his neck, part of his shoulders, his hands. It was all so powerful. This man did not know fear, only focus, only desire and creed. Everything about him craved to be touched. Touched by her. She recalled their encounter the other night. His despicable words. She knew he was dangerous, yet she could not contain the urge to learn what he had to offer.

A gasp was audible, as he saw the eyes caressing his body and briefly closing. A small hum came from behind the face coverings.

His pupils widened. The ends of his mouth started to create a small smile showing familiarity. He knew she wanted him. And she knew he wanted her. His mouth opened and with a menacing purr he said, for only her to hear: “I found you. Yet, here again, I am on my knees.” He heard a small sigh as he continued: “you are intoxicated in my presence. Don't hide it, my darling. There is no need.”

She stopped breathing, as she felt a flutter in her core. He had recognised her desire. He had noticed the smallest cues that she had believed she could hide. How could a brute like this pick up on those details?

He breathed in loudly and bit his lip before finishing: “hmm. You like me like this. I can see the blush on your cheeks. I am even more entertaining once the roles are reversed.”

“Shut up!” she shouted as she slapped his face. More meant as a slap to herself.

His head was flung to the side as a response. He licked and smacked his lips, as he tilted his head to slowly look up to her again. She could see the delight in his face, how his body reacted to her attention. He was excited about what she did, and she could not help but start to think about other responses he could give.

As if he wanted to provoke her to take more actions: “you want me to shut up? I am just voicing your own thoughts.”

She slapped him again.

“But what I do not understand: why did you hide from me? Forcing me through all this trouble to bring you back to where we met last time. While we both know you will come with me.” If his clothing would have been any other colour than black, she would have seen his growing bulge as proof of how she enchanted him.

He saw their eyes open widely and was sure he had heard a gasp. He indulged in the fear that he clearly installed. The confusion. Clearly, he had unveiled something never meant to reach the surface. He wanted to spill more threats, cause more reactions, but abruptly eye contact was broken, as something heavy fell next to him. He looked to his right and saw the body of the other Fremen lying on his belly, with his guard standing behind him.

This changed their dynamics.

While he tried to get up, she had leaped over him, kicking him to the ground, and started to fight his guard.

As she was occupied, he collected his sword and simply waited. Either his guard would succumb, and he would drag her, now tired, away. Or his guard would gain the upper hand, allowing him to take over. He would win in each situation, so he decided to observe. And for some kind of reason, she felt safe enough to fight his guard, without too much consideration of him being behind her.

He saw his Fremen prey fighting. He heard her grunt and pant while she was slowly gaining ground towards his guard. His guard was strong, but not agile nor quick, and she managed to utilise her surroundings better than him. She would provide for a delightful treat once he had dragged her to the safe environment of his palace.

He noticed that his breathing and his enticement both increased. He started to remember everything he was planning to do. His pay-back for the humiliation earlier, which was delicious nonetheless. How he would strip his new Fremen pet, let his knife roam her body as her hands had roamed his frame, get her to beg for mercy, get her to beg to offer him everything he demanded in exchange for her life, get her to inflict pain on him, get her to taunt him. Mould her. This could be so much fun.

His guard has sustained several injuries, while not being able to land any substantial blows. Feyd-Rautha's guard was clearly limited by his helmet, yet strong enough to stay standing. But still, it took too long.

Softly, he creeped up behind his little Fremen warrior to make an end to this nonsense. Leaping in, he covered her mouth with one hand and wrapped his other arm around her waist to pick her off the ground, ordering his guard to disarm her.

She felt a boost of adrenaline as he had grabbed her. His strong frame pushing against her back. Knowing what he was planning on doing, she needed to get out of here. She did not know how she would react and how long she would be able to maintain her dignity. Get away from him as far as possible.

Once he placed her back on the ground, she tried to get him to let her go by thrashing herself, but his grip was too strong. Frantically, she managed to turn around to face him and decided to throw herself on the ground. He would either follow her to the ground, allowing her to wrestle him while his length would be less of an advantage to him, or he would let her go.

He did not let her go, joining her on the ground. In the fall she managed to push her feet against his hips, keeping him at bay. She tried to keep him under control and kick him away, but he knew what she was doing. With the rocks scratching her back, he grabbed her feet to push her legs to one side, allowing him to lunge at her on her other side. She underestimated him as he managed to mount her from the side in the process while also grounding her arm that held her weapon. The Harkonnen she had fought before were not so well trained as him.

She started to buck and tried getting him higher up her torso, so she could use her legs as leverage or in any case free her arm. But he sat as a rock, and with a knife in his hand he focussed on was he was set to do: see her. As anxious she became, he became calm. “Don't make this harder on yourself than it needs to be. Just succumb.” He took the knife and digged into her stillsuit around her bellybutton, ripping it open up straight up. As if he was skinning an animal.

A golden skin of her belly became unearthed, littered with scars yet soft. “You are holding many secrets from me, Fremen. But I will learn who you are.”

She became increasingly distressed. She was outnumbered, and he had ruined her suit. Getting out here alive would already be a challenge. With insufficient gear surviving the night would be equally complicated. But what could she say or do to get her out of this predicament?

As he leaned on her shoulder with one hand to put leverage to proceed to cut to her neck, his knife hooked into a band around her chest. “What do we have here?” he said with a smoky voice, as he tilted his head and looked her in the eye. “I suspected you were a woman. With this confirmation you just became incredibly more interesting” he sighed. He saw her breathing became heavier and heavier, while she had stopped resisting him. He grabbed her chin to look in her eyes, only to see them averted. “No no no. You have not yet given up, have you? There is no fun in that. I was hoping for a longer hunt” he taunted.

He continued the destruction of the suit until his prey's torso lay bare in front of him.

How he was delighted. This was everything and more. A perfect present.

Placing his nose into her neck to inhale her scent, while his hand touched her chest, he growled. Speaking to himself, more than to her: “you will bring me so much enjoyment.” A hand moved up to wrap around her neck: “and you will enjoy all of it.” He wanted to taste her fear there, on the warm rocks of the planet he now owned.

She shivered at the thought, while something also bubbled up deep in her core. Her brain took over and told her this man was ruthless. Without any morals. With the dead body of her friend next to her, she knew she needed to get out. But how? She knew that if she were to be dragged into his lair, it would be the end of it.

However, he also remembered his plans. He wanted to break her. And for that, he needed to create more tension, have more surprises. Make her scared. Taking her here, in front of his guard, would only prepare her for what was to come.

He seemed to ease up a bit, as she had stopped bucking. He released his hands from her shoulder and neck, and sat up a bit straighter while shifting a bit back to see the scene in front of him. Her bare skin, littered with scars, as well as goose bumps from what was happening and the coldness of the night. Tummy swiftly moving up and down to replenish the body with fresh oxygen. For unclear reasons he had left her face covered, but she knew he would also remove that any moment now.

His rough hands roamed over her stomach, up to the middle of her chest, going sideways to fully uncover her breasts. Feeling the curves, touching the scars. He had warm hands. She shivered at his touch. His hands knew what they were doing, and knew the reactions they were inflicting on her body, but she could not allow that. She had not allowed any man to come this nearby, and he would not be an exception. “You are a little fighter I see. You know you have a debt to pay me for what you did. And with your friends not being here to save you, you have triple the debt to pay, as he tapped in the middle of her midriff.” Moaningly he continued, pressing on some fresher wounds: “receiving my scars would be a good way to start repaying. That way you will always remember me. And our pleasant times.”

“Fuck you” she spat at him. A jolt ran over his back. “Feisty. I like them feisty. More of a challenge, more to break down” as he crouched over her again and bit her neck that he pushed up high. “I will teach you how to address me. You will learn to yearn for me. Although, I believe you already do that” as he shoved his hand under her suit, between her legs. “I can feel it”. He drew his tongue over to the other side of her neck as he continued “but don't learn too quick. I like game. It tastes better if it has been hunted, if it has experienced fear.”

He sat up straight again and looked at her, while tracing his wet finger across the middle of her chest. “So pretty. So strong, yet... so fragile.” His finger wandered north, to stop just beIow her chin and tilt her head to an uncomfortable position to force her to look at him: “I need to see your face.”

He leaned over to uncover her face, moving slowly and turning up his gaze to her with an equally leisurely pace. As his dark eyes pierced hers, she tightly grabbed the left side of his uniform, bucked explosively and rolled him to her right side. This gave her just enough room to escape from under him and get up. He fell with his head on the ground, causing his lip and skin on his jaw to chap on a piece of stone. Clenching his skull, he shouted “grab her!” to his guard. She knew she needed to dodge him, and feinted some moves, to get him to open room for her to make a run for it. But he simply lunged at her, grabbed her shoulders to smash her against the walls of the rock formation. Her body came to a stop with a punch, causing her head to bobble.

As the na-Baron wiped the blood of his lips and chin, he walked to her to remove her face covering forcefully. She looked at him with wide eyes, a slightly open mouth, while being held against the wall, largely uncovered yet trying to protect her modesty. With her chest rising and falling rapidly, and still dizzy from the blow, she oozed fear and discomfort. He was delighted.

He rubbed his blood laced thumb over her lips, as if to mark her, and smiled to her. "You do not disappoint. You will taste just perfect.” She saw bad thoughts in his eyes, menace, cruelty and yearning combined. His knife lingering over her body and face, indecisive of where to cut and leave his mark.

Suddenly she felt the blade carve the side of her neck in a vertical line, from jaw to collar bone, followed by a near-immediate lightness in her head.

As she fell in his arms, losing all support and control of her body, he instructed his guard: “this one will do. Get her in the ornithopter and bring her to my chambers. I want her cleaned up.” Looking up to his guard he said: “don’t touch her. She is mine to defile.”

Slowly passing out she was dragged away.

+++

Next parts listed on my pinned post

Also posted on AO3

#feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha #feyd #feyd rautha smut #fangtober 2024 #kinktober 2024 #feyd smut

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