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multifandomme · 1 month ago

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Sin To Win

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Female Reader

Summary: You are a budding FBI agent, Emily is a professional dominatrix twice your age. The stakes are high.

Genre: Smut, (legal age difference, mommy kink, dom/sub dynamics, coercion, teasing in public, bondage, smoking, spanking, fingering, face sitting, pet names, praise kink, mentions of guns, orgasm control, mild degradation, masturbation), not suitable for minors.

Word Count: 3.3k.

This piece is for day 9 of kinktober under the 'age difference' prompt.

A/N: Assume that safe words, negotiation and boundaries have been discussed in the transition between the two separated scenes.

More works from me here. || Masterlist here. || Kinktober 2024 Masterlist here.

––--– ♡ –––--

The bar had closed, its last patrons scrambling onto the street, pale moonlight peering out from a starless sky. It had been eerily quiet for a Saturday, the occasional rumble of a vehicle, the distant wail of a siren. You had nowhere to be, no sense of urgency, a cigarette pressed to your lips, affording yourself a moment more to relish in the solitude. And then, the distinct sound of a thumb against the spark wheel of a lighter, a stifled curse not too far behind it.

“For fuck’s sake,” the voice flared and before you had the chance to establish its owner, the clicking of heels approached, her face surfacing amongst the fizzling smoke. “You got a light?”

Wordlessly, you buried your hand into your pocket and offered it out, your gaze raking over her with overt fascination. She was older, alluringly so, her form shrouded in a full-length fur coat with a trace of black leather peeping from behind an open top button. And beneath the moonlight her silver strands dazzled like they were born from it.

“Hey, you!”

The disembodied exclamation perforated the silence, a hulking male figure stomping into view, an accusatory finger extended outwards, face disgruntled in anger, though you soon realised that it was not directed at you. The nameless woman widened the distance between you, controlled as she raced to halt him in his tracks, almost as if it was a measure to protect you.

“You never called me back, Emily,” he shot, furiously, his movement thwarted by the emergence of her hand pushed to his chest, though it did not deter him as he thrashed against her resistance. “Too busy with all those other johns, huh? Is that what it is?”

Instinctively, your hand slid to make contact with your gun, still holstered, merely waiting in case of an escalation. Emily appeared to be unperturbed, a stirring feeling that this was not her first dealing with this man and likely not the last.

“Go home, Brian,” she demanded, her voice low, unyielding. “You’re wasted, I can smell it on you.”

“But-“

“You know the rules,” she stated, flatly, his bubbling anger gradually ebbing out until it transformed into something else, his head drooping in defeat, in shame. “Go, now.”

Reluctantly, Brian shook off his bruised ego and trudged away with a huff and your grip on your gun released itself, relieved. With no apparent reason to linger, you had expected Emily to vanish into the night, but she surprised you, her audible footfalls returning.

“These streets aren’t safe for a pretty, young girl like you,” she uttered, smoke trailing from her lips. “You should get out of here.”

A wry chuckle rumbled from you as you flicked the stump of your cigarette to the ground, amused by how misguided her assumptions of you had been. Though, the fact that she had cared enough to caution you did not go unnoticed.

“I can hold my own,” you assured, a simper blossoming. “And when I can’t, I always have back up.”

Emily’s confusion cleared the second you flashed her a glimpse of the gun at your hip, her expression visibly cloaking itself with something you could not yet fathom.

“You’re a cop?” She ascertained, a certain guardedness finding home in her voice, thrust into a state of unease at the prospect.

“FBI,” you corrected, coolly and Emily released a short burst of musing laughter.

“With a sweet little face like that,” she began, biting back a smirk as she stepped forward, her body heat permeating the minimal chasm that remained between you. “I bet they put the cuffs on themselves, don’t they?”

The weight of her compliment embedded itself in the pit of your stomach, a pang of excitement reverberating until a familiar heat burned deeply into your face. You had hoped that your flustered condition had been masked enough to ignore, though when Emily’s smirk escaped to possess her entirely, you knew that you had been made. Her head tilted slightly as she admired the handiwork that had subsequently painted your cheeks in a glaring pink hue.

“It’s never that easy,” you redirected, quickly, clearing your throat as subtly as you could manage as not to draw further attention.

Nimble fingers sneaked below the leather you had caught sight of earlier, a small business card procured and outstretched in your direction.

“Interested?” She winked, suggestively, parting the fur of her jacket slightly to offer a glimpse of the temptation that lay beneath.

The writing on the card had not yet occurred to you, forsaken to be unread as your eyes fixated solely on the racy black bodysuit that enshrouded her silhouette. Curiosity tugged without relent, your roaming gaze intent on exploring more of her, diving lower until she stymied your efforts and resealed her jacket once more. She knew what she was doing, knew that it would not be long until the faux composure was left in shreds and replaced with a lust bound to be actioned.

Logic eluded you, the image of her cleavage cemented in your brain until it was the only thought you could seem to land upon. Emily had infected you so effortlessly and you did not have the wherewithal to refute her, to complain, nor protest. Your eyes scanned the card, adrenaline ricocheting.

“Professional dominatrix services?” You questioned, nervously, rendered bashful in light of the new revelation.

“It’s all above board,” she reassured, adamantly, her thumb smoothing across your wrist and quickly willing away any looming qualms. “I’ll even scrub the fee for your troubles, Agent,” she purred, her lips inching closer until they ghosted the shell of your ear and elicited a shiver. “This one is all for me, sweet girl, I need to have you.”

The ability to function, to speak was instantly stolen, the dizzying feeling of soft kisses against your neck awakening your craving, an icy palm pressed to your cheek for leverage. A pitiful whimper escaped you, craning to permit further access, to will her touch more forcibly against you. Emily hummed, the vibration spreading until it settled between your thighs.

“What will you do to me?” You mouthed, and if it weren’t for the suffocating proximities, you were certain that the faint volume that exuded from you would be left unheard.

A sinister chuckle emanated, her mouth resuming its unruly assault upon your skin, her teeth occasionally pricking at its surface.

“First, I’ll tie you to the bed,” she revealed, her voice sultry, unwavering, “make sure you can’t escape while I take my precious time with you.”

“Fuck.”

“Maybe I’ll spank you until you’re red,” she mused, her tongue flickering to smooth over the bite marks she had etched. “Until you’re soaking and pathetic, begging for my touch.”

Emily retracted to examine your reaction, enthused to find your self-control tearing at the seams. Her dark irises were hypnotic, her touch addictive as you reached out in search of her and she did not disappoint. She forced you against her, a wandering hand caressing your pussy with the slightest of pressures. It was nowhere near enough to placate you, her sadistic intention blatant as she simpered proudly in response to the tortured sounds that spilled into the night.

“Then… then, what?”

She paused her motion, feigning contemplation until her thumb rubbed at your clit with intent, the pace gaining further traction, your arms knotted around her neck to prevent yourself from toppling over. And, suddenly her free hand was groping at your breast, the occasional tweaking of your nipples between her fingers propelling you towards the crest of something more.

“Then I’ll play with that desperate little pussy of yours,” she divulged, her eyes alight. “If you’re a good girl for me, maybe I’ll even let you cum, hm?”

The perpetual torment of her words did no favours in staving off your lurking orgasm as you writhed to break free of her to no avail. Instead, she held you steady, deliberately, her fingers teasing your clit with no sign of letting up.

“You’re close, aren’t you, sweetheart?” Emily guessed, knowingly as you peered at her helplessly through half-lidded eyes.

You nodded, ardently, knuckles paling as you anchored yourself in place with an unrelenting grip upon her shoulders.

“You’d better not cum, pretty girl,” she insisted, forcefully, this newfound tone kindling fear within you. “Good girls don’t cum without permission.”

The threat hung in the silence, ragged breaths and hums of amusement falling into the air as you wrangled to maintain your obedience. Emily’s expert manoeuvres did not cease, no, they merely surged, resolute in their endeavour to debase you.

“Please, Mommy.”

In a nanosecond, her touch was withdrawn, your body trembling in the wake of her action and screaming out for her immediate return. Emily pursed her lips as a means of camouflaging the widened beam that had begun to upturn her mouth. The shame of your pliability was quick to encompass you, averting your gaze until she nudged a finger below your chin and forced you into relinquishing to her unspoken demand.

“Mommy?” She echoed, an eyebrow quirked, though she appeared to be impressed, an air of intrigue cascading. “So, that’s what you like, sweetheart?” She smirked, thoroughly amused by the humiliation that visibly flooded you. “I guess I can work with that.”

The tension that lingered was so palpable that it was overwhelming, cursed by the way this woman had such a miraculous affect upon you. It was too late to rescind your interest, too late to rid your mind and body of the sensations she had inflicted.

“So, what will it be?” She asked, curiously, her tongue poking out from the corner of her mouth. “You want to play with Mommy?”

“Yes,” you acceded, breathily, entranced by her. “Please.”

––--– ♡ –––--

And, Emily had not lied when she had laid out her plan of action, if anything, she had played it out in exact chronology thus far. The instant you had stepped over the threshold of her apartment, you were stripped bare, your ankles and wrists bound by cuffs that, at first glance, were tucked inconspicuously below the mattress. And, truthfully, you could not deny the enjoyment that filled you knowing that you were at her mercy, entirely, wholly.

Emily shedded her fur coat, the true extent of her magnificence revealed as you gawked in silence. An innate urge to fight against the restraints and fall to your knees before her racked over your consciousness, hindered by the lack of give the metal established. She chortled in response to your struggle, though your eyes remained transfixed by the lace trimmed stockings that clung around her thighs.

Saliva flooded in abundance, so enamoured by her sensuality that it began to spill out from you until you were noticeably drooling. The bed shifted below you, Emily’s form pinning you in position as she straddled you, her body scorching as it melted into your own.

“Aww,” she cooed, mockingly, lurching forward until her face hovered above yours, your jaw firmly betwixt her hand. “Such a cute little thing drooling for Mommy. Too bad you can’t touch me, hm?”

Daringly, you launched upwards in a tenacious attempt to capture her lips, though Emily impeded your advance with a forceful shove, bouncing back against the mattress, empty-handed.

“Naughty girl,” she chastised, disapprovingly, shaking her head slowly in reiteration. “Mommy will have to punish you for that, sweetheart, you know that, don’t you?”

You could not have cared less, your brain racing with thoughts so impure that you were willing to do anything for her, to feel anything, face any consequence that she deemed fit as long as it was done at her hands.

“Yes, Mommy,” you responded, mindlessly, your vision glazed over in the purest kind of desire, your periphery illuminated by the silver-grey of her hair.

“Oh, I know exactly how to punish you, pretty girl,” Emily ribbed, tauntingly, suddenly withdrawing from you, the black bodysuit promptly peeled from her frame until she mirrored your nakedness, a smirk materialising. “And I don’t want to hear a word from you.”

A foreboding feeling enveloped, a muffled whine fleeing from your pursed lips. Emily’s glare was unforgiving, her hand settling between her legs as she displayed her wetness to you and you could tell that she was wholly enthralled by the torture she was about to subject you to.

As hard as you tried, you could not draw your eyes away from her exposed flesh, her motions painstaking, hypnotising as she stroked her clit with two fingers.

“Keep your eyes on me, sweetheart,” she urged, softly, through the flickers of pleasure that claimed her were barely concealed in her voice. “You’re going to be a good girl and watch while Mommy gets off.”

Emily’s mouth fell agape, composed breaths slipping in and out, her eyes darkening with every dancing movement her fingertips delivered. The scene before you only maddened you further, writhing against the restraints like a woman possessed, no heed paid to the consequences that you were sure to find thereafter.

“Oh, pretty girl,” she crooned, an eyebrow raised in objection, a pang of fear striking. “You just can’t seem to behave, can you?”

Her efforts suddenly grew in zeal, in intent, the pace increasing as she circled and stroked and pinched at her clit. Through long, black eyelashes she held your gaze, her lip pinned between her teeth as she fought valiantly to repress the moans that so desperately wanted to exude. And then, she jumped from her position, crawling until she had planted herself on your chest, her soaking pussy in reach of your mouth.

“Since you’re not allowed to talk,” she began, a smirk fused to her lips. “It’s only fair that Mommy makes use of that mouth, hm?”

Emily sank down upon your face, an all-encompassing tremble taking her under as she felt your tongue sliding against her clit. The irony existed in the way her punishment was everything you had ever desired, determined to explore every available inch of her, have her taste infiltrating your mouth until you were intoxicated by it.

And, it didn’t take long at all. Her hips rutted firmly, each manoeuvre depleting your oxygen as her pussy suffocated you, your lips sucking with unrivalled fervour until she let out a sound that could not be hidden, nor denied.

Her palms clasped over your cheeks as you drank in the beautiful sight of her breasts from below, jolting with every bolt of pleasure that struck with intensity. And then she shook, violently atop you before falling away and leaving you empty.

“Such a good girl for Mommy,” she praised, breathlessly, the craving that lurked in her irises now dissipating, safely quelled by your action. “I think it’s time I had a little fun of my own, sweetheart."

The sound of jingling metal edged into existence and you soon realised that Emily was freeing you of your bindings, the cuffs slackening until each limb had regained function.

“On your stomach for me, pretty girl,” Emily growled, resolute in her demand. “Don’t make me wait.”

Gentle hands smoothed the skin of your spine, the swell of your ass, each touch inciting the emergence of fire, a shiver clawing its way over your entirety. It was evident that she had something planned, something imminent, unable to submit to the false sense of security that you were certain she was trying to instil.

Curiosity festered until you could not endure the suspense any longer, your head craning enough to catch a fleeting glimpse of something black that was held tightly inside of her enclosed fist. Guessing was futile, a sturdy hand placed upon the back of your neck and forcing you flat against the mattress, your faculties thwarted, the silence deafening.

The unidentified object soon burst into clarity, a brutal blow to your ass draining the air from your lungs as you wrangled for breath. It was useless, the sizzling sensation ebbing out into a deepened pleasure, your pussy twitching in response. Emily did not offer the chance of composure, nor a flitting epoch of tranquility, another callous strike joining the one that went before it.

“Fuck, Mommy,” you squealed, helplessly, a callous chuckle emitting from behind you and you could only imagine the expression that Emily was sporting. “More-“

“Dirty girl likes the paddle, hm?” Emily mused, slapping it down ruthlessly against the back of your thigh, humming in excitement as you startled. “Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

With fistfuls of bedclothes scrunched into your hands, you braced for the next reckless assault and Emily did not disappoint. The paddle seared into you with an audible crack, its sound echoing like the pain that incurred as a result, walking the line between pain and pleasure until everything seemed to blur.

A probing finger slipped inside of you from behind, a sigh of disappointment springing from her lips as you angled to will in more of her to no avail.

“Not yet, sweetheart,” she ruled with a tut, another strike to your ass punctuating her decision. “Mommy’s gonna make you red first.”

The methodic pulsation that possessed you only intensified until it was perpetual, aching, her denial of you thrusting you to the limits of self-control. You could have bucked against the mattress, took whatever pitiful pleasure it would have offered but nothing compared to the idea of having her hands on you.

Her laughter reigned on through the beatings, your skin aflame, destined to leave markings behind and you would welcome it. Anything to remember the libidinous torture that she had induced, branding you with her touch.

“Please, Mommy,” you sobbed out, the stinging pain overbearing now, the need to be subdued of this neediness filling your mind without respite. “Please, please.”

“So pretty when you beg, sweetheart,” she extolled, the sudden emergence of hands across your ass calming you in an instant. “So red for Mommy.”

“I need you, Mommy,” you rasped, your body weakened significantly as you tried and failed to sneak from her grasp, to claw away from her unyielding force. “Please.”

Dexterous fingers sought refuge against your pussy once more, her motive instantaneously revealed as she buried her digits to the hilt and pumped avidly. For a moment, you were grateful for the alleviation, the ache finally subsiding, though the pace that Emily had set was nothing short of merciless.

Your hands slammed against the mattress as she drove into you, rapid, unabashed, your wetness spilling out and flecking the skin of your thighs in the wake of her.

“Cum for Mommy, sweetheart,” she riled with enthusiasm. “Cum on Mommy’s fingers like a good little slut.”

It was as if your body was hers to control, autonomy stripped from you as you felt yourself toppling over the precipice, all semblance of strength relinquished as she rocked you into oblivion.

“Mommy!”

––--– ♡ –––--

Blaring rays of light pierced you awake, a nauseating feeling creeping in to take ahold when you realised where you were, what you had done. The woman had done a number on you, so much that you must have fell into slumber the moment your body had succumbed to her. Emily was nowhere to be found, your eyes scanning the room for any sign that she had existed at all. And for a second, you had wondered whether you had hallucinated the entire ordeal.

You clambered out of the bed in haste, quick to gather your clothes that she had rid you of last night. And on the top of your perfectly folded garments, a note.

“See you soon,” you read aloud, shaking off the unsettling feeling as you pulled your shirt on over your head.

And, as you unravelled your jeans in preparation to make a rapid exit, an FBI badge flung to the floor, a sound you had never made prior suddenly echoing out into the room. Soft footfalls approached, Emily peering over the threshold with a widened grin, slowly closing the distance between you. Her hand stretched out.

“Emily Prentiss,” she introduced, proudly, observing as your face fell flat. “FBI.”

––--– ♡ –––--

@ionlylikemarvelforthewomen ♡ @agenderrat ♡ @i-write-sometimes-maybe ♡ @sugaryspiciness ♡ @chiefemilyprentiss ♡

#criminal minds #criminal minds evolution #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #criminal minds emily prentiss #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss smut #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x reader #kinktober 2024

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bunnliix · 29 days ago

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Little Doe

All I can say is that I went a lil wild writing this, and that this may have been sitting around in my google drive for months now. So here is what happens when I get inspired and maybe a bit unhinged

Pairing: Outlaw!Mingi x fem!reader Summary: You catch Mingi's eye, and he doesn't want to let you go wc: 1.4k AU: bouncy universe Genre: SMUT warnings: fem!reader, mean!Mingi, stalking, gunplay, being grabbed and held down, being stepped on, yandere-ish Mingi Smut warnings: DUB-CON/non-con?, threats, guns, praise kink if you squint, pet names (doe, love), breeding kink, breath play, talks of branding, talks of primal play, being pulled up by your hair, pain, non-con voyeurism Beta'd by the wonderful @skzdust

The heel of his boot pushes down into your back as you struggle underneath him. “Awww, look at this. You really think you’re gonna escape darlin'?” The boot wedges itself further into your back, as you feel a gun push into the back of your head. “I caught you, little doe, and now I’m gonna have fun with you, and if you try and run, well, let's say it won’t be fun for you.” You hear him say to you, as the gun pushes further into the back of your skull.

You stayed silent, not wanting to get yourself killed, but also not wanting to endure whatever this man would do to you.

“Cat got your tongue, little doe? C’mon, talk to me love. I wanna hear how pretty your voice sounds before I make you scream. Before you have no voice because I’ve made you scream so much that you’ve lost it,” he says, leaning down close to you, as you lay on the ground.

Flashback…

You had left the bar late one night, having had your weekly celebration with your friends. They had all left before you, leaving you in the bar filled with men, one of whom caught your eye, and not in the best way. He was staring you down like a tiger would its prey, you felt like if you stayed any longer, you’d be trapped. So you made your escape, or what you thought was your escape.

Walking out of the bar, you walk down the main road till you reach an alleyway that provides you a shortcut on your way home. You slip into the narrow path between buildings, thinking that you’d be safe now, not having seen or heard anyone follow you out of the bar. You get about halfway down the alley when you hear steps behind you, which pushes you to hurry to the other end of the alleyway. You don’t stop to look behind you, knowing it would only slow you down, and you never know if this person is alone or if there’s somebody waiting for you to look away before they swoop in and catch you within their claws.

You make it almost all the way to the end of the alleyway when your hands are grabbed and pulled behind you. You thrash around in the stranger’s grip, catching him off guard for a moment, allowing you to escape. You make it only a couple feet further before you’re forcibly pushed to the ground, a boot in your back as you struggle to get out from underneath it.

Back to the present…

“Now, are we going to do it the easy way, or the hard way, doe?” He asks you, his voice almost sickly sweet.

You struggled underneath him, trying to free yourself. His shoe only pressing down harder, making your attempts at freedom useless.

“I guess we’re doing it the hard way then,” You heard as you felt him move, as well as a hand snaking up your thigh, finding your panties and ripping them off your body.

“Well, I should thank you for wearing a skirt, making it so much easier for me.” He thanked you, as you felt his fingers on you, finding that you were soaked.

“Oh? It seems I’ve found a dirty little doe. Look at you, getting soaked over a stranger pinning you down and using you. Maybe I’ll just have to keep you after this. Use you for my own pleasure whenever I want, I’m sure you wouldn’t say no, would you, my pretty fucking cocksleeve?” You heard from above you as your hair was gripped, pulling your head up, as fingers appeared in front of your face.

“Suck. If you don’t, then I guess you want some pain, hmm?” You quickly take his fingers into your mouth, sucking on them diligently as he hums happily, or at least you assumed it was happily.

You felt his boot leave your back, as he rearranged himself above you, and you heard clothing being moved, as well as a zipped being unzipped and you knew what he was doing. You felt your skirt being flipped up and a groan as he laid his eyes on your pussy.

“Oh baby, little doe, I’m gonna stretch you out so much, no one else will compare by the time I’m done with you. You’ll want my cock to fuck you over and over again, nothing else will satisfy you.” He told you, as he pulled your hips upwards until you were on your knees.

A hand found its way onto your back, pressing down to keep you in position as you felt the head of his cock at your entrance as it pushed in. The stretch was more than you had ever felt before, but fuck it felt amazing and you knew, as he slid into you, that you’d never find another man to satisfy you ever again.

The man above you groaned, “Fuck little doe, you’re so fucking tight and you squeeze me just right. I’m just gonna have to keep you. I’ll keep you and you can sit on my cock all pretty, and I’ll fuck a baby into you too someday.” He rambled on and on as he slid back out before slamming back into you, his hips snapping into yours.

“Fuck, a pretty little cocksleeve, just for me. Maybe I’ll have to recreate this night over and over again, just to keep the memory fresh. Let you run and get all scared as I chase you. Maybe next time, I’ll trace pretty designs into your precious fucking skin, leave my own mark on you. Maybe I’ll even brand you.” You moaned at the thought of it. “Oh? Someone wants my mark on you permanently? Cute little doe. I’ll brand you, and mark your pretty skin with whatever designs I choose.”

Skin slapping skin was the only sound other than both of your moans and groans that could be heard, as you felt any sanity leave your body. You only wanted this man to fuck you for the rest of your life. He could use you for his pleasure, you didn’t care as long as it meant you getting fucked by him. Maybe he’d be nice enough to fulfill all of your dirty fucking fantasies. God, you’d beg on your knees if it meant he’d use you.

You could feel your orgasm approaching quickly as he kept fucking you hard, your pussy squeezing him. He groaned and you felt his hand move from your back to your throat, gripping it tightly and pulling you up against him, your back to his chest. “Fuck baby, keep squeezing me like that and I’ll come. You want my come inside of your little pussy so badly?” He asked you, as you whined.

Your release hit you, washing over you like a wave without any warning. You moaned before whining as he continued fucking you through your orgasm. “Good girl, cumming on my cock. Fuck baby, I’m gonna come.” He groaned, as you felt his come inside of you as he came, holding you down onto his cock as far as you could go. You were so sensitive you whined in protest as he thrust a couple more times to make sure you had taken all of his cum inside your pussy. You slumped in his arms, unable to keep yourself up anymore, only held up by his grip on your throat.

“Aww, can’t hold yourself up anymore, my doe? Cute.” He told you, as he pulled you off of his dick, his come dripping out of you.

“Quite a performance there, Mingi,” you heard another man say, as the man, who you now knew was named Mingi, chuckled from above.

“Always the voyeur, aren’t you, Hongjoong?” Mingi answered the other man.

“Is it wrong to enjoy seeing you fuck yet another girl stupid?”

“No, but it does make you a bit of a creep, if you weren’t so attractive physically.” After replying to Hongjoong, Mingi hoisted your body onto his shoulder as he stood up.

“Come on lil doe, I’m taking you with me. Nobody’ll miss you, right?” He asked you, getting a whine in return, making him chuckle.

“Cute. And if anyone does miss you, then you’ll just have to tell them how much you don’t want to leave me. Because I know you won’t ever want to. No one ever does.”

Taglist: @callmeghostly @bethelighthalazia @palindrome969

#ateez x reader #mingi x reader #ateez smut #mingi smut #song mingi smut

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reidmania · 3 months ago

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you're my best friend | spencer reid

summary; you tell spencer he is your best friend to you its a indication of more to him its rejection.

warnings; best friends to lovers expect they dont make it to lovers whoops, angst whoops again, i think all lovers should be best friends, (un) requited feelings (ur both idiots) its short and honestly i dont remember writing this, mentions of dating other people but like whatever

an; yk that line in ‘you are in love’ by taylor swift thats like pauses, then say, you’re my best friend, and you knew what it was, he is in love? thats what gave me this idea im also just really fucking sad tonight and i miss my ex idk im also trynna be aesthetic am i aesthetic

any other night you wouldn't of cared to notice the way the streetlights blarred through the raindrops on the window or how the dark clouds lined the sky covering every showing star in their path. you wouldn't have noticed any of that if you weren't so focused on beiing focused on anything else.

anything other than spencer reid who was sitting beside you, driving you home. the case you had just got back from was long and angonizing. it was a complete pain to get through and it wasn't a secret that the entirety of the team were all ready to get home to their families and their own beds.

so, you weren't exactly estatic when remembering you hadn't driven to the office a week ago after being called in for the case, you were instead dropped off by your friend after the two of you needed to talk.

so you were car-less, and tired.

spencer reid, your best friend and possibly the nicest person on earth offered to drive you home without a second thought. even though he was equally as tired and ready to curl up into his own bed, he said he would drive you home and then refused to listen to any argument about it.

"are you okay" your head snapped towards the sound of his voice, his eyes glancing between you and the road, obviously noticing the rather disorientated look covering your features as you stared out the windshield.

you nodded, eyebrows furrowing. "yeah- yeah im just tired" it wasn't a lie, you were tired. you were also insanely confused about the feelings weighing on your chest everytime your eyes lingered on his for a moment too long.

he hummed, eyes returning to the road. you took that as your chance to look back at his face, bad idea.

your eyes danced over the curve of his nose and the line of his jawline and then the softness of his eyes, the flutter of his eyelashes every time he blinked or squinted at the bright lights of the road. you studied every indent over the soft skin of his cheeks and cheekbones that you could see from his side profile and your stomach warmed.

you turned your head away when that feeling returned, the one you were hyperaware of. it made your stomach feel as if it was burning a hole in itself, your heart ache and flutter at once and your head spin with the fact that it was wrong. so wrong.

“how’s ethan” he asked, his eyes remaining set on the road as he voice remained soft and quiet, like it seemed to always be when he spoke to you.

your eyes widened for a brief moment of the guy you had been, half kind of dating — if you could even call it that. you had been on a few dates. ethan worked at the coffee shop not to far from the bullpen, and asked you out two weeks ago. being surrounded by derek, emily and spencer didn’t exactly help the overwhelming expectation that fell on your shoulders in that moment.

derek answered for you, actually, in that moment. he had said you’d love to, and then teased you the entire way back to the bullpen after getting your coffee and you didn’t have the heart to pull out of the date, it wasn’t actually that bad — there was just something not right.

the more you hung out with ethan the more you realised there wasn’t actually anything wrong with him, he was nice, respectful, he made you laugh and you could talk easily. he was nothing short of a gentleman.

it was just, every-time the two of you had a conversation you waited for a absentmindedly long ramble about something random or a correction on one of something you pointed , and it never came. you waited for doctor who to be brought up and it never was. the movies you watched with ethan were rom coms and chick flics, or comedy’s rather than documentaries, or science films, or films in other languages that you had to rely on subtitles for.

he wasn’t spencer.

that was the only issue, and that why you had broken off with him before you went on this case, actually you had just finished breaking it off with him when you got the call which was why you were car-less since he had dropped you off.

you couldn’t in good conscience keep hanging around ethan after realising you had feelings for your best friend. you told him the truth and how understanding and respectful he was about it only made the guilt build deeper in your ribcage.

“i broke it off” you told spencer honestly. you wouldn’t lie or play it off there was no point in that. spencer would find out eventually you just wished that being honest didn’t mean it would come with questions.

his eyebrows furrowed for a moment, as his eyes flickered between the road and your face for a moment, you kept your gaze to the ground of the car, focusing on the carpeted floor rather than the feelings that swarmed in your chest that you honestly wished would just swallow you whole and get you as far away from actually feeling them.

“why? did he do something?” it was curious and gentle, like he was genuinely worried that this guy had done something that had hurt you — and it made your chest ache painfully, you genuinely felt physical chest pain at the sound of his words as they processed through your mind.

you shook your head quickly anyways, “no, he was.. good, great.. i just— didn’t feel it, y’know?” you huffed out, eyes still refusing to meet his. you were scared if you did that the confession would come blabbering pass your lips without a second thought because you were so use to telling him everything.

he let out a sigh of relief, glad that you weren’t upset or that this guy hadn’t done anything to hurt you. “i get it” he replied, his voice was gentle and careful. you wondered if he genuinely did — he always seemed to have a power of just reading your mind yet this time you were almost sure that wouldn’t be the case.

the car was pulling into park out side the front of your house moments later, and you felt a sort of sick feeling in your stomach. one that was indescribable to a t. the sort of feeling that left a bad taste in the back of your throat and made your stomach twist, the sort that left goosebumps trailing down your arms and the hairs stand on the back of your neck.

he said your name so quietly as if he had something important he needed to say. for the first time that car ride, since you had left the bau you met his eyes and every emotion you had pushed down into the darkest part of yourself bubbled all up to the surface again.

his eyebrows were furrowed as if he was trying to debate something, lips parted then closed in indecision, before he let out a half shaky breath, his eyes studying your features like yours to his. you felt your stomach twist.

“i need to tell you-“

you cut him off and you didn’t even mean to, “you’re my best friend, spencer.” that was all you said.

and honestly it held so much weight to you it almost felt like a confession in itself, he was your best friend, he was your person. he knew you better then you knew yourself, he knew you better than anyone ever would, he memories every scar on your skin, every little thing that effected you in a way that differed from others, spencer knew you, you loved him and he was your best friend

he was your best friend in a, i want you in my life forever kind of way. i want you by my side no matter what life throws at us, i want to know that no matter what happens you remain a constant.

you needed him to remain constant.

his lips closed at your words, eyebrows furrowing a little deeper to the point the skin between the crinkled slightly. there was a flicker of something in his eyes that you would’ve noticed if he hadn’t pushed it away before you could.

“you’re my best friend too.” he breathed out.

to spencer, you were the sun. everything obits you and your existence, he would give anything to be a planet that was blessed enough to be in your orbit. if he got a glimpse of you throughout the day his heart would remain beating properly in his chest and his feelings would remain a little lighter on his mind, you were calming, you were his safe place. you were his favourite part of everyday.

you were the one thing that kept him from falling apart half the time. you were his best friend and he was in love with you, so in love with you that he shut his mouth every time you went on a date with a different guy, because if you were happy and he got to keep you as a part of his life he wouldn’t beg for different.

you were his best friend and so he pretended like his heart didn’t hurt so impossibly much when you came to him when those said dates didn’t work out or ended badly and you rambled about how you thought there was something wrong with you, because how could you think that when to him the entire solar system fought to be in your orbit?

if you hadn’t cut him off he would’ve told you all of that.

instead he watched you wave him goodbye as you walked back into your house, a weight on his chest, at the words left unsaid that danced on his tongue behind his closed lips. ‘you’re my best friend’

his mind replayed the words with the reminder that that was all he would be to you, that was all he could be and he wanted to fight it and pull back and tell you exactly how he felt and the deepness his feelings fell to,

but then again at least this way he meant something to you.

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 2 years ago

Text

Cold as ice

a/n I honestly hope you all will cry the way I cried writing this because now I genuinely need four to five business days to recover. Because never have I actually needed to take a minute to sob in the middle of writing.

summary: what happens when Ellie stumbles upon a memorial that turns out to have both your and Joel's kids names on it. When the past pain is brought back to the daylight even the coldest of hearts finally break.

warning: pain and suffering first and foremost, tissues ain't included. Blood, wounds, shooting, killing, multiple death, loosing your kids.

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Ellie had slipped out of the shower. She hated being separated from you and Joel. So the fact that you walked away from her, leaving her with Maria, didn't sit well with her whatsoever. You had hugged her tightly before leaving, promising to be back as soon as possible and that you three would eat dinner together as you always did.

She had gotten extremely close to you. Yet there was something in Joel's eyes when he watched you hug Ellie that told her that there was more than you two let her know. She was aware that you two had been together long before the outbreak; she assumed you were married from the bent ring that was on your finger. But besides that, she knew nothing. Well, that you could handle Joel's shit the best of anyone Ellie had met.

She had seen and heard Joel mumbling in his sleep. Watched you rub his back with a sad expression on your face. And the same went for you, just when your nightmare hit - they hit you hard. Ellie had been woken up by your screams in the middle of the night. Joel's calm voice tries to make you calm down. She had only once turned to look at all of this unfolding; most of the time she just pretended that she was fast asleep. "Don't let them, Joel", you cried, "Don't", "I'm so sorry", Joel would sway you from side to side. His own eyes glossed over with tears. "Should have let me die instead. I should have died," you choked out, clenching the shirt Joel was wearing. His face looked stone cold as you clawed at him, sobbing.

Ellie never brought those nights up. If she teased Joel for speaking in his sleep, she had never said anything about your nightmares out loud. After nights like that, she would shimmy closer to you. Making sure she would be holding onto your hand more often or just hugging you every moment she could. Ellie couldn't help the feeling inside her that told her that you needed her.

Ellie hurried down the stairs, zipping the pink jacket she despised solely because of its outrageously girly color. Maria had left the note that she was just across the street, and as much as Ellie enjoyed being alone. She needed to kill time before you two came back. Plus, being away from you made her rather uneasy. She knocked on the door a couple of times. Yet no one answered. After more failed attempts, Ellie just let herself in. "Maria," she called out, stepping into the hallway. The house looked nice and was well lived in. Ellie had never seen anything like it. Even the smell seemed homely. She stepped into the living room, where the fire was crackling in the fireplace. Her eyes fell onto the three names written down with white chalk, surrounded by candles. Kevin, Sarah, and Malakai. Ellie couldn't help but frown.

"Ah, good, here you are. Try it on," Maria said, making Ellie jump as she turned away from the bored and took the coat from her hands. "Well, it's super fucking purple," "Eggplant, fits well?", Maria questioned, and Ellie nodded her head. "Who's been cutting your hair?", Ellie gave the woman a crooked look. "Am… world-class salons," she sassed back, making Maria let out somewhat of a chuckle. "I'll go get my sizers," Ellie argued immediately, but Maria stood firm, "Just the ends I promised."

The sound itself made Ellie cringe as she held onto the side of the chair for dear life. She hated this. Hated getting her hair cut. "I saw you looking at the memorial Tommy made", Ellie swallowed hard once Maria spoke up once again. She hoped this wouldn't be brought up, but then again, she was snooping. "I'm sorry about your kids," Ellie choked out, thankful that she didn't have to look her in the eye. Maria's movements stopped. "It's okay and kid. Just Kevin. Sarah and Malakai were Joel's and Y/N's kids", and a cold shiver ran down Ellie's back. Kids. You two had kids and lost both of them. "I'm sorry, shouldn't have said anything", "It's okay, it… It explains Joel's behavior and why Y/N…", but her voice died down. Maria didn't need to know about your nightmares.

"Look, I won't ask you what you are doing with them, especially Joel…" "Good," Ellie bit back. "You need to understand my concerns", Maria walked right in front of her, but Ellie only glared her way, "Be concerned about your husband, who did the same shit, if not worse". Maria let out a surprised sigh, "You have one hell of a mouth," and Ellie quickly stood up, shrugging off the towel that was over her shoulders, "And you are one hell of a sister-in-law if all you can do is throw shit at Joel." The adrenaline rushed through Ellie the moment the words slipped past her lips. She didn't regret them, but at the same time, she knew she shouldn't have. It was, however, too late. So she quickly stormed out of the house.

Her breathing picked up as she ran. Quickly slamming the doors behind herself. "Ellie?", your voice rang through the place, and she almost sank to the floor with relief. Like a lost animal, she darted towards the kitchen, meeting you midway as you stepped out into the hallway. Throwing her arms around your torso as she pressed herself closer to you. You couldn't help but frown as your hands ran through her hair. Confused as to what had happened, "Love, you are worrying me. What's going on?" You tried to loosen Ellie's grip on you, but she just clenched your shirt tighter.

Ellie almost felt like she suddenly couldn't face you. She shouldn't have found out like that. So she quickly stepped back and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. The worry inside you grew even more as you watched her. "Sweet girl, should I go get Joel?", you asked, but Ellie quickly shook her head, only now realizing that this involved him as much as it involved you. "Okay, well, you know you can tell me anything. I can't help if I don't know what happened," you said, softly reaching for Ellie's hand. Just this didn't feel like anything. This felt like the biggest thing ever.

"I'm sorry," Ellie rasped out, "I wasn't… I didn't want to… but they had a memorial," Ellie cried out, and suddenly it all started to make sense. You moved to wrap her up in your arms once again, "No one is blaming you; you were bound to find out eventually." You ran your hands through Ellie's hair once again. With a sigh, you clenched the necklace that hung over your chest. "You want to know the story of me and Joel?", you asked, making Ellie look up at you with mixed emotions. You nodded your head, "Well, let's make tea and sit down somewhere more comfortable." You knew that this was going to be one painful set of memories to unlock. But she deserved it. She was part of the family now.

And what a journey it had been. You met Joel in a supermarket. Where he was frantically looking for baby formula. The baby he was supporting with one hand screamed bloody murder. "Hello," you said cautiously, not wanting to startle him any further. His helpless, tired eyes snapped your way. You could tell that he most definitely hadn't slept in more than a couple of days. If not his eyes telling you that, then his overgrown and unkempt beard did. This male was a mess. "Do you mind if I", you pointed to the bundled-up baby, "You're in distress, and they feel it. Babies are sensitive to emotions", Joel's shoulders sagged; it looked like your words had finally defeated him.

"Just stand here. If you even think about doing something to hurt her…," you looked at him with a knowing smile. Trusting your blood and soul with a stranger was no joke. Especially being a newly baked parent. Plus, fathers were already way more protective. Especially of their girls. You pressed your hand to the heart, "I'll stand right here, just want to help". Joel nodded his head. Dropping down the box of formula he was holding as he moved towards you, lowering the bundle into your hands.

Even with her face all red and screaming her little lungs out, she was so pretty. You gently rocked her in your arms, "It's okay, gorgeous girl. Why are you crying, love bug?", you cooed at her. Fingers carefully ran down her cheek as you wiped away her big tears. "Shhh, sweet girl, you've got your daddy all worried. We don't want that, do we?" The cries slowly died down, and her big, still-damp eyes stared right at you.

Joel felt like someone had sent this as a cruel joke. His wife, the mother of his child, should be doing this, not some stranger in the middle of the supermarket. "Grab the mixture on the second shelf, more to your right", your voice made Joel snap his head in your direction once again. "I assumed you were looking for a formula. So that one should do her good. Won't upset her stomach if she's also breastfed", Joel clenched his jaw at your words. No, Sarah was not. Her mother had vanished. She didn't even know what a mother was or what it would feel like to have one.

You sensed the tension. Slowly stepping closer to the male, one hand resting on his shoulder. "Don't take this as an insult because I'm sure you are an amazing father. But do you want me to pop by and help out while you rest a little?" You had an odd feeling that the mother wasn't in the picture. That he was all alone. And the baby wasn't older than a month or a bit more. If this man was juggling that alone. Well, that must have been hard.

You hummed to yourself as you fixed up a light dinner from whatever you managed to find in Joel's fridge. Considering the empty cardboard boxes all over the place, it's been a hot minute since he had a proper meal himself. Once he drove you back to his, you quickly ushered him upstairs. Telling him to take a bath and catch some sleep. You knew that he would have fought you on it. If only he wasn't running on the last bits of energy. And you weren't snooping, but while you were cleaning up the kitchen, you found an open letter. A letter you assumed was from Joel's wife. She had left them two without anything, not even a proper explanation. You knew it wasn't your place to judge; motherhood was tough. Not all women were built to be mothers. You had written down instructions for Joel. How do fix a bottle. What different formulas do get, and how to switch them up if Sarah got an upset stomach per se. You wanted him to know that he wasn't alone. Even if you two had known each other for less than a day.

Joel stepped down the stairs hours later. Beard trimmed, eyes less puffy. He found you on the sofa reading a book to Sarah. One of her tiny fists was wrapped around your finger as your soft voice filled the room, "Why are you smiling? Am I that funny?", you cooed at her, making Sarah let out a happy grumble, "Ah, we even lost the pacifier with all the smiling, huh," you pinched her cheek carefully.

Joel was lost for words, to say the least. This was how he saw his family. This was what he hoped he would come down to with his wife. A sob that had held up for weeks, now finally escaped his lips, making you turn his way in an instant. You carefully set Sarah down before approaching him. Opening up your arms in case he needed a hug but keeping a distance in case this was overstepping his boundaries. Yet Joel did fall into your arms. He mumbled out all of his worries and questions that had been bothering him. He had no clue what he was doing. How nothing made sense to him now.

That night, and the many that followed, completely transformed you two. You had practically moved into the Millers' house. You lived not that far away, but the apartment was small, and since the job, you had only managed to cover the rent costs; you were barely getting by as it was. Joel needed someone to look after Sarah while he worked, so having you in the house solved that issue for him. But with each passing week and more, you three fell into somewhat of a routine, and you couldn't help but notice how right this all felt. You always wanted to be a young mom anyway. Sure, the baby wasn't yours, but that meant nothing to you. You cherished Sarah as if she was your blood and flesh. Joel loved that Sarah would grow up having you in her life. A true mother figure and did not doubt that as soon as his daughter learned how to talk, she would without a doubt refer to you as a mother.

Now, almost 12 years later, you still found yourself smiling every time you thought back at the time you and Joel came together, clawing through the struggles as one. "Morning", Sarah ran down the stairs, quickly coming to kiss your cheek as she moved to grab plates for everyone. "Morning, darling, is your father awake?", "Banged on the door loudly, but he's getting old wouldn't be surprised if he didn't hear", you let out a chuckle at her words. She often teased Joel about getting old. Especially now that his first gray hair had sprouted.

"Is Momo up?", Sarah asked, missing the sight of her brother in the kitchen. You turned to the living room, "Tommy is watching cartoons with him." Malakai was a surprise baby, to say the least. You and Joel weren't trying to get pregnant, but at the same time, you weren't always all that safe when it came to sex. When you feel pregnant, you generally couldn't help but have the fear of Joel walking out on you. Yes, you two had gotten engaged not that long ago, but the conversation of having kids together was never a thing.

Yet Joel didn't do anything but cry once you told him. He wrapped you up in his arms as you two swayed in the kitchen at two in the morning, where you had waited for him to return from his shift. "Tell me again; I still can't believe it," he muttered into your ear for what felt like a thousand times, "I am pregnant with your baby." Joel shook his head still, "Baby Miller..", he let out a breathy laugh. Hands coming to hold his head. With you? A baby with you? The most amazing woman on this earth. He surely didn't deserve it, but he was more than grateful for it.

"I know we might get tight on money. I do want to work till I get too big..", you blurred out, letting your biggest worries out. Joel quickly cupped your face, "Don't you worry your cute head about that. I will take more shifts, and we will be fine", yet you still frowned at him. You didn't want him to work any more than he already did. It felt wrong to let him carry the income burden on his own. "I can still work", "I will only agree to that if you are feeling one thousand percent sure that you can do that. I would much more prefer you stayed at home." You did figure it all out, as you always did. Sarah was over the moon to get a sibling, and now more than ever, this felt like a family.

Joel hurried down the stairs just as Sarah came back with Malakai in her arms. Your husband quickly leaned in to kiss you as he grabbed a cup of coffee. "Birth-a", Malakai clapped. Sarah leaned in to whisper something into his ear once again. "Daddy Old," he said happily, making you let out a laugh, especially when that proud smirk painted Sarah's face. Joel shook his head, "I'll send Cooky Monster after you two. Come here and hug me, you crazy bunch." Watching your kids wrapped up in Joel's strong arms always made you feel some type of way. He was the best father a child could ask for.

"No pancakes?", Sarah grumbled as she looked at the scrambled eggs in front of her, "Frown at your father, he forgot to buy it". It was a tradition to have pancakes on birthday mornings. One that all four of you took very seriously. But with the job load only getting bigger, you couldn't blame Joel for forgetting to get it. "Will we at least get the cake?", "I'll buy one on my way home, I promise," Joel said, scuffing down the egg. Sleeping in meant more rushing, especially when he still needed to drop Sarah off at school.

"Good cause it would be a shit birthday if we didn't at least get that", she said in frustration, "Language young lady", you nudged her shoulder. "Your shirt is insane out, handsome", you pointed your fork Joel's way as he dropped the empty plate in the sink. "No, it is not," he argued, looking down, "Dad, you are seriously getting old," Joel grumbled while taking off his shirt. You moved to feed Malikai, trying to hide your smile.

"You and I, tonight after the kids are asleep. I have special plans with you", Joel cupped your face, leaning in to kiss you a couple of times. "Gross!", Sarah shouted from the hallway, making you two laugh. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Miller", you packed his lips one more time. God, was letting go of this man hard. "I know what I am still capable of," Joel teased back, making you raise your eyebrows, " I'll be the judge of that tonight, sir."

You three had already eaten dinner. Malakai had been sleeping on your chest for quite some time. Sarah dozed off slightly as you waited for Joel to come home. He was late. That, of course, upset Sarah. You wished it was different. That she would see more of him. You hoped that now that you had landed a pretty good job deal, you could balance it out. That Joel could be home more often, and the kids wouldn't have to miss him that much.

The sound of the keys jingling made you stir as you noticed Joel walking into the living room. He was tired, as always. Sarah stirred from beside you. "You're so late," she mumbled, leaning more into you as you ran a hand through her hair. "I know, baby girl; I'm so sorry." Joel kneeled in front of her, carefully tickling her side in hopes to make the grumpy go away. "Did you at least get the cake?", Joel cursed under his breath. All the way home, he knew he had forgotten something, but it only hit him now. "Are you for real, dad?", "I promise I'll get the biggest cake I can get for you all tomorrow."

Sarah looked up at him, letting out a sigh as she reached to wrap her hands around her father's neck. Joel pressed her close to his chest, holding her just a tad harder than most evenings. "I got you something but it's upstairs", she said rubbing her sleepy eyes. Once she had disappeared from the room, you turned to Joel. "I'm so sorry for messing it up," he muttered, sitting down next to you. "Jokes on you, you messed your birthday up." You leaned closer to him. Malakai grumbled in his sleep, his eyes opening for a moment. The sight of his father finally being home made him reach for Joel. He instantly scooped the boy up, pressing a loving kiss to the top of his curly hair as he rocked him a couple of times. Malakai eased into sleep immediately. And you weren't too surprised about it—the warmth Joel carried was enough to make anyone fall asleep within seconds.

"Open up," Sarah said as she handed Joel a box. He shook it a couple of times, trying to inspect it without seeing it. "I know it was laying in your drawer for some time now", "Where did you get the money for it?", Joel looked at the old watch that he had to give up on years ago. "Drugs," Sarah said casually, making you let out a laugh that Joel joined soon after. "I think you got mugged, though it's not ticking." Joel pushed the watch to his ear, and Sarah's face paled as she moved to grab it out of her father's hands. The sound of ticking filled her ears, making her roll her eyes and say, "Not funny, dad."

You moved to wrap your arms around her, dragging her onto the bed with you. She would be sandwiched between you and Joel. "How about a movie, and then I'll tuck my two gremlins into bed", Sarah playfully hit Joel's chest, "Mom, will fall asleep within minutes", she turned to watch you already almost dozing off. "I won't say I won't, but I'm giving you ten minutes, and you will be out as well", you hugged her closer, eyes falling onto Joel who looked down on you two fondly.

"If I knew what was going to happen that night… I would", your voice died down, "I don't even know what I would have changed, but I wish I could go back, you know? To try to do something differently", Ellie looked at you. If you had let yourself smile a little at the thought of the happy memories she knew that now was the time when the real shit was going to go down. Ellie inched closer to you. Leaving her cup on the table as she took a hold of your hand once again.

"I have four civilians by the river," the male said sharply into the radio. "Joel," you whispered, pressing Momo closer to your chest as your breathing picked up. Joel wished he could reach for you and hold you close as well, but he knew that now that was impossible. "We'll be okay, love. All of us will be okay," Joel whispered, his eyes not leaving the soldier in front of him. "Uncle Tommy," Sarah whispered, looking between you and Joel. "We'll get you two and mommy somewhere safe, and I'll go back to look for him," Joel said as calmly as he could, pressing Sarah even closer to him.

The soldier lifted the gun, making you shake your head. "We're not sick", Joel managed to say before the shots rang out. Everything that happened after that was a blur and a slow-motion movie at the same time. The fall off the curb. The cries from Malakai rang out even louder than the bullets. You fell right beside Joel, your hands clinging to the boy and pressing him closer to you. The light from the gun made you close your eyes once again. "I'm sorry", you heard the soldier rasp out, "No, please", Joel exhaled, moving as quickly as he could to shield your body with his own as yet another shot fired. Joel's hand pressed down onto you tightly, not even letting go when the sound around him died down.

"Oh god", Tommy's voice made Joel lift his head, turning his attention to where his younger brother was looking. And there was Sarah. Her breaths were shallow as she pressed down on her side, which was bleeding heavily. Joel felt as if his world stopped for a moment as he crowed towards her. "No… no," Joel breathed out, "You're okay, baby girl, you're okay." His eyes fell on the wound that was pouring out bright red blood. "Sarah", you called out, inching towards her, gasp leaving your mouth as you saw just how bad it was. Joel tried to move her up, but Sarah only screamed out in pain, "I know, baby, I know. I need to help you up."

Joel's eyes were on you as you sobbed by Sarah's side. Hands were now just as soaked as his with sticky blood. Joel looked at Tommy, who was holding Malakai, then back to Sarah, who was gulping down air. He couldn't let his baby die. Not here. Not now. Not his little girl. Not his butterfly. Joel pressed his palms to the shot wound harder, making Sarah roar in agony, "I know it hurts, but you will be okay". You brushed your hand over the side of her face, not trusting your words anymore.

"Tommy, help me!", Joel shouted, but once he turned his attention back to his brother, his breathing stopped. Your eyes followed Joel's gaze. Eyes grew wide at the sight of Tommy standing there with a gun pointed at his head. Malakai being dragged away by another soldier. You quickly rose to your feet. "Give me my boy!", you shouted. No longer sounding like yourself. More like a wild animal out for blood.

"That's a child. Are you going to kill a child?", you stepped closer, but only got met with the back of the gun hitting your back, making you fall back to the ground. "Please, please, I'll do anything," you croaked out, pulling yourself up as you watched the soldier stop in its tracks. The boy in his arms reached out to you as he cried. The soldier let go of Malakai, and for a split second, a rush of hope flowed through you. He was going to come back to you. Your baby boy was going to be okay.

You reached your hands towards him as he took wobbly steps towards you. "Come here, baby, come here, Momo," you called out, barely being able to see through the tears streaming down your cheeks. "Mama," he cried out, making you nod your head. And then the shot rang out. The sound that you knew was going to hunt you for the rest of your life. You saw the bullet pierce Malakai's head as his body sagged to the floor.

The scream that fell from you was far from human. The pain that pierced you was as outrageous. You quickly moved forward, ready to kill the man who had just killed both of your kids cold-heartedly. You didn't make it far as two hands quickly pulled you over to the side. Turning you away from the lifeless body of the toddler.

Joel knew he had to get to you before you joined the kids on the ground. He held onto you for dear life as you trashed in his hands, "I will fucking kill you, do you hear me? I will rip you to pieces, you fuck," you screamed, trying to get loose and out of Joel's embrace. "Let go of me, let me kill him," you spat, nails digging into Joel's arms as you tried to push them away. "I've got you; you need to breathe." His words made you stop. You looked him in the eyes for the first time that night. Another sob escaped your lips as you sank to the floor, hands ripping at the skin of your chest, "Kill me, let me die, I don't want to live", your words were broken in between harsh intakes of breath. Joel shook his head once again, wrapping his arms around you, "I need you, please, I need you".

The sound of the door closing made you jump. You had no clue when you finished telling the story. You don't remember zoning out. Ellie was still holding your hands, her own eyes puffy from crying. Joel stopped in his tracks. The sight of him was not something he imagined coming home to. Your face was pale. Streaks of tears are still visible on your cheeks. Ellie didn't look any better. "What happened?", Joel quickly closed the distance between you. "Did someone hurt you? Are you hurt?", he took a hold of your trembling hand before turning to Ellie. "I…", she started, but the world failed her. The panic inside Joel only grew.

"Ellie found out about Sarah and Momo," you whispered, closing your eyes in hopes to stop the tears from falling once again. To the sound of the names, Joel's jaw clenched as he sat down on the table that was behind him. "I'm so sorry. I just saw the memorial." Joel only shook his head. "I swear I didn't", "Ellie," Joel said firmly, making her stop.

He knew this day would come. He might be half deaf, but he wasn't blind. Joel knew that Ellie was up most nights when you would scream. And was quite surprised that she hadn't yet brought this up in any way. But then again, she wasn't a stupid girl; she knew her boundaries. You rose to your feet, and Joel was quick to steady you, yet you brushed his touch away. "I need some fresh air", "I'll come with you", Joel insisted, but you shook your head, "I want to be alone for a moment". He was going to fight that choice, but by now he had grown to understand that in moments like this, letting yourself feel it out alone, at least at the beginning, was the best option.

Ellie couldn't bring herself to look at Joel as she fidgeted with her fingers, "I didn't mean to…", "I thought I was going to lose her after it all", Joel's words took Ellie by surprise. She quickly turned her gaze toward him. Joel was staring blankly at the wall in front of him. "She did everything she could to die. I didn't sleep; I couldn't. Was too afraid that I would miss something, won't be able to stop her", he exhaled sharply, hands coming over his face for a second.

"You had the biggest impact on Y/N. I saw her smiling for the first time in twenty years when you came by", Joel shook his head. Ellie couldn't utter a single word as he continued to stare at him. "I never meant to hurt you," "You never did. I feel the safest with you. I love you both as my parents. You have been the closest thing to a family that I've ever had," Ellie blurted out quickly. Joel turned to her, his eyes glistening with tears. "I won't let anyone hurt you," Joel whispered, clenching his jaw. Ellie fell into his arms, wrapping herself around his torso. "I know because you've never let anyone down, and you're not about to start doing that now."

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us imagine #the last of us reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal imagine

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wholoveseggs · 5 months ago

Text

Rules {Part Four}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part Four

Tonight is the night of the dinner party and tensions are running high. Caught between the love for your family and your own desires, things take a dramatic turn when you make a choice you can't take back.

♡♡ I finally get to write about my #1 favorite TVD moment! The Dinner Partyyy! {the campyiness, the tension, the dramaaaa... Its peak TVD} Hope you enjoy! PS: there will be a part five ♡♡

6.4k words - Warnings: salvatore!sibling reader, no smut, lots and lots of drama, so much angst, Elijah being the sexiest middle-part menace he can be, secret affair, forbidden romance, Damon being over-protective, finally adding some proper Stefan moments to the plot, Elena being Elena, my sweet angel ♡ ANDIE STARRR ♡ , vervain, tension, violence, john gilbert & chocolate mousse...

{Part One} {Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Five}

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

Trying to fix my tags! I re-added all of you, and now you will be posted at the top!

If you no longer wished to be tagged just shoot me a DM {I won't be offended} xoxo~

@gorgeouslydangerous @starkleila @lydia1369sworld @notleylaaa @vampiresluv

@myanmy @xflowerbombxo @maryvibess @always-and-forever-daydreaming @criminallminds @rosemarypotion @spnaquakindgdom @amournoir @meeom @damienmorton @wickedmuse @sunkissedebony97 @idk00sblog @savannaounana @cs-please @complicatedandconfusing-25 @youcanhavemybuckanyday @akala6670229 @yeaiamme2 @itsjulzandmydiamonds @spideysbabe @witch-of-letters @elijahstwink @rosecentury @sekaishell @ziayamikaelson @amanda08319 @starshipcookie @li-da-savage @veggie-eggrolls @spideybv28 @loving-and-dreaming @fancycassie-stayfancy @hcqwxrtss123

You sat in front of your vanity, outlining your lips with a deep shade of red, finishing off the look with a dab of gloss.

Damon didn't tell you any details of what he was planning, beyond having a weapon that could kill an Original, which would have seemed absurd if it wasn't your brother. You knew what he was capable of.

Damon had left not too long ago, telling you he was going to lunch with his girlfriend Andie, and would be back later.

All you knew was that there would be a dinner party tonight and if Elijah showed up, Damon was going to kill him.

Your phone rang and you glanced over to see Stefan's name on the screen, your pressed speaker, and went back to applying your lipstick.

"Hey," You said, pressing your lips together and checking the color.

"Hello," Stefan replied, sounding a bit tense.

"How's your trip with Elena going?" You asked, grabbing a tube of mascara.

"Well as it can be," he said vaguely.

"I guess you know about the deal then? Elena is willing to die for you, that's very sweet," you said casually, applying the mascara to your eyelashes.

"When did you get so callous? She isn't a martyr, she's just naive," he sighed.

You felt a pang of guilt for teasing him. He was right, Elena was kind and gentle, and both of your brothers loved her.

"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I know how you feel about her," You said, trying to sound comforting. "It's just that she possesses an unfortunate face,"

Stefan let out a humorless chuckle, and sighed. "Katherine's face,"

"Yeahhhh," you laughed.

"Funny you should mention her, Elena has been reading some old journals written by Johnathan Gilbert," Stefan explained. "It's brought up a lot of memories,"

"Didn't you eat him?" You asked, screwing the cap onto the mascara.

His silence was an answer in and of itself.

"Are you afraid that if Elena learns about your lovely alter-ego she won't love you anymore?" You teased.

"This is serious," he sighed.

"Ok, ok, sorry," You said, standing up and smoothing out your dress. "Always so uptight,"

"Not everyone has it so easy, sister," he grumbled.

"What does that mean?" You asked, your tone slightly offended.

"It's nothing," he sighed.

"No, no. Please, speak your mind," You said, rolling your eyes.

"You've always just been good at it," He began, you could hear the annoyance in his voice.

"At what?" You snapped, pacing around your room.

"Being a vampire," He said bluntly. "You claim to loathe Katherine, yet you aren't that different,"

You didn't know what to say, his words cut you. How dare he compare you to the woman who destroyed your life, turned you and your brothers into monsters. Kept them under her toxic spell while you watched them suffer.

"That's not fair, Stefan," You said softly, feeling hurt and defensive.

"Isn't it?" He asked.

You stayed silent, unsure of what to say, you just stared out the window, the sun shining brightly outside.

"Anyway, I don't have time to debate your morals," Stefan continued. "I'm just calling to tell you to watch out for Damon, killing Elijah won't be easy, he will need your help,"

"And here I thought you didn't trust me," You said, unable to hide the hurt in your voice.

"I trust you more than anyone," he said softly.

You wanted to tell him everything, how guilty and ashamed you felt. You didn't even know why you were feeling these things, Elijah was nothing to you, but you couldn't stop thinking about him, the pain in his eyes, the coldness in his voice, it haunted you.

And now you were going to kill him, Stefan was right... You weren't so different from Katherine.

"Then, trust me when I say, I'll handle it," You said, keeping your tone casual.

"Ok," he said, though his voice sounded hesitant. "Please be careful,"

"I will," you said softly, before ending the call.

You sat down on your bed and pulled on a pair of black velvet pumps. They were tall, and made your legs look amazing. You checked your lipstick and smoothed out your dress, and headed downstairs.

Damon was just arriving home, with Andie in tow. They were carrying bags of groceries, and setting them down in the kitchen.

"Hi, Andie," You smiled.

"Hello darlin," she said, her voice cheery, like always. "Don't tell me that your brother roped you into this mess,"

"Mess?" You asked, raising an eyebrow, giving Damon a questioning look.

"Andie doesn't believe in my abilities to cook," Damon rolled his eyes.

"Damon has a tendency to go overboard with things," she laughed.

Neither of them were actually talking about the cooking. Damon had obviously told her about his plans for the night.

"What are we serving tonight, then?" You asked, giving him a warning look.

"A nice rack of lamb, roasted vegetables, some salad..." Damon trailed off, looking around the kitchen. "Annnd... A dessert that will be sure to knock our guest's socks off,"

You and Andie made eye contact and she smiled, trying not to laugh.

"Sounds lovely, brother," You smiled, reaching out and patting him on the shoulder. "How can I help?"

Damon gave Andie a pointed look and she nodded and left the kitchen, leaving the two of you alone to chat.

"So," he began, as he pulled out a box of matches and lit the burner on the stove. "Change of plans,"

"Change?" You asked, leaning against the counter, crossing your arms.

"I need you to stay upstairs, away from the party," He said, avoiding your eyes.

"What?!" You said, glaring at him. "Why?"

"Because Jenna is coming, and she thinks you are Elena's age... I can't have her asking too many questions," Damon explained.

"That's such bullshit!" You growled, pushing off the counter. "You can't do this on your own,"

"Yes I can," he scoffed.

"So, what? I'm just supposed to stay hidden away in my room, twiddling my thumbs while you try and kill Elijah?" You asked, getting more irritated by the second.

"Yeah, pretty much," He said, his tone casual. "And when it's done you can help me dispose of the body,"

"Are you being fucking serious?" You spat.

"Relax," he chuckled.

"How am I supposed to relax when I know you are going to get yourself killed?!" You asked, throwing your hands in the air.

Damon put down the pan he was holding and turned around, walking over to you and getting in your face, his eyes wild and bright.

"Despite you being a ravenous little killer, you are still my baby sister," he said, his voice soft, but his eyes were still angry. "I was wrong to ask you for help, it's my job to protect you, not put you in harm's way,"

You didn't like this one bit, Damon was stubborn and headstrong, and once his mind was made up, there was no changing it. It infuriated you, the way he saw you as this helpless damsel. Yet, you weren't surprised, he had a tendency to go overboard with things and forget logic. The fact that you were a vampire and could handle yourself was something he often forgot.

You felt humiliated and helpless, and that made you angry, so fucking angry.

"Fuck you," You snapped, turning on your heel, storming out of the kitchen, Damon called after you, but you ignored him, slamming the door to your room shut.

You stood in the middle of the room, feeling a wave of emotion hit you. This wasn't like you, you never let yourself feel like this, so out of control. The last time you felt anything like this was years ago, when you were human.

You hated that feeling, the way your stomach would twist, and your heart would ache. But it wasn't because of Damon... It was because of Elijah.

The sound of the guests arriving floated up to your bedroom. You were sitting on your bed, a glass of wine in hand. You had been drinking all evening, trying to numb the anger, the sadness, and the regret.

The plan was already in motion, there was no stopping it now. Elijah was going to die, and you were told to stay put and let it happen.

You picked up the voices of several familiar people, Alaric, Jenna, Andie, even Elena's estranged father John. All chatting happily, blissfully unaware of your presence upstairs.

You looked down into your glass, you could see your vague reflection in the dark liquid. You couldn't stand the sight of yourself, the guilt, the shame… it was eating away at you, no longer could you sit there and wallow in it.

Fuck it, you thought. You finished the glass off with one large gulp and got up, walking over to the full-length mirror.

Your hair was down, the curls flowing down past your breasts, and your makeup was perfect, smoky eyes and deep red lips. All dressed up and nowhere to go, nobody to see.

You headed down the hallway, trying to be as quiet as possible, peeking through the railing on the stairs to see if anyone was there.

Then you heard Elijah's voice, it was hushed and cold, and the words were unintelligible, but it was him, and your heart skipped a beat.

You inched closer, straining your ears, desperate to hear more.

"Can I just say that if you have less than honorable intentions about how this evening is going to proceed, I suggest you reconsider."

His tone was dark and threatening, and you knew Damon would be on the receiving end.

"No, nothing, nothing dishonorable. Just getting to know you," Damon replied, and you could picture his cocky smile.

"Hmm. Well, that's good," Elijah sounded skeptical, and you could hear him walking inside and closing the door.

"Because, you know, although Elena and I have this deal, if you so much as make a move to cross me, I'll kill you and I'll kill everyone in this house. Are we clear?" Elijah's tone was firm and unwavering, and you could sense the tension.

You took a deep breath, steadying your nerves, and walked down the stairs. Your feet a bit wobbly in your heels, the wine was catching up with you.

Everyone was looking at you by the time you got to the bottom, and you were sure your face was flushed, your cheeks pink. But all you could see was Elijah. His dark eyes watching you, and your heart was racing. Surely he wouldn't kill you in front of all these people.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to join us," Damon chuckled nervously, walking up to you and putting his arm around your shoulder, squeezing you forcefully. "This isn't a party for teenagers, sweet sister,"

The tension was thick, and it was clear that Damon didn't want you there.

"I just wanted to come say hello, I was getting bored upstairs," You said casually, pulling away from him.

"Oh, c'mon Damon, it's alright. She can stay for the food," said Jenna, giving you a warm smile. She was so kind, you didn't want to see her get hurt.

"No, really. She should be going, right sis?" Damon said, glaring at you.

"No, I think I'm gonna stay, I was promised dinner, after all," You replied, meeting his eyes, defiance shining in them.

Elijah cleared his throat, stepping towards you and Damon, his face neutral. "Nice to meet you Miss Salvatore," he took your hand and kissed it, his lips lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

Damon was looking at Elijah like he wanted to rip his throat out, and you had to resist the urge to smirk.

"And you, Mr. Smith," You replied, trying to hide your amusement.

Elijah gave you a knowing look, and a small smile formed on his lips.

"Call me Elijah," He replied, still holding your hand.

"Elijah, then," You nodded, a shiver running down your spine as his thumb traced your wrist.

You had no idea why he was acting so casual, he had to know this was a trap, and he was just standing there, touching you.

"Ok, now that everyone knows each other, let's eat," Andie cut in, leading everyone to the dining room.

Before you could follow, Damon grabbed your arm and pulled you aside, his expression one of pure rage.

"What are you doing?" Damon growled.

"Having dinner," You said, pushing him off and brushing past him, walking into the dining room.

The only empty seat available was next to Elijah, who grew stiff when you approached him.

"Is this ok?" You asked, smiling sweetly.

He nodded, pulling the chair out for you, and pushing it back in once you were seated, always the gentleman.

Everyone was seated, and the dinner party was in full swing. Jenna and Andie asked Elijah all about the local history of Mystic Falls, and he bullshitted his way through, telling them stories of the old families that founded the town, local folklore tales, and other nonsense.

Elijah seemed to relax a bit, although he was purposely avoiding looking or speaking to you, his gaze focused elsewhere. But every once in a while you could feel his hand brush yours under the table, making your skin tingle.

You were drinking wine like it was water, and you could feel the effect it was having on you. The world was fuzzy, and everything was so funny. You would giggle or let out an inappropriate snort whenever Elijah would talk, and your face was flush and hot.

"Not to be a party pooper but aren't you a little young to be drinking?" John Gilbert said, looking at you, his eyes narrowing.

You glared at him, raising an eyebrow, he knew that you were a vampire, four times his age no less. But you weren't about to argue in front of sweet and innocent Jenna, who had no clue about the existence of the monsters she was surrounded by.

"She can have a glass, as her guardian I allow it," Damon said casually, not bothering to look up from his plate.

"Ahh, I see, I suppose the rules are a bit more lax when you have Damon as a parent," John added, his expression bitter and cold.

"I think she's had more than a glass," Andie said softly, her tone was concerned as she looked you over.

You felt Elijah's hand come to rest on your thigh under the table, it made your heart skip a beat and Damon look up from his plate.

"She's fine," Damon said, his tone final.

The other guests exchanged awkward glances, Alaric cleared his throat uncomfortably and Jenna and Andie both had worried expressions on their faces.

Elijah's hand was moving higher up your thigh, and it was making your face flush, and you were starting to get wet.

You had no idea why he was touching you, considering he wanted to kill you. But you supposed there is a fine line between lust and loathing.

As soon as everyone finished their meal, Andie got up and Damon gave her a pointed look, whatever he had planned had just begun.

"The gentlemen should take their drinks in the study," she said, giving everyone a smile, her gaze lingering on Elijah.

"I have to say the food was almost as wonderful as the company," Elijah said, smiling at her, and standing up.

"I like you," Andie said softly, returning his smile.

You watched as the men left, Damon looked back at you before he followed them, giving you a wink, and closing the door.

You were fuming, the wine making you angrier than usual, you went to follow but Andie intercepted you, handing you a pile of plates.

Sighing, you reluctantly carried them to the kitchen and started loading the dishwasher, not wanting to draw too much attention.

"Here, let me help," Jenna smiled, taking the glasses from your hands.

"It's fine," You said, forcing a smile.

"Come, drink some water, your face is flushed," Andie said, handing you a glass.

"No more for you," John added, pouring the leftover wine down the drain.

You scowled at all three of them, lecturing you like you were a child. They had no idea what you were capable of, the things you've done. They wouldn't treat you like this if they did.

You took the water, glaring at them, and chugged it, setting the glass down with a little more force than necessary.

Alaric came rushing into the kitchen with a wild look in his eye. He made eye contact with you, and he was out of breath.

"We forgot dessert!" He said, sounding panicked.

"What?" Andie asked, confused.

"Dessert!" Alaric repeated, his body practically vibrating with fear.

Whatever was going on, it definitely wasn't about dessert.

"I can make a chocolate mousse...?" Jenna began, trailing off, looking at Alaric with confusion.

"Perfect! Let's go tell Damon and Elijah," Alaric said in a rush, motioning to Andie who gave him a questioning look but followed him out.

"What is going on?" Jenna asked, turning to you, her eyes wide.

"No idea," You lied, shrugging, hoping to sound convincing.

As soon as Jenna had her back turned, you slipped out of the kitchen and headed for the dining room.

Everyone had already returned, and the tension was palpable. Alaric looked stressed and Damon was smirking, which was a sure sign of a disaster.

Damon and John were seated on opposite ends of the table, glaring at each other, while Elijah sat in center. Andie and Alaric were behind him, rummaging through her bag for some reason.

"What I'd like to know, Elijah, is how do you intend on killing Klaus?" John said sharply, looking over his wine glass at him.

It seemed that the dinner party discussions had finally turned to the real business at hand, you inched into the room quietly, trying not to draw any attention.

"Gentlemen, there's a few things we should probably get clear right now. I allow you to live solely to keep an eye on Elena. I allow Elena to remain in her house living her life with her friends as she does as a courtesy. If you become a liability, I'll take her away from you and you'll never see her again." Elijah's eyes flickered to you, but only for a second.

Before Damon or John had a chance to respond, Andie returned with her notebook in hand, sitting down across from Elijah, ready to interview him, "Okay. My first question is when you got here to Mystic..."

Suddenly, time seemed to slow down, you watched Alaric approach Elijah from behind, an ornate looking dagger in his hand, ready to stab him in the back.

You moved without thinking, lunging at Alaric, wrapping your hand around his wrist and snapping it with ease, causing the dagger to fall to the floor with a clatter.

Alaric crumbled to the floor in pain, looking up at you in shock.

The room suddenly exploded into action, dark veins spread beneath Elijah's eyes, and he lunged at Damon, knocking him over the table and onto the ground, grabbing him by the neck and lifting him into the air, his eyes ablaze.

John grabbed Andie, pulling her out of the way, while Alaric crawled along the floor, cradling his wrist.

You grabbed Elijah's arm, trying to pry him off of Damon.

"Don't! Let him go!" You shouted, struggling against him, his muscles were tensed, and his grip was tight, he wasn't budging.

Elijah looked over his shoulder at you, his dark eyes cold and angry. You gave him a pleading look, trying to convey how important it was that he listened.

"Please, he's my brother, please don't hurt him," You said, your voice breaking as your tears began to flow.

He dropped Damon, who fell to the floor with a thud, coughing and sputtering.

Elijah looked around the room at all the frightened faces, then to the floor where the dagger was lying and picked it up, examining it.

"Clever boy," Elijah looked at Alaric, shaking his head and tsking. "I haven't seen one of these in quite some time,"

He moved to attack Alaric but you jumped in front of him, shielding him with your body.

"Please don't kill him," You pleaded, putting your hands on his chest, trying to push him back.

He was immovable, but his gaze softened when his eyes met yours and he put the dagger in his jacket pocket. His eyes went back to Damon, who was still on the floor, glaring at him.

"Please, don't hurt anyone," You repeated, your hand moving to his hair, running your fingers through it.

He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch, his shoulders sagging, the tension leaving his body.

"Get away from my sister," Damon snarled, his voice rough from being choked.

Elijah looked at Damon, giving him a wicked smile and wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close to him, your face pressed against his chest.

"Oh, she doesn't mind," Elijah smirked, looking at Damon with smug satisfaction.

Damon looked from you to Elijah, his expression a mixture of disbelief and pure rage. His brain couldn't quite compute what he was seeing.

"What did I say?" Elijah began, pausing to pretend he was pondering, "Oh yes! If you so much as make a move to cross me, I'll kill you and I'll kill everyone in this house,"

Your hands curled into his shirt, tugging on it, looking at him pleadingly. His dark eyes went to yours, and his gaze softened, he kissed you on the cheek, wiping away a stray tear.

"Fortunately for you, your lovely sister has been most gracious in her hospitality," He said, looking over your head at Damon.

You were visibly shaken up, looking at your brother with tear filled eyes, your hands trembling against Elijah's chest. He lifted your chin, forcing you to look at him instead of your devastated looking brother.

"So much for rule one," he said quietly, kissing the corner of your mouth.

Damon was seething, his fists clenched, and he was practically shaking with anger.

"Now, I hate to cut this evening short, but it seems I've overstayed my welcome," Elijah sighed, pulling away from you, his tone neutral.

"And as for you. Let me be perfectly clear, if you, or anyone else, attempt something like this again, I will kill you. No mercy. Understood?" Elijah asked, looking directly at Damon.

"Yes," Damon said, his voice dripping with venom.

"Wonderful. Now, I think it's time for me to take my leave," Elijah turned and began to walk out, "I'll be in touch," he called over his shoulder.

As soon as Elijah left, all eyes were on you. Damon's angry glare made you squirm, and the disgusted expressions from Andie, Alaric and John made you feel deep shame. You needed to get out of there.

But before you could , Damon grabbed you, the speed blowing your hair back. His hand went to your neck and he threw you against the wall, his fingers crushing your windpipe.

"Are you crazy? You’re fucking Elijah? ELIJAH?" He yelled right in your face, his rage so uncontrolled he lashed out and hit the wall beside your head, causing the plaster to crack and break.

"What the hell were you thinking?" He continued, his eyes wild, spit flying from his mouth.

"Damon," Andie said softly, stepping forward to calm him. John held her back, helping Alaric to his feet and pulling them both out of the room. John knew better than to get between Damon and his wrath.

"How did this happen? How did he get to you?" He shook you harder, causing the plaster dust to rain down. "Did he compel you? I told you to drink vervain every day!"

You kneed him in the stomach, forcing him to drop you, and you gasped for air.

"No! He didn't compel me, he would never," You snapped, rubbing your neck. "I...I care for him,"

Damon stared at you, his breathing ragged, and his expression completely blank. Then he started to laugh, it was devoid of any warmth, it was all bitterness and mockery.

"Care for him? What is he, your boyfriend? Did he ask you to go steady in-between planning Elena's murder?" Damon sneered.

"That's not fair," You said, scowling, folding your arms.

"So he's the reason you've been so distant? The reason you've been acting so weird? What, he's using you to get to Elena, isn't he?" Damon was pacing back and forth, his hands in his hair.

"No... We never discus-" You tried to explain.

"This is unbelievable," He groaned, cutting you off, and walking over to the liquor cart, pouring himself a drink, then he froze.

"Please tell me you didn't fuck him in this house," he said, his voice dangerously low.

"Not exactly...," You trailed off, averting your gaze, biting your lip.

Damon downed his drink and smashed the glass against the wall, "Fuck, Y/N, do you have any idea what you've done?"

"I had a plan! Everything just spiraled out of control," You said, your voice shaking, feeling overwhelmed and frustrated. "I tried... I tried to steal the moonstone, for you! For us! He caught me and... and I was stupid. I'm sorry.”

"So you thought you could pull a honeypot on an original?" Damon looked completely dumbfounded, and a little impressed. "Are you insane? Or just dumb?"

His words cut you deeply, mostly because they were the same things you had said to yourself, a million times.

"I thought it would work," You shrugged, your arms dropping, you were feeling defeated.

"And I suppose letting him fuck you was an added bonus, huh?" Damon shot back.

"Yes!" You screamed, frustrated, throwing your hands up. "I like him, Damon! He's interesting and attractive and he treats me like an equal!"

Damon snorted, "Because he thinks you're a slut."

That stung, he had never called you that before and tears sprang to your eyes. You glared at him, as they began to spill down your cheeks. You were done arguing with him, and you were done listening to him. He didn't understand, and you had nothing more to say.

Without another word, you pulled the dagger out of your bra, you had managed to remove it from Elijah's pocket without anyone noticing. You threw it at the floor at Damon's feet and stormed off.

Damon looked at the dagger, his brow furrowed, then back up at the spot you had just occupied, a sinking feeling in his stomach. He had made you cry.

You ran to your room and crawled under the covers, letting all your pent up emotions flow out of you, coming out in gasps and hiccups. You had no idea what to do, you didn't want to choose between your family and Elijah. You didn't want to be forced to pick a side.

You didn't want to have to give up what you felt when you were around him.

You didn't know how.

It had been a few hours since the disastrous dinner party. You were still laying in your bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the events over and over again in your mind.

You heard Damon leave not long after your argument. You had no idea where he ran off too. Knowing him, he went to find more trouble. Part of you regretted the fight, the other part of you wanted to strangle him.

You were exhausted, physically and emotionally. It was like every single part of your being was weighed down.

Just then you heard a loud commotion downstairs, the voices of your brothers and Elena floated up to you. There was a strange scraping sound, like they were dragging something heavy across the floor.

You quickly got up to investigate, hopping down the stairs, stopping suddenly in front of a very nervous looking Elena.

"What happened?" You asked, trying to look past her to your brothers.

"Damon told me what happened," She said softly, reaching out to touch you. But you spotted a pair of legs being dragged away towards the stairs leading to the basement.

Your eyes went wide as you figured out whose legs they were. Panic swept over you, and you pushed past Elena and rushed to the basement after them.

Stefan and Damon were throwing Elijah's body into the cell, he looked gray and cold, the dagger sticking out of his chest.

"Elijah! No, no, no," You cried, screaming and trying to get past your brothers. But they were too strong for you, holding you back, and quickly closing the gates.

"Let me go!" You punched at Damon's chest, desperate to get inside the cell, tears streaming down your face.

Damon just held you, refusing to release you, your screams filling the small basement.

Stefan locked the door, following you and Damon upstairs. You were kicking and fighting like a crazy woman, begging them to let you see him.

Once you made it upstairs, Stefan grabbed you and held you in his arms, still you fought and cried for him, despite his pleas for you to stop.

"Please calm down," Stefan begged, holding onto you tightly.

"He came to take Elena, we had no choice," Damon said, his voice sounding tired, like this had been an exhausting evening for him.

"He promised me he wouldn't," You said, your voice cracking, your throat raw.

"He lied, Y/N, that's what he does," Damon replied, sounding exasperated.

"Shut up!" You screamed, jerking out of Stefan's arms and rushing at Damon, your fist connecting with the side of his face. "You did this! He wouldn't have done anything if you hadn't provoked him!"

You managed to hit him twice, splitting his lip, before Stefan grabbed you again, pulling you back.

"Knock it off!" Stefan said sharply, giving you a firm shake. You stopped struggling for a moment, panting.

Elena came and stood next to Damon, looking more sad than angry. She wasn't sure what to say, or what to do in this situation.

"I love him Stefan, please," you begged, sniffling. It was the first time you could admit it out loud, to anyone, to yourself and you wished it was Elijah you could have told first. "You have to let me see him, even if he's dead...I just have to see him."

Your words cut through Stefan's heart. Trembling in his arms, he had never seen you so distraught and in pain. He looked over your head at Damon and Elena, silently asking for permission.

"Fine, I'll take you, but only because you'll probably burn the house down if I don't," Damon said, rolling his eyes.

Stefan let you go and you immediately ran down the stairs, your feet skidding slightly on the concrete floor. You rushed into the cell and fell to your knees beside Elijah's body.

"lijah," you said softly, trying to coax him out of sleep.

He was gray, covered in dark veins, his skin felt cold. Your fingers trembled as you touched his face, your fingers running through his hair.

You laid down next to him, resting your head against his chest, listening to the lack of heartbeat. You lay there for a few minutes, crying to yourself.

You could feel Damon watching you, and it pissed you off.

"Please leave me alone," You said softly, your voice breaking, not bothering to turn and look at him.

Damon was standing there, leaning against the wall, his arms folded, and he looked at you thoughtfully.

"He's dangerous, and he's using you," Damon replied.

"He never learned anything from me!" You snapped, glaring at him, the anger boiling over. "We had an agreement, an understanding! It wasn't like that!"

Damon shook his head, and looked away from you.

"You can't be in love with him. You barely know him." Damon was trying his hardest to get you to see sense.

"Maybe, maybe I'm not," You lied, sniffling, "I just feel like there's something there, something real and I've never felt this way before,"

Damon let out an exasperated sigh, and closed his eyes.

"This will end badly, I'm not going to try and convince you anymore. You're too damn stubborn," He said, opening his eyes and looking down at you.

"Can you bring me a blanket and pillow?" You asked, changing the subject.

"No," Damon said, turning on his heel and leaving the basement.

"Asshole," You muttered, moving back to rest your head against his chest.

A few minutes later, Stefan came down the stairs, carrying a blanket and a pillow, and a bottle of bourbon.

"Thanks," You smiled weakly, taking the blanket and covering yourself with it. You took the pillow and gently lifted Elijah's head, placing the pillow underneath him.

"Is he really dead?" You asked quietly, not looking at Stefan, staring at Elijah's face.

Stefan let out a long sigh, he hated seeing you like this, the sight of you curled up next to a corpse was not a normal one.

I'm not entirely sure," he knelt down, crossing his legs and he sat on the floor next to you. "but he isn't alive either, he's frozen, asleep,"

He reached out and touched your shoulder, turning you to look at him.

"Damon wants to keep him on ice, he doesn't trust Elijah and... neither do I," he tried to say it gently, wanting you to know the truth. "if you wake him up, he will kill us for what we've done... Elena tricked him... He will not be happy,"

"Maybe he will forgive us," you said, looking at him with hopeful eyes, "what if he can feel everything? He must be so scared and lonely,"

"Do you really think he can feel fear?" Stefan asked, raising an eyebrow. "My impression of him is that he isn't the type,"

"He has a big heart, under all that arrogance," you smiled softly, touching his face, brushing the hair from his forehead. "Kinda like someone we know,"

"You've got it bad," Stefan shook his head, a little bit in awe of your feelings. "I've never seen you like this, not with any other guy."

You looked over at him, his expression was a mix of worry and sadness.

"Do you hate me? For loving him?" You asked, a knot forming in your stomach.

"No, never," he said, pulling you into his arms. "I'm worried, and scared... But I could never hate you. Ever."

"I can convince him Stefan, I can get him on our side, I know I can," you said, feeling the tears come back.

"And if you can't?" He asked, rubbing your back.

"Then... Then... I don't know..." You said, a sob choking you, unable to speak.

Stefan hated himself for what he had to do next, but it was the only way he could think to keep everyone safe.

While you were still in his arms, he pulled out a syringe and jabbed it in your neck, pushing the liquid vervain in. It was a large dose and it took about three seconds before you passed out.

He caught you before you slumped to the ground, lifting your sleeping body and carrying you upstairs.

Damon and Elena were waiting anxiously, eager to hear that Stefan had been able to talk you down from freeing Elijah.

"Is she ok?" Elena moved forward, "Did she try anything?"

"She had a bit of a melt down," Stefan said honestly, he placed you on the couch, ensuring you were tucked in and comfortable.

"What can we do to make sure she doesn't help him?" Damon asked, leaning on the doorway, unable to come closer to you. The sight of you like this broke his heart. "she's been completely brainwashed by the guy,"

"She loves him Damon," Elena said softly, walking over to him, laying her hand on his arm.

"Don't say that," he groaned, covering his face. "That makes it worse. She has to get over it."

"I don't think it works that way," Elena said gently, squeezing his arm.

"We have to keep her away from him," Damon explained, his hands dropping, he was looking at Elena now. "It's too risky."

"That will be impossible," Stefan said, shaking his head, "she's more stubborn than you, she won't give up until she has her way."

"So what do we do?" Elena asked, glancing between them.

"The only way I can think of is to keep her sedated, until I find a way to kill him for good," Damon said, his tone matter-of-fact.

"No, Damon.. that's not right," Elena protested, looking to Stefan to back her up.

Stefan couldn't meet her gaze, instead he turned away, "We don't have any other options."

"So we are just going to knock her out? That's cruel!" Elena said, feeling very disappointed.

"Got any better ideas?" Damon snapped, kneeling down in front of you. He placed his hand on your forehead, "I can't let her wake him up, he will kill us all,"

Elena sighed, shaking her head.

"She will hate us for doing this," Stefan said, not liking the idea one bit, but it was the best they had.

"Yeah, well, I can handle that," Damon shrugged, and picked you up in his arms.

He carried you to your room, gently placing you on the bed, pulling the covers up over your body. He sat next to you, tucking your hair behind your ears.

"You'll understand, eventually," He said softly, stroking your hair, before standing up and leaving the room, shutting the door quietly.

You were trapped in some sort of nightmare, everything around you was completely dark. You couldn't even see your hand in front of your face. You had no idea where you were, what was up or what was down.

You were calling out for help, your voice echoing back to you, but no one else was there.

Suddenly, you felt a presence beside you, it was warm, familiar and safe. You were drawn to it and you reached out, trying to find the source of it.

You heard the sound of a man laughing, it was a wild, maniacal laugh.

You started running, your feet hitting the ground hard, you couldn't breathe, but you didn't stop. The laughter kept coming, getting louder and louder.

Then the sound of a woman screaming nearly knocked you off your feet, but you kept going until you ran into something solid.

It was the edge of a coffin, made of wood etched with an ornate symbol on the top, a crest of some sort. Your fingers traced over it, feeling the deep grooves. It was the letter 'M', carved into a shield.

Finally, your hands found the lid, and you pushed, straining to open it. What was inside was three rings of fire, you could feel the heat on your face, the smoke making it hard to breathe.

The rings were getting closer, or you were falling into them, you couldn't tell. The screams became deafening. You were overwhelmed with intense anxiety, unable to move as you stared into the flames.

Then everything stopped.

And you woke up.

{Part One} {Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Five}

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houseofanticipation · 8 months ago

Text

It's impossible to count the number of times you've imagined this moment. Late at night, under the covers; in the bathtub, and the shower; on slow days at the bookstore, the summer before senior year; during Mr. Madrigal's long, droning lectures. You fantasized so vividly you could see each scene on the back of your eyelids, hear each sound between breaths. Many a time your hand migrated southward, almost of its own volition. If you were in public, you'd hold it against your crotch, pressing it into yourself with the force of your clenched thighs. In private, you'd be far less subtle.

In all those fantasies, you never imagined it would look quite like this.

The hallway smells like cigarettes and industrial cleaner. The haphazardly patterned carpet is coming up at the edges. The yellow tube light overhead might be attempting morse code, the way it flickers. Paint peels from the door in front of you, and one of the metal digits in the room number has been replaced with one that doesn't quite match: room 233. You raise your hand, your knuckles inches from the door, and then you pause. You're not sure if you can go through with this.

Before you can decide, the door opens anyway.

You started posting pictures in your first year of college. It was just your tits at first. You'd been quietly following those subreddits and tumblr blogs for a while, and you thought it would be a bit of fun, a little thrill. You didn't expect the response you got: dozens of people telling you how much they'd enjoyed it, asking for more. So you posted more, and the people asked for different things. Post your ass. Post your cunt. Post your fingers in your cunt. Post audio of you moaning as you came. The more you revealed of yourself, the more attention you got, and the more attention you got, the more you wanted to show. People wanted to send you tips, so you set up a Cash App address. You never got much, a few dollars here and there, but it was nice to get a free coffee now and then.

And somewhere along the way, apparently, you let slip that you were a virgin.

The message came late last semester, from a Cash App user whose name was just a string of numbers. It read, "I will buy your virginity for $100,000. So you know I'm serious, here is $7000 for you to keep, deal or no deal. Let me know if interested."

It was like one of those hypotheticals you talk about with your friends at the dinner table. Would you work nonstop for a year if it meant you never had to work again? Would you cut off your hand if it meant you never had to die? Would you let a stranger from the internet take your virginity for a hundred thousand dollars? You thought about it for weeks. The 7 thousand in itself was a windfall you never could have imagined. It was the new laptop you needed, four times over. It was a large iced coffee ever day for three and a half years. After graduation, if you were smart, it could be your living expenses for the better part of a year. But a hundred thousand might be a house, or a car, or a few years of freedom to pursue your goals. And when you asked how you could trust him to pay when he'd gotten what he wanted, he told you he'd be happy to pay up front.

So here you are, in a dingy hotel, face to face with the broad-shouldered, potbellied older man in front of you. "I saw you through the peephole," he says. There's something impish about him. Maybe it's the toothy grin, or the way his ears stick out from his head, or the obvious glee in his voice as he looks you up and down. "My, you're much better in person. Come in! You got the money then?"

You nod. You didn't leave the Lyft until it was there in your account.

"Good," he says, throwing the dead bolt. "Let's get to it then, shall we?"

"What should...I mean, how do you want to..." you feel yourself talking strangely. Breathing in the wrong places, words tumbling over each other. "Maybe we should...talk first? Get to know each other?"

"No need for that," says the man matter-of-factly, unbuttoning his shirt. His chest is smooth, his skin a mottled pink. He waves a hand at your body. "Go ahead and get those off."

Back in high school, one of your recurring fantasies involved Jason Meier having his way with you in the back of that beat up convertible he used to drive. That old thing used to get you so wet. It was a piece of junk, but something about the exposure of it...In the fantasy, he's driven you out to some secluded spot outside of town. Cicadas drone all around. The night sky shines bright with stars. He cups your face with one hand, strokes your cheek with his thumb, asks you if this is your first time. He kisses the side of your mouth, then your jaw, then below your ear, then down your neck. As his hands undo the top button of your blouse, he tells you he'll be gentle.

The man is watching you expectantly. With his shirt on, he looked like a portly old man. Without it you can see that every inch of that stocky build is hard muscle. That pink skin strains against his mass, muscle rippling beneath it as he moves. "What are you waiting for?"

Your legs tremble. Your knees feel like they're about to buckle. You can hear your heart pounding in your ears. Your body has never done this before. You didn't know you could feel this kind of fear, and yet there's nothing to fight, nowhere to flee. You agreed to this. You decided this was what you wanted. Slowly, you pull your shirt over head.

He groans in the back of his throat, a long, growly sound. His face is a mask of focus, the impish joviality gone, his eyes fixated on your breasts. "And the rest."

You kick off your shoes, pull off your socks. An inch at a time, you slide your shorts and panties over your ass, down your legs, past your trembling knees. You step out of them, and now you're completely exposed. You cross your arms over your chest, then lower them when he grunts disapproval. Almost urgently, he unbuttons his pants, pulls out a long, rigid cock, and begins to stroke himself.

You didn't discover internet porn until your senior year, and before then the only penises you'd seen were a few drawings in your health textbook. In the fantasy, you unbutton Jason Meier's pants and fig. 7.5, "The penis becomes engorged when in state of arousal," pops out of his underwear. You take it in your hands, feeling the weight of it, the girth, and look up into those beautiful brown eyes of his.

This cock is much...realer. It has bounce, texture, even a sound as his hand slides up and down its length. It's longer than the one in that old fantasy, too, and it leans slightly to the left. For years you've wondered what it would be like to see a cock in person, and now that you're here it terrifies you.

"Come here," says the man, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Get on your knees."

You falter. "You didn't...I mean, we didn't agree to that."

"I bought your virginity," says the man. "You ever suck cock before?"

You shake your head.

"Then your mouth is just as much a virgin as your cunt. Get down here."

It's almost a relief to get off your legs, the way they've been threatening to give out. Close up, you can see the purples and blues of the veins under his skin. The head of his cock pulses with anticipation as your lips part, your tongue extends...

You don't think you can do this.

Then his hand is on the back of your head.

You always imagined Jason Meier whimpering as you took him into your mouth. You were never quite able to picture what he would feel like between your lips, on your tongue; the movie camera of your imagination always panned up at that point, to focus on his face. He would let his head fall back in pleasure, eyebrows knit with sensation, lips slightly parted. Now, though, there's no camera to pan. You are here. This is real. And his powerful hand is pushing your mouth onto his cock.

A sound you can't control comes out of you. Your back arches, your hands flail, and then by pure instinct they're on his belly, pushing against him, away from him. Spit runs down your chin, and you wipe it away with the back of your hand. "I'm sorry," you say, looking anywhere but at his face. "I'm sorry, I can't, I thought I could do this but I can't."

There's a horrible darkness in his voice. "I already gave you the money."

"I know, I'll give it back, I'm sorry." The words trip over each other on the way out of your mouth. "I'm really sorry, I shouldn't have, I just, I thought I could..."

His hand is on the back of your head again, and this time his fingers are curled tight into your hair. He jerks your head back, forcing you to look at him, and his eyes are cold and predatory. "I'm not interested in returning what's already bought and paid for." He jams himself back into your mouth.

You always imagined yourself savoring it, taking your time to explore every inch of Jason's length with your tongue, but there's no time for that now. The veiny, throbbing thing in your mouth bypasses your tongue entirely, forcing past your uvula. You gag, then gag again. Your stomach churns and you convulse as your body tries to remove the foreign object, but the man just pushes harder. Your eyes water as he slides deeper, deeper, making your throat bulge, your limbs spasm. As his balls touch your chin, you close your eyes and try to relax your throat.

He holds you like that. You gag for a third time, and thick saliva explodes through the gaps around his cock, dripping down your chin and collecting in a long, dangling rope. Tears roll down your cheeks as you try to acclimatize to the feeling, try to convince your body that nothing is wrong. You think you've got it, and then he moves slightly, and you're gagging again. He groans, grips your head tighter, and in the back of your throat you feel his cock swell slightly. He likes it when you gag for him, says a voice in the back of your mind. The motion is pleasurable for him.

You've got another problem rearing its head. You can't breathe. It was fine at first, but the man shows no interest in freeing up your airways, and in all the gagging and crying, you haven't exactly been conserving your oxygen. You pat his leg, trying to signal to him, but all he does is clap you on the side of the head. Your ear rings, you gag again, and his cock throbs. Black walls are closing in on your vision. The effort of struggling against him becomes too much, and your arms fall to your sides. Your eyelids flutter. You're going to pass out. You're going to pass out, and then what will he do to you?

But just before the world fades to black, he pulls your head back again. You feel every inch of his cock as it slides out of your throat. He lifts your face, and your eyes struggle to focus on his as you take lungful after lungful of glorious air. Drool spills across your lips, but you don't care. You're alive.

The man slaps you hard, leaving a stinging impression of his palm on your cheek. You whimper. Two of his fingers are in your mouth, pushing on the back of your tongue. Not knowing exactly why, you close your lips around them and shut your eyes.

"That's better," he says.

The first time you saw a male sex toy in use was in an ad before a porn video you were watching. You were taken aback by the way the performer had pounded it over his cock, barely more than an extension of his hand. You're reminded of that image as he parts your lips again, and the rape of your throat begins in earnest.

You haven't thought about Jason Meier in years, but at this moment he's the only thing keeping you sane. As your face rams up and down, up and down, you retreat to that beat up convertible, and Jason's soft, thoughtful face. As the man tightens his grip, Jason runs his fingers through your hair. As the man grunts and growls with pleasure, Jason coos your name. With each stroke of his cock down your throat, each spasm of your body, you focus on a different part of Jason's body: his large hands, his long fingers, his shoulders, his jawline, his liquid brown eyes. By the time the man finally releases your hair, you can barely feel your body any more. The convertible is far more real than the squeaky motel bed. The hands on your body are Jason's, soft and tender.

He climbs over the center console straddling you. You lock lips, feel your tongues in each other's mouths, kiss so deeply that it feels as though you share the same breath. He pulls the lever to lay your seat back, and then he's over you, on top of you, lifting your skirt, pulling your panties to the side.

This is the part where, in the old days, you would have slipped a finger or two inside yourself. But this time you don't have to. This time you can feel him inside you, really feel him, and he fills you up like your fingers never could. There's some pain—they told you there'd be pain, didn't they, your first time—but it falls away to the thrill, the lust, the pleasure. Jason whimpers as he slides into you, deeper, deeper, and you moan into each other's mouths as his pelvis meets yours. You take a moment to savor it, breathing each other in, and then he begins to thrust.

You feel drunk. It's exactly like you always imagined it, and somehow better than you could ever have expected. Each movement of his hips brings another sensation: a spasm in the arches of your feet, a hitch in your breath, a churning, swirling need in the depths of your abdomen. Deeper you tell him, harder, and he obliges, pulling you into him, and him into you.

You can feel the orgasm building, but it isn't like any you've had before. Every time you've ever cum, you've been in control. This time, Jason is in control. Jason decides when you cum, how you cum. One hand supports his weight as he leans over you, and the other slides up your belly. You used to watch those hands obsessively. The way he held a pencil, the way he bit his knuckles when he was thinking. Now that hand slides up, caresses your breast. Now that thumb brushes your hair out of your face. Now those fingers close around your throat.

You know you're safe with Jason, but the pressure on your throat triggers some animal fear response in you. You try to squirm away, but his arm is strong, and his hand his firm. Your hands go to his wrist. "I don't like that, stop." He just smiles. It isn't his usual sweet smile, either. This one is cruel. Predatory.

Your face feels tight. Your eyes bulge. You're beginning to panic for real now. "Jason, seriously, stop!" You beat at his arm with your fists, but he easily takes both your wrists in one hand and pins them over your head. You try to kick at him, but he's already past your defenses, between your legs, pushing them uselessly apart. His grip tightens, his rhythm increases, his cock swells inside you. He's getting off on this.

All at once you're back in the hotel room. The man's sweaty red face is inches away from your own, and the lust in his eyes is obvious. His cock seems to push deeper with every thrust, and the horrible thing is that the orgasm is still coming. It's close now, you can feel it, and it's like he knows exactly how to bring it out. You feel floaty, tingly, and that awful pleasure is welling up inside you, a pot about to boil over...

"That's right," he says, his eyes locked on yours. "That's what I was waiting for. That perfect mix of...pleasure...and...fear." He punctuates each of these last three words with a long, deep thrust, and it's these that send the orgasm spilling over. A choked moan pushes itself out of you as your back arches, your toes curl, your legs wrap involuntarily around his waist, tears roll down your cheeks. That floaty feeling has combined with the orgasm to create something like how you imagine heroin must feel; a wave of mind numbing, soul deadening ecstasy. Your insides feel hot, and at first you think that must just be what it feels like when you cum from sex, but then you see the look on his face and realize that he's cumming too. His grip relaxes and he pounds away a few more times at your now-limp body. You stare at the ceiling as he moans, buries his face between your tits, pumps round after round of his warm, thick cum into your cunt, your womb. After one final push he collapses onto you, his cock still inside you, his bulk crushing you into the bed. You don't move.

He strokes your cheek. Fondles your nipple. Kisses your neck. Then he kisses your mouth, his tongue pushing your lips open, his breath like damp earth. You barely see him.

It must be almost ten minutes before he finally gets up, his limp cock sliding out of you at last. You can feel his cum dripping from your cunt as he puts on his underwear, then pants, then shirt, then shoes. "The room is paid for the night," he says with his hand on the door handle. "Thank you for struggling. Taking someone's virtue is so much better when you actually get to take it.

You don't respond.

You don't know how long you lie there, motionless, dripping cum. Oddly, the man who just raped you isn't the one burned onto your mind's eye. Try as you might to return to that sweet teenage fantasy, all you can see is Jason Meier as he held his hand to your throat, and that cruel, predatory smile on his face.

#CW dissociation #r@pe fantasy #cnc free use #cvmdump #cvmslvt #breeding toy #r@petoy #r@pe kink #Library 🜞

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aphroditelovesu · 26 days ago

Text

Awake

❝commission: a oneshot that explores the relationship between y/n and some of the generals and or soldiers. I'm personally torn between a 'Cleitus wakes up' fic. — requested by 💻 anon.

❝ 📜 — lady l: I can't tell if I find this cute or distressing, maybe both? I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes! 🩶

❝tw: slight angst.

❝word count: 1,670.

It was noisy outside. The soldiers’ voices mingled in a hubbub of conversation, loud laughter, and the sound of clinking glasses; the celebration seemed to grow longer with each passing second, like a wave of rising energy. The tumult could be heard for miles around, for this was a night of celebration — a rare occasion in wartime when everyone had a common reason to celebrate.

Cleitus was alive. Against all odds, even after Alexander's merciless attack, the man had held on. Wounded and exhausted, he now lay in the shadows of the medical tent, the smell of medicinal herbs and aged fabrics permeating the heavy air. It was there, under the care of the King’s own trusted physician, under your care, that he was recovering, his body still vulnerable but his spirit preserved — and, even though unconscious, life pulsed faintly but presently through his veins.

And it was all thanks to you. No one understood exactly how it had happened; how, amidst the chaos and bloodshed, you had managed to save Cleitus. Murmurs of your daring and skill circulated among the soldiers and servants, shrouded in awe and distrust. But the fact was undeniable: he was alive, despite the dire predictions. Although he had not yet regained consciousness, the mere fact that he was breathing was cause enough for celebration.

But while the others celebrated, you remained motionless, sitting in the shadows of the tent, facing the cot where Cleitus rested. The darkness seemed to taper around you, filled only by the regular, fragile sound of his breathing. It was as if a current of anguish was rising through your body, slow and relentless, squeezing your heart with invisible fingers.

He was safe, yes. You had saved him and you knew it. But then, why was there that weight on your conscience, that nagging feeling that something terrible had been done? The memories of history hammered at your mind, insistent. From what you knew, Cleitus should have died at the hands of Alexander. His fate was death that night, a tragic and inevitable part of history. But now everything was changed. You had interfered, diverted the course of time — the natural balance of things had been disrupted.

And it wasn’t just any life you had spared. It was Cleitus, a man who, despite his outward toughness, carried an immense loyalty to the king and, in a way, to you as well. He had stood up for you, protecting you in a situation that would undoubtedly cost you dearly. For that reason, you simply couldn’t allow them to let him die. He was more than just a historical figure to you; he was someone you had learned to respect and consider a friend.

The dilemma seemed to pierce your soul. How could you allow history to take its course, letting someone who was important to you be killed in such a brutal and cruel way?

You couldn't.

It was strange to think about it: history itself had already begun to distort itself before you saved Cleitus, before each of your interventions. Alexander shouldn't have cared about you, much less "proposed" a union that would seal your presence with him forever. It was an unthinkable, dangerous idea that was already altering the course of things.

So where was the real weight of your guilt? Was there any point in questioning your interference now, when that whole era was far from how you knew it from the books? Perhaps Cleitus's destiny had already been changed from the first moment you arrived, from the first look Alexander had given you with an indomitable gleam in his eyes. Perhaps he was saved not only by your hands, but by a new destiny that both of you were creating every day.

Or perhaps it was the work of some sadistic god.

It was no secret that there were rumors in the camp. Whispers ran through the hallways of the tents, escaped from the campfires, were whispered among the soldiers, servants, and slaves. They admired what you had done. In their eyes, you were no longer a foreigner, a barbarian, who had appeared out of nowhere; you were the woman who had faced your own fate to save Cleitus. A feat worthy of honor, worthy of respect.

These men, so accustomed to the brutality of battle, who saw death as an inevitable companion, now looked at you with a mixture of awe and reverence. It was as if, in a single action, you had earned everyone's respect, an almost heroic figure to those who, not long ago, didn't even know your name.

But this admiration only deepened the knot in your chest. What they saw as heroism, you saw as a mistake, a misstep that could trigger unimaginable consequences.

"(Y/N)?" The hoarse, slurred voice cut through the silence, bringing you back to the present like a blow of reality. Your heart skipped a beat, and your eyes widened as they fixed on Cleitus's figure.

He was awake.

Still pale and visibly weak, Cleitus half-opened his eyes with effort, blinking a few times as if trying to adjust to the soft light that filtered through the sides of the tent. There was a vague confusion in his gaze, a mixture of pain and astonishment. It was clear that he was still recovering, the features of his face carrying the exhaustion of someone who had fought between life and death.

For a moment, you stood paralyzed, unable to find words, while he tried to focus his vision on you. Each second seemed like an entire universe, filled with emotions that you could barely name.

"I..." Your mouth went dry and you shook your head. You didn’t know what to say, what to feel.

Cleitus, his expression grim, tried to stand up, but the movement made his entire body protest. A low groan escaped his lips, his face contorting as he pressed a hand to the wound. Still closed and bandaged, but far from healed, the pain was still a vivid reminder of the attack by the man he admired.

"Don't strain yourself, Cleitus." You murmured, almost without realizing it, instinctively reaching out to grab his shoulder and stop him from moving any further. Your touch seemed to calm him, and he relaxed back against the cot, the muscles in his face softening slightly as he tried to catch his breath.

Cleitus's dark eyes locked with yours, a silent, contemplative weight in his gaze. He sighed, a long, weary sound, as the fragments of the past rearranged themselves in his mind, forming the painful mosaic of that fateful night. The banquet, the laughter, the lively conversations, the rich and fragrant food, the unexpected announcement of the wedding... And then, the chaos. The violent attack, the betrayal that had almost cost him his life.

Cleitus frowned, his eyebrows drawing together in an expression of sincere concern as he studied your face. "Are you okay?" His voice, still weak, carried a concern that made him ignore his own pain for a moment. Even after everything he had suffered, there he was, worrying about you.

The question took you by surprise. He, who had almost lost his life, was there asking if you were okay. For a moment, you wanted to laugh, perhaps to ease the weight of the situation, but the sound got stuck in your throat.

"I..." You hesitated, trying to find an answer that didn’t sound absurd. It was a simple question, but it seemed to carry all the weight of the guilt and doubts that hammered in your mind. You had defied fate, broken the lines of what was supposed to happen and, in a way, you were feeling lost amidst the whirlwind of consequences. And now, with Cleitus looking directly into your eyes, this barrier of defense seemed increasingly fragile.

"I... Just wanted to make sure you were okay." You finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He stared at you for a few more moments, absorbing your words, and then nodded slightly, as if he understood something that not even you had fully understood.

Cleitus took your hand in his and squeezed it lightly, your fingers gently touching. Cleitus touch was warm and firm, despite the evident weakness. He wrapped his hand around yours, his fingers squeezing yours gently, almost reverently. The warmth that radiated from his touch seemed to dissolve, even if only for a brief moment, all the tension you had been carrying since that chaotic night.

Cleitus smiled, a genuine smile full of gratitude, which lit up your tired face, softening the lines of pain and fatigue. It was a smile that spoke more than any words could. He didn't need to know everything that moved you to thank him — all the fears, the doubts, and the guilt you still carried for having interfered.

"Thank you." He said, and that was enough.

A soft laugh escaped your lips, and you smiled back at him, feeling the tension slowly dissolve from your body. For the first time in so long, you felt light, a sense of peace and happiness nestling in your chest. Amidst the chaos, the battles, and the uncertainties of being lost in a time that wasn't yours, there was finally a safe haven.

"That's what friends are for, isn't it?" You murmured, your smile widening. The word seemed to vibrate with a special meaning, something rare and precious in that place. Friends.

Amidst a time full of uncertainty, distrust, and danger, you had found something as simple and profound as friendship. He smiled in response, and in that moment, all the confusion, the weight of decisions, and the uncertainties about the future seemed to disappear. Cleitus was more than a warrior or a character from a distant story; he was your friend, someone who cared, who had risked everything for you.

And now, in the midst of all this madness, you had done the same for him. And, you knew now, you would do it all again.

#tlq #the lost queen #history #x reader #historical characters #yandere history #yandere historical characters #cleitus the black #angst #sorta of #commission #💻 anon

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 1 year ago

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What is Broken I (Aemond Targaryen x Pregnant Wife!Reader)

The war, the "Dance of the Dragons," as they have come to call it, is over. And yet, you are not celebrating. You have just learned that your husband, Prince Aemond, spent the last months of the war with another woman in his bed. Not only that, but his mistress is pregnant. Just like you...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N), side Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers

Warnings: Angst, pregnancy and related symptoms, infidelity, some pushing and hitting

Author's Note: It's finally here! Sorry y'all, this month a) I found out my dog has terminal cancer, b) I got covid, and c) my laptop randomly went kaput in the middle of an episode of the West Wing. But it's finally here! As it says on the taglist, this will be a three-part series.

Taglist is done via reblogs

Series Masterlist

What is Broken

It was a lovely night in King’s Landing.

There was not a cloud to be seen for miles, and the stars were bright and twinkling. The waters of Blackwater Bay were calm and reflected the full moon as clearly as a freshly polished mirror. Even the wind seemed in a pleasant mood, carrying the sweet scent of spring on its back as it drifted lazily through the windows of the Red Keep.

Every bit of it grated on her heart like a whetstone across dull steel.

The worst night of one’s life should not be so lovely, she thought. It should be terrible. With storms and an angry sea, and perhaps even a raging fire somewhere in the distance.

If the night had been so, she would not have seen it when, only a few moments ago, a massive winged form landed in the fields just outside the city with a lowing wail, the last person she wanted to see strapped to its back. Thankfully, Aemond was far enough away that she could not make him out against the mass of his mount.

The people would cheer him in the streets as he rode toward the castle. The victorious Prince, returning after long months at war, having not only ended the war itself but avenged the deaths of his eldest sister, brother, and his little nieces and nephews.

Daemon Targaryen and his dragon had perished above the God’s Eye, the waters below boiling when their bodies fell into its depths.

With the Rogue Prince gone, the war was swiftly over. Rhaenyra was killed, her last remaining son taken as King Aegon’s ward, and the royal host returned to King’s Landing victorious. Even Cregan Stark had agreed to halt his advance South, redirecting to Harrenhal for peace talks.

Harrenhal. A cursed place, now to be the site of great diplomacy.

Even thinking about the horrible castle was enough to turn her stomach.

A letter detailing exactly what had occurred within those melted stone halls during the war, written by the late Prince Daemon himself, sat on her vanity. A final act of retribution against his soon-to-be killer.

She knew that her husband was only returning home because of the letter.

My dear Princess, Despite the conflict between our sides of the family, I have always thought you a rather sweet girl. Therefore, it is with the deepest regret that I must now shoulder the burden of informing you of your beloved husband’s improper conduct during this awful conflict…

A pang of nausea shot through her stomach as she remembered the words.

A mistress… some Strong bastard… called Alys, my spies tell me… every night, without fail… from the very first week… another bastard babe in the whore’s witchly womb…

There was a pounding from within her, soft thumps and kicks as the life inside her own womb became unsettled by its mother’s roiling emotions. She laid a hand over her belly, whispering soothing words she did not believe to try and calm it – and herself.

Once, she would never have believed Daemon’s stories. But then word came that, after the final battle, Aemond returned to Harrenhal for less than an hour before he again mounted Vhagar and flew for King’s Landing. It was not like Aemond to make such swift decisions. Nor did it strike her as the action of an innocent man.

When she called for Ser Willis Fell, her heart had been filled with hope that the new Lord Commander of the Kingsguard would dispel her worries. That she had only allowed herself to consider the possibility of Aemond’s infidelity because her mind was addled by her delicate condition.

“My princess, I cannot, in good conscience, tell you a lie…”

She had screamed then. And cried. And possibly thrown things at the Kingsguard, but she couldn’t entirely remember.

All she could remember was how Aemond kissed her on the day he left for Harrenhal. Deeply and passionately. Until she could feel his love for her as clearly as her own heartbeat. Then he knelt before her and placed a single, tender kiss to her belly, to where they had only just learned that their babe grew.

Less than a moon’s turn later, he had taken another woman to his bed, and seeded her, too.

Now he was returning home – in haste.

He knew, then. That Daemon had let slip his secret. Perhaps it had even been the Rogue Prince’s last words. Spat in Aemond’s face in the seconds before his body tumbled into the lake below. Had she not been caught in the crossfire, she might have admired it for the masterful manipulation it was.

But in seeking to destroy Aemond, Daemon had destroyed her as well.

She was broken from her thoughts by the distant sound of people cheering. Aemond was making his way through the city more quickly than she thought. The streets weren’t as crowded as she hoped they would be this late at night.

It was late. Far later than she had become accustomed to. These days, she was often in bed and asleep not long after the sun had set, hoping that she would somehow find a full night’s sleep. Never to any avail.

For a moment, she thought of slipping beneath the blankets and pretending to be asleep so she would not have to speak to Aemond until the morning. But he would only crawl into bed with her, and then he would see when she inevitably woke…

That was not a conversation she wanted to have today. Really, there was no conversation she wanted to have with Aemond, only that which must be had.

She was resolved that Aemond would not find her weeping or stewing in heartbreak. No, she would not let him think he held such power over her, even if he did. He always had, even when they were young children.

So, she resumed her nightly routine as though nothing was wrong, as if she was entirely unaffected by his betrayal. Sitting at her vanity, she began to unbraid her hair. Her maids usually did it for her, but she had dismissed them the moment she read Daemon’s letter, not wanting to see their pitying faces for longer than she had to.

Since learning she was with child, everyone – including her maids – fussed over her constantly. It was not without reason, she knew. There was indeed very good reason why everyone was so concerned about her. But after six months, she was tired of it.

Just the simple act of taking her braids out and brushing through her loose hair by herself brought a welcome feeling of independence that she had not felt in some time. Perhaps ever.

That feeling slowly faded away as the cheering and celebration from the city came closer and closer, until she could hear gauntleted hands clapping in the castle courtyard below.

Aemond was here.

Her hand fell to cradle her stomach and was immediately met by three quick thumps against her palm. She knew the child did not understand what was happening and was only responding to the touch itself, much in the same way a cat arches its back when petted.

Still, it comforted her. It made her feel like she was not alone.

“Kirimvossi, rūhossas,” she whispered with a smile before resuming brushing her hair.

Her smile did not last.

Sooner than she had hoped, she heard the clanking of armor as the guards outside her door straightened, bowed, then retreated.

A shiver went through her, stealing the air from her chest while cold gathered in her heart and began sinking to her stomach. Dragging her brush through her hair suddenly took great effort, as did every breath.

Yet it was surprisingly easy to banish the tears forming in her eyes and school her face into tired neutrality. To glance only once at the figure now lingering in the doorway before turning away without acknowledging him.

She did not know if it was strength or cowardice.

He called her name, his voice rasping and low – desperate. “We must speak.”

She did not respond. She didn’t even look at him.

Aemond sighed, calling her name again. “Please, my love. Look at me.”

Still, she did not move.

“Ābrazȳrītsos,” he said, a hint of command slipping into his plea. Little wife.

He had always loved calling her little. According to their mother, the first thing Aemond did when he saw her as a babe was exclaim, “She’s so little!”

Ever since, he’d been calling her little.

First, she was simply hāedus. Little sister.

Whenever she tried to follow Aemond when he went somewhere she wasn’t allowed or did something she wasn’t allowed to do, he would gently scold her, “Haedus, you’re too little.” Inevitably, she would cry. About half the time, her crying was enough to sway him.

Then, she became zaldrīzītsos. Little dragon.

“You’re my zaldrīzītsos,” he would say when she hugged him tightly after Aegon or one of the Strong boys mocked him for not having a dragon. She didn’t have one either, but she never felt she needed one, for she had Aemond.

For a time, she was maegītsos. Little witch.

Aemond had dubbed her so when she came to visit him in the Maester’s tower while he recovered from the loss of his eye. The Maester would give her some “special leaves” so she could brew a “magic potion” to help Aemond get better. In truth, the potion was simply tea. But Aemond always pretended that the potion had indeed worked miracles, just to make her happy.

Once he was healed, she was again zaldrīzītsos.

Since he finally had a true dragon, she worried that he would not want her anymore. When she came to him in tears one day as he was leaving the Keep to see Vhagar, he hugged her tightly and told her, “You will always be my zaldrīzītsos.” Then he brought her with him to ride Vhagar. It was the best day of her life.

Or it was, until the day they were officially betrothed, and she became raqiarzītsos. Little darling.

It was what he would call her every morning when he greeted her with a chaste kiss on the cheek. How he would summon her to his side at court events. What he moaned when they kissed unchastely each evening before saying goodnight.

She had been so excited when she became his ‘ābrazȳrītsos.’ The first time he had whispered it in her ear at the wedding feast, she’d blushed so brightly that their grandsire inquired about her health. The next time he said it, Aemond made sure they were alone.

Little sister. Little dragon. Little witch. Little darling. Little wife.

Always little.

Once, the names had made her heart flutter with delight. Now, they only prompted another wave of nausea.

Aemond was everything to her – he always had been. She thought he felt the same way, but it seemed she was wrong. To him, she was just “little.”

She flinched at the sound of his voice, of that word. How he spoke to her like she was some frightened animal poised to lash out.

Yet at the same time, her heart melted to hear the voice she loved so dearly after so long an absence. Merely the sight of him in the mirror sent a feeling of warmth and belonging flooding through her.

She hated him.

She loved him.

She was angrier at him than she had ever been in her life.

She wanted nothing more than to run into his arms.

She could do nothing but continue to brush her hair and stare into her reflection.

Aemond sighed, finally stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. “You won’t even look at me, ābrazȳrītsos?”

She gave no answer.

He whispered her name again, “Abrazȳrītsos, please,” Aemond’s voice turned quiet as he reached her and set a hand on her shoulder as if to turn her around by force, but she wrenched herself out of his grip, staring down at the floor. Though she did not look at him, she could almost feel the misery on his face. “Please look at me.”

“If I look at you, I fear I will be sick,” she explained weakly. “I don’t want to harm the babe.”

His irritation began to surge, she knew it even without seeing him. His breathing quickened slightly, and she could hear the creaking of leather as he rolled his shoulders and balled his hands into fists – he had been so hurried he had not yet taken off his riding gloves.

“You are my wife,” he huffed. She could hear him attempt to contain the sharp edge of barely contained anger in his soft voice. At least he was considerate enough to hide it. “You are my sister – my blood. You love me as I love you, and you carry my child within you. Yet you cannot even look at me?”

Fury roared to life like a surging flame within her. How dare he be angry with her when he is the one who ruined everything?

“Why did you come back?” she spat back, quietly yet viciously.

His stare continued to weigh on her through the mirror. “I promised you the day I left that I would return to you when the war was done,” he said, half-smiling at the memory. “The war is over, so here I am.”

She shook her head. “The war is not over.”

“Of course, it is. Daemon and Rhaenyra are dead, and – ”

“The fighting is over,” she corrected. “But the war is not finished. Peace must still be brokered. As Prince Regent, that is your responsibility. Yet you are here rather than with the rest of the soldiers and politicians at Harrenhal. Why?”

She wanted him to be the one to say it.

Aemond sighed, raising a hand to touch her, then pulling away. “Is it so hard to believe that I missed you and simply couldn’t stand to stay away a moment longer?”

She was moving before she could process what she was doing, standing from the vanity and turning to face Aemond, her hand raised and ready to strike.

But he caught her arm by the wrist, stopping her moments before her palm could impact his cheek – his scarred cheek. His eye was wide, filled with sadness and shock in equal measure. He turned to look at her hand as if it was some kind of curiosity he had never seen before, like he couldn’t understand how it could ever be raised against him.

Tears were spilling down her cheeks when he turned back to her, and his expression gave over entirely to despair. Aemond opened his mouth, but words failed him.

He lowered her hand gently, bowing his head slightly to the right to give her an easier target.

It broke something within her.

She dove toward him, wrapping her arms around him as she cried into his chest, clinging to him as if he were her the only thing keeping her anchored to the ground.

But the moment Aemond moved to return the embrace, she shoved him away. It only moved him a step back, still within her reach. He did not move closer, and when she began to pound her fists furiously against his chest, he didn’t try to stop her.

“Why did you come back?” she demanded as she pushed him once more. “Why did you not just stay in Harrenhal with your whore and leave us alone?”

Aemond did not respond. His mouth hung open, but he said nothing. He could do nothing but stare at her, his eye flitting between her belly, where his child had grown –so much he could hardly believe it – in his absence, to her eyes.

Those eyes. A warm, rich brown that shone with gold in the firelight. It was Aemond’s favorite color. For whenever he saw it, in her eyes or their mother’s, he knew he was home.

But now those eyes he loved so dearly were filled with tears of his own making. He wanted nothing more than to see them dry and sparkling with love once more.

“Abrazȳrītsos, you must know I will always return to you,” he begged, stepping forward and cautiously placing a hand on her belly. Almost immediately, he felt a stirring within her, and a weak pushing against him.

His child.

Was it reaching for him, or pushing him away?

Before he could truly ponder either answer, his wife pulled away from him, her arms curling protectively around her abdomen.

He had to say something. Something to take her pain away, to make everything well again so he would have the chance to hold her and the babe. Even if it was a lie, he would say it if it made her forgive him.

“Raqiarzītsos,” he started, only for her to take another step away and scowl at him. He sighed as the realization of how deeply had hurt her truly sunk in. He softly called her name, “My love, it was one mistake. One moment of weakness, I swear –”

“Liar!” Her voice had grown rough with her fury, and Aemond flinched at the sound. He had never heard her shout like that, not even when she was a babe herself.

She saw his discomfort and reveled in it. Seeing him suffer a fraction of what she felt gave her a sinful spark of joy, one that she felt no need to beg forgiveness from the Seven for. She turned away from him and retrieved the letter from Daemon, panting as she looked over the words once more.

“A mistress now lies in your husband’s bed. She was a wetnurse at Harrenhal, some Strong bastard. She must be something truly special, for she is the only Strong – trueborn or bastard – to have survived Aemond’s rather thorough purging of the bloodline. I suppose it is now clear why. I have not been able to learn much about her. She is called Alys, my spies tell me.”

With smoldering eyes, she turned to Aemond and began to read aloud. “She reports to your husband’s chambers every night without fail, as she has done from the very first week he arrived at that cursed place. One of my spies even reported that he calls her to him after each battle or razing of some poor Riverlanders, as well as anytime he feels frustrated. It is no surprise, then, that there is another bastard babe in the whore’s witchly womb. Your brothers do have a fondness for seeding unsuitable women, don’t they?”

When she looked up from the letter, she found Aemond’s face set in anger, his fingers curled as though they were aching to grip his sword and run someone through. His eye flew from the letter to her face, the rage burning there only softening for a moment.

The left corner of Aemond’s mouth twitched upward involuntarily, and he jerked his head to the side to try and hide it. “You would believe Daemon’s word over mine, abrazȳrītsos? After all he has done?”

She let the letter drift back to the table. “If all I had was his word, I would not have believed it,” she explained. “But it is not only his word.”

Aemond exhaled slowly, looking away from her. Incensed as he was, he would not make her the target of his ire. Never her. “Will you tell me who else?”

“No,” she answered, shaking her head slightly. There was a dark glint in his eye that promised violent retribution upon whoever she would name. No one deserved torture, or perhaps even death, for telling the truth.

With a nod, Aemond closed his eyes and bowed his head. He would not press her further, though she knew he would likely still try to find out who it was by other means. But in that moment, she could not bring herself to care.

She was so tired.

She had anticipated a long fight, and thought she was ready for it. In the hours she waited for Aemond’s return, she had carefully tended the spark of her anger so it would burn only when she commanded. But the moment she saw him, it escaped her grasp and became a wildfire in a dry grassland. It was fierce, quick, and lethal. In an instant, it had consumed every bit of her strength, leaving only the barest smoldering remains in its wake.

After a few more silent moments, Aemond again opened his eyes and looked down at his wife.

“I will not insult your intelligence by trying to deny it any further,” he said, clenching his fist to stop himself from reaching for her, “and I know there is nothing I can say to excuse what I have done. But my love, I truly am sorry. For what I did, and for the hurt I have caused you.”

She stared at him, trying to detect and hint of insincerity. She found none.

“I love you. I know I have given you ample reason to doubt that but…” he swallowed thickly. “I do love you, abrazȳrītsos. I always have and I always will. I know in my heart that the gods made us for each other. And if they had fated us to others, I swear I would have defied their will and ripped them from the heavens so that I could love you.”

He licked his lips and removed his gloves before offering her his shaking hand.

Perhaps it was the result of the weariness pervading her entire being. Perhaps it was the tug of an unborn babe reaching out, somehow knowing its father was near. Perhaps it was the sliver of her soul that had always belonged to Aemond beckoning her to rejoin him and become whole again.

Whatever the reason, despite the protestations of her aching heart and her rational mind, she put her hand in his.

It did not fit as well as it used to.

If Aemond noticed, he did not acknowledge it. He raised their joined hands to his lips to kiss before resuming his plea. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, and I will understand if you do not give it, but for the sake of my heart and the love we share, I must ask it. Abrazȳrītsos, can you ever forgive me?”

The world fell silent, and so did she.

If she focused, she could hear her heartbeat, along with two others, thumping out three different rhythms. It was discordant, yet somehow comforting. She listened to it for a moment, trying to hear a melody within it. But there was nothing.

She turned her attention to her hand in Aemond’s grasp. There was a welcome heat where his skin touched hers, but also a tingling numbness. A slight discomfort, akin to wearing new gloves before they had softened and molded to her hands.

Then, she looked at Aemond. At the face that was more familiar to her than her own. It had changed in the last six months – more so than she would have expected. The color of his skin had deepened from so many days spent in the sun, and there were new blemishes that had not been there before. The shadows under his eyes, the roughness where it once was smooth, and the new smudge of a scar above the corner of his right brow.

All of it was strange. Known, yet unknown. Question, but no answer.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

“What…” Aemond’s lip quirked again as he cupped her cheek with his free hand. “I don’t understand, what don’t you know, my love?”

She winced slightly at the foreign sensation of his hand against her skin. He had callouses now he didn’t have before. “I don’t know how to forgive you, or if I even want to. I just feel… tired.”

Aemond nodded, bowing his head once more to hide the disappointment he could not keep from his face, and looked at her belly. “Of course, you are tired,” he said, “I am sorry, I did not consider how late it was.”

She caught his eye flicking towards the bed – their bed, or at least, it used to be. A cold coil of panic began to wrap itself around her heart. He could not sleep here. He could not see…

“I would prefer if you slept elsewhere,” she said hastily before he could ask otherwise. “For tonight, I would like to be alone.”

Tears shone in Aemond’s eye for a moment, but he did not let them fall. He gave her a tight smile and again kissed her hand. “If that is what you wish, I will obey, but may I ask one thing?”

It would be foolish to say yes. Foolish to give him the opportunity to persuade her at all when she knew how easily he had always been able to sway her with his sweet words. Foolish to do anything but send him away immediately.

And yet…

“What would you ask?” she whispered, betrayed by the foolish little part of her heart and soul that was still and would always be his ‘hāedus.’

“I ask only for a few moments, and then I will leave, as you wish. But it has been half a year, abrazȳrītsos, since I have seen you, or heard your voice, or held you in my arms.” He squeezed her hand, drawing her attention to his face, open and earnest and pleading. “So for only a few moments, please, allow me to hold you again.”

His softly spoken words were like a siren’s song, and she began to feel faint as she struggled to resist falling under its spell. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, begging her mind to calm and think clearly.

“I promise, I will do nothing more than hold you,” he said, running his hand delicately over her cheek. “I just want to hold my wife.”

He did not deserve it, she knew. Nor did he deserve to be touching her as he did now, though she did not push him away. He did not even deserve her consideration of his request.

But it had been half a year for her, too.

Half a year with no one to kiss her good morning or good night. No one to carry her to bed when her legs and back ached. No one to hold her hair and whisper soothing words when she was sick.

She’d had her mother, her sister, and her maids. Even a Maester, at one very low point. But that was not the same. It was not the touch of a beloved husband.

Despite her anger, she was aching to be held by him.

“Just for a few moments,” she whispered through trembling lips. “Then you must leave.”

She did not have time to regret her decision before Aemond pulled her forward and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her forehead as he thanked her. And before she could pull away, he was turning her slowly, so her back was pressed flush against his chest.

“It’s alright,” he assured her when she made a soft noise of confusion. “Trust me, abrazȳrītsos.”

His hands skated down her arms, his touch featherlight and yet searing. She gasped as he began to cradle her belly, her head lolling back into his shoulder. If given one more breath, she would have pushed him away, but then…

He laced his fingers together and took the weight of her belly into his own arms.

It was a rapturous feeling, to have the burden of it lifted from her and her eternally aching spine, even for a moment. She sighed in relief and leaned back further into her husband. Gratitude flooded through her, and her hands flew to rest over his.

“Oh, Aemond,” she breathed into his neck.

Gods, she had missed him so much. Everything would have been so much easier if he’d been here to hold her like this. He had always known been able to help her, she should have known that even with their first child, he would somehow know what to do…

Her eyes snapped open, and her blood ran cold.

This was their first child, but it was not Aemond’s only child.

He had another, far away, within a different mother. A mother whom he had been there for as she grew, Who, thanks to her role as a wetnurse, would be able to teach him exactly how to help.

“Did you hold Alys like this?”

Aemond stiffened behind her, and his grip tightened. “Abrazȳrītsos…”

“Don’t lie to me, Aemond. Not anymore.”

Silence, then…

“Yes, I did.”

She seized his hands and ripped them apart, tearing herself out of his grasp as quickly as she could, heedless of him reaching for her. Stumbling, she crossed the room before turning back to him, eyes blazing through new tears.

“Do not ever touch me like you touched her,” she spat. Her rage had reignited, the barren grassland now an endless field of flame.

Aemond’s mouth hung open as he looked to her in despair, his arms held helplessly in front of him. His voice broke as he said her name – a plea. “I just wanted to hold you. To help you.”

“And you did. For a few moments, just as you asked. Now leave, as you promised.”

He was looking at her like she was a wild beast, primed to lash out should he make one wrong move. But she didn’t mind, for that was exactly what she felt like. He had made her feel that way, and she hated him for it.

Aemond just stood there, and she could see his mind working desperately to figure out what to say to placate her. She would not give him the chance.

“Leave!” she screamed, her voice ripping its way out of her throat, burning as it went. She could not help but wonder if that was what dragons felt when they breathed fire.

Lowering his arms, Aemond nodded. “I will leave, abrazȳrītsos. Just as I promised. I am sorry.”

“I don’t care.” She meant it. His apology meant absolutely nothing to her raging, broken heart.

She watched him carefully as he turned and walked through the door, ready to rage at him again if she needed to. Perhaps she would actually breathe fire the next time.

Aemond did not try anything to soothe her or convince her to change her mind. The warrior prince knew when a battle was lost. But she knew he had not yet ceded the war.

That much was clear when he paused in the doorway, looking back at her in determination. “I love you, abrazȳrītsos, and nothing will ever change that.”

Then he closed the door, and was gone.

But she could not stop crying, for she knew he would return.

Worse, she knew that as angry as she was, she loved him, too. And nothing would ever change that, either.

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talesofesther · 10 months ago

Text

when the world sleeps | the stitches

Astarion Ancunin x Reader

Summary: Small tales of private and precious moments shared with Astarion, when the world still sleeps.

Today's tale: You're trying to stitch back together your shirt, Astarion must intervene to save the day.

A/N: A collection of little stories that will be released sporadically, in no particular order. A place for me to store all the sweet little ideas that lurk in my mind about this darling pale elf. Feel free to send requests for any moments you'd like to see. <3

Masterlist

It was an accident. A split second of distraction that got the blade of your enemy slashing into you. It cut through more cloth than skin, you didn't even need a healing potion. But it was your favorite shirt.

You've never been very adept with the needle and thread. Having lived your whole life with the privileges that rested inside your family's estate back in the city, you didn't have much need to mend your own clothes back together whenever they tore apart.

And now you were paying the price for the unlearned skill.

The night was quiet, most of your companions had already retired for the night. Yet you sat crosslegged on a large pillow in your tent, soft candlelight illuminating just enough so you wouldn't prick your fingers.

Scratch insisted on laying beside you, his soft white fur warm as it rested against your leg.

The silence of the night was most welcome, when the days were as hectic as they have been lately.

As you passed the thread through the fabric of your shirt, needle piercing it quite clumsily, you couldn't help but think the stitches looked too far from each other. Or could it be too close? Should it vary depending on the thickness of the fabric?

"Darling?"

You jumped at the sudden voice—soft as it may have been—yanking the needle back and not piercing your thumb only by an inch. You cursed under your breath.

"What in the hells are you doing?" Astarion's choice of words sounded strange in the tender tone of voice he used.

You looked up to see him staring down at you with a confused frown on his eyebrows. The flickering fire of the candles coming from beside you kissed his features ever so faintly, making him seem like the remains of a dream. Dark red eyes, silver hair that reminded you of stardust. What a goner you were. And to think he chose you, too; if anything to warm his bed on cold nights.

"I'm… mending my shirt," you shrugged, with a sheepish smile on your lips, briefly lifting the shirt and needle in your hands.

Astarion opened his mouth only to close it again. He blinked, and shook his head. "You're doing anything but that." He stated, a little exasperated. "Have you ever done this before?"

You shifted your gaze from him, to the shirt on your hands, and back to him. "… Not really, no."

Astarion scoffed, "Well, clearly not."

"Come on it's not that bad." You raised a brow, finding his indignation at your lack of skills rather amusing.

"Not that bad? That thing is gonna tear itself apart with the first movement of your arms." Astarion gestured wildly as if you'd personally offended him, and started walking to the other side of you that wasn't occupied by Scratch. "Move over," he simply said.

You shuffled to the side a little, giving him space on the fluffy pillow beneath you. It was a tight fit as he sat down, his thigh flush with yours.

"Hand it over." Astarion wiggled his fingers and you did so quietly, handing him your shirt along with the needle and thread.

He mumbled something about basic skills and how you'd be lost without him. You didn't pay much mind to it, instead, you were rather enraptured by the way his fingers worked; precise, gentle, and deftly, with not a single wrong movement as the fabric of your shirt molded between the digits. He sews the pieces together from the inside, the needle hardly piercing, more like caressing its way through. It was evident he had done it many, many times before.

You inched closer, and you only realized you had done so when Astarion's movements halted. Needle hovering in the air as his shoulders tensed. His lips pursed when his throat worked through a gulp. You followed the motion, breath fanning over the skin of his neck, you were almost certain you'd seen goosebumps there.

It was a beat, and then Astarion was back to his work. But it was enough to bloom a warmth to your chest, that maybe you had the same effect on him that he had on you.

Leaning your cheek against his shoulder, you asked; "where did you learn to do it so perfectly?"

A quiet chuckle fell past the elf's lips, though it held no amusement. "The clothes we wore were hardly a concern for Cazador, as long as we looked presentable enough to lure people back for him." He frowned, a bitterness flashing through his eyes as his knuckles grew even paler with the way he gripped your shirt, "If we showed up with a torn shirt or ragged pants, that was on us. Even if it were his orders that caused it." The last words were low and forced out, as if the mere thought of them had thrown Astarion back into those dark streets and into the arms of people who didn't care if they ripped him apart.

You wished there was any amount of comfort or honeyed words that you could tell him that would erase the memories altogether. But there wasn't. All you could do was kiss his shoulder and brush your fingers over his arm until his grip relaxed again. Hoping that your love would seep through your pores and melt into his skin.

Astarion leaned the tiniest bit towards you, his lips brushing your hairline in a silent thank you. It felt… strange, how you were able to bring him back from the depths of his mind so easily.

Moments were spent in silence, until the pad of his thumb brushed over the freshly mended corner of your shirt, admiring his work; it was barely perceptive. If you didn't look too closely, you wouldn't even say it had been slashed through with a sword at all.

"Wow, you're good," you whispered, following the same path he had traced with your own fingers. Feeling over the fabric.

A low hum came from the vampire beside you, "I know."

You bit onto your lower lip. Your fingers tangled with his when he didn't pull away, all timid and tentative yet brimming with affection. "Maybe you could teach me someday, and I could mend your clothes for you, too." It went beyond just torn fabric, he knew it, you knew it.

Astarion ducked his head, he hesitated, yet he squeezed your hand quite tightly. "I would like that."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Astarion’s taglist: @milkiane @v1ci0us

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion bg3 #astarion baldurs gate #baldur's gate 3 #astarion imagine #astarion x tav #astarion x female reader #imagine #fanfic #angst #fluff #astarion fanfic #my story #astarion ancunin #when the world sleeps

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lilacxquartz · 3 months ago

Text

BLESSED WITH BLUE

angel satoru gojo x mortal fem!reader

part 2 of 2 • masterlist • ao3 link • << part 1

summary: after making an offering, you catch the attention of a six eyed angel who despite promising you the heavens, leads you into hell instead.

warnings: heavily implied dub/non-con, violent/disturbing imagery, body horror

Part 2: Answer

The next couple of days were met with a certain degree of reluctance and uncertainty combined as you couldn’t help but feel a crushing sense of guilt, wondering what the angel truly meant by ‘everything’.

Had you known what it could have entailed, you would have never prayed—you would have never even entertained the concept of love, knowing now that it would be taken away so soon.

You didn’t want to think that ‘everything’ could have been in a more literal sense; something that would force you to have a lacking say in your own existence in exchange for a taste of power.

It left you wondering more so if it was truly a blessing or if it was more of a curse.

And moments after tucking yourself into bed, you were awoken by an all too familiar presence making itself known within the confines of your very own home.

The angel reappeared; his eyes a glowing piercing blue with snowy lashes—a gaze as cold as ice.

No longer did it have a welcoming smile.

No longer did it seem as kind.

Its voice, coming out as nothing more than a threatening low droning hum, echoed throughout your body, “Remember what you have offered to me,” he spoke, the playfulness absent from his tone, “your life is mine now too.”

Somehow, these words didn’t really register properly in your mind and you looked back at him with a gnawing sense of disbelief. Your demeanour faltering for a second. You wanted for this strange deity to provide you with answers but every interaction left you with more questions than ever before, leaving you feeling confused after each and every single exchange.

“What…?” you simply asked, blurting out your words.

The angel smiled, painting an illusion of deceptive kindness across his face. His voice softened, as though trying to comfort you despite the words holding onto a sure threat, “You said everything, did you not? That should surely include both your heart and soul.”

“B-but,” you protested, tenting your knees as you backed up in bed, holding your pillow close to your chest, “I can’t even have a normal relationship?”

“Preferably not,” the angel cooed, “but if loneliness is what you’re dealing with, then I can pay you as many visits as you’d like at night.”

You didn’t like the implication of that.

“Y-you…?” you repeated his offer, “You… visit m-me…?”

“Correct,” he nodded with a tight smile, stepping closer ever so slightly forward, “it’s my job to look over humans, so let me be your everything too.”

The more you took in the sight of the angel, the more deceptive he truly seemed. Something about him screamed arrogant and even though he wasn’t playful this time, there was something unserious about the way he spoke to you.

Again, your mind had to wonder.

(Was this truly an angel?)

(Or did you pray to something else instead?)

“T-this is my only option?” you asked.

“Yes, but I’ll visit you however many times it takes,” he nodded.

The wording threw you off however, something about the way he said it and the terminology used, didn’t sit quite right with you.

‘However many times it takes.’

Until what?

~~~

The visits did indeed come to happen, he left you feeling a mixture of both wide awake as the nights had passed yet perfectly refreshed in the mornings as though nothing had happened.

Even though your energy didn’t seemingly suffer, something else within you began to drain instead.

You weren’t quite sure what, though.

Your mind spiralled as it considered the possibilities.

You were blessed, right? Not chosen. Could there have been a difference between the two?

And lying awake in your bed yet again, you anticipated the angel but weren’t quite in the mood due to a terrible feeling brewing inside of you. Your eyes, blinded by the approaching light snapped open; feeling the weight of such unimaginable power anchor right on top of you.

“Not toda—“ you began to protest, your words coming out as barely a whisper.

“—everything,” he shushed you instead, reminding you of your place within the dynamic. He was the an angel; a being close to a god and you were a mortal blessed by his touch. Silly you. You had no right to complain.

Yet the continuation felt awfully wrong.

Like something was happening that shouldn’t have been.

Just like the many sleepless nights before this one, he started by crashing his lips against your own. His touch like pillowed stone against fresh clay—his touch bordered articulate—precise and careful, just like those many times before. Your eyes once again drifted over to his roaming hands, blurring your vision whenever you’d look at them for too long.

“I know your limit,” he whispered to you, his cold breath rippling waves of shivers through you, “I can see it.”

It was as though his words were easing you into it every time. His voice was low and his tone felt hypnotic.

Slowly, as a result, you couldn’t help but grow more accepting of it even if you were unsure why.

Something internal that faded away as you slowly gave into his presences, into his continued touch and…!

(What was this feeling…?)

His touch continued to explore you; his hands brushed over your breasts underneath your clothes. Stony fingers that slipped in between your legs, guiding his digits towards your sex. A soft gasp escaping your lips as he ran tauntingly slow circles around your clit.

Next, he moved himself to hover you. His hardened length feeling just as rigid as the rest of him, if not even somehow more, hovered at your entrance. Slowly, he pushed the tip of his cock into your awaiting cunt, his length enveloped by your heat.

Slipping himself out and then plunging forth again and again—it felt like he was bruising you from the inside. His gradually quickening pace left you breathless yet somehow craving more despite the creeping exhaustion.

“My everything,” he’d mutter, his lips ghosting icy air against your own, his tongue wrestling yours. The experience felt almost jarring with how much attention you took in from a higher power, perhaps in a way that you shouldn’t. The angel continued to stalk his release regardless—appearing almost human—almost vulnerable as he pounded into you with want and need.

He grunted, though softly, as he worked his hips into yours. Despite this, your home only echoed back the sounds of your strained whining and almost relentless, breathless moaning. Your fingers clawing against the sheets—against his flesh—grabbing, almost as if desperately trying to hold onto your plummeting sanity as it somehow slipped away during your shared nights.

His rutting pursuit was by now deeper, his speed unforgiving. Your core felt as though it was going to be split apart by his plunging length. You felt exhaustion seep and settle while your insides soon felt pummelled and even sore as the angel reached an almost frenzied pace, seeking a violent release.

It was sudden as he finally met his end; his body finally spent. You felt as his cock twitched within your sex, emptying himself fully within your bruised core, leaving you a state of uncomfortable full of him and him alone.

As he relaxed and you recovered, the angel soothed you in your repeated panicked submission. His flesh that had since then merged with yours, rubbed raw against what felt like almost worn skin. His comforting touch smoothed goosebumps over you, leaving you once again feeling not quite chosen, but blessed with the essence of something else.

(Something worse?)

Whether or not it was power that he was giving you, it wasn’t something you could tell.

He soon left you in that now familiar dazed and almost high state—your hands drifting and slurring as you moved around in bed—phasing you in and out of your own fleeting consciousness.

And although the sensation faded and the skies lightened outside, for once, you were left feeling exhausted.

As though you couldn’t quite drop what the angel left behind this time.

You’d hands glowed a faint yet noticeable blue, trailing an aura behind as you moved them around in the air. Like seeping water that evaporated the second it lingered a little too long.

Whatever this was; a power, a blessing or something else.

You didn’t want it.

It hurt.

~~~

“Thou shall not lay in bed with the gods who masquerade as angels; lest you ascend.” — Ancient scriptures.

~~~

As if on clockwork, the angel would show up again and again as per the usual times. It was nighttime whenever it arrived with its heavy footsteps splintering the floorboards, icy fingertips that willed you awake, refusing to let you rest.

You couldn’t help but shudder whenever you jolted back into the conscious realm. The touch now feeling familiar, yet somehow so freshly invasive every time.

Something felt different this time though.

“Would you like to be more than just blessed?” he asked you, although the way he delivered his words felt more like a statement than an offering. The way he spoke reminding you more of how the demons spoke; so elusive and almost deceitful.

You couldn’t form a proper response this time either. Your words stifled by a pressuring change in the atmosphere. Something about his words felt once again less like a prompt.

(Maybe more like a threat?)

‘More than just blessed.’

Your mind locked onto the way he said that and he seemed to notice. His icy blue eyes settled into your own gaze in a way that felt looming, as though he was attempting to get a read on your soul rather than to catch onto your interpretation.

“Will it stop the pain?” you finally managed to ask.

Ever since the first time the pain had began to linger, was when you started to feel like something was clearly wrong. The aura that trailed in your hands never subsided, instead slowly enveloping the rest of your skin. The burning sensation that developed in your skin when the pain manifested had only gotten worse since then. It was as though your flesh was overcome with an invisible fire that crackled and whipped away at your skin.

It surely must have been in your head, though.

Yet, despite feeling the blistering pops and the flickers of bursting skin, of charring bone that crisped deep into the core of your very being.

You couldn’t help but feel that this was all too real.

As if something within you was changing and not in a good way.

Not at all.

All the angel did was continue to smile at you. His many eyes once again fluttering around his body, as though blinking in desperation in attempted warning. Yet, the two eyes on his face remained still and almost dormant.

Sitting you upright and allowed for you to lean into his frame, his lips forged a smile to help you ease into his offering.

“It will stop the pain,” he promised, “you’ll never feel anything again, my pretty mortal thing.”

“Then—“ you coughed out, your voice hostage in your throat under a chokehold.

“—it’ll stop the pain,” he continued to comfort you, his hand brushing down your back in a soothing manner, whispering out his final words so that you just about couldn’t fully hear, “and everything else.”

Just as he said that, the pain built up within your body, the blue aura almost barely contained the longer it festered within you.

“I’ll do it,” you replied, finally giving in.

He smiled once more, however as soon as you finalised his non-offer, all remaining warmth that he held onto had since swept away, almost instantly. The once thought to be imagined sensation of hellfire burning over your skin was now visible, with roaring, crackling flames that continued to eat away at your body.

His words of promised mercy hung in the air as you focused on him out of desperation, the eyes scattered on his body weeping along with yours as you surrendered towards deceitful ascension. Your body feeling as though it was almost crumbling against his rigid touch, all the while he stared at your succumbing form.

Slowly, the blue fire closed in on you fully; encasing you in a flaming cocoon that wrapped tight around your body, constricting you.

As the fire finally burned away at your last remaining shred of pain, you longed for it to finally be over, to finally be free.

Yet, when you next awoke in a surge of jolting panic, you found that despite trying to tear your body forward, despite trying to thrash and and sway around—that you couldn’t move a single inch. Even though the sensation of peace washed over your soul, you found yourself encased in the body of someone else, watching through a fleshy tomb as they walked around with your frightened gaze guiding their way.

“There, there,” you heard a familiar voice hush you, his voice vibrating against your very being, “allow me to introduce myself to you. I don’t believe I ever have. I am the six eyed god of the open sky. You may have heard of me as the fallen angel, the one who dared to mingle with the demons and with the humans alike. Turns out I have an appetite for an uncorrupted soul and you’re lucky enough to be a part of me forever.”

You wanted to reply to him, but you couldn’t.

“Now, why wouldn’t I grant this opportunity… as some would call it, to the followers of my own temple, you ask?” he laughed, “because to worship is already giving into corruption and I only respond to untainted desperation.”

You fluttered your eyes as much as you could, the sensation feeling nauseating as you couldn’t scream while entombed within his own flesh.

“You’re crying, aren’t you?” he mocked, “I saved you. A life free from pain, free from suffering. We’ll be together as one, forever united within your dreams… but only when you’re ready once more, only when you’ve finally given in.”

You attempted to scream over and over again.

Yet no sound could be heard as you were forced to watch from his appointed gaze as his adorned seventh and eighth eyes, decorating his body as a purposeful stare, condemned to experience a life that wasn’t yours together with a deity who lied to you.

Yet the six eyed god of the sky didn’t see it that way.

For at last, he finally caught onto something human.

So pure and uncorrupted.

To finally challenge the system with what defined the balance of existence; to finally redefine both pain and peace within this corrupted world.

Together, you’d see the truth.

Even if you’d suffer for eternity as a result instead.

~~~

part 1 of lilac’s bite sized yandere jjk nightmares

a/n: the idea i was going for was that you got tricked by not an angel, not even a god, but by something worse. it was a play on gojo’s technique rendering him into nothing more than a tool and the societal weight on his shoulders. the six eyes being a burden (with some creepy yan!angel elements).

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sisitrip · 5 months ago

Text

Future Whispers

My little crispy soul is trying to knit itself back together. I'm choosing to do that with an early Gallavich stolen moment.

_________________________

Ian smiled in the dark as Mickey swatted his hand away from the bathroom lightswitch.

“That’s not like you,” he murmured. “You usually want to see everything.”

A warm press of air was the only warning he got before Mickey kissed him, soft and deliberate. Astounded, he stilled, afraid to breathe. It was still so new, this kissing, and like new things, it was precious.

“Easy,” Mickey whispered when he finally remembered to breathe. “There’s no part of you that I don’t want to see when we’re doing that.” Mickey gave him another soft, astonishing kiss. “But, right now, I’m after less, especially with your family down there doing the most.”

A high pitched squeal rang out from downstairs, punctuating Mickey’s point.

He laughed, letting Mickey drag him to the toilet and push him to sit on its closed lid. Before he could blindly reach out for Mickey, his lap filled with his warm, heaven scented weight.

“So, what’s “less” to Mickey Milkovich? I didn’t think you knew how to do less,” he whispered around another kiss, sliding his hands up and down Mickey’s thighs. Emboldened by the dark, he rounded his hands to Mickey’s ass and got a nip to his bottom lip for his roaming.

“I don’t do less. But, I’m settling for this until everybody knocks out,” Mickey whispered back, slipping a bit of tongue between his lips.

He nearly lost track of the conversation as their kisses grew longer, more heated.

“I’ll try not to take your ‘settling’ personally,” he breathed.

“Relax, it’s not like that. I'm just trying this mouth-pressing thing again.”

“Mouth-pressing?” he laughed against Mickey’s lips. “God, you’re so romantic.”

“That's what it is, ain’t it? Just two sets of lips pressing together in a sloppy way.” Mickey pulled his lower lip into his mouth and gave it an exquisite nip. “Be glad I didn’t call it tongue stacking.”

“If you don’t stop describing it so beautifully, I think I'm going to cry,” he said, chasing after Mickey’s tongue with his own.

Mickey chuckled and leaned back.

“I’m just calling it like I see it. Anyway, I’m still deciding if I hate this whole mouth-pressing thing. No wait. Yeah. I hate it.” Mickey immediately dove in for another tongue-filled kiss.

“Oh, that much is clear.” He pulled Mickey closer, hardening beneath him. “You definitely despise kissing.”

“Absolutely disgusts me,” Mickey said, tilting his head so he could kiss at a better angle.

He smiled into the next kiss.

“Then we should just end this horrible kissing and do something else.” He tried to pull Mickey’s shirt out of his pants. “I've been thinking all night how much I want to feel you come on my stomach while you ride me.”

Mickey stopped his roaming hands and buried his hot face in his neck. Despite the sheer number of times he’s been inside Mickey, the little mouth-pressing hater was still shy about dirty talk. He didn’t have ‘bashful thug’ on his dating Bingo card, but he was here for it.

“Gallagher, if people knew that Disney looking mouth of yours was all Pornhub, your stock would tank.”

He lifted Mickey’s head by the chin and kissed him.

“I’m devastated. I thought my mouth was your favorite thing about me,” he murmured, stealing tiny kisses.

“Tied for first. If you ask me what it’s tied with, I’m braining you.”

They kissed languidly for a bit, heat banking just enough to kick his thoughts toward things beyond kissing. Future related things he’s been wanting from Mickey for a while now. His mouth, clearly not occupied enough, decided to start trouble.

“What are you going to do when I’m like, 60 years old and my mouth-pressing game isn’t as strong?” he asked, going for Mickey’s chin with a kiss and landing on his nose.

There’s a beat of quiet. He expected Mickey to change the subject, like he did with all future talk. But, instead, he got no such brush off, as miraculous as that was.

“I mean, your mouth-pressing game ain’t that strong now.”

He snorted.

“But, if you’re asking for 60 year old Ian,” Mickey teased, kissing his cheek. “I think I might tolerate a lower level of mouth-pressing. But, let the record reflect that everything else has to stay above board.”

“Yeah? Everything else like what?” he asked, heart thudding a little at Mickey envisioning the future with him.

“That arms and legs wrapping thing we do before sleep.”

“Cuddling?”

“Yeah. That shit better not slack off.”

He beamed in the dark. “Noted. What else?”

“Hugs from behind. They remain fully operational or I’m out.”

He huffed a soft laugh.

“Of course. Anything else?”

Mickey’s quiet for a long time, stroking his hands up and down his chest.

“You being the first thing I see when I wake up,” Mickey whispered. “And the last thing I see before I go to sleep.”

He said nothing, but his eyes got entirely too hot. Like a bat using echolocation, Mickey knew he was teetering on tears, even in the dark.

“Keep it together, Gallagher.”

His emotional laugh confirmed Mickey’s suspicions and he was rewarded with a kiss to his forehead.

“Is that-” He stopped and cleared his throat. “Is that all?”

“No.”

“What then?”

Mickey scooted until they were belly to belly and hugged him tight, like he needed support. When he spoke, his voice was vulnerable and rough with emotion.

“Keep being happy to see me. Keep … keep wanting me to be around.”

He wrapped Mickey up, heart splintering. It wasn’t Mickey’s soft plea that broke him. It’s the idea that one day he’s going to stop wanting him close, as if that was remotely possible. He’d tried keeping his distance and it had been like watching color violently drain out of the world.

“That’ll never slack off, you hear me?” He squeezed Mickey tighter, meaning it to his marrow. “Never.”

Mickey didn’t say anything. He only pressed closer.

He held Mickey in the dark for a while, listening to his family’s ruckus downstairs. Unbidden, the thought of being a husband, Mickey’s husband, bloomed into his mind for the first time. He smiled into Mickey's shoulder, frightened and excited by the thought. Husband.

Mickey pressed a sweet kiss into his neck and hugged him tighter, clearly thinking about some things himself. He decided to let them both off the hook. For now.

“So, my fingers must be tied for first with my tongue-stacking, right?” he asked, bouncing Mickey a little on his lap.

Mickey snorted. “First off, it’s mouth-pressing. Second, your fingers are okay, but not first place material.”

“My legs then.”

“Those chicken sticks? Hell no.”

He started giggling.

“My eyes. You’re always saying how green and alien looking they are. You like that weird shit.”

Mickey pulled back. “I do, but they’re second place. You know, I could just tell you instead of you guessing, Ian.”

“If you say anything but my dick, I’m tossing you in the bathtub.”

Mickey held his face in his hands.

“How could it be anything but that? Your beef bus is insane.”

He broke down laughing, pulling Mickey into another kiss.

“My mouth-pressing and beef bus thank you for the compliment.” He grabbed Mickey’s belt. “You feel like taking that bus for a ride?”

Mickey groaned and gave his cheek a tap.

“I don’t know how you live being that corny. And the answer is no. I ain’t skeeting with your little brothers and sister downstairs.”

“How about some more mouth-pressing instead? Just to make sure you really hate it.”

Mickey sighed. “Alright, get that Disney mouth ready. Maybe by the time you’re 60, you’ll be better at this whole mouth-pressing nonsense.”

That earned Mickey some tickling and his whispered giggles made the dark bathroom magical. He liked Mickey whispering about their future. He liked that Mickey thought about it at all. If they somehow manage to make it, he’ll remember this as the place where their lives started to take root and shape.

On a bevy of future whispers in the dark.

#gallavich #gallavich fanfic #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #my fic #writing #ian x mickey #shameless #gallavich fanfiction #gallavich fic #missed this so much

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facefullofsadness · 5 months ago

Text

I can't fall in love with you

university!au

crush!giselle x admirer!reader

prompt - minjeong is so in love with her girlfriend aeri, but so are you, and you can't be

content - angst, complicated relationship dynamics, alcohol usage, allusions to suicide

wc - 3378

a/n - cathartic: involving the release of strong emotions

the sky is covered with dark clouds, there must be rain today.

it's almost ironic how the weather works, considering the number of nights I've been crying recently. it's been weeks since I last talked to aeri. I've avoided her like the plague to run away from the reality of whatever was brewing inside me emotionally that I felt towards her. minjeong is an incredible girl and the only girl that should really matter in aeri's life, I can't possibly interrupt that, no matter how badly I want minjeong's girlfriend.

knowing aeri for months, we grew closer together, to each other. I got so attached to her; she listened to me, let me rant to her about anything I wanted to, important or irrelevant, took care of me in the moments where I felt out of control of my own life, guided me through the days where I didn't want to try anymore, held me and let me cry into her as I shattered into a million pieces. my heart would always swell thousands of times its original size when she would look at me with those soft and kind eyes, running her big hands through my hair and holding me close as I sobbed, her comforting words making me melt all over again.

I love her, I love her so much, but I know that having her is impossible. I'm not the girl in her life that she prioritizes above all, that she would run to even if I'm on the floor sobbing, even if she made me feel that way. I realized this and became terrified, so I ran away. I abandoned her even after promising to never do so, ghosting her in an effort to leave her to live her life as normal, without so much baggage weighing on her shoulders because of me. but I so badly wanted to go back to her, run into her embrace that would instantly cure me of my agony, but I fought myself instead.

I was a fool to think I could listen to my brain and not follow my heart. cause as I drink the last of my third bottle of alcohol of the night, drunk out of my mind, I couldn't stop myself from texting her. of course, I should've thrown out my phone long ago. incoherent words send themselves to aeri, letters I can barely comprehend. but only minutes later, my vision clears when she replies:

</3: come to the playground

the playground near my apartment, a place we knew well, a place we went to for amusement or solace. maybe, this time it was more for conclusion.

"I hate when you're like this."

aeri says as I stumble over myself to reach the pole holding the swing set up.

"you act like I'm self-destructive or something," I respond sarcastically, slurring over my words, the alcohol in my system taking over completely.

she sighs at what I said, "don't joke around. I don't want you killing yourself... don't you see how hard I'm trying for you? don't you know how much I care about you y/n? how fucking heartbreaking it is to see you like this?"

even intoxicated, I can hear the venom in her voice as she gets irritated with me.

I chuckle back, "oh whatever aeri, don't waste your energy on me."

"fuck you y/n, I can't keep doing this," aeri raises her voice, desperation and exhaustion evident in it.

silence hangs for a second as my world spins, vision blurry, the darkness of the night not helping at all. my stomach churns and my heart burns, aching. all the things I want to confess to her getting stuck in my throat, unable to release itself.

I hiccup once before uttering out, "then leave, don't waste your time on me."

the sound of aeri clenching her fists around the metal supports of the swing are loud enough to be heard, but then, it's silent again. the summer late night breeze flows through the air, a solo lamp post above us providing us with the faintest amount of light, distant chirps of cicadas to accompany the noise of passing cars in the street nearby. then, a choked sob from the girl next to me.

I turn towards her, almost throwing up at the sudden movement. aeri's crying, a single tear falls from her right eye, running down her cheek and falling to the sand below. there's no follow-up sobs, just silent teardrops running down her sweet devastated looking face. my whole chest tightens at the sight, making my head spin more as the alcohol clashes with my heartbreak.

"y/n, if you wanted to leave me, you should've just said so..." it's practically a whisper, barely audible to my dazed mind, but I'm fully zoned in on listening to anything aeri has to say in this moment.

her words sink in however, my stomach unsettled from a mixture of the verbal heartbreak and the physical coping mechanism dancing together in tragic collaboration.

"if you were just gonna leave me hanging for so long, you could've just told me," her voice is louder, "do you know how long I waited for you? do you know how badly I missed you? how badly I wanted to reach out to you? it's not like it would've mattered considering you'd just ignore me."

she continues, "I've tried so, fucking, hard, to ignore how badly it aches being without you," each word added with a pause to emphasize herself. "every single second that has passed since you left me, all I've been able to think about is you."

her eyes close shut as she now uses her hands as her emotions pour out her mouth, "I literally cannot stop thinking about you. my fucking head is just filled with you, you, you. I can't be normal, if my ears aren't filled with noise then the thoughts of you come flowing back in and I can't stop them from being loud."

she hangs her head, her arms falling limp beside her, voice quieting down into defeated sighs, "you promised y/n, you promised me you wouldn't leave. but I can't hate you, I've never been able to hate you or dislike you or feel an ounce of disdain or contempt towards you because I don't, I never will be able to. I only but love you. and I can't stop loving you and I don't know how to stop, I don't know if I'll ever be able to stop, even if I tried it wouldn't work because I HAVE tried. and even then, I still fucking love you."

deafening silence hangs once again in the air, the tension palpable. I feel my chest squeeze, the overwhelming rush of emotions colliding with my fragile heart, feeling the liquid courage in my system turn to regret.

"always so eloquent with words, aren't you aeri?" my voice manages to squeak out, surprising myself, "but never enough to read the room."

she turns to look at me, eyes filled with tears. I hesitate from speaking, the words I want to say stuck at the back of my throat, stopping them from spilling out. if I weren't drunk enough to care, I'd listen to my thoughts, but my body reacts on its own, knowing that if I don't speak now, I'll hold this suppressed pain till the end.

"why do you think I've avoided you? why do you think I needed the space and distance? because I didn't want to see you? because I didn't wanna talk to you anymore? because you didn't make me happy anymore? didn't make me feel like the only girl to ever exist in this wicked fucking world, the only person to truly see and love me, the only person to make me feel like I mattered?"

I can't hold myself back as my emotions overflow from my tongue, unable to halt its onslaught, no longer in control of my own self.

I become louder, choked sentences turning into audible begs for her to listen, "do you really think my words meant nothing? that I didn't mean it when I said all those things to you? that you were the first person, the only person I would go to when I felt like shit? did you even listen to me?!"

"of course I fucking listened to you y/n! why are you acting like I'm stupid?!" aeri argues with me.

"because you're blind aeri!" I argue back, "can't you see?! can't you fucking see what's going on?!"

"I don't understand!"

"I'm in love with you aeri! I'm in love with all of you, every single part of you! I love your smile, your voice, your laugh, your body, your hands holding mine, your warm comforting hugs, your hums when I lay on your chest, your pats on my back when everything is too overwhelming, the affirmation you give when I feel like dying, the interest you show when I rant about something stupid, the shine in your eyes when you talk about your interests, the gentleness you give me when I'm crying, the love you make me feel when you simply exist in my presence and even if we're not together you still make me feel like I matter! I fucking love you!!!"

drops of rain softly fall to the ground around us, a light drizzle slowly emerging from the sky, the weight of my outburst heavy in the air.

my voice croaks, almost whispering, "I've fallen so deeply and harshly and intensely in love with you, every part of my body aches because while I love you, I cannot have you. I know you love me too but you can't love me the way I so desperately want you to, the way I so desperately love you."

the moon glistens in her eyes, shiny with tears and cheeks trailing with raindrops. so much pain painted on her face, and yet she's still so beautiful, my heart longs even harder for aeri.

"being around you makes me feel like the angel you say I am, makes me feel like I'm floating above the clouds and you're the reason why I'm able to do that, makes me feel like nothing else matters as long as I have you. but it also reminds me of how it's all not real, how I can't just have you, that I'm not your only one. it's minjeong and it should be, but my god do I wish it were me..." my voice weakens with the last part of the sentence, the tears streaming down my trembling cheeks.

"so aeri, I'm inexplicably sorry for breaking your heart, but mine is shattered too. my reality, this reality, it's unbearable, and I so badly yearn for you. I've been agonizingly in pain wanting you, needing you ever since I've left with no words, but resisting it because I can't ruin the good thing you and minjeong have. no matter how insanely desperate I am for you, I know it's not right for me to fight myself for you."

we both cry silently, the slight rustle of leaves from the trees around us in harmony with the serene but heartbreaking drizzle of rain muffled by the sand of the dark abandoned playground. it pained me greatly watching the love of my life look so utterly torn apart in front of me, me being the reason aeri was so broken. all I want to do is reach out to her, cup her precious face into my hands, wipe the salty tears from her cheeks, and kiss her plump trembling lips, reassure her that everything will be okay. but again, I can't, I couldn't, my shoes glued to the floor and hands clutching the material of my jacket, like I could hold in the pain aching in my chest.

"y/n..." her voice shaky, tone unrecognizable compared to the comforting and confident girl I knew, "I love you."

even though her voice was weak, what she said made my knees wanna give out, buckling at her words. she had told me she loved me before but this time she sounded different, it made my churning stomach fill with butterflies. my chest pounded harder as aeri started to walk closer to me, tiny but impactful steps as she was almost up against me. her warm hands carefully cupping my cheeks, thumbs caressing my skin and wiping my tears away as I melt completely into her touch. as my eyes close, I feel her forehead rest against mine, aeri's soft lips very slightly grazing mine, my hands falling to slip themselves into her hoodie, holding her close by her waist, afraid to let go.

I clutch her tightly, a contrast to the soft grasp aeri's hands hold my face in, so warm on my cheeks. even for this small moment in time that the two of us settle in, I feel all my anxiety and agony wash away with the rain, comforted and at peace with the world when I'm with her, the girl I'm so tragically in love with holding me like it's the only thing either of us want, need. god I wish this moment would last forever.

what I would give to kiss her right now. how badly I want to just close the miniscule amount of distance between us and feel her soft lips mold against my strawberry soju flavored ones. how desperately I want to pull her into me and never let go, making out with her breathlessly. and how painfully I hold myself back, restricting myself from acting upon any urge I harbor, not letting myself give my everything to the woman I love.

"aeri... I love you," my voice breaks in a sob, "and I'm sorry..."

I take a good look at my one and only girl for the last time, observing her perfection, how ethereal aeri uchinaga is to me. then I rip myself away from her warmth, turning and never looking back, tears welling up in my eyes and blurring my vision of the already pitch black night.

I run. I run and run. I keep running. I cry, furiously. I can't see anything. all I can hear is the sound of my own sobs as I throw myself against the wall of a building and shrink to the floor, wailing into my arms.

the days that followed were a blur. I don't remember how the night ended, how I got home, what happened after, nothing. I didn't touch my phone, didn't contact or respond to anyone, just rotted the days away in my bed, eating or using the bathroom when my stomach hurt too much. not even a knock at the door would force me to get up from my asylum, not a phone call, not an urgent emergency, not anything that could possibly be of importance. simply because nothing mattered. I used to believe it would all be okay if nothing did matter, but my reason to keep believing is gone now, she's all gone.

looking out the window all day, the clouds were dark and heavy, steady drizzling from the sky once again. I took a trip to the kitchen, interrupted by a white envelope on the floor near the door. it compelled me forward, shakily opening it and feeling all of my emotions run back to me as soon as I recognized the handwriting.

dear y/n,

I don't know anymore. I've thought a lot about everything and I just, I've got nothing. nothing to tell you that'll make everything okay, that'll solve any problems or issues, that'll make anyone feel better. I'm sorry y/n, for letting all of this happen. I've come to the realization that it's out of my hands, emotions and love, they act on their own, but while I'm sure I can't completely blame myself for how you feel about me, I could've let you go softly instead of letting you love me, even if I didn't know. I got close to you, closer than I've ever gotten I think to anyone, not minjeong, not my friends, not my family, you. I should've known that our clinginess to each other would lead to such a demise.

I write all of this to say, ultimately, I love you. I still love you, I don't think I can bring myself to stop loving you, again, even if I tried, I wouldn't be able to. I'll be leaving soon, the fall semester is gonna start and I'll be gone and out of your hair in more ways than one before you know it. not that it matters but me and minjeong broke up. it was never gonna work out between us considering the differences in what we wanted and how impossible it was for us to be with one another. I could sense the end for us, I could feel her falling out of love with me. unfortunately I've lost one too many people I've loved deeply and I don't think I can reasonably recover ever from this.

y/n, if you're ever ready to love me again, in any way, shape, or form, I'll be there. I want you to know I'll never stop loving you, again, I fucking can't. I don't know why I keep holding onto you when I know it's over, I know we're over, I know you don't want to, or wish you could stop giving a fuck about me. so goodbye y/n. thank you for making me just the happiest girl I could've been for as long as you existed in this life of mine. you made me feel beautiful, gave me butterflies, made me feel like if everything in life fell apart and that if it was just me and you that it would be perfectly fine, like nothing or no one mattered as long as it was just us, you made me feel so fucking incredible, inside and out. I've never felt such euphoria from anyone before, and haven't felt so gorgeous until you came around, like the goddess you treated me as.

admittedly, I think you were slowly but very effectively taking my heart. I never let myself dwell on those thoughts for too long but deep down I knew that it was true. everything you said that night when I held your precious face in my hands, I couldn't ignore it, I was falling for you too. I wanted to kiss you so bad, to close my eyes as our lips met and ignore the world falling apart around us, but you pulled away and I stood there with my hands in the air covered in rain, feeling my heart break all over again. I love minjeong and I'll continue to love her till I die, but I don't think I was in love with her anymore, but in love now with you. letting you steal my heart while minjeong's heart was in my hands is regrettable, I don't think I'll be able to forgive myself even if she never knows. though, I don't regret having fallen for you, I mean I wouldn't have if there was no reason to, right? but ultimately, it's my fault for letting two incredible people fall in love with me, someone who couldn't keep their hearts from breaking in the end.

I can't promise you this little life of mine will last long, I'm, broken, shattered, and quite frankly, I don't wanna try loving anymore, I think this might've been my last straw. I've never been good with love, you know that, and yet you loved me, maybe you still do. I don't know if I can handle anyone else falling in love with me and letting myself fumble with their precious emotions any longer, so taking out the middle man feels like the conclusion I've reached. we both ended up breaking our promises of staying for each other, didn't we? how ironic, isn't it y/n? I'm sorry for leaving you, but I can't find it in my own fragile heart to stay. so, thank you for being my friend, my love, mine.

I'll protect you from the other side,

your aeri

the rain outside started to pour.

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death---dealer · 5 months ago

Note

I recently saw your prompt list, and I would like to know if I could pretty please have the 6 and 60 with caesar?😭

6. teasingly kissing the tip of the nose. 60. Sitting in their lap.

Smoldering is how his hands felt against your skin, taking in the delectations against your side as they were brought down from the side of your rib cage towards your hips, Caesar securing his grasp there and pulling you even closer with a small huff of contentment mixed with need. If he could, the Ape King would have you inside of his skin at moments like this where the wall he had needed to rebuild time and time again in all his interactions with humans since the flu came tumbling down and he was able to feel the trembling of your body against his own.

The pure torture his leathery skin gave you as he held you so tightly, in any other form would cause you to burst out of laughter as it tickled instead of pleasured, was sending you in the the highest bid imaginable. That was the thing about Caesar. He would always get you there, bring you to the very edge and in a seconds worth of hesitation as you both never wanted the feeling to end, he’d staved off and thus make you follow him into the trenches were all you were able to mutter was his name and the occasional plea. You were such an incredible sight to the green eyes that were so intent on watching, admiring and trying so desperately to remember the way your eyes rolled back, the way your mouth, ajar murmured one prayer to him before you were utterly consumed in white heat that seemed to burn hotter than the sun itself, Caesar doing his best to swallow the sounds you were making as he knew they caused a ruckus to the Colony members, but he could not bring himself to care anymore with the subsequent actions you put him through.

A small utterance 'Caesar' catapulted the Ape into the great Heavens themselves as he brought his face between the bridge of your breast, nuzzling his mildly protruding muzzle there and garnering himself a tightening of your hands in the fur of his shoulder when Caesar bared his teeth against the already flushed skin and tasted your sweat on them.

Coming down was never the easy part, your head lulling itself into the crevice of his neck as the grip on your waist that was keeping you leveraged as you bounced atop him mildly were becoming loosened as even the great Ape himself staggered out of the abysmal heat into the trenches of chilled air that lingered around the nest during the latest hours of the night. His eyes shut long enough for him to recollect himself, to recollect yourself as he dragged his hands upwards on your back, touching barely on your shoulder blades but feeling you tense out of heady intentions to go again despite your mate coming back from his trip late, despite him being tired. Caesar dragged you down with him with carnal desire and now you were both reaping the utmost consequences.

“Mmm…” You murmured, bringing your head from the fur of his neck where you had been swimming in his musk of ashen wood, the tallest red wood where its top peaked the clouds, the deepest and riches parts of the Earth were only a worm would enjoy until this moment where all you wanted to do was consume it yourself. “You need to go on long trips more often.” Caesar chortled at that, the action in his shoulders causing you to shift ever so slightly in his lap as your legs loosened their tensed grip they had around his sturdy pelvis. “Think… You should stay awake… and wait for me when I return late from these trips…” Caesar lifted his gaze to meet your own, the flushed nature of the green and golden specks always mesmerizing and your breath caught in your throat, enough to cause you to grasp the fur of his shoulders much tighter as you saw the glimmer of flirtatious notes playing behind them. Caesar, unprompted, was not one to speak like this and you really only got it in the aftermath of intense throes of scorching pleasure. You took what you could get, dishing back what he had served.

Bringing your face down towards his own, Caesar had thought that you were going to swipe your lips against his, then bracing for impact on the immediate basis that he was only blessed with lip to lip contact on occasion, knowing that it wasn’t something common amongst the Apes.

But--- He was wrong, your lips placing themselves on the cartoon heart shape of his nose for only a fleeting pash in time as you laughed against him, your chest rattling movements causing his eyes to dip just once so he could see your breasts move along before the visual was lost as you came scrunching in tighter, the hands that had scratched themselves into his bare flesh beneath the thickness of his furred shoulders now coming to wrap themselves around his muscular neck.

“I’ll be sure to try my best.”

#caesar #caesar x reader #pota #planet of the apes #caesar pota #emmy writes #fanfiction #fanfic #andy serkis #planet of the apes x reader

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undreaming-fanfiction · 3 months ago

Text

Just Wanna Bewitch You In The Moonlight

Written for @steddieangstyaugust - Day 7: Moonlight. Another cursed statue Steve because I have been sitting on this idea for ages. Title from Ghost lyrics.

The garden of the Harrington manor was quiet when Eddie snuck in. He already knew all the patrols, cameras, everything important. It wasn't like he wanted to steal something anyway, the worst he could get charged with was trespassing. Or at least he hoped so - Harringtons weren't exactly the most forgiving bunch.

He soon found what he was looking for. A statue of a handsome young man, reaching for the sky. There was something sad about him, the curve of his lips, forever frozen in a wistful smile. Just as beautiful as he was a month ago.

"Hi, sweetheart," muttered Eddie and squeezed his stone hand. He sat down at its feet, leaned against the statue's legs and waited. The sky was clear today, he could even see stars through the light pollution, so it would not take long. If only the moon hurried up.

"Fancy meeting you here."

Eddie leaned back and smiled at the upside vision of the handsome boy, now with color in his cheeks. "Hi, sweetheart," he repeated, pulling him down for a kiss.

The statue obliged. "Hi yourself. I don't mean to rush you, but can I have my legs back? I'd like to stretch for a bit."

"Sure thing, Stevie." Eddie quickly moved away and offered the statue - Steve - a hand so he could leave his pedestal. He seemed uncertain on his feet for a moment, but soon he was on the ground and doing stretches that Eddie would never even consider. "I'm always amazed that this is what you want to do with your precious time," he laughed and watched Steve stretch his calves.

"And I always tell you that if you have to stay still for a month, your body will scream for a good stretch," Steve smiled at him and changed legs. "I'm more amazed that you still haven't given up. It has to be annoying, always having to come here. How long has it been?"

Eddie pretended to count on his fingers. "Hmmm, let me see…two decades, give or take. I was nine when I met you, I'll soon be thirty. Why, are you counting?"

"I lose track. Still, I feel guilty about it. You should be living your own life too, you know." Steve finally stood up and nudged Eddie's side. "I'd understand if you wanted to quit. I can't ask you to keep doing this for the rest of your life."

Eddie caught Steve's hand, swinging it back and forth. "You don't have to."

They always did this, ever since Eddie was a child roaming the Harrington grounds where his uncle worked. He couldn't sleep one day and got lost in the fancy maze that was the estate's garden. The moonlight made everything so pale, it was difficult to find his way back to Wayne's shed. Eddie was getting tired and cold, but he wasn't about to panic. He just needed to catch his breath. He half collapsed against another piece of art that Harringtons had collected over the years.

And then, just as the full moon showed up in all her glory, the statue that Eddie was leaning against moved.

Eddie was so terrified he couldn't even scream, he just fell backwards into a thorny bush. Before he knew it, the statue rushed to him, pulled him back up and started fussing over him. "Are you okay?" it asked. "I overheard you talking to yourself, you're going the wrong way. The shed is further to the right, come with me."

It took Eddie's hand and swung it back and forth, establishing a brisk pace with Eddie skipping next to it. They didn't really talk, but when Eddie was back safe with Wayne, he saw a moonlit figure give a small wave.

After that, Eddie would go to visit the statue every night, but it never moved. It just stared towards the stars, as if it was reaching out to grab the moon itself.

It finally happened a month later, at another full moon. Eddie thought that maybe he'd hallucinated the whole thing at that point, maybe he just hit his head when he fell into the bushes, but as the moonlight hit the statue, it yawned and stretched its arms. "Oh," it said when it noticed Eddie, "you're back? I hope you don't end up like a pin cushion this time."

After that, they talked. A lot. The statue was called Steve, and he didn't always use to be a statue. He never really knew the scorned witch who cursed him, or what he did to her. "I used to be a real jerk back in the day," he smiled at young Eddie. "Maybe I trampled over her herbs when I was rushing back home after another party. Maybe I knocked into her. Or maybe it wasn't even me, maybe my dad did something nasty to her. He isn't really the nicest person."

"The old Mr. Harrington?" Eddie asked. "But he's like, ninety? How long have you been here?"

Steve shrugged, stretching his arms. "Hard to say. I only get to fully wake up every full moon. The rest of the time, things are hazy. But I think I got cursed in nineteen thirty two. I was twenty then."

Eddie's jaw dropped. "Wow. That has to suck. Does your dad ever come and visit you? Maybe try and break the curse?"

"Not really." Maybe it was just the moonlight playing tricks on him, but Steve's smile seemed sad. "He doesn't believe in the whole magical mumbo jumbo, you see. Or that's what he used to call it. He's ashamed that I made a spectacle out of our family."

"But it might not have even been you!" blurted out Eddie. That's not fair!"

Steve reached out and ruffled his hair. "I know. He tried bribing the witch, but that didn't work. Then he tried to destroy me or move me, but that's impossible. So he just ignores that I'm around. He used to send someone to leave a snack for me, before I woke up, maybe to ease his conscience, but now that he's old, I don't think he remembers me anymore. Maybe it's better for him this way. And since another part of the curse is that I can't leave the garden...he doesn't really have to worry about anyone finding out about me."

He fell silent, but Eddie's mind did anything but that. He stood up and grasped Steve's shoulders. "Well, fuck your dad."

Steve blinked at him. "Hey, aren't you too young to swear like that?"

"Fuck that too. And shush, I have something important to say. I, Edward Munson, herefore...ther....I mean, I promise on my soul that I'll find a way to free you." Eddie was grinning at him, but there was something in his eyes that made Steve take that promise seriously.

"Eddie. I appreciate it, really do. But you don't have to do that. I'm fine."

Steve smiled at him as he said it, he tried to sound persuasive, self-assured. But that scrawny kid in front of him just rolled his eyes and, much to Steve's surprise, patted his head. "Now now. Wayne says that pretending to be okay isn't cool, so we're not doing that. I'm keeping my promise, Steve. You'll see."

The evening was colder than usual. Eddie threw a blanket over himself and Steve, cuddling close. "The research is going well, you know. Dustin believes he found the origin of the curse, or at least some of the components. He believes we have a real shot at freeing you."

"I still can't believe you roped other people into this," laughed Steve. "How did you even get them to humor you and come here? Did you just tell them that you met a cursed statue when you were a kid, and they just went with you?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised how curious these little assholes are. Not so little now, they're starting college, but they're all committed. Especially Max, she considers it an insult we haven't solved it yet."

Steve sighed, staring into distance. "College already? I met them when they were barely teenagers. Time flies so fast."

"Not for you, baby," whispered Eddie and kissed Steve's cheek. "Not for you."

It was soon time to part. Steve's hands grew colder and more stiff by the minute, pulled back into their original position. As life gradually left Steve's body, Eddie repeated his promise again, just like he had for twenty years. He didn't know if Steve could hear him at this point, but it didn't matter. It was equally for both of them.

Maybe they would finally set him free in a year, five, or twenty. Maybe Eddie would be older, full of wrinkles and with grey streaks in his hair, while Steve would still be young and handsome. It wouldn't matter, as long as Eddie could see him walk past that garden's gate, feel the sun on his skin again.

Steve might have been worried about the day that Eddie would inevitably stop coming. Maybe he'd give up, or something would happen to him. Maybe, as he told Eddie many times, he'd finally find a life purpose that would bring him happiness.

But Eddie made a promise, and as long as he was alive and breathing, as long as he had anything to say about the matter, one thing was certain: Steve Harrington would never be alone on full moon again.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #steddieangstyaugust #not proofread we die like my immune system

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trendywaifus · 1 year ago

Text

↳ i have dreams that lives in my nightmares!

everyone described the ruthless freddy krueger to be a vengeful spirit seen as a disfigured man. one night after falling asleep, you were finally able to come face to face with the urban legend.

↳ featuring, dream demon! kafka

—cw, fem! sub! reader, oral sex (fem! reader receiving), fingering (fem receiving), dub–con, mentions of scars, not proofread

after falling victim to slumber, you found yourself what it looks like to be in an empty museum full of fog. “ a. .museum? “ you questioned, anxiety gradually swelling in the pits of your stomach. like the fog, the atmosphere was thick with ominous silence. you walked down the large hallways blindly, catching glimpses of bizarre paintings and artifacts displayed along the walls. there was a particular painting of a spider seemingly stuck in the midst of its own web.

“ whoever made this museum has actual issues. “

breathy laughter echoes through the walls of the empty museum. “ oh really? you wound me, i happen to put this together myself. “ the voice drawls before humming a familiar tune. wait, was that summer and winter? you were unsure of the direction from where the voice is coming from. but as each moment passed, her humming got louder and louder. it felt like she was in your head, luring you in a hypnotic trance. you were starting to get a bit dizzy.

but then, a horrid sound of metal scratches against a harsh surface. “ oh, fuck. i think i should just get on my knees and start praying. “ you muttered as the steady sound of heels clanked across the tile floor ahead of you. a tall silhouette comes into view through the fog. but what made your heart nearly burst out of your chest was the shadows of her stretched arms disproportionately reached further along the walls as if they were wings.

“ actually, never mind! i should start running! “ you quickly turned around to make a run for it but her voice stops you.

“ stay. “

on her command, your body stops itself in its tracks. no matter how hard you struggled, you couldn’t even take a step forward. immediately after, a delicate hand runs up your back and rests on your shoulder; you shivered. “ good girl. as much as i enjoy the game cat and mouse, i wanna finally see that pretty face of yours up close and personal first. “ she purrs in your ear before walking in front of your frozen body to see your face.

“ holy. .” you were memorized by the tall beauty towering over you. beautiful lilac eyes, long, silky purple tresses stopping below her breasts, red lips curled up in a deceivingly warm smile; she was out of this world (figuratively and literally!). no alleged burn marks etched to her skin, instead it was creamy and flawless. she adorned a white, long sleeve collar shirt, black dress pants, and heels. you were ripped away from your admiring when a long, sharp metal claw gently runs along your jaw, careful not to tear skin.

“ mmh, it’s such a shame a little dove like yourself got caught into my web. “

“ a-and it’s such a shame that i’ve never gotten to meet such a beautiful woman like you until now.“ you blurted out.

a genuine look of surprise flashed on her pale features before she lets out a soft laugh. “ well, i didn’t expect you to be quite the charmer, little dove. i’ve been watching you for quite some time. “

you give her a confused look. “ but why me? “ her smile stretches wider with mischievousness, she tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “ i will say this, human lust and desire are known to be so strong that the brain translates them into the most interesting fantasies which are called— “

“ w-wet dreams. .“ you stuttered, heat rising into your cheeks. is she implying that the only reason she was watching you was because of your wet dreams? you don’t know if you should be embarrassed or weirded out. the woman laughs out of no where, “ you should be more so embarrassed, darling. you have quite the wildest dreams that even i was taken back from. but to answer your question, hardly. i’m really here for you. “

your brows furrow with confusion.” did you just read my mind? “ she teasingly smile at you, bending down a bit to lean closer to your face. you swallowed thickly. “ yes. anyways, how about this, “ she draws closer to your face until hers lips are nearly touching yours. “ let me have some fun with you and i’ll let you go. you wouldn’t mind that since this is one of your fantasies, no? “

fuck, why did she have to see my dreams? you thought, shyly adverting your gaze down at the floor. amused, she lifts your chin up with a gloved finger; forcing you to return eye contact with her. your knees nearly turned jelly under her roguish eyes. “ and, if. .i don’t, you’ll kill me right? “ you questioned, voice barely under a whisper.

she hums thoughtfully, “ well, I would say yes but since it’s you, i’d rather not. you caught my attention after all, sweetheart. “ she presses her red lips against yours, running her tongue over your bottom lip. her hands which were now strangely bare, roams your body delicately as if you were one of her most prized artifacts. a shiver runs down your spine as her cool hand slips under your shirt and massages the warm skin under it with her thumb. you couldn’t help but feel excitement course through you.

“ now, what will it be? i can practically sense your desire for me. “ she chuckles against your lips. bewitched by her kisses and honeyed–filled voice, you whisper, “ y-yes, as long as you let me go after.” thrilled by your answer, she smiles wider, this time, revealing her fangs which prods your lips. “ atta girl. oh! before we continue, despite what humans call me, i prefer “kafka.” i’m afraid the original freddie had to put down his hat. “

you narrowed your gaze. ‘freddie?’ as in the urban legend freddy krueger? who could of possibly thought she was freddy? or even his replacement? where did he even go? “ and why are you telling me this? “

with a flick of her wrist, the setting changes and you’re now back in your bedroom. you assume it was conjured up by kafka. “ because i don’t want you screaming out the wrong name of course. “

before you can react, you land butt first on the mattress. kafka situates herself on the bed and between your legs. her long slender fingers reaches for the waistband of your pajamas and slides them down your legs and off your feet. she licks her lips at the damp spot staining your panties. “ i haven’t properly touched you yet and you’re already excited.”

too flustered to respond to her lewd comment, you let her pull off your cotton panties; giving her a delicious view of your dripping pussy. she runs a digit along your folds, coating it with your juices. “ so wet.” kafka purrs, delving her face further between your legs. her warm tongue presses flat against your clit before enclosing her lips around it. “ sh-shit. .! “ you gasped, curling your toes in pleasure as she starts sucking on the senstive bud. her index finger teases your entrance before sliding inside.

your cunt squeezes around her as if it was welcoming her. now knuckles—deep inside, she drags her long, slender finger in and out of your hole. all you could do was squirm and buckle your hips, hoping the graceful entity can relieve the aching knot in your abdomen. kafka retracts her mouth away from your bundle of nerves with a soft pop. she smirks, “ i haven’t added in another finger and yet you’re squirming as if i’m using three on you. here then.” you felt two finger enter your core, filling and stretching you out even further.

you let out a loud moan, throwing your head back in ecstasy as her well—manicured nails rubs against the spongy spot of your walls. “ r-right there, kafka! please! “ you babbled, throwing her a desperate look. kafka says nothing and grants your wish, curling her fingers right where you want it while her thumb idly plays with your clit in circular motions; driving you right over the edge. “ fuck, fuck, i’m gonna—“

to your utter disappointment, she pulls back, fingers covered in your slick. kafka laughs at the look of betrayal and confusion on your cute face. “ sorry, darling. i just had to do it. “ you forgot you were messing around with a being who loves to trick and torment people for her own pleasure. still in a daze, you tried your best to glare at her. “ don’t give me that look, pretty thing. lay on your back for me, i promise i won’t do it again. “

hesitant, you laid down on your back. kafka gently spreads your legs open for more space before going back in. she places her hands on your inner thighs, holding them apart. kafka observes how your slick pools from your pussy. delighted by the sight, she drawls, “ i’m just itching to get a taste darling. “

you stifle back a moanful groan as her tongue licks down along your folds in broad strokes. kafka emits a satisfied hum from tasting your essence on her tongue. she enters straight in, brushing her wet muscle down your gummy walls. “ god, kafka. .!” you moaned, feeling her tongue skillfully pump into your aching cunt. she pushes her face closer, nudging the bundle of nerves with her nose.

arching your back in pleasure, the familiar tension in your stomach returns as she continues to fuck you with her tongue. “ sh-shit, it’s coming back! “ you tried to enclose your thighs around her head but she easily keeps them in place. kafka firmly squeezes at the supple flesh, silently urging you to cum. “ c-cumming, kafka! “ you nearly screamed, your walls pulsates around her tongue and not a moment after, moderate amounts of cum dribbles out of your hole and in her mouth.

“ you taste wonderful, pretty thing. better than any wine i’ve once tasted. “ kafka greedily licks your slick and cum from her slightly–smudged red lips. you panted heavily, legs jelly from your climax. she sits upright to unbutton her collar shirt, your eyes widens in astonishment as she does; the skin that was previously covered was littered with scars and horrific markings. it was as if she has gone through extreme torture at some point in time. an unreadable expression settles on her face as she gauges your reaction.

smiling blankly, kafka expected you to scream or attempt to scramble away in terror but you didn’t. perhaps you were too fatigued to even move. but, searching in your tired eyes, she sees a sliver of pity in them. it was something she hadn’t seen in a very long time because all she was use to was fear, anger, and many other negative emotions she strikes into her victims. “ d-don’t give me that look, you know i can’t run away even if i tried, kafka. b-besides, ” you continued, averting your gaze away from her eyes awkwardly, “ e-even someone like you was once caught in someone else’s web so i can’t say i’m horrified of that. “

kafka smiles once more but this time, laced with amusement. she tosses her unbuttoned shirt to the side and dips down to whisper in your ear. her hot breath fans against your skin. “ keep being this interesting and cute, darling and i’ll appear in every dream of yours until you wish you no longer have the ability to sleep. “

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