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cjjohansson · 3 years ago

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NONE OF THIS WAS MEANT TO HAPPEN- PART 2

NATASHA ROMANOFF x BLACKWIDOW!READER

SUMMARY; After being apprehended by the Avengers and growing closer to Natasha, you let slip a secret she didn't know you knew. What happens when she realises you know the truth?

WARNINGS; mentions of abuse, swearing, previous suicide attempt, self harm, self doubt, mental health, smoking, drinking. sad natasha.

-PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION-

WORD COUNT; 4.5K

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“So you’re telling me Yelena lied?”

Natasha didn’t expect this. She hadn't heard that name for a while now, not since destroying the Red Room herself with the help from her but since then nothing but radio silence. She thought Yelena was too busy still trying to free other widows but she knew from finding you and helping you Yelena hadn't finished her mission yet. But she was confused at how you knew Yelena and still had her in your mind even through the torture of the mind control and manipulating you had experienced. She continued staring at you, she didn't know what to do or say to you.

“So was she lying or not Natasha?” your voice came through her ears making her refocus. Your voice sounded desperate to know the truth, you needed to know the truth.

“I don't know what you’re talking about y/n.” Nat knew she should tell the truth, why was she still hiding this part of her past from you, no one knew about the help she had received when destroying the red room but no one knew her as well as you. Only knowing each other for this short amount of time you both opened up in different ways, it was freeing for Natasha to see someone who went through the same pain as she did and it helped guide her in helping you. Knowing if she could help you it’d help herself, she still saw all the red in her ledger but she was determined to wipe it in hopes she could help you wipe yours. She knew how you felt about the terrible things you did under control and for all the years up until now. She knew you shared the same pain. Apart from you only had Natasha. Slowly growing more open with the team but Natasha had you AND the team, the team she had grown so close with over the years to now finally call her family. But still the lie fell from her lips like it was a simple song.

“You’re lying, I know you're lying and I don't understand why it's me Natasha!” your voice only grew louder the more frustrated you got.

“I still remember holding Yelena the day you managed to escape the Red Room, I remember her crying and having to keep her quiet at night so no one saw her and thought she was weak! She constantly fell asleep holding the only memory she had left of you. But it all stopped months after I was taken from her in my sleep being transferred to a new location! I remember mouthing to her ‘it’ll be ok, we will find eachother again’ but after that nothing. I cannot even remember how long ago that was now Natasha, the years after being put through the mind control barely anything feels real. It was all confusing at the time trying to work out who this girl was that I kept seeing in my dreams and anytime I asked them it would only end in a beating. I knew not to ask anymore. But I remember being sent on this mission to kill you Natasha! I remember after I finally woke up again and saw your face that this person in front of me will help because my friend never gave up hope in you! It was like all I could see was Yelena and this random blue haired girl!”

“I'm not lying. I don't know who or what you're talking about!” another lie, slipping past her lips like it was nothing. Her lies only fueled you with more anger and frustration. Her face just stayed staring at you like she was trying to burn the lie into your head. You thought you knew her, but the person who was standing in front of you now lying was most definitely not the same person you shared a kiss with only moments ago.

“You said I could trust you Natasha. You might be able to get away with lying to the team but you're forgetting we were taught to lie by the same people. I can see straight through you.” your voice hit back at her laced with venom, she could see the disappointment in your eyes. You slowly turned to leave, you couldn't stand here with her right now knowing she was lying. How could she lie to you after everything she has helped you with over the last few months. You thought you loved her, you thought she might have loved you. You got off the bed and walked towards the door, you couldn't be here right now.

“Y/n/n wait.” she grabbed your wrist, stopping you from reaching the door, the same wrist that was littered in a big scar from the time you woke up. Her touch burnt, all she received from you was a flinch and you pulling your wrist from her touch.

“Don't you dare fucking touch me Natalia! Only moments ago I thought I finally had someone I could trust, someone who would keep me safe. But now all I see is the Black fucking Widow stood infront of me. So no Natalia, I won't wait. I won't stand here while you lie to me straight through your teeth. I wont stand here while you tell me you don't know who or what i’m talking about when I held that some person for months through her fucking tears because her so called sister left without her! I picked up the pieces you fucking ruined and now you expect me to stand here and think that you're telling me the truth and Yelena lied all those years? You expect me to think the voice in my head the day I woke up after I slit my wrist wide open telling me to trust you is fucking lying? Because if it was lying I wish, I fucking wish I let myself bleed out right then and there.” You knew you hit her then, like your voice was so loud filling the room like it was pounding in her ears. She knew you were right that it wasn’t her standing in front of you but was the Black Widow trying to manipulate her targets for information. Before she could even reply, the sound of the door slamming brought her back to focus. She quickly wiped her cheek as she felt the tears slowly falling from her eyes, not even remembering when she had started crying. Why did she lie? Why did she ruin the chances of you? Ruining your trust like it didn't take so much time to try and gain it? What had she done? Her and Yelena were ok now, they had worked on their differences and she had apologised for what had happened all the years ago but why wouldn't she tell you that? She knew Yelena held a grudge and hated her for leaving without her when they finally saw each other again but that wasn't the case now. Everything was different now and the main difference was Natasha finally realising that maybe she was falling for you and she had ruined all her chances in that becoming a reality. She needed to give you space, she knew that if she was to chase you now it would only make you more angry, she knew she needed to figure out how to talk to you and explain why she had done what she had done, until then she couldn't risk seeing you.

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It had been a week since your argument with Natasha. Nothing made sense to you. It was driving you crazy at how she lied to you like you were nothing to her, like you weren't the person she had spent nights laughing with over stupid movies and also crying too when talking about each other's pasts. You had only slept once since then, a few hours after your argument, you had finally made your way back to your room knowing she would have left. You felt exhausted, only moments before your argument you had woken up from a terrible nightmare to then being in the comfort of her arms, to then kissing her to then shouting. It was like the only thing your body wanted to do was sleep right then and there. When you woke up hours later looking at your clock did you see the time read 4am, you had slept for 12 hours and by that point you understood why.

-flashback-

You steadily got out of your bed still feeling disgusted from being in your gym clothes from the day before everything happened, you made your way to the shower knowing you needed to rid all this grime off of yourself. You stood still in the shower letting the water fall off your shoulders like it was the first time you had ever seen water before it felt relaxing. Letting yourself get lost in the feeling of it but still your mind grew to the thought of what it would be like if Natasha was standing behind you right now washing your hair, touching you so delicately like you could break from any sudden movement. It felt too overwhelming. You crumbled to your knees like your body could no longer hold your weight anymore, your tears getting lost within the water that was over your face. It felt like you couldn't breathe, you were trapped in a place with nobody you could trust. Your mind grew dark so quickly, like the only way to get out of this place was to reopen that wrist but she still lingered in your mind, the thought of her finding you on this shower floor was breaking you even more. Why were you still feeling this sympathy for her after everything that had happened. You couldn't do this you needed to get rid of this feeling inside, it felt like your body was on fire, you felt scared and it was something you hadn't felt for a few months now, you had felt safe in her presence to now feeling as if you would leave this room and pass out, you needed it gone. You scrambled up from your feet in a hurry trying to find anything in your bathroom for a release, you remembered Natasha had made sure anything you could hurt yourself with had been removed from your pending room after your incident. There was nothing in here you could even butter bread with, it only made you feel more anger towards her. You stopped looking, taking a deep breath and staring at yourself in the mirror, wiping your hand over the mirror to see yourself clearer due to the fog clinging to it. And that's when you realised this would do. Bringing your clenched fist up to pound into the mirror sending shards flying everywhere, thank god for your enhancements you thought, that brought a light chuckle out of you. Frantically picking a big enough shard off the floor and moving yourself to sit on the toilet you knew this would help. Blood came seeping out of each cut, dripping down your leg and running onto the floor, you knew you'd done enough. The pain you felt inside had felt like it had disappeared more and more after every cut. You moved back into the shower preparing yourself for the sharp stings of pain that would soon follow, washing yourself quickly and exiting your bathroom, closing the door and leaving it shut. You knew you’d had to clean up later but for now you dragged yourself back to your bed in hopes to sleep more even though you knew you wouldn’t.

-end flashback-

You sat on the balcony of the compound still trying to work out how and why this had happened, you hadn't seen her for a week, you knew people had grown suspicious as to why you weren't joint at her hip and instead was constantly wrapped in a blanket on the balcony. The only person to come over and talk to you was Wanda, you would never say much. Only asking her if she could get you some cigarettes from the shop and some vodka, you knew if she said no you could always just ask FRIDAY to get some delivered, but she always came back hours later with the two things you'd asked her for, you always sent her the softest smile with a quiet thank you and she would leave after that. You wondered if she knew she was feeding into your new addictions and a way to stop the pain coming forward. You wondered if you were taking advantage of her but still you never wondered to ask.

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You brought the cigarette up to your lips lighting it quickly, the feeling burning your throat and lungs as you slowly inhale the toxic chemicals it gives out, you had never smoked before this whole thing with Natasha, it wasn't until you had seen someone smoking in a movie did you grow curious of whole thing but now look, it was like you was a natural. Cigarette in one hand, half a bottle of vodka in the other, that is all you've done all week. You only moved from this spot to go to the toilet, not even bothering with food. It wasn't healthy and you knew that, you also knew this was a pathetic way of coping from everything with Natasha but it was helping.

A small cough is what brought you out of your train of thoughts, you looked up towards the door seeing her standing there. You hated how the first thing you thought was how beautiful she looked with the moonlight shining in just the right way. It made her eyes even more beautiful than they already were, you threw your head back to look at the trees across from you, no you needed to be angry at her.

“Smoking isn’t good for you, you know.” you wanted to chuckle at her but the hurt seeping through your veins was too much to deal with, gulping down the growing lump in your throat you continued smoking while staring. She sighed moving to sit opposite you so she constricted your view. You now sit facing her staring into her beautiful emerald orbs hoping the tears don't start to fall.

“I’m sorry” watching her slowly lowering her head after her words, her hands running through her hair, you're sure you heard a slight sniffle but you continued to stare, not caring to reply.

“Please say something, anything” she sounded so vulnerable, so small but you needed an explanation not just an apology. You go to speak but your tears are already threatening to fall so you turn your head to the side gulping down some vodka to ignore the pain.

“I'm not good at apologising, I'm even worse at talking about my past. I did lie. But I shouldn't have. I lied because I didn't want to remember what I did to her back then, the things I did in general back then.” you finally turned to look at her again slowly nodding for her to continue.

“Me and Yelena, we…errrr...we had a mission when we were young. Acting as sisters with two other agents as our parents. It was nice, you know, acting normal. I went from being in the Red Room, to a normal life. To then just be taken back away again. But it was different for her, I tried to not let them take her, she was too young, but like they said, I was younger…” she stayed staring down at her feet, you could tell it was a lot for her to be doing this, you were thankful she was opening up telling you the truth but you could see her discomfort seeping through. Holding out the bottle of vodka for her to take she brought her head up slowly looking at you and then to the bottle. She let out a light chuckle moving to accept the bottle from you and taking a drink. She gave it back, wiping the few tears that had escaped, you thought she was done talking until she sighed and carried on.

“I held her as they took us to the Red Room again, well me again, not her. It was terrifying. I just held her trying to shield her from seeing anything and everything, she just clung to me, sobbing. We were so young and I knew what was going to happen to her and there was nothing more I could do. I knew as soon as we were there she'd be taken from me and I'd never see her again. But I did see her, of course you know I did. It was quick stares walking past each other or it was me looking for her subtly when we would be eating, I couldn't protect her anymore. We could only protect ourselves. Any signs of love, affection or even friendship were frowned upon. How could I comfort her or look after her when everything I wanted to do I would have been punished for? That would have scared her even more. So I kept to myself.”

You didn't know how to react or what to do, the woman who was so continuously strong no matter what was thrown at her was sitting in front of you sobbing, it broke your heart and you knew it was breaking hers.

“Tasha, it's ok. Please.” you couldn't watch her cry anymore but you knew there was so much more she needed to say.

“No, y/n I...I need to do this.” you gave her a small nod, urging her to continue as you swallowed your own tears.

“She got out about 7 months ago too. Things happened and well me, her and our parents, Alexei and Melina. We took down Dreykov, we took down the main Red Room. I found out about all of these other widows that were placed all around the world being controlled. Yelena had this antidote that managed to break widows out of mind control, she found out the hard way what it was but we managed to save the widows that were at that Red Room. We only had one dose left, so with the help from Melina and Alexei they created more so they could go and save all the girls that were left. When you showed up I knew that clearly she hadn't finished the whole mission yet but I knew that 4 months wasn't a lot of time to do that hence why she hadn't reached you yet. I hadn't been in contact with any of them since then, I tried to get in touch but I never received anything back even up until two weeks ago.” she had stopped crying now, she looked more comfortable talking, it released this ache in your heart knowing she was becoming ok. You just wanted to hug her, so you did. You moved quickly, cigarettes and bottle of vodka long forgotten about and settled on her lap. She tensed slightly when you first sat down but soon enough you felt her relax, you just couldn't stop looking at her. Her eyes glassy from the tears she had shed, the light smell of the vodka she had drunk coming out from her lips as she breathed slowly. You just forgot everything that had happened in the past week. You cupped her face making sure all of her attention was on you, leaning in slowly to finally connect your lips in a gentle kiss. You finally moved away when you felt tears dripping down your cheeks, not evening knowing if they were yours or hers. Her hand came to settle on your cheek wiping away the tears that had fallen, the smallest of a smile on her face.

“I went to find them this week.” her words shocking you, making you shake your head confused. She laughed lightly at your reaction.

“Arguing with you just made me realise that I had no clue what was going on, I just left them with this information and took off, so I went to Melinas where I knew one of them would be and saw them there. That's why I had been gone all week.”

You felt relief when something rolled through you, although all this week you had been trying to avoid her, every time you moved from the balcony to the toilets you hoped she would pop out of nowhere. It wasn't until the third day you thought she was actively trying to avoid you too, it's what made you grow more angry. Thinking she just upped and left without a word but you now knew she didn't and suddenly all this anger and pain you felt towards her through the week was gone off your shoulders, but you now hated yourself for the way you reacted, the way you screamed and shouted at her for lying when now you understood why she done what she done out of fear of remembering. You hated yourself for the way you threw yourself into hurting yourself along with smoking and drinking. The guilt settled in your chest, it felt like it was too much to handle once again and you couldn't stop the tears from crashing down, a painful sob falling out of you as you suddenly felt like you could feel your thighs starting to tear and bleed again, like you could feel your throat burning from the bottles of vodka you had consumed and your lungs feeling as if they were suffocating from all the cigarettes you managed to smoke in such a short time.

Natasha reacted quickly, holding you tighter as you tucked yourself into the crook of her neck, a death grip on the back of her shirt as if, if you were to let go, this would all be a dream and she would disappear.

“Hey, hey, hey. Shhh it's ok, you're ok, I’m ok. We are ok. I'm here. I'm sorry for what happened and I'm sorry for leaving without explaining. I'm just so sorry.” her words were meant to be comforting but it only made you sob more.

“The things I did when you were gone Tasha, I overreacted. I'm sorry for everything I said that day of our argument. I understand everything now I do and I'm so grateful for you telling me and I'm so happy Yelena is safe. I'm so sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry.” your voice muffled as you sobbed into her neck only made her grow nervous. No one had said anything about you all week when she called to check in on everyone.

“y/n, what happened?” She spoke so softly, one hand stroking small circles at the bottom of your back and the other hand moving to the side of your hair to move your head up so you were looking at her. It made the words you were trying to say even harder seeing how much her eyes showed her concern and worry.

“M...my...my bathroom, I...I...I ruined it, haven't been in my room since you left. I've stayed out here just smoking and drinking Tasha. I felt so angry and hurt and I hate what I did because now I understand why and what happened and I just overreacted so much and all I've done is cause myself pain and I know you don't want to know or even think that but I have. I hurt myself Tasha, I broke my mirror to do it, gosh thats so fucking stupid and it was only the one time and that doesn't make that ok I know that but it hurts so much. I feel like I'm suffocating, this guilt is too much. You've come back to explain and now here I sit crying and making it sound like everything I did this week was your fault but it wasn't. I'm sorry.” you rambled on continuing to sob, her eyes now just looked so sad, it broke you but you couldn't stop the ‘I’m sorrys’ from falling off your lips but she still stayed stroking your back, leaning your foreheads together telling you over and over that it was ok and she forgave you.

Your sobs finally slowly subsided, the exhaustion finally settling in after the week that had gone by so slowly, it consumed you. But Natasha never let up her continuous flow of ‘its oks’ and never failed to tell you ‘I’m here’ until you finally settled in silence. The silence felt comfortable between you, even though the past hour or maybe even longer held so much pain for the both of you. Your grib finally loosens on her t-shirt, moving to sit up straight to look at her.

“Я люблю вас” she blurts out in a hurry, you stayed staring at her in shock. You made no move to reply or even hug her or kiss her, it made her grow nervous. You felt her tense underneath you straight after it came flying out of her mouth.

“It's fine, you don’t need to...umpth” you cut her off short pulling her into an intense kiss, moving to straddle her lap, she moaned softly into you, making you melt. Even through the gentleness it still felt so rough and aggressive, neither of you pulling away until air became a problem.

“я люблю тебя больше моя Наталья”

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The night seemed to flow so much more calmly after your late night confessions. You both moved to Natashas suite in hopes of getting some more privacy. Your night consisted of movies playing in the background as you both consumed each other with so much love and affection. You knew for sure that no one could ever love you or care for you the way this woman could. It overfilled your heart with so much joy, that even after these years where she was in pain and she blamed herself and the word for everything that had happened to her, that she could still love and feel so deeply. How she could still love you with so much passion in such a short amount of time, when you both grew up being told that it would make you vulnerable and that it was for children.

You knew the way you grew up was terrible and traumatic but in this moment, laying in Natashas arms sharing the smallest of kisses, giggles erupting from both of you, kind words whispered as if anything louder would ruin the moment, you were somewhat grateful that somehow no matter where this life was suppose to take you or what was meant to happen with you, you had never been so happy to have failed your mission against Natasha Romanoff, because right now who knows where you would be or what you was doing. You managed to be so lucky that this woman still accepted you with open arms and made herself vulnerable and somewhere fall in love with you that nothing from your past mattered in this moment. All that mattered was the love you were sharing and the love you can only hope to continue to share into the future.

Maybe ‘None Of This Was Meant To Happen’ but god was you so incredibly happy that it did.

#natasha romonova #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha x reader #natalia alianovna romanova #black widow #black widow x reader #black widow imagine #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x reader

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softmothprince · 4 years ago

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dragon’s claim

Zhongli's sweet darling needs a... gentle, reminder of what exactly they are to each other

this is a collab piece with one of my friends~ they are much better at writing fluff than i am and it hits me in the feels

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She’s not pouting. Absolutely not. She’s also not glaring at the woman currently leaning on Zhongli’s arm, staring up at him with heart eyes as he rambles happily about the tea he was buying. Her arms are crossed and she leans heavily into the railing of the bridge, jaw clenched and teeth grinding.

No. She is not jealous of some… some… harlot! With a loud huff, she pushes off the railing and walks off the bridge, hearing her sandals click against the wood and then stone. Once she’s close enough, the tall geo archon looks up and gives that stupidly cute smile, cheerfully calling her name.

She refuses to acknowledge him and waits for him to finish his conversation. “Ready to go home dear?” he said with a sweet smile. She doesn’t respond and starts walking away back through the market as gently pulls her close to him. He sighs and leads her to a side alley, where she leans against a wall still not looking at him. He leans in close.

“Is my darling jealous?” He whispers, tucking her hair back behind her ear. His fingertips trace around her temple, then under her eye, before cupping her face. “You know I only hold affection for you, little one.”

He tenderly presses kisses over her cheeks and nose, placing a firm one on her lips. He pulls back enough to stare into her eyes, seeing the internal fight she is having. To submit to him or continue to pout and sulk. It makes him sigh and shut his eyes- as though a headache was creeping up on him.

“It seems I am going to have to… remind you, of that fact.” He decides, sliding his hands down to her wrists and brings her hands up to kiss them. His eyes peek open, glowing a warm amber in the dying light as he gives her a heated look. “I’m going to make love to you until your heart understands how much I love you.”

She pulls her face away and with a sad pout says, "Remind me of what Rex Lapis?"

He frowns, "That's not-"

"Remind me that only I get jealous and that the great Rex Lapis doesn't?!" she said with tears starting to fall down her face. "I'm the only one who gets possessive over you and you don't! It's like it doesn't bother you if someone else looks at me like that! Maybe next time Kaeya tries to-"

He slammed his hands into the wall, pinning her to it, "Kaeya did what?" he said with a low growl, his pupils having shifted into slits.

She shuddered for a moment. Seeing the amount of territorial possessive in his eyes made her heart stop and she struggled to find the words.

“Little one,” he said sternly, “I’m going to ask you again. What did Kaeya do?”

She took a deep breath. “The other day Kaeya came by the office and was trying to flirt as usual and he asked me if I wanted to go with him and have a real man for a master,” she answered nervously.

A fierce growl ripped from Zhongli’s throat, almost like a suppressed roar. She could see his struggle to stay composed as his fangs grew and scales started to appear on his neck.

“That damn bastard,” he said with another growl, “He has the audacity to try and take my precious mate from me?” She let out a small gasp. His horns were starting to poke through. “How dare he. If I see him again I’ll-”

He was cut off when he felt her hug him tightly. “I don't want anyone else!” she said before looking up at him. “The only master I want is you. My dragon, my Zhongli. So please don’t let anyone else try and take you from me either.” Her eyes on the verge of tears.

He sighed and kissed her forehead. “We’re going home. Now. I still have to teach you a lesson.” She nodded, “Yes Master.”

~*~

Her heart pounds in her chest, loud enough she wouldn’t be surprised if he heard it. Though, he’d had to be listening to that instead of the sounds coming from his hand playing with her cunt. After what had happened earlier, he had taken her home and immediately stripped them both of their clothes, pinning her down onto their bed.

It took him only a few seconds to pounce on her, his hand delving between her thighs to her pussy. It was wet and sticky, slick coating her thighs and his fingers. His narrowed gaze shifts from her pussy as he leans forward, latching onto her throat. His teeth scrape over her pulse, then travel down to the crook of her neck.

A deep scar laid on the soft flesh, marking her as his. His heart, his love, his mate. He eagerly kisses and nibbles around it, the scarred flesh much more sensitive and giving him the reactions he wanted. Her breath tickled his ear, every moan, sigh, and whisper of his name making him shiver.

He runs his other hand up her torso, cupping her breast and flicking his thumb gently over her nipple. She trembled more, waiting for him to snap and take her. She saw how fired up he had been earlier when just mentioning another man, she knows that flame is still burning fiercely in him.

And when he pulls away from her neck to look into her eyes, she can see it flickering in those piercing gems. A small bead of sweat drips down her neck and between her breasts, catching his attention. He doesn’t hesitate to follow it, kissing along the soft curve of her breasts, his tongue curling around her nipples when his mouth latches onto them.

Zhongli hums and pulls his hand away from between her legs, glancing at the mess he caused. She was far from cumming, but he had all night to… remind and teach her exactly what it meant to be his mate. Strong hands suddenly pull her across the bed until her legs dangle off the end, feeling a small burning from where the sheets rubbed.

He kneels between her thighs, nuzzling his cheek along the soft flesh and kissing the inside of her knee as he looks at her soaked pussy, a deep croon building in his chest. She shifts her still trembling legs, only to find them suddenly being grabbed and pinned to strong shoulders as a head of dark hair disappears between them.

She can hear him hum and whisper something, then say much louder in a teasing tone: “Itadakimasu~”

Something firm and hot swipes over her swollen clit, making her jolt with a loud yelp. Another swipe and she lets her head fall back onto the pillows, hands balling up into the sheets. Zhongli peers up at her through his lashes, taking in her reactions and growls when her thighs try to shut. He pushes them apart again, huffing against her cunt.

“Do not. Do that.” He scolds, then dives back in before she could speak, keeping his eyes on her face.

Loud slurps and wet smacks fill the room, blending in with his deep moans of pleasure. Her own suddenly reaches a higher pitch, her hips jumping when she feels his fingers slowly push inside and stroke the inside walls of her pussy. Her hand snaps down to tangle into his hair, tugging and causing more growls and moans to pour from his chest.

“I will never tire of this,” He purrs, pulling back slightly to look at how easily his fingers are sucked into her. “I will never tire of how beautiful you are when I pluck you like a lyre. The sounds you make are as sweet as birds' songs.” He dips down to suck on her clit, feeling her nails dig into his scalp.

“Your scent and taste are far better than the finest wines I’ve ever had. I will never tire of this.” He repeats, making sure that when he slowly stands up he catches her flustered gaze. “I will never tire of you.” He whispers, leaning over her body.

“Master-” She gasps and is cut off by him grabbing her knees, pushing them back against her chest.

She watches with wide eyes as his appearance smoothly changes, dark scales bleeding from his skin, fangs growing over his lips and horns poking through his hair. Zhongli rubs his fingers- no, they feel more like claws now -down her thigh and grabs his cock, lining up with her entrance.

His cock slides in easily, the walls of her cunt squeezing and sucking him in deeper. He bows his head, watching his dick thrust in and out, his breath picking up and sounds similar to growling building more and more. He returns his grip to her knees, leaning on them as his hips slap loudly against hers.

Sweat drips down his brow, his slitted pupil fluctuating as he looks at her face. Her cheeks are blushed a deep red, eyes rolling into the back of her head and mouth parted to let out moans and incoherent babbles.

“Master- Master ple-please, mo-more~” She sobs, nails scraping and digging into the skin of his arms and shoulders.

The small pinpricks of pain are lost in the throes of pleasure, his nerves burning with every thrust. He dips down to her ear, moaning and purring for a moment before managing to speak.

“Mate… you… breed… gonna fill you… so full… mine!…” He shudders, the familiar feeling of swelling at the lower part of his cock growing more and more. The knot kisses the outside of her cunt, dipping in ever so slightly before disappearing.

He grunts, one hand dropping her leg and going to grab her throat. He doesn’t squeeze to choke her, just presses enough to get her attention, growling her name when she only whimpers. Once those pretty eyes are on him, he lets his growing knot finally push in completely, feeling her entire body freeze as it registers the sudden sensation.

“Breathe, little one.” His voice is deeper. More rough than the usual smooth silk.

She finally lets out a sob, his knot pushing and rubbing her sweet spots deliciously. He manages a few more thrusts, until the knot is too swollen to pull out again. Does that stop him? Absolutely not. He humps and grinds like a man gone wild, slamming his mouth to hers to hide the animalistic sounds pouring out of him.

Her tongue flicks over his fangs, making him shudder and grip her tighter. He removes the hand from her throat and delves it between their bodies, finding her clit and- taking care of his claws -rubs it swiftly. A few more well placed thrusts, his teeth nipping her bottom lip, and she convulses around his cock while crying out his name.

The ravenette drops onto his arms over her, continuing to move as he himself cums thick and hot inside her. He presses his forehead against hers, sharing their breaths and staring into each other's eyes as they slowly come down from their high. Both of them are shaking, his darling more so.

Ever so slowly, he lets her leg go and brings his hand up to cup her face, stroking his thumb over her cheek and wiping away the tears of pleasure she let out. His other hand goes to hers, bringing it from his shoulder and to press against his chest- right above his racing heart. He can feel hers through their fingers.

He kisses her hand and then dips his forehead to meet hers while their breath slowly steadies and his knot recedes. Once he can move again he carefully begins to clean her up and wrapping her in one of the blankets before sitting next to her on the bed. His dragon features slowly fading.

He pulled her in close, wrapping his arms around her and planting soft kisses on her temple as she nuzzled into his neck. He smiled at his darling as she relaxed in his arms, letting out a small laugh remembering her pouty face from earlier which caused her to look up at him. He kissed her forehead. She was so unbelievably cute when she got jealous or pouted. Something about her moments of attitude made him love her so much more.

He then looked into her eyes with a warm smile. "My precious darling, don't you know that I will spoil you with whatever your heart desires? Whether it be riches and gifts or," he kisses her hand softly, "my time and affection. Whatever you ask of me is yours."

She blushes and tries to hide her face in his neck but he holds her by the chin,

"Don't forget. Dragons mate for life and you darling are my mate. Understand?"

She nods her head, while gazing into his eyes.

"With words my dear," he says leaning in to graze his fangs on her neck as a small reminder of what they had just done.

"Y-yes sir," she says blushing.

He smiles and pulls her in closer while caressing her cheek. "Good girl. Now let's rest shall we? Rest and get all the cuddles you want from your Dragon."

#zhongli #genshin zhongli #zhongli x you #fem reader #genshin impact #reader #zhongli x reader #lemon #writing

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gaysimpsstuff · 4 years ago

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Flightless Birds Chapter One: Feathers in Fukuoka

Chapter Two Here

Chapter Three Here

Chapter Four Here

Chapter Five Here

Summary: Y/n unexpectedly meets the current number two hero Hawks in Fukuoka. The grayish blue Parakeet catches the eye of the speedy hero, who promises himself he’ll meet them again.

Word Count: 2.5K words

Warnings: Child abuse, Karens, blood, Hawks being creepy, chaotic best friend, gore, shitty parents, deadbeat dad

Other: The amount of research I put into this, wing anatomy, feather anatomy, types of birds, parakeet behaviors, cities in Japan, I even found a good Japanese name for the best friend, since this does take place in Japan. If you wanna know, Izanagi, the name of Y/n’s best friend in this fic, means ‘First male, god of creation’ and I love that name. Actually, I love anything in the Japanese language, it’s such a beautiful language and I cannot wait to learn it. Also, there was a problem with the spacing in the flashback scene so I just fixed that real quick, sorry for the inconvenience!

Taglist: @smolchildfangirl @combat-wombatus @cathy8taffy @1small-frogs @catcherisvibin @waffleareniceandfluffy @mandalorian-baby-bird @theblueslytherin (If you want to be added/removed from the taglist let me know).

You stared out the window. It had taken forever but you’d convinced him to let you look down at the streets surrounding his penthouse. You rested one hand on the cool glass, letting out a breath. Your other hand was tracing the scars on your legs, You had long given up on getting them to heal.

You fluttered your wings, or what was left of them. No matter how many times your primary flying feathers would grow back, it would never deter your captor from simply clipping them off again. Thankfully, he did a better job than other people. He would never cut a blood feather. Well, mostly.

You closed your eyes, the house was so stifling at times, despite the large open rooms, and the fact that your captor would occasionally allow you out into the garden. You attempted to recall the last time you were free in Fukuoka. You remembered a bright sky, blue as your wings, and clouds fluffy and soft as your feathers. You remembered the ache in your body from working yourself all day, and just how heavy your legs felt. You remembered a kid’s joyful cheers when she saw you….

“Mommy! Look, look at the pretty bird! Can I touch it please?” you were standing on the street, waiting for a friend to pick you up and take you over to their house to watch movies and eat popcorn. You looked up from your phone at the sound of the child’s loud, innocent voice.

“Go right ahead, Kaneko!” a woman’s voice this time. You frowned. Whatever bird they were talking about it probably wasn’t a good idea for the kid to just run up and touch it. You were forcibly removed from your thoughts when sharp pain shot up through your wing. Oh, you were the ‘pretty bird’ the kid was talking about.

Your quirk was Parakeet, and that was fine by itself, but it came with pros and cons. Some pros were that you could fly, even though you couldn’t do that in public in most places in Japan. Some cities in Japan had laws that allowed flyers to take to the skies under strict sky traffic laws, but Fukuoka was not one of those cities. Maybe you would have been better off in Miyagi or Fukui, where you could fly freely, but at the same time, you had lived your whole life near Fukuoka, plus it was such a beautiful city, it was easier to stay here.

Another pro was simple, the thing most people think about when they say they want a mutant-type quirk. The looks. Your wings had three different colors, but the base color was a beautiful summer sky blue. At the very top of your wings, your marginal coverts were a curious shade of gray. Not dark enough to be black but not light enough to be white. Underneath were your secondary coverts, which were white as the clouds in the sky. The rest of your feathers were pretty blue colors. Your tail feathers followed the same pattern as your wings.

Everything else about your quirk wasn’t very fun. Behavioral issues that had gotten you in trouble in school and at work, especially during mating season. Plus the sheer amount of people with prejudice against mutant quirks. You’d heard it all. People thinking they had the right to touch your wings and tail, people shouting to you in a high-pitched voice to force you to repeat their words, people claiming you weren’t human, people insisting you fly them somewhere, etc etc. This was unfortunately something you dealt with on the daily.

Just like this kid grabbing your wing.

“OW! Don’t do that!” you shrieked, yanking your wing away from the kid, spinning around to see her. Her little hand was wrapped around one of your darker feathers. Fuck. Of course, she grabbed a blood feather. The little girl’s eyes welled up in tears, and she turned and ran back to her mom. Thank the stars, she let go of your feather.

You sighed, running your fingers through your wings to smooth the ruffled feathers.

“Excuse me, bird!” the mother of the child grabbed your shoulder, forcibly spinning you around to face her. She was middle-aged, and furious. “What did you do to my dear Kaneko?”

You glanced between the woman and the girl, Kaneko. Kaneko was in tears, holding onto her mother’s leg. She had to have only been three or four, she probably didn’t know any better.

“I didn’t do anything to your child, ma’am. She ran up to me and grabbed my wing, which is very painful, and actually very rude in case you were unaware.”

“I don’t give a shit!” the woman screeched. You flinched away from her. She was cursing in front of her toddler? Irresponsible. “It’s my dear Kaneko’s birthday, and I say she gets whatever she wants! You’re just a fucking bird, so why can’t you sit still and let my daughter pet you!?”

Great, she was a fucking Karen. This was just what you needed after dealing with co-workers and clients at work. Getting your feather pulled and a crazy lady all up in your face, freaking out at you. Because her daughter hurt you.

“Because it’s painful, and I’d prefer not to let strangers touch my wings.” You explained yourself calmly.

“You fucking bitch!” the woman was screaming, her finger in your face. “You selfish, greedy little pig! She’s a child, let her live her life!” Shadows danced in your peripherals as her words faded from your ears.

Cold metal was pressed up against your feathers, you dreaded the snipping noise that meant she was cutting. You could feel the scissors press into the stem of your feather before the metal blades connected, severing the feather from your wing.

“Ow! Mommy that hurts!” hot, wet, salty tears stained your cheeks. “Mommy please stop it!” You were five, getting your wings clipped for the first time.

“Shut up! Don’t be so fucking selfish!” a harsh voice snapped at you, the aggression making you shudder as you sobbed. Your pupils were blown wide in fear as you screamed. “Stop, Mommy that one hurts more!” your mother didn’t even hesitate, cutting off another feather. It hit the ground like the rest of them, but something else came with it. Blood dripped down your wings, staining the pretty blues and plopping onto the ground.

“You’re dirtying my clean floors!” mother screeched behind you. “When I finish with your wings, you’ll clean that up!”

“Mommy?” you sniffled, trying to hold back your chest-heaving sobs. “Why do I hafta have my wings clipped?”

“So you don’t fly away like your jackass of a father. I won’t let you leave Mommy.”

“Get your finger out of my face, woman!” you shouted at her, you were just seconds away from biting it off of her ugly hand. You were trembling, and you could hardly breathe what with the marching drums hammering away at your ribcage

“Don’t you tell me what to do, you inhuman!” The little girl shied away from her mom, crying harder. You opened your mouth to retort against the crazy Karen, but stopped when you saw the girl’s reaction. You knew she probably felt bad for hurting you, and now her mother was screaming and cursing, you knew how scary that was.

Your train of thought was interrupted by a whoosh of wind and a flash of red. Something wrapped around your arms, tugging you away from the woman, and something tugged the woman away from you. You looked down, seeing red feathers curled around your biceps. You’d only seen red feathers in one other place. When your own feathers were soaked in blood from your mom’s clippings. You shook your head, pushing the dark memories from your mind as you grabbed the feather and pulled it off of you as quick as possible, it flew away from you almost immediately, heading towards a man far taller than you. His golden hair was messy but very soft-looking. His slitted eyes glanced between you and the woman behind his golden goggles. His hands rested in the pockets of his large brown jacket. But none of that compared to his intimidatingly large red wings. It would be impossible not to recognize him, he was your best friend’s favorite.

Number Two Pro-Hero in Japan; Hawks

“What’s going on here?” he asked. “I heard shouting.” he said, a lazy smile resting on his face.

“This crazy bird-bitch hit my daughter!” the Karen screamed hysterically.

“Are you kidding me?” you thought she’d at least be above that, but it looked this woman didn’t give a shit about morality. “I didn’t touch her at all! She grabbed my wing then you freaked out when it hurt me!”

“Hey, now, no need to get upset.” Hawks turned to you, and something in him changed. His wings shivered, and his eyes slitted, before blowing back out to normal size. “Birdie, tell me your side of the story.” you took a step away from the hero, something about his reaction to seeing you didn’t seem natural. It creeped you out. Also, why was he calling you ‘birdie?’

“I was standing around, waiting for my friend, then this kid saw me. She must have thought my wings were pretty because she ran up to be and grabbed one of my feathers. A blood feather, actually. It hurt and I yanked my wing back and told her not to do that. This woman seemed to have some delusion that her daughter has every right to touch and hurt me and I’m supposed to- and I now quote- ‘sit still and let her pet me.’” You explained.

“Ah I see.” Hawks nodded, turning to a young man on the street. “Sir, who’s explanation is correct?” he asked.

“Uh- the bird’s?” the guy seemed out of it, just staring at the hero.

“Thanks, sir. Ma’am, could you and your daughter apologize to this nice person?”

“No way in fucking hell!” the woman screamed. “Come on, Kaneko, we’re getting out of here. And I’m throwing away all your Hawks bobbleheads, now I know he’s a fucking biased pig.” The girl glanced up at her mom before quickly running to you, taking your hand.

“I’m sorry!” she cried. “I didn’t wanna hurt you, your wings just looked so pretty!” you softened a little, crouching down and patting the girl’s head, smiling at her.

“It’s alright, I forgive you. Next time you see something pretty, tell the person it’s pretty, then ask if you can touch it.” The girl lit up, nodding eagerly.

“I will!” she exclaimed before her mother dragged her away.

“You didn’t need to apologize to that asshole. They were the one that made you cry.” she grumbled, walking down the street as she fumed.

“Poor girl…” you muttered. “Having a Karen for a mom.” you stared after her empathetically. You didn’t notice the look in the hero’s eyes, staring you up and down, shifting from one leg to the next. “Oh um, thanks Hawks,” you said, turning back to him. “For helping me.”

You froze when you saw his face, eyes seemingly staring into your soul, expression blank. He seemed to be calculating something, scanning you for information. Your blood ran cold when you noticed his pupils, thinner than paper.

“Oh!” he was shaken out of his daze by your voice, a careless smile dawning his features as his pupils returned to normal. “No problem, Birdie.” you pursed your lips, nodding. You saw a small black car turn the corner, and you honed in on the license plate. Saved at last! Your friend was here!

“Alright, uh I’ve gotta be going now…” you chuckled nervously.

“Wait, a sec, I’m gonna need your name for a report.” he dug around in his pocket, pulling out a small voice recorder and holding it up to you. “Just speak it in here.” Oh, yeah that made sense, Heroes had to make reports of everything they resolved in a day, so it was probably best to get the names of the people they help in case the PHSC needed to contact them.

“Y/n.” you spoke as clear as you could when he pressed the button on the side of the recorder. “Y/n L/n. Hawks helped me win a petty fight with a Karen.” you chuckled a little into the recorder. Hawks nodded, putting the recorder back into his pocket. He glanced back at you for a moment, expression aloof and apathetic.

“Thanks, Y/n!” he flashed you another smile before taking off into the sky, leaving you confused.

Why did he use your personal name and not your family name?

The door to the small black car opened, and your friend stumbled out, running forward a few paces before cursing.

“You fuckin kidding me, Y/n? You got to meet Hawks?” he stared at you in disbelief. “You couldn’t have made him stay a minute longer? You know he’s my celebrity crush!”

You couldn’t help but laugh. Your best friend since you were a young child, Izanagi Fujikawa. Bisexual, chaotic, and your mortal enemy.

“Iza, he’s a pro hero. He’s got shit to do!” Izanagi pouted, crossing his arms.

“I know… I’m still mad at you though.” you rolled your eyes, scoffing.

“We can deal with that.” you poked his cheek, climbing in the passenger seat before he grabbed your elbow, pulling you back towards him.

“Your wing’s all messed up- what happened?”

“I’ll explain in the car.” you shrugged him off, climbing in and buckling your seatbelt, unaware of the sharp golden eyes watching you.

Hawks was perched on a nearby building, eyes slitted as he glared down at your friend. You two were close, he could tell. Why did that make him so fucking furious? His feathers twitched as he played back the recording you’d given him. That laugh, golden and free. He looped it, your gentle voice blessing his ears and relaxing his body for him.

“Pff- hahahaha!” he closed his eyes, re-imagining your face, the soft smile gracing your angel-like features, the way your wings flapped slightly, the nearly inaudible purr vibrating in the back of your throat. He wanted you to laugh around him more, he wanted you to be around him more, he wanted you to be his.

Even if he only got to talk to you for a minute, he felt like he already knew everything there was to know about you. You didn’t like causing trouble, seeing how polite you were at first to that crazy lady. You could stand your ground though, not afraid to stand up for yourself. You were kind, and forgiving, he got that from how you treated the kid.

A sudden realization struck Hawks. It was frightening, terrifying even. He loved you. Breathtaking Y/n L/n, the pretty parakeet. Ah, but that guy. That guy was in the way. Not to worry, he could remove the… complication.

Soon.

You would belong just to him.

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gentlemancrow · 3 years ago

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Ohh prompts! Maybe 21 and some shippy JonTim?

OK I know I agonized about this one but NO REALLY THANK YOU IT WAS GREAT <3! It was a GREAT exercise for writing in so many ways for me! Also I know the prompt "Maybe you should sit down" sort of implies getting bad news or something more than what popped into my brain, but this is what popped IMMEDIATELY into my brain so I went with it 83 Also again this is my first JonTim so be gentle with me uwu! Honestly it's my first time writing Tim in general for longer than one sentence so there's that too jfhlsajf XT Anyway enjoy!

Jon would have infinitely preferred to think of his bungled little excursion as a calculated risk that the whims of capricious probability had simply decided he had lost on that particular doomed occasion. What it truly was, however, was an infinitely predictable culmination of skipping his physio stretches for three mornings in a row, deciding a quick jaunt into the stacks to hunt for a statement to cross reference with the one he had been working on all morning did not, in fact, require the aid of his cane, and several cups of black tea on an empty stomach with their resultant caffeine jitters that had left him splayed and wobbling like a newborn fawn with one hand anchoring him in a vice grip to the handle of a file drawer. His bad leg ached in that special way it did that he knew all too well could be catastrophic if he moved it even slightly wrong, and set him back significantly on his physio progress. That oft repeated foible would also attract the ire and derision of literally every single person who knew him, never mind the physical therapists at the clinic, and he was very much not prepared to deal with that on top of everything else.

Lucky for him he wasn’t even supposed to be back at the institute in the first place, so no one would be looking for him, and he was reasonably assured that he would have plenty of time to figure out how to escape unscathed, or at least enough to hide a suspicious limp for a day or two. Unlucky for him, probability it seemed, also liked to double down.

“Alright there, boss man?”

Tim’s jovial voice echoed through the file cabinets like the worst song on the juke at the pub out of all of the hundreds of better selections just as Jon was preparing to gingerly move his spasmodic leg. He sighed and closed his eyes bitterly.

“Oh, yes, just fine, just dangling precariously from this file cabinet to try out a new stretch, it’s called the ‘mind your own business’,” he growled.

Tim chuckled, the echoes of it raising pinprick hackles of irritation on the back of Jon’s neck as he emerged from the shadows, hands on his hips and wry, crooked grin on his scarred face.

“Maybe you should sit down.”

“And pray tell where, Timothy?” Jon snapped in a low growl.

Tim made a low whistle.

“Yikes! Busting out the -othy today? You must be in a bad way.”

“You think so? Whatever gave you that brilliant idea?” Jon drawled, rolling his eyes, “Are you going to stand there gawking and making me feel even more like an invalid or are you going to deign to render me aid?”

“I think I can spare a moment, just for you,” came the predictably smug retort, “What exactly would you like me to do?”

“I just need to sit a moment and massage it out, so fetching a chair from somewhere ought to suffice.”

Tim pondered the request as he strolled to Jon’s side, chewing his lower lip pensively.

“Well, I could do that for you, but seeing as you’re not actually supposed to be here yet I am a little concerned that dragging a chair randomly down to the archives would attract… unwanted attention? You know Martin would have a conniption.”

Sighing heavily, Jon pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses.

“Good point.”

“How about my lap then?” Tim continued without missing a beat.

Jon choked on his own tongue as the tips of his ears burned like cinders.

“TIM! Is this really, truly, and honestly the appropriate moment to be… making a pass at me?”

Unfazed, Tim pressed a dramatic hand over his heart.

“Jon, I’m wounded! Ordinarily I’d be deeply offended you’d think my flirting skills so inelegant and crass, but I was actually being sincere this time.”

A dark brow slid skeptically, pointedly up Jon’s forehead.

“Beg pardon, but how could that possibly have ever, in any situation, been construed as sincere?”

“Well, we’ve determined a chair is too risky, the floor isn’t going to do you any favors, and I know you won’t let me carry you back to your office, so I won’t even bother to ask, so where does that leave us, hmmm? Plus, if you recall, I had much the same physio you did, I know the massages and the stretches, I can have you patched up and out of here in no time,” Tim elaborated, counting off on his fingers.

Jon hated it when anyone other than him was making the most sense in the conversation, and he gnashed his teeth and growled his begrudging acquiescence.

“…Fine.”

“Brilliant. Alright to touch?” Tim asked brightly, hands hovering a respectful few inches from Jon’s hand and shoulders.

Eyes narrowing to smoldering brown slits, the last embers of a dying fire, Jon made him wait a few moments for the wordless nod of approval.

“Okay, just taking your hand there, my other hand’s got your other arm, and easy does it…”

With surprising finesse and gentleness, Tim took Jon’s hand and eased him onto the ground with him and into his lap, taking great care to keep his seized-up leg straight and comfortable. Jon melded against his assistant, looping his arms loosely around Tim’s waist while he tipped his head against his shoulder and let his twisted-up bones and sinew go slack against the radiantly warm aegis of him. His shirt was screamingly loud and his hair was freshly pink and he always smelled crisp and free and wild, like a sea breeze on a sun-soaked twilight. Jon liked the way he smelled, and the self-assured posture of his broad shoulders and the heartening solidness of a body meant to be shirtless as often as possible holding him so secure in the humming powerlines of his care. Just to be touched was a visceral melody of nerve endings and synapses, to be touched by him was a blinding symphony of electric light and sound perfectly in tune to the aria of his core where so few dared to go.

“Not so awful right?” Tim teased, squeezing his affected knee with care.

“Get on with it, Stoker,” Jon murmured languidly into the crook of his neck.

“Ohoh, last name now. I’m on real thin ice, aren’t I?” he chortled in reply, pads of his fingers feeling out the ridge of a patella and skating down his calf.

Jon winced, opening one eye to glance guiltily up at the ever-chipper mien of Tim.

“I-“ he stuttered, his protest melting into a sigh, “No, you’re not. I’m sorry. You’re being helpful and I’m being an ass.”

“Mmm, that’s a smidge hyperbolic. You’re being snappish because you got caught being naughty, and you’re in pain, and you also got caught being in pain, which is probably the worst offense out of all of them.”

“I suppose…” Jon conceded, closing his eye and letting his body go slack again.

“Okay to roll your cuff up? Or would you prefer trouser leg down?”

“You can roll it up, I don’t mind.”

Tim promptly, neatly, folded the cuff of Jon’s trousers up only to just above the knee, baring the cratered mares of his leg. His fingers felt them out, felt the places where the worms bored holes in him that had forgotten which way to mend and pulled and tugged in a confused riot of fibrous muscle and scar tissue, and rolled through them with slow, deliberate tenderness. Jon hissed softly in pain, but Tim’s fingers knew the weft and trail of his muscles, and he squeezed and massaged and tilled them with expert care. Unhurriedly, painstakingly, Jon’s knee unlocked, and it bowed gratefully outward with the sigh of relief into a Hawaiian print collar.

“You’re allowed to hurt you know,” Tim whispered at length, fingers just stroking idly now.

“Everyone’s allowed to hurt,” Jon replied automatically, “It’s only that those of us who can bear it have the duty to do so for those who can’t.”

Tim chewed his lip in the wake of that, weighing his feelings against his words carefully.

“And what god decides who is who?”

Only silence from the clinging, boneless and wounded creature in his lap.

“I’m just saying. I was right there with you, the same thing happened to me, so maybe share a little of this one, hmm?” he tried again, nudging at Jon’s temple with the tip of his nose, letting the silvered chestnut hairs tickle.

The strings of Jon’s body wound taut again around Tim’s fingers still tracing blind patterns on his shin, and he glanced up, daring to ensnare his irises only for a moment.

“I’ll try.”

A soft, breathless laugh whisked past Tim’s lips as he shook his head fondly.

“I guess that’s the best I’m going to get out of the high and mighty head archivist,” he huffed, “But I’ll take it. Now, where can I kiss it all better for you?”

It took Jon a full cycle of pouting, scowling, and digging vengeful fingers into Tim’s back before he could conjure an answer.

“Forehead, please.”

“You got it.”

Jon ducked his head to receive Tim’s lips pressed against his creased brow, and while he knew he bore a burden too great to be carried away with velvet kisses and frank words, for a moment at least he could feel just a bit lighter.

#The Magnus Archives #TMA #JonTim #jonathan sims #Tim Stoker #Crow Writes #Ask Drabble #wordsintimeandspace

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implexedactions · 4 years ago

Text

Naga Enji - Halloween Collab

Hey! So this was part of a server wide event I did with other members of Lovesick! They’re all super amazing and you should DEF check out the others who took part!

I really like this one!

Warning for yandere content

Beta’d by best person: @tod0oki

[Edited after posting]

---

You walked calmly through the forest, admiring the lush foliage. It really was a nice spot to spend the day. You came here a lot; it was relaxing and serene. The area didn’t have any trails, but it was an easy walk, regardless. Looking up, you noticed clouds were starting to gather. Hmmm, yeah, okay, better head back to the entrance. It was going to be late enough already; you didn’t want to have to deal with rain.

Before you could leave, you noticed a cave. It caught your interest, and you moved towards the entrance, it seemed to be quite deep.

“Hello, human.” A deep voice called out from the darkness.

“W-what?! Whose in there?” you shakily question.

“How much do you know of Naga’s?” The voice called back from the darkness, still not visible.

“Oh. This is a joke, right? Well, I’m not in the mood. And I’d suggest you head back soon, rain clouds are starting to form, and it looks like it’ll be bad.”

“Oh, but this is not a joke. I…I am real.’

A snake person emerges from the darkness, his human body has short jagged red hair and a scar near on his face. His human half ends around the waist, before turning into a striking red, orange, white, and black snake body, like a red-spotted garter snake. His torso and shoulders are broad, which makes his snake body huge. The diameter of his snake body is the same height as you. He is giant, over 10 meters long. You try to step back but fall instead.

“I…but…you’re…snake?” You stammer, failing to deal with the reality presented in front of you

“Naga, you uneducated primate. And I have taken a tremendous interest in you.” He says, slithering closer, eyeing your form.

“Me…? But…why?” you say, your feet finding purchase on the ground, trying to move away from him. Shoving you away from him, just a tiny bit.

He looks disappointed at you trying to move away from him. He reaches to grab your ankle, but you kick his hand away. He jerks away before looking you in the eyes, glaring at you.

“How dare you! Do you have no respect?! You should feel honoured that I chose to even approach you!” He says, looking outraged and annoyed.

“Why DID you approach me?” you say cautiously, realising how unfavourable this situation is for you.

“Well, I need to talk to my mat- I mean…visitor. Yes, you are my visitor. You stepped foot into my cave, that makes you my visitor.” He says hastily, slowly moving around your form, which was still lying on the ground.

“I…uhhh…I need to leave, it’s going to rain soon, and I need to make it back to the forest entrance.” You try to stand up, but a large hand on your shoulder keeps you in place.

“Oh, I insist, please stay with me for the night. You deserve my hospitality” He says, still moving around you in a…circle.

Oh dear…

You force yourself up.

“Oh no, I need to make it back. I’ve got…people waiting for me, yeah! T-They’ll get concerned if I don’t show up!” It was a lie, but he shouldn’t know that.

He sighs, the circle around you now completed. His snake body is about as tall as your shoulders, so you can’t jump over it. He towers above you, looking down on you

“Uhmm…Can’t help notice that you’ve accidentally encircled me here. Can you let me go? I can come back to visit if you want? I promise?” you say, nervously looking around.

His face falls into an unimpressed bored look.

“Hmmph, I wanted to give you a few peaceful nights, to show you how nice life with me could be, but I guess you don’t want that. Such a shame, but you will grow to love it, I am sure.”

His arms grab you, despite your weak flailing, and he pulls you into his chest. You go quiet as you pray this is all a bad dream. He slithers slowly further down into the cave, the darkness growing. He seems to know his way, though. He brings your head up to his face and looks into your eyes.

“My name is Enji Todoroki, one of the strongest Naga’s, a fierce hunter surpassed by no one. You are my mate; I promise that I will treasure and protect you like no other.”

He arrives at the end of one of the tunnels. It is a large open semi-spherical area with a fire in the middle. He circles around the fire, and places you inside the circle, next to the fire.

“I know humans are not as resistant to the cold as I am, please, utilise this fire. The rain will not disturb us here.” He says, eyes trained on your every move.

You try to jump over his colossal snake body, but you struggle to get over it. He simply leans over and grabs you, before forcing you to sit down next to the fire. He leans in close, resting his mouth by your ear.

“You know, my mate does not technically NEED legs. If you would like to keep yours, I do suggest that you stay put.” He leans back, resting his human body on his snake half, keeping the coil around you complete.

“O-okay…I just…I don’t want to be here?” you say, pulling your legs up to your chest, crying into your arms.

He looks at you, anger surging through his veins. He grabs you by the shoulders and stares deep into your eyes.

“Why not! Do you think I cannot provide?! I am insulted! I have lived hundreds of years on my own! I am the most skilled hunter ever! Obviously I can provide for my mate!”

You quickly try to reassure him.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that! I’m sure you can provide for me!”

He scans your face, then hugs you and calms down.

“Of course, of course. You do not know me yet. You can live a great life here; I am certain of it. Just do not tell me I cannot provide for you. It is one of the most disrespectful things to a naga, okay? You did not know that, so I forgive you.”

“T-Thank you?”

“Do not fear! I will show you how comfortable a life you can lead in the coming years with me! You will be happy, I guarantee it!” He looks at you as if waiting for validation.

“But…I have a human life, and I have other human needs?” You try to put as much softness into this as possible, you think there is a chance he might let you go. His face darkens briefly.

“As I just said, do NOT suggest I cannot provide for you. You will be fine here, I can offer everything you require! Humans rely on a few critical things for survival, but all of these things will not be a problem for a naga like me! I will easily provide food and water; we have this cave for shelter from the elements. I can defend you, that takes care of safety! And as for your need for friends, family and community, well, you have got me obviously. And you will have the hatchlings and-“

“Wait? What do you mean hatchlings?!” you go stiff, staring at him with concern. You hope it doesn’t mean what you think it means

“Well, I suppose humans call them babies, and humans don’t lay eggs…but hatchlings sound so much better, no?” He seems to ponder it for a second while looking away from you.

“But I-“

“Oh wait, is your concern because of anatomy? Do not worry darling! I do not know much about human reproduction admittedly, so I do not know if we can produce children together. If we can, great! If not, I will just steal another’s hatchlings. The important part is having a family together.’

“I don’t WANT kids you freak! Especially with you!” He frowns, his eyebrows twitching. The silence in the cave is overwhelming.

“Do not say things one will regret. Like I said earlier, you do not need to have legs to be my mate.”

“I just don’t want kids!” His glare hardens as he stands up to his full height. Towering over you, looking down at you from his nose.

“Listen to me. I will not have my mate be some ungrateful brat. We WILL have hatchlings. They WILL all grow up to be fierce hunters like me and carry on my legacy! And you WILL stop complaining about it! It would be wise for you to accept that.” His eyes peer at your now sobbing figure.

His face softens, and his body down dips to your level. He reaches out and pulls you against his chest, trapping you against it with his arms. He slowly strokes your back.

“Shhh…Shhh…It will all be okay. There is no need to cry. Do you want some food? I can go get a cow for you? I know humans try to cook their food, so we could use the fire?” He looks down at you with empathetic eyes.

“I…I just want to go home! You realise I won’t be happy here, right? You should find a naga mate instead. Please!” Your eyes are watering as you meet his gaze.

“I love you, my dear. I watched you walk by every time you come to this forest. Your beauty, your gait, your personality. You were so appealing, I was trying to find the perfect time to introduce myself, but then I saw this storm, and you walked up to my cave and…I took a chance.”

He looks at you, but you stay silent.

“I meant what I said, darling. That I wanted your first night or two to be calm and happy. I think you would have adjusted so much better if you had just accepted my invitation. I will admit I came on a bit strong there, but I was so worried you would never come back. I just could not let you leave when you were so close to being mine.” His tears run down his face and drip onto your head. He wipes his eyes.

“Please love me, that is all I am asking. The hatchlings can…wait. It was wrong to bring them up so soon…just…please love me. I love you.” He gets his face close to yours, mere inches away from yours. His slit eyes looking directly into your circular eyes. You can see his eyes watering, as he scans yours.

“I can’t love you though…Especially not with the fact you clearly want kids. I have a life that I NEED to live. I can’t live out my life with you. Please, just let me go.”

“But I can provide for you! I can provide everything you need! No human can match what I can give you! I am certain of it!” His body seems to be heating up as his posture straightens and his arms around you get a bit too tight.

“But I-”

“Silence!” He roars, before looking down at your scared form. Confusion crosses his face before he cools down.

“Ah, I understand! You do not mean to be so rude and inconsiderate; you are just tired. It is understandable. Do not worry, my love, let us sleep.” He doesn’t let you speak as he uses his tail to put out the fire. Darkness returns as he slithers into a corner.

He forms a coil inward with his human body and you at the centre, his back lying against his tail. He crosses his arms, hands at opposite shoulders in an ‘X’ or ‘W’ like pattern, with you in the middle. This prevents you from moving, keeping you trapped against his chest.

“You will love me in time, I am certain.”

#yandere #yandere enji todoroki #boku no hero academia #yandere bnha #enji todoroki #Naga #Naga enji #my hero academia #yandere enji x reader #bnha #yandere endeavor #implexedactions #Long Fic #ImplexedWriting

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alittlewhump · 3 years ago

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Unbidden - Act 5, chapter 5

Masterlist | Previous | Next

Content warnings: Food mention, fantasy religion mention, body horror mention

Morgan had slipped away from the crowd still thronging around the waypoint in Harrogath. They had swept Blaise up in their enthusiasm, cheering her prowess with the bow. Not wanting any part of the festivities, Morgan had quickly eyed up the thinnest part of the crowd and woven his way through the gaps until he was on the outside of it. It forced him to take the long way around the city to reach the barracks, but that was fine. Better that than the alternative.

His route took him past a tent where Cain was bent over a parchment, writing in his careful, unhurried way. An air of serenity surrounded him, as it so often did. Morgan stopped without consciously deciding to. Perhaps he, too, could find some peace here. Just for a moment.

He approached hesitantly, not wanting to interrupt. It could be enough just to observe, to watch an expert in his element. But Cain glanced up as he dipped his quill into the ink pot, a smile spreading over his face as he noticed Morgan.

"Ah, Morgan. I didn't see you there, friend. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Hello." The familiar cadence of the scholar's voice was even more soothing than just his presence. Morgan wanted more of that. Cain had always been willing to speak; surely this wouldn't be too much to ask. "What are you working on?"

"As it happens, I've been recording some of the history of the barbarians here. Most of their stories are passed down orally, but I find them quite worthy of preserving in a more lasting fashion."

"Could you please tell me more about that?"

Cain shuffled in his seat, setting his quill aside and folding his hands on the tabletop. "Nothing would please me more."

Morgan lost track of time as he listened to Cain retell tales of the brave and wondrous exploits of the ancient Bul-Kathos, who Cain suspected may have actually been a real person, one of a few original nephalem from the early days of the world. He was feeling a little more like himself by the time Blaise poked her head in.

"Thought I might find you here, Morgan. Chief elder Nihlathak is asking for you." She wrinkled her nose. "Pushy guy, wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. He's waiting in the great hall. You can come with me, but we don't have to hurry. He can wait. You should at least get changed first."

Cain regarded Morgan as he stood. "Did you get what you came for?"

"Yes," Morgan replied. "Thank you."

"Always a pleasure, my friend," Cain smiled serenely before returning to his quill and ink pot.

"So," Blaise said as they walked, "learn any new information about Baal?"

"No." He let a few steps pass in silence. "I just wanted to hear a story," he added.

"Well, Deckard has a million of them. Did..." Blaise's step faltered for a second. "Did you tell him? About... last night?"

"No." Just like that, the heaviness was back in the pit of his stomach, as though it had never lifted.

"Did you want me to do it?" The question was meant in kindness, he was certain.

"You can do what you like," were the words that came out of his mouth in response, uninflected and low. Blaise winced.

"I just - I mean, I thought it might - shit," she said. An icy trickle of fear slithered in to curl around the weight in Morgan's core. You keep making her upset like this, it observed. She's going to get rid of you too, if you keep it up. She knows how easy it is now. He bumped up against her gently, looking for the right words to use.

"I trust your decisions," he tried. "I don't want to think about it right now."

"Yeah," she said, "okay." She brought her arm up to rest across his shoulders for a moment, and the fear thawed a little. She waited outside the barracks as he changed out of his armour and pulled on a warm wool sweater over top of a lighter shirt, to keep the rough material off of his skin while still taking advantage of its warmth. Then it didn't take long before they were at the great hall.

"What does Nihlathak look like?"

"Big guy, you won't be able to miss him."

"Everyone here is big," Morgan pointed out. Blaise laughed.

"Yeah, they make 'em large in these parts. I haven't felt this small since I was a kid. Don't worry, I'll point him out."

She didn't need to. He called out from the head of the long table when he saw them enter. It was the large man whose leg he had mended, who had identified his... origin. Blaise returned to a seat near the other end of the table.

"Morgan! My people have been telling tales of warriors risen from the earth itself. Come, sit by me and talk and eat." Morgan wanted to do none of those things. He approached anyway.

"Chief elder," he said with a polite bow of his head. "How is your leg?"

"Good as new." He gave it a hearty slap to illustrate. "Malah finished what you started. Of course, if she'd been there in the first place, I could have seen the battle firsthand! Still, I am warmed to see so many I thought lost to us returned. Sit, eat, celebrate with us. Maybe you can tell me the secret of how our uphill battle turned in our favour."

Morgan sat at the table, which was laden with food and drink. The crowd was boisterous, shouting joyfully and slamming their tankards together. It was at odds with the cold, hollow feeling he'd been trying to shake.

"There's no secret," he said, "it was just a good day. You knew it would happen."

"I what?" Nihlathak leaned in close. "What are you saying?"

"Yesterday," Morgan elaborated, "after I bandaged your leg, you said the tide of battle would soon turn. You were right."

"Hah! I was!" Nihlathak leaned back to drain his tankard. "I still want to hear of these earthen warriors you raise. What are they?"

"Golems. I put magic into the ground and it does what I ask."

"You make it sound so simple, but I've never seen such a thing before."

"I can demonstrate any time you wish, chief elder."

"Perhaps later, eh? Right now I am in the mood for tales!"

"I'm no storyteller," Morgan warned him. He didn't like it here, with the noise and the smells and the happy groups of people who belonged together. It was all too much. He wanted to leave.

"Oh, go on, you must have some stories in you. How did you get that scar?" He gestured to the most visible one, the thick line marking Morgan's throat nearly from ear to ear. "Scars always come with a story."

"Demon slit my throat."

"Oho! See, that's a tale! How did you survive that?"

"Healing potion."

"You're right," Nihlathak grunted. "You're no storyteller."

"Is that why you asked for me?"

"No! No, I just wanted to see that everyone got their place at the feast table."

That was good, Morgan thought dully. Equitable, fair. It was no longer his place to judge those things. Hard to break a lifetime of habit.

"Thank you for your hospitality," he said, forcing himself to stay seated. Instead of standing, he took a small bite of food. He couldn't be bothered to taste it. Instead of leaving, he took a drink of ale. That was tasteless too. He waited until he saw another person leaving the hall. That meant it was finally acceptable to go, which he did. Nihlathak had moved down the table and was occupied with Blaise and some of the other warriors, undoubtedly getting the stories he wanted. It saved Morgan the trouble of excusing himself.

Once he was out in the cold, quiet air again, it occurred to him that he didn't have a goal in mind. He wandered a little, thinking about nothing, letting his feet carry him where they would. They took him up to a corner near the smithy. The blacksmith, Larzuk, was there, along with Cain. They were leaned over a workbench with their backs to him. It looked like they were examining something. Larzuk was making expansive gestures and Cain was nodding thoughtfully. Morgan turned around. He had already interrupted him once today. It wouldn't do to take up any more of his attention.

Morgan went to the bathhouse instead. It was quiet there, with so many at the feast. He had what should have been a reasonably pleasant bath, scrubbing the grime of the day's efforts from his skin with hot water and a rough cloth. The world was going blunt around the edges again, though, so he couldn't say for sure. He was half dressed afterwards, squeezing the last of the water out of his hair, when his solitude was interrupted. The bathhouse door opened behind him, and a conversation became audible as its participants entered the building.

"- that level of control. Certainly not so many at once." That was Icharion. He was clearly speaking to someone else, though. Morgan could probably still slip by without comment.

"What a pity. Strong steel will always win out over magic, but I am beginning to see its use." That was Nihlathak. The bath must have taken longer than he'd thought. "Ah, so this is where you slipped off to, Morgan! So quiet, like a ghost."

So he wouldn't escape cleanly after all. Morgan turned to give the men a cursory bow of acknowledgement.

"I'll take that demonstration you offered," Nihlathak continued. "Tomorrow, when the light is good, eh?" Morgan nodded, and Nihlathak grinned. "Good. What, you never seen scars before, boy?" He nudged Icharion with his elbow. "You see a warrior with no scars, you know he hasn't seen real battle. That's how you get stronger. Gonna see plenty the longer you stay here. Get used to it."

Icharion was staring openly, looking faintly horrified. But his eyes weren't on any of Morgan's scars. "Your arm - is that a golem?"

"It is," Morgan confirmed. Its smooth surface did rather stand out in comparison to the bare skin of his torso. He had never bothered smoothing down the snarl of tissue at the place where it joined the original limb, either, where he'd had to improvise the connection. It was ugly, but it served its purpose. Icharion's lip curled.

"How could you claim devotion with that monstrosity attached to you? Those arts are forbidden. You know the laws better than anyone." The accusation lit a brief flare of indignation inside Morgan, but it died quickly. His dedication had been pointless in the end, after all.

"I have broken no laws in this," he said.

"You shall not forge a construct in taking the flesh of the dead," Icharion recited in retort, "neither the flesh of the living."

"Neither the flesh of others living," Morgan corrected flatly, pulling his shirt on over his head.

Icharion opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again, frowning. "Surely that's not the way it was intended," he said after a moment, sounding a little uncertain. Morgan shrugged.

"Some laws are explicit with regards to one's own self. That one is not."

"Hah! Clever. I like you more and more, Morgan." Nihlathak was watching their exchange approvingly, his arms crossed over his chest.

Icharion took a halting step forward, as though he was struggling between being intrigued and repulsed. "But why? What made you take such an extreme measure as that?"

Morgan slipped his sweater on over his shirt, tugging at the neckline until the rough wool stopped dragging on his skin. "Irreparable damage."

Icharion's eyebrows rose. "Noted."

Morgan waited a beat, but there seemed to be no more questions for him. He left without another word, heading for the barracks. There was no point in trying to find further distractions. The relief they offered was too fleeting. The fighting earlier had been tolerable, though. Perhaps the barbarian battle party would be able to move faster now, to catch up with Baal before he reached... whatever his goal was. It would probably be easier to defeat him with so many strong warriors on the attack at once. And then what? He wasn't ready to think about that yet. Instead, he closed his eyes and slipped into the familiar meditative space that held nothing, and waited for the morning.

#my writing #story: unbidden #food tw #eating tw #fantasy religion tw #body horror tw

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seokoloqy · 5 years ago

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No Face | myg (m)

➳ PAIRING: demon!yoongi x reader

➳ GENRE: supernatural!au, smut

➳ WORD COUNT: 11k

➳ WARNINGS: mentions of hoseok in a car accident and in a coma, mentions of jungkook overdosing, blood, choking (not sexual lmao), fingering, dirty talk, wet dreams, voyeurism, masturbation, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, creampie, Yoongi’s dick... has ridges :)

➳ SUMMARY: Desperate to save your comatose brother, you make a deal with an ancient demon who wears the faces of his previous masters. When you refuse to wish for anything else, what does a demon do when he no longer has orders? He learns how to be human.

➳ A/N: this is my @bangtanarmynet partner collab w @softjeon!!! As always lemme know what you think!!! Maybe now y’all can get over hades yoongi lmao

—

The woods this time of night should be petrifying in the harsh dead of winter. Darkness entraps everything in the forest. You've been wandering through the desolate woods for an hour now, trying to find the exact location you were told about. The tree you’re in search of has been rumored to be a site where people's wishes can be granted for a steep price. Only meant for those who are brave enough to sacrifice everything for one wish.

And you are dumb enough to sacrifice everything.

You have to do this. Even if it means sacrificing your soul, your life, to save someone else's. You have to save your brother, Hoseok, and you’ll do anything—absolutely anything.

That’s how you stumbled across Jimin, an expert on all things supernatural, in a desperate attempt to find a miracle.

Of course, you thought the eighty dollar price for Jimin’s absurd secrets meant it was a hoax, especially when he started explaining how this deal you were about to make works.

“A demon,” the man said cheerfully, plopping down the thick book in front of you.

“A demon?” you echoed, becoming more and more wary of the man. “Like… Like the devil and stuff?”

If you weren’t so desperate and had exhausted all your ideas of helping Hoseok, you would have run out once he said demon, calling him crazy.

Jimin nodded, excitedly flipping open the book for a specific page. “This demon grants wishes. Anything you want, as long as you’re willing to pay the price.”

That sends chills through you. You look down at the yellowed pages, skimming through the text, none of which you understood because it was all written in a different language. “What kind?”

“Ten years. That’s all it gives you.”

You had a feeling after ten years nothing good would happen. Jimin flips the page and on it is an ink drawing of a haunched creature, grotesque claws, and the face was nothing but a black smudge.

“After ten years the demon will consume your soul and steal your face to make it its own.”

The whole time you wander through the woods, boots crunching against the thick blanket of snow, pushing aside dead branches. The day has come to rest over the horizon and the moon rose over the valley, you feel like you've ventured even deeper into the void and there's no going back to safety now.

The deeper you wander into the abyss, the more you feel something eerie watching over you. Its eyes crawl over you, stalking your every movement like it wants to steal you away and trap you in its grasp. It must be the demon watching over you, hoping you must be foolish enough to come looking for it.

The tree Jimin told you about is supposedly easy to spot. Twisted branches, ancient text carved into the trunk of the tree that was all dead language. The area around it is untouchable not even the freshly falling snow can touch it. The tree is timeless, years will pass and it will remain the same even as generations live and die.

Your boots sink deep into the snow with each stride you take, pulling you deeper into the forest.

There is a low hum, a haunting call echoing through the trees and ringing in your ears that guides you towards the edge of a steep ledge. At the bottom, you get a glimpse of the twisted branches, scarred trunk scrawled with carvings, a perfect dark circle around the tree that remains untouched by the snow.

You carefully move down the slope to the tree, nearly sliding down and falling in the fluffy snow below. Once you step into the circle it’s warm, almost like summer heat. You look back at the blanket of snow, taking off your glove and sticking your hand outside of the circle to feel the cold biting your fingers. The drastic change in temperature is startling. This is definitely the right tree.

The backpack on your shoulder slides off and you crouch down to retrieve the knife you brought along, carefully tucked away in the pocket of the bag. The intimidating silver blade gleams and reflects beneath the moonlight as you inspect it.

Should you really be bringing a deadly weapon to meet a demon?

It doesn’t seem like the brightest idea, but then again none of this is a good idea. You’ve gotten this far, so desperate to save Hoseok you don’t even care right now if the demon will take your life in the end.

"Here goes nothing," you say, taking a deep breath in before running the blade across your palm. The burn of your open wound is temporary, stinging at your flesh is cut open and blood flows freely and meets to open air. Red blood pools in your palm, your other hand wiping away tears that have sprung in your eyes. "Fuck this. Fuck all this shit."

The tree seems to glow, sensing the new sacrifice about to come. You hesitantly lift your bloodied palm, blood freely flowing down your wrists and dripping off your elbow, tainting the dirt ground below.

There's no going back if you choose to press your hand against this tree and tie the demon trapped in it to you, but you won't let that fear hold you back from saving your brother.

You press your hand against the trunk, wincing when the rough wood touches your open wound. Blood drips down the wood, sinking into the slits and crevices. Your hand tingles with warmth and you no longer feel the pain in your palm. When blinding light emits from the tree, it forces you to clench your eyelids shut and turn away.

Soon the light fades and you're left in the chilling darkness, but not alone. The hairs on your arm begin to stand as a warning. You're afraid to open your eyes and be met with whatever creature you've just summoned.

"Why so afraid, master?" The voice, not a singular voice, more like multiple distorted voices speaking at once, calls out to you. "You're trembling. Is it because of the cold or are you just afraid of me?"

You bring your hand back from the tree, still refusing to open your eyes. "The cold."

"Liar," the creature says, monotone voice lowering to your ears. "You're a liar."

"No," your voice betrays you by cracking and you wince, afraid that its volatile personality will snap at you.

"Then look at me, master.”

The oil lamp flickers in its glass case creating an ominous atmosphere surrounding you. You force yourself to peek one eye open, seeing the tree bark stained red with your blood. Slowly, you turn your head, met with the horrifying creature. The face you're met with is no face at all. Just a black abyss looking back at you. It takes everything to hold your tongue and not scream out.

"Are you afraid?" It asks again.

"No." The wavering in your voice remains the same and the no faced creature scoffs.

"You’re a liar, but then again, they all are."

You cross your arm, refusing to let the creature control your feelings. "Maybe I am a liar, b-but you’re supposed to answer to me.”

The creature stands taller, mimicking your crossed arms. "You're right, master. So what is it you want?"

You wet your lips, "I need you to save my brother."

"Save?" It sneers. “I’ve never had to save anyone.”

You find the strength to explain, “M-My brother, Hoseok, he was in a car accident. The doctors said he might not…”

You didn’t need to hear the dreadful news from the doctors when you went to first visit Hoseok. You could see him through the glass window at the hospital hooked up to wires and tubes and it was clear to you that he was on the brink of death. He looked so lifeless. You could hardly stand the sight of your brother that way. You were too afraid to go into his room—afraid you’d feel death lingering by his side waiting to take him away from you forever.

The demon inches closer, curious now.

You resist shutting your eyes to block out its dark ghostly face. You’ll never be able to stand in the dark without imagining it lingering in the corner, watching and waiting to drag you into the darkness with it.

“Fine,” the demon sighs, lifting its hand. A hand that looks so real, not the grotesque claws you saw in Jimin’s book, if you hadn’t seen its face you would have believed it was human.

You flinch in fear it will grab you, steal your face early, or rip you to shreds. Instead, it snaps its fingers. You don’t feel muscles being pulled to shreds, your insides boiling, or anything physically painful happening to you.

“He’ll wake soon,” it says, dismissively shrugging its shoulders. “So, when are we going to have real fun, master? What do you really want? Money? Power? Name it. I’m dying to know.”

“I don’t want anything else,” you say resolutely.

“Nothing?” it says, despite the distorted voice, you can tell it’s shocked. “You’re a liar. There has to be something. All you humans are greedy, pathetic creatures.”

“I won’t make any more wishes.”

It shakes its head, moving to the edge of the ring. It looks down, although you can’t see its face when it sticks out its hand to feel the snow for the first time in years you sense that it is remembering what it feels like to be free of its cage.

“Let’s go.”

It steps out of the circle and into the fresh snow, looking as its feet sink in. You trail after it, as it glides through the snow with ease while you’re lagging behind, trudging through the deep snow. You feel out of breath trying to keep up with its fast pace, nearly falling over a few times.

“C-Can you slow down a little?” You call out.

It turns its head, unsettling inky darkness looking back at you, teasingly saying, “if you can’t keep up why don’t you wish for better speed?”

You grimace and don’t reply. Luckily, it stops walking to let you catch up to it. You try and run through the snow to get to it faster because the feeling of that darkness staring at you is frightening. Running blindly through, your foot snags on a branch buried beneath the white blanket and you nose dive right into the freezing banks.

The creature laughs. Its laughter hauntingly echoing through the woods with its distorted voice.

“Poor human,” it mocks.

You look up from the snow, your entire face numb from the cold. You’re beginning to hate this demon.

You pick yourself up with no help from it, wiping off the snow and marching on as if nothing happened, quietly simmering behind the sauntering demon. You walk behind it once again, staring curiously at the back of its ‘head’. It’s not really a head, just darkness shaped like a human head.

"Is that your… normal face?" You pipe up.

"Yes. Does this face frighten you, master?” The demon stops, turning around to face you. “Would you like a new one? I have taken many over the years, and soon yours will be added to my ever-growing collection."

The thought of this demon taking your face and using it to cause harm is unsettling.

"Maybe you'd prefer a sweet innocent face," the demon says. His face begins to smoke and a real human face appears in a matter of seconds. The doe-like features of the young man would almost make you think this demon was an innocent human. "You might recognize this face.”

You’re surprised to see a familiar face. One that was plastered over billboards and television screens daily, a world-famous star that died suddenly.

“J-Jungkook?”

A roguish grin appears on the star’s face—one you never thought you’d see up close.

Jeon Jungkook was a household name, a boy that seemed to come out of nowhere and shook the world with his talents. You were a fan at the start of his career when he was just a humble musician that rose to stardom through the Internet.

“Ding ding ding,” he laughs, an all too familiar laugh you heard through the television during interviews countless times. “Bet you never thought you’d see this cute face again.”

“B-But you… you’re not him, right?”

It’s impossible. He died nearly three years ago due to an overdose, at least that’s what the media said.

“Yes, I’m not the golden boy you knew. He’s long gone.”

So the demon is just wearing Jungkook’s face.

“He made a deal too?” You couldn’t understand why he would want to make a deal with a demon. He had everything—the talent, personality, looks. It was hard not to love Jungkook.

“Do you think that video of him singing would have gotten recognition without my help? He wanted to be a famous singer so I gave him everything he desired. He was humble like you at first, then he began wishing for drugs, alcohol, and lovers. By the time I took his soul, it was like there was nothing left of it. He was too consumed by his own greed and became an empty shell.”

You know Jungkook’s story, the downfall of one of your favorite singers, publicized by the media. Not a day went by without hearing about Jungkook caught up in some drug scandal. You had no idea it was all because he wished for it.

Near the end of his life, you could tell how tired Jungkook was through the screen, he was no longer the energetic, lively kid you saw on talk shows. The dark circles under his eyes and bar fight bruises couldn’t be concealed with all the makeup in the world.

It broke your heart to see him that way. All because he couldn’t stop wishing for more. The circumstances of his death become clearer to you now. It wasn’t an overdose, he made a deal with a demon and paid the price.

What if that happens to you? What if you become too greedy? The thought of being consumed by selfish desires scares you. Who would you be in ten years if you were to continue making wishes? Just an empty shell like Jungkook, making wishes to fill the unfillable hole in your chest.

“I wonder what sins will eat you alive, master."

You shake your head, “No! No, I won’t be like that. I don’t want to.”

The demon scoffs, rolling his eyes as if to say ‘sure’.

“I guess, his face won’t do out there anyway. Too recognizable, I don’t want to cause a frenzy. Think of the headlines: Jeon Jungkook risen from the dead?” He laughs again.

It’s unsettling to see Jungkook’s face, knowing how tragic the end of his life must have been. Now he’s being used as a puppet by a demon who’s laughing as if his death was something to joke about.

What you’re really looking at is a mirror. This will be you in ten years time. The demon will take your soul, your face and parade around, wreaking havoc. A chill runs through you.

“Let’s try Yoongi’s face, shall we? I haven’t worn him in centuries.”

Soon the beloved singer, Jeon Jungkook, molds into a stranger. You watch in amazement as his features morph easily. Even his hair shifts colors, dark brown roots bleeding into bleach blonde hair.

“How about this one?” His voice is different—lower, much more mature. But whoever’s face he takes on doesn’t change what he is. He is still a demon. You can’t forget that no matter what face he wears.

“He’s fine,” you dismiss. You just want to get out of the forest and back to someplace warm. The cold is beginning to numb your fingers and bite at your cheeks.

“Yoongi it is.”

—

Your eyes dart nervously around the bar. It's not so busy tonight, unusual for this bar, but you're glad there are no roaring voices. This chance gives you time to think about what you've done.

Before you even got out of the woods, you received a phone call from your parents, tearful voices exclaiming that your brother woke up from his coma. Yoongi really had given your brother a second chance. But as soon as your joy had worn off, the realization came crashing down around you.

Sitting here, staring into a shot glass, you dare to glance over at the lounging demon haunched over the bar with his own drink. You're not sure what he ordered, your thoughts a bit clouded at the moment, but his glass is tall and filled with a clear teal liquid and topped with a maraschino cherry.

His finger drags up and down the stem of the glass, a bored sigh escaping his mouth. You eyes move from his hand and hesitantly drag up to his face. You nearly jump out of your chair, hairs standing up on the back of your neck when you realize he has been staring at you the whole time.

His eyes are brown, nothing like the vermillion red color they frequently flash whenever he feels up to no good.

"So," he drawls, picking up his martini glass, having a small sip. "What's on your mind?"

There are many racing thoughts going around your head right now. You've just signed the rest of your life away to a demon, saved your brother, and are currently sitting and having a drink with the demon that's going to end your life in ten years.

"Nothing," you lie, turning your head back to your drink.

"You really like to lie to me, don't you?"

You don't reply, glancing to the side and catching the eye of the bartender staring at you. He looks away, flustered that you caught him staring, continuing to wipe down the counter.

You, in a sort of dizzying state from alcohol, are keenly aware of how cute the bartender is. Your eyes trail down the name tag on his shirt. Taehyung, it says.

Eventually, Taehyung reaches your side and casually wipes down the area next to you.

"How's it goin' over here?" He asks.

"Good," Yoongi answers gruffly before you have the chance to open your mouth to answer.

You attempt to laugh Yoongi's curtness off, "Oh, yeah, everything is great."

"Well, you look lost in tonight, just wanted to see how you were doing."

"I'm just feeling a little conflicted."

From the corner of your eye, Yoongi looks betrayed that you chose to confide in the bartender instead of him even though he asked you the same question just two minutes ago. In your defense, you'd rather speak to the cute bartender than the demon who eats souls and steals faces. What kind of advice could a demon offer you?

"Feel like talking?" Taehyung asks, throwing the rag over his shoulder and leaning against the bar.

"Hey, cutie," a drunken slur comes from behind you and takes a seat to your right.

You involuntarily lean closer to Yoongi to get away from the stranger's alcoholic breath, grimacing when he smiles and winks in a sad attempt to flirt.

"Hi," you politely respond, turning your head to look back at Yoongi's now empty martini glass, the stem of his maraschino cherry sitting on the counter. You try not to give the stranger the opportunity to talk any further with you, but he's persistent.

“How you doin’ tonight?” he slurs.

“Great.” You offer him a close-lipped smile and that’s all he gets out of you.

You do your best to ignore the stranger continuously pestering your right ear, turning to occupy yourself with the Taehyung and Yoongi. Now, you'd rather talk to the demon on your shoulder than some creep at the bar.

It’s clear the stranger doesn’t appreciate you ignoring him.

“Hey,” the man barks, reaching over to grab your arm. You flinch away, consequently pressing yourself against Yoongi who instinctively wraps an arm around you.

"She said she's not interested," Yoongi interjects, holding you closely. He's more annoyed than he was with the bartender and the energy radiating off of him is burning. If he wanted to he could decimate the man with a snap of his fingers, but he doesn't. He doesn't even let his gaze waver as he stares down the drunk.

"What you gonna about it?" the man challenges

"Look, buddy," Taehyung says, "How 'bout one more drink on the house and then I call you a cab."

The man mumbles a disgruntled 'fine' and Taehyung pours him another drink. He slides off the barstool with his complimentary drink and stumbles over to another undeserving girl minding her business.

You let out a relieved sigh, "God, I wish guys like that would just drop dead. They’re so annoying."

"Interesting." Yoongi smiles and you blanch, sensing exactly what he’s about to do. He brings his hand up and snaps his fingers.

Easily, the man that you had just been talking to crumbles over, groaning in pain, eyes clenched shut. The agony on his face terrifies you. You wished for him to die and now Yoongi is granting that wish. You're the one who's killing the man.

You shouldn’t have let your words slip out so easily. You didn’t mean it literally. A note of carefully phrasing your words better is placed in the back of your mind.

Taehyung immediately runs around the counter, calling out for someone to call the police as he goes to aid the man.

You grab onto Yoongi's shoulder, shaking him and try to plead with him silently. "I didn't actually want him to die! Don't kill him, Yoongi!"

"This is what you wished for though," he says calmly, watching in amusement as the man suffocates on his own tongue. "I'm only granting your wish."

"I take it back! I wish he wouldn’t die!"

Yoongi rolls his eyes and already the man is taking his last breath, face turning a light shade of blue from lack of oxygen. You cling onto the smallest shred of hope that Yoongi will spare the man's life. You wished for him to live so he should obey, right?

"But I didn't really like him that much either," Yoong shrugs, "maybe I want him to die."

"You can't do that," you nearly shriek, "Y-You're supposed to do what I tell you!"

Yoongi sighs, eyes rolling over to the gasping man. “I hate when they say that,” he mumbles, but you can hardly hear it over the choking and patrons screaming for help.

It takes a full second before he snaps his fingers again and the man takes a deep breath, the air finally returning to his lungs and color bringing his face back to life.

Your shoulders slump, face clasped in the palm of your hand. Your hands tremble against your cheek, despite relief flooding your system, you know the man's fate could have turned out worse.

"You seem to care a lot about whether or not a scumbag like him gets to live to harass another girl."

"It's not like that," you whisper, "I-I can't kill someone."

Your thoughts are conflicted. Maybe Yoongi is right. Maybe the man will go on to hurt someone in the future and this is your chance to stop it from happening. But you can't kill someone because they might be guilty. You can't know if this man would go on to do despicable things or if he was just some old drunk in a bar. You don't want to play God and decide who lives and who dies. You shouldn't get to choose. This power that Yoongi gives you is too much.

“Let’s kill him, master, make him suffer."

"No." You won't take a life. You already told yourself won't make another wish ever again.

Yoongi frowns, disappointed in your choice. “I was so sure you’d ask me to kill him.”

You slide off the stool and grab your bag to fish out money. "Well, I won’t be like all your other masters. We're leaving."

—

You both arrive at your apartment near eleven while the moon is slowly falling towards the horizon. It was a quiet ride on the bus. You tried your best to sit as close to the window as possible while Yoongi lounged lazily in the orange plastic seat, a content grin on his face.

He quietly commented on the city as it passed by in a blur, the subtle scent of musk, and how he preferred this mode of transportation over teleporting. He spoke as if the mundane parts of life were a luxury to him.

You didn't speak once, letting him ramble to himself while you were lost in thought. You didn’t seem to care much about how much the demon seemed to be enjoying the peace.

When you reach your house, you head straight towards the couch.

"You're too quiet, master," Yoongi notes, looking around your apartment and comparing it to his previous masters'. He must have seen much more lavish looking ones than the humble one-bedroom apartment you own.

"I don't feel like talking," you mumble, moving to throw yourself onto the couch. You grab a decorative pillow and bury your face in it to muffle a sigh. The familiar smell of fresh cotton eases your nerves until Yoongi falls down next to you. Too closely for your liking.

You remove your head from the pillow, surprised by how bleary your vision is from the tears building up.

"I think your face will be a wonderful addition to my collection."

You gulp, shifting away from the demon lounging too close for comfort. You're glad he is wearing a face and it's not just a black abyss you were first met with. Somehow the handsome face he is currently wearing lessens your fear, but it brings you anything but comfort.

Yoongi slouches into your couch. "I haven't been able to relax like this in centuries. My previous masters always had orders, something they wanted and couldn't wait for. I was a dog at their beck and call."

You shy away from the arm that slings itself over the couch, holding your breath as his fingers loop through your hair to entertain themselves with the loose strands.

"I’m sure you had to grant bad wishes but I don't want anything else from you. So, you can relax as much as you want.”

"Oh, you will want something. I guarantee it," he says confidently, "maybe not today or the next five years, but eventually, you'll give in."

The plan was to get help for Hoseok, that's it and you got your wish. No way you're going to let yourself be tempted to ask for more.

But maybe one thing won’t hurt. Paying off Hoseok’s hospital bills would be a big help. Maybe even paying off your college debt. It doesn’t sound too bad…

No! That can’t happen. The more money you ask for the more you won’t be able to resist begging for more.

You push yourself off the couch and away from Yoongi. It feels as if the more you're around him, the more you feel the desire to succumb to those deep desires.

“I said no!” you yell, unaware of the demon’s rising temper.

Yoongi’s hand darts out to grab your wrists, pulling you back down eye level to him, eyes turning the deep shade of red. You twist your arm, but he refuses to let you go. His anger radiates through the air, you can feel yourself begin to sweat.

“Stop denying what you want, you foolish little girl,” he snaps, “just make a wish, go ahead, ruin your life! Just like they all did before! You’re already going to hell, make the most of your dwindling years.”

You don’t want to stand here and listen to him remind you of how long until you’re going to die. Instead of fighting, fearful he might lash out further, you speak curtly, "I want to go to bed."

He releases you and you nod goodbye, skirting off to bed, worrying that the demon will follow.

Lucky for you, he doesn't move an inch from the couch, remaining there for the rest of the night even as you toss and turn in bed, whimpering from the nightmares plaguing your dreams of a faceless demon.

––

When the sun rises promptly over the horizon the next day, it's Yoongi who hovers over you silently waiting for your eyes to open.

"Good morning," the demon coos, surprisingly softly as if he were trying to wake a child from a nap.

"M-Morning."

"Any wishes today?" His lips curl into a devious smile, taking any softness he held away. His finger runs down your chin and traces your collarbone, touching your skin gently.

"N-No," you answer, hoping this question doesn't become a daily occurrence. You swat away his hand, getting off the bed.

He moves away from the edge of the bed, letting you get up and start your morning routine while maintaining a safe distance. He quietly stands in the background while you brush your teeth and wash your face, but doesn't leave the room when you change. You settle for making him turn around while you strip into work clothes.

"I can snap my fingers and make you rich. You’ll never have to lift a finger ever again. Don’t you want me to help you? Isn’t that why you sold yourself to me?" he says, eyeing a spoonful of golden cereal flakes.

He asked if he could have some of your breakfast so you poured him a bowl of cereal. You're not even sure he needs to eat it. He's more curious if anything.

"I-I didn’t sell myself to you!”

He makes it sound so scandalous.

Yoongi smirks but doesn’t say anything else.

“I don't want anything else," you groan. "What do you want me to say? After you nearly killed a guy yesterday, there's no way I'm going to make another wish. Like you said most of your masters were awful people who became greedy and selfish and I-I don't want to become that."

You stir your milk around, watching as the leftover, soggy flakes of cereal swirl around the ceramic bowl. You promised yourself you'd never make another wish, no matter how badly you want to. If you ever became as sick and twisted as Yoongi's former masters, you'd end your contract early and have him kill you.

You look up at Yoongi who has been quiet for a while now, odd for him to sit and not taunt you about something. Staring at his face, you wonder about the person he’s wearing. Yoongi isn’t the demon’s real name, just the name of the person whose face he’s wearing. You wonder if Yoongi, the human, felt pain when he died.

“How will you do it?”

“Hm?”

You swallow, letting your spoon go and watching it sink into the milk. “In ten years, when you have to… take my soul, will it hurt?”

Yoongi blinks, cocking his head a subtle amused grin on his face. “I don’t know. They never scream if that makes you feel better.”

It doesn’t.

“So, you’ll wear around my face after that?”

"I will,” he says. The reply is short and you’re not sure you want to hear more about what he’s going to do once he has your face. And after that, he adds, “this cereal is really good.”

Blinking, you gape at him, not expecting that. "Uh, yeah, d-do you want some more?"

"Mhm."

Yoongi follows you to work—in fact, he follows you everywhere. He never leaves your side, always glued to you and making comments about your mundane life and how he can make it more exciting if you just make a wish.

“Why do you never leave me alone?” You ask, finally fed up with the sound of his footsteps pattering behind you incessantly. You feel like he’s doting on you. Without any orders or wishes to grant, he has nothing to do. He can’t entertain himself by wreaking havoc because you won’t allow it.

Yoongi sips on his fruity beverage, blinking at you tiredly. He waits a beat to answer, “I have to protect you until the day you die. Your soul is mine to have and no one else’s.”

His words are heavy on your shoulders. It doesn't make you feel better. You'll never get away from him, huh? You'll always be reminded of the clock counting down on your life.

Yoongi moves past you as if the brief conversation was nothing to him.

“Come on let’s go visit your brother. I’m dying to meet him.”

—

"H-Hi, Hoseok," your voice barely comes out as a whisper, afraid you might break down and cry if you speak any louder.

"Hey! You finally came!" Hoseok smiles brightly, opening his arms wide to gesture you in for a hug. He’s sat up in his hospital bed, light blue gown on and disheveled orange hair. You're startled for a moment. The last time you saw your brother he had a tube stuffed down his throat and IVs running through his arm that all connected to beeping machines.

Pale and cold, that's how you remembered him and how you would have remembered him if you had let him die. He was on the brink of death, but you brought him back. Now he's returned to the brightest ray of sunshine you always knew. The hand you touch is warm, full of life, just like his smile.

The cost of what you did for him will always be there, lingering in the back of your head. But you'd save Hoseok again in a heartbeat no matter the cost. There is no price high enough that would make you give up your brother.

"You weren't here when I woke up and you barely answered up my calls and texts," he pouts and another pang of guilt hits you. He must think you were neglecting him. "I think you owe me an explanation. And..." He pauses, eyes darting over to Yoongi lingering near the sliding door. "Who's the guy?"

Hoseok is asking too many questions and he always has a way to get you to spill your guts. If he finds out you made a deal with a demon, he'd try everything to reverse it. You're not sure how he could, but you don't want to risk it.

"Just… just," you struggle to find an explanation for Yoongi.

"Her boyfriend,” Yoongi speaks from his place near the door.

You can’t believe the words that just came out of Yoongi’s mouth. Where the hell did that come from? You certainly didn’t prompt him to say that.

Hoseok’s brows raise, his lips form an ‘o’ shape. He looks between you and Yoongi. “I missed a lot, didn’t I?”

“Yeah you did, but I’m here to see you! I wanna know how you’re doing!” You try and divert the conversation away from Yoongi. If he starts asking how you met him, you’re going to let something slip.

You pinch his cheeks, laughing as he swats you away.

“Come on,” Hoseok chuckles, “you don’t visit me for almost two weeks and then turn up with a boyfriend out of the blue. I gotta know what my little sister has been up to.”

“Forget him, Hobi, seriously,” you groan, stepping into his view of Yoongi. You wish that the demon listened to you when you asked him to wait in the cafeteria or the hallway, but he always insists on staying close to you.

It’s like he watches every detail of your life closely, mimicking the way you speak to others, do things like ordering food or going about your day. You assume he’s trying to learn about life.

“Can I at least say hello?”

You begrudgingly take a step aside and gesture Yoongi to come in. The demon crosses over the threshold with a wry smile.

“Hi, I’m Hoseok,” your brother greets your ‘boyfriend’, extending his arm out for a handshake.

“Yoongi,” the demon says, “I’m glad to see you getting better. It’s like a miracle.”

You laugh awkwardly, ignoring Yoongi’s last comment.

“I know, I’m so thankful to be alive right now. And glad ___ is finally here to keep me company.”

“You’re lucky to have such a dedicated sister, Hoseok. I hope you never forget that.”

Yoongi sounds far away, raw and more… human that you’ve ever heard him. The longing in his eyes, now disguised as a warm brown, burns dimly, but it’s there.

You wonder what the demon with no face yearns for.

—

You came to the conclusion that if you only have ten years to live your life, you were going to live it to the fullest. You try and go places you’ve always loved and end up taking Yoongi places he's never been, and for an immortal being that has existed for centuries, there are a lot of places he's never been.

You first start with the amusement park where he discovers cotton candy for the first time. His sweet tooth is automatically attracted to the sugar coating his tongue and he continues to buy more and more. You can't help but smile at the joy in his eyes when he receives his fifth bag of cotton candy and he can't help but smile back.

And when he takes your hand to pull you towards the ferris wheel, your heart beats a little faster.

Even on casual days when you stroll down the street with Yoongi while he follows you to the grocery store and ask him if there’s anything he wants which causes him to stall. You were the only one of his masters that had ever really cared about him and it gave him a weird feeling in his gut. He can’t remember a time a human bothered to ask him what he wanted.

He was only meant to serve, nothing else. He helped others indulge in their selfish desires, but what about him? Here he is, given the chance to be free, to do what he wants without human orders controlling his every move. And he finds that all he wants to do with this freedom is spend it with you.

On a separate occasion, you have a day off and choose to stay up till midnight watching Titanic with him. When Yoongi sees you crying over the human sacrificing himself to save his lover, he feels an ache in his chest and wonders why you would willingly watch a movie that makes you cry.

He just doesn’t understand it. You tell him that it’s because it feels good to cry sometimes, that it’s cathartic. He can’t say that he’s had much experience with human emotions, but he knows that he doesn’t enjoy seeing you cry. It makes his chest tighten when he sees the way tears streak down your face and the way your nose reddens when Jack sinks to the bottom of a freezing ocean, leaving his lover behind.

Sacrificing yourself for someone you love to live.

Where has he heard that story before?

It doesn’t take long until he looks back at you to realize. You sacrificed yourself to save Hoseok and he was just the iceberg that ruined everything.

“Stop staring,” you chuckle, wiping away the falling tears. You can’t help, but cry every time you watch this movie and Yoongi being here to judge you doesn’t make you feel any better.

You hold your breath when his hand reaches out to brush a tear away. His hand cools off your heated skin as he tenderly caresses your cheek.

“I’ll always be a monster, won’t I?” he mutters under his breath, a sigh following after. "I'll never really be like you—no matter how many faces I take, no matter how many souls I consume."

It never occurred to you that the demon with no face longed to be human so badly.

"Yoongi..."

"I accepted it a long time ago," he brushes it off.

Yoongi knows he shouldn't, but he moves closer, pulling you into his chest. He wants something—someone—to hold. He desperately wants to be human and feel normal—to allow this pain in his chest to be normal.

Your heart hammers in your ears. Normally you’d pull away from his touch, but now it only brings you comfort. You stay like that through the end of the movie where Jack and Rose reunite once again in the afterlife. If there is an afterlife, would you ever be able to meet Yoongi there?

He rests his chin atop your head, sighing, "yeah… I've accepted it."

Somehow you doubt that.

—

You visited Hoseok once again where he continued to grill you about your mysterious boyfriend. You never let anything slip, letting Yoongi take the lead on explaining how you two met and fell in love. The tale he weaves together is surprisingly romantic and you wonder if he’s been watching romcoms without you to better understand humans.

The air once you step out of the hospital is a refreshing break from the strong sanitary odor of medical supplies and the lingering chill of death on your spine.

You said goodbye to Hoseok, making a promise to visit him again soon. After tonight’s visit, you feel… good.

“You seem happier,” Yoongi notes.

“You know what? I am.”

“You should,” he says, pulling his hoodie over his bleach blonde hair.

“This is all I could ever wish for. Hoseok’s happy and healthy thanks to you.” You pause, letting Yoongi take a couple of steps further before he realizes you aren’t next to him. “You know… I never really thanked you for saving him.”

His brows raise, furrowing when he realizes what you’re saying and how genuine you sound.

“Thank you?” He repeats as if he’s never heard the words or spoken them. “No human has ever thanked me before.”

You’re not surprised to hear it. You’re not sure what crazy person would ever thank a demon. But you can’t help but feel thankful for him. He brought your brother back to you, and no matter what price you’ll have to pay in the end, you’re glad to have him.

“Then I’ll be the first.”

“That makes me feel…” he looks to you expectantly, silently asking you to fill in his blank.

“Good?” You try.

He mulls the word over in his head as if trying to remember what it means and what it would feel like. Then he smiles, “yes, that’s the word.”

“All I’ve ever done is cause pain and suffering. I’ve always expected my masters to ask for selfish things, but these past few weeks I’ve learned what it’s like to be human. To not have orders.”

Yoongi looks up at the stars, shining in the darkness. He’s looked up at this unchanging sky so many times throughout his existence. It stays the same just like him.

“I like this freedom. I like what you’ve given me. Thank you,” he smiles at the stars. “Thank you, ___.”

—

“Goodnight, Yoongi,” you say, retreating into your room, waving at him awkwardly as he settles down on his usual spot on the couch. You don’t know why you feel so different. He thanked you tonight. Something he’s never done before, you never thought he would. You had no idea he felt that way. You were both thankful for one another which sounds impossible, but it’s true.

“Goodnight, ___, sweet dreams,” Yoongi replies, falling onto the couch with a content sigh.

You disappear into your room and settle into bed.

That night instead of the usual nightmares about a faceless demon ripping your soul away, you find yourself lost in sanguine eyes, rich as wine and a raspy melodious voice echoing your name and writes fire across your skin.

The heat in your core ignites at his slightest touch over your bare chest. You have no idea how you got undressed or why you felt so breathless in this darkened bedroom. A face comes out of the shadows, the features you know all too well.

“Yoongi,” you say, but it comes out as a whine, so desperate and wanton it hardly sounds like you.

You say his name again, but it’s muffled by his lips, soft and gentle. It’s not what you’d expect, but you don’t fight it. You simply melt under his touch and his hands do the talking.

His fingers brush the underside of your breasts, admiring the shape before fondling one, fingertips coming to pinch your hardened bud, rolling the tip between the rough pads of his fingers. You bite your lower lip, taking his hand in yours, pausing his motions. You slowly begin to lower his hand, allowing it to press against your navel, hoping he’ll understand what you want.

It’s so hot, your body is on fire, scorching as he touches your skin and ignites it even more. You just yearn for him—his touch, his body. It’s like an addiction and you have to have him now.

“I’m here to serve you, master, to please you in anyway I can. What would you like me to do?”

He speaks, but his mouth doesn’t move. Your pleasure is too heightened to care. You want him, you want every sinful part of him that he can give you.

“I want it all. I want you. Please, Yoongi,” you beg, looking into his deep red eyes glowing with ardor.

“Anything for you.”

Yoongi uses both hands to part your legs, spreading you open for his eyes to feast upon, a hungry predator starving for a taste. His finger runs up and down your folds first, gathering up your wetness, teasing a finger past your lips.

“Yoongi,” you whine, grasping his hand and guiding him deeper between your folds. He allows you to use his hand to get yourself off without resistance. Your hand pulls his fingers into your clenching walls.

The intrusion feels like three fingers instead of one, you aren’t complaining, it stretches you so good and fills you up nicely. “Mhm, Yoongi,” you moan, releasing your grip to let him continue pleasuring you on his own. Your hand moves above your head where you clench the sheets beneath it, almost writhing.

Yoongi remains eerily quiet while your moans fill the room, crescendos of your helpless cries echo in the dark. He continues to assault your pulsing cunt, drilling his fingers deeper with each rough thrust. Every motion has you hurling towards a quick end.

Your breathless voice rasps his name, nothing else on your mind but him and his fingers. You shut your eyes, focusing on the feeling. Your back arches, hips grinding against his fingers.

“Wake up.” The voice sounds like Yoongi. What is he saying?

Your brows furrow, but your eyes don’t open, ignoring the voice to focus once again on your pleasure.

“Master,” his voice teases, “you must be having a pleasant dream.”

Dream?

Suddenly the hands on your core fade into nothing and you’re left empty, just on the edge of orgasming. When you open your eyes again, you’re in the dimly lit bedroom, sanguine eyes hovering above you. The sheets damp with your sweat. You can feel the heat and slick between your legs that pooled from your dream and an ache in your core that was never relieved.

Oh god, that dream.

Yoongi blinks, red eyes flashing at you and reminding you of whose fingers made you so wet while asleep.

“You were moaning,” Yoongi states.

Your cheeks burn from embarrassment. You bring the blanket higher to cover half your face. You’re praying you hadn’t let his name slip out in your dream state.

“Care to tell me what your dream was about?”

You lick your chapped lips, finding the courage to speak, “I-It was you.”

Perhaps you’re still feeling the effects of your dream, that desire manifesting itself right now, hoping that the true version of Yoongi could finish what dream him had started.

Yoongi cocks a brow, taking a seat on the side of your bed. As it begins to dip under his weight, you shift and sit up, ignoring how your shirt dips too low over your chest.

“Explain.”

His hardening gaze makes it difficult for you to think about anything but the way he looked at you in your dream, ready to devour you. A rush of arousal goes straight to your core and you cross your legs.

“Y-You were in it and you were t-touching me.”

“Touching?” He echoes, his eyes drift from your face down to your low neckline. “Touching you how?”

You really don’t want to explain it in detail. Doesn’t he get it already? Does he really not understand or does he want you to say it out loud?

“Well,” you wet your lips, “I was naked and you were above me.”

“Oh.” Is all he says. It doesn’t sound disappointed nor disgusted, that’s good at least. He nods his head as a sign for you to continue.

“A-And then your fingers… your fingers…they…” You clam up, suddenly recalling how deep and real they felt inside you, filling up your walls and making you scream.

Your eyes cast down, unable to look at him anymore, but that’s a mistake. His hands rest against the bed, propping himself up. The blue veins that run across his hands and slither up his arms, catch your eye. That hand, those fingers—your legs clench beneath your blanket.

“I should stay with you tonight,” his voice raspier than before. You’re not sure if it’s what you said that brought this on. All kinds of elicit thoughts run through your mind. In the same bed, beneath the same sheets, those veiny hands roaming your body once again. You’re dying to know what it feels like for real.

“It could be an incubus plaguing your dreams.”

And suddenly the fantasy is cut short.

“Incubus?” You've never heard of one.

“A sex demon that preys on women while they sleep.”

Well, that would explain the dream, but why would it appear as Yoongi? Did you really want Yoongi so badly a demon had to take the form of him to trick you?

“O-Oh, you really want to stay with me?”

“I won’t let anyone else have you, especially not another demon.”

With that, you allow Yoongi to stay with you for the rest of the night. The throbbing and want in your core never subsiding. He lays down next to you and suddenly you feel shy, scooting to the very edge of the bed until you’re threatening to tip off.

You know he doesn’t need to sleep, so you’re wondering if he will just lie there the whole night listening to the sounds of your steady breathing, or possibly more moaning if the dream returns.

“Did you enjoy it?”

Your entire body tenses, “y-yes.”

You don’t dare to turn over.

“Did you cum?”

“No.”

The bed shifts, his body moves to press against yours, molding together, fitting like a puzzle piece. His warmth envelops you, calming your erratic nerves.

What is he doing?

“Would you like to?”

Yoongi’s fingers sneak around your abdomen, trailing down slowly to cup your heat. His middle finger brushes against your clit beneath thin shorts and underwear. You chew on your lower lip, fighting back the urge to rub your legs together and whimper.

“I liked hearing you moan. I almost didn’t want to wake you. But now I wonder, what do you sound like when you cum?”

He brings his lips to the shell of your ear, hot puffs of air emphasizes every word he lowly whispers.

“Will you let me hear those sweet little whimpers again? I’ll fuck you good, sweetheart, I promise.”

“O-Okay.”

He takes his hands away to allow you to willingly roll onto your back. You watch as he moves to hover over you, his knees on either side of your thighs, his finger intertwined with a strand of your hair.

“Don’t be nervous, ___,” he whispers, oddly comforting. “I’ll take care of you.”

Those words remind you of his promise.

“I’ll protect you until the day you die. You’re mine to have and no one else’s.”

Your shoulders relax under his words like a spell cast over you. His finger releases your hair to drag down your face tenderly.

“You’re already wet, aren’t you? Did that dream take care of you well?”

His hands fall away from your face to the waistband of your shorts. Teasingly hooking around the elastic and tugging to get a peek at your baby pink panties.

“Answer me, baby girl.”

“Mm, y-yes, I am,” you answer, beginning to feel warm under your clothes despite how thin they are.

Yoongi snaps the waistband back and slides his hand up your shirt, tugging it off your body. Your breasts are exposed to him now and suddenly it feels real. This isn’t another dream. You’re really agreeing to give yourself to a demon.

His rich, sanguine eyes roam your body, memorizing each fine detail of your skin. You fight the urge to hide yourself. No one has ever seen you so intimately before nor looked at you as if they were ready to devour you whole.

Yoongi’s hand moves to touch your chest, but your reflexes force you to flinch away. You’re nervous about him touching you, thinking he’d be disappointed that you’re not everything he lusts after. He’s a demon, he must have been with—corrupted—countless humans.

“What’s the matter?” He asks, pulling his hand back.

“I’ve never…done this before,” you admit, looking anywhere but his face. Your eyes travel downward, the column of his neck, the deep pools of his collarbones, his loose-fitting wrinkled shirt, to his crotch. His bulge is prominent in his dark jeans, begging to be freed. You wonder how big he is. What if he doesn’t fit?

“Don’t worry, ___, I said I’d take care of you. Uncross your legs.”

You do as you’re told and Yoongi bends down slowly, pressing a kiss to your neck while his hand caresses your waist. He moves a hand up towards your breasts and brushes his thumb over your erect nipple. You squeak, a hand coming up to rest on his shoulder and squeeze out of nervousness.

“Don’t be shy,” he rasps, nuzzling his nose up to the shell of your ear. “I just want to make you feel good.”

His thumb rolls over your nipple again as he gets back to work marking your neck. You sigh, letting your eyes flutter shut, but still keeping one steady hand on his shoulder for comfort.

He sucks bruises into your skin that will stay as a reminder of this night and you don’t care what he leaves. You’re just enjoying the feeling of his lips on your skin. They’re so warm. You can feel yourself slowly getting addicted to his touch. It leaves you growing wetter than before.

His lips move wet kisses down your chest down to your navel. His hand leaves your breasts, trailing towards to your waistband once again.

Your hand falls from his shoulder and you rest it against your chest, feeling the pounding of your heart. You can feel it beating—boom, boom, boom—you’re so nervous about having someone so close.

“Will you show me how wet you are?” He looks up at you with a mischievous smirk. You can feel your heart racing even faster. One finger runs down your clothed slit, earning a quiet whimper from you. “Touch yourself. I want you to coat your fingers and show me.”

“Y-Yoongi,” you stutter, “I-I…”

“Don’t tell me to haven’t touched yourself before.”

You have touched yourself, but never in front of anyone else. Touching yourself in front of Yoongi sounds more and more appealing the longer his finger moves against your slit. You just want some relief for your aching core.

“Okay.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. Your hands move to slowly slide your shorts off, panties going along with it to the floor. Now you’re completely bare, left vulnerable to Yoongi.

He sits between your spread legs, watching your hands move. Enamored by your trembling hands, he can hardly wait for you to finally touch your wet slit. It’d be so easy for you to do it. You’ve probably done it many times before.

Yoongi could imagine you lying in this bed in the middle of the night, shrouded in darkness with quiet whimpers while you pleasured yourself. You’d think of faceless men, only focusing on their cocks filling you up, pounding into your cunt the same why your fingers did.

He feels himself get harder beneath his pants, the strain beginning to get uncomfortable.

Your finger brushes over your slit, gathering just enough of your arousal on the tip for it to shine in the light.

“You’re dripping already,” he groans, “fuck, I can’t wait to have my cock in that tight little cunt.”

You almost gasp at his sudden vulgar words. It’s nothing like your dream where he was silent through most of it, letting his fingers do all the talking. But you like this version better—much better.

“Bend your knees,” he orders. “Put that pretty pussy on display.”

You do as he says, the way his words sound like growls has you clenching, the throb in your core becoming unbearable. Your hand moves to your clit first, running over the sensitive bud. At first touch, you softly gasp, already feeling the jolts of pleasure running through your body.

“Want you to put a finger in.” Yoongi can’t look away,

You force your finger from your clit, running your fingers up and down your slit to collect all the juices that leaked out of you. Then, you ease your middle finger in, your walls already clenching around it.

Your mouth falls open with puffs of hot air coming out as you gasp. When you begin moving your finger in and out, you bite down on your lip to prevent any loud whimpers from escaping.

“Faster. Fuck yourself with your finger.”

Once you pick up the pace and move your finger in and out of your soaking pussy, you begin to need more. You want to be stretched full—so full of him.

“More, I-I want more, Yoongi,” you mumble.

“Slip another one in.”

You immediately respond to that and stretch yourself with another finger. Your mouth hangs open becoming parched and a moan almost escapes you, but you catch it in your throat before it becomes any louder.

Yoongi shakes his head, “I like hearing you. Go ahead and moan.”

“B-But the neighbors.”

You’re sure they wouldn’t want to be woken in the middle of the night hearing you moaning through paper-thin walls.

“If they like what they hear we can just invite them over,” he smirks, “and if not, I’ll take care of them for you, babygirl. So don’t be shy and let me listen to how good you fuck yourself.”

Yoongi takes hold of your hand, guiding your fingers into your soaked walls. His thumb presses against your clit and moves in circles, heightening your pleasure.

You whimper, releasing a breathy moan when he presses harder. Your hips buck, grinding helplessly on his thumb.

“There it is. What a good girl,” he praises while coaxing your fingers from your pussy. You whine when he refuses to let you stuff them back in, feeling his grip tighten around your wrist as a warning. His other hand fingers your slit, easing two digits in suddenly.

His fingers are much longer than yours and they feel amazing, prodding your pussy deeper than before. Your back arches, head falling to the side as you let out a wanton moan.

Squelches and obscene noises coming from your wet pussy fill the room along with your uncensored moans. Drilling his fingers faster, Yoongi releases your wrist to rub your clit.

“Ah, Y-Yoongi,” you whimper, digging your nails into the sheets.

“Do you like my fingers buried in your sweet virgin cunt?”

“Mhm,” you mumble, rolling your hips against his hand. “I like it. P-Please keep going. It f-feels so good.”

Tension knots in your abdomen with each thrust of his fingers, curling inside your walls. Your forehead is damp, hair sticking to the sides of your temple. Your legs fall open wider.

“You gonna cum all over my hand, babygirl?”

Whimpers and a simple nod of your head tells Yoongi what he wants to know. His voice is enchanting, a low hum, instructing you to meet your release and you do.

You feel yourself gushing and squirting all over his fingers, your entire body tense while your walls clench and unclench. His name falls hoarsely from your lips.

“You’ve made a mess,” Yoongi tsks, pulling his fingers out of your abused hole to play with your dripping cum. He traces your outer lips, rubbing cum all over.

Yoongi runs a finger along your thighs and over your abdomen to paint your body with your own sticky cum. “You’re all prepped and ready for my cock now.”

Your breath catches in your throat when his hands move to unzip his jeans. You’re anticipating the feeling of his cock sliding into you. How will it feel for the first time? You know it must hurt from all the stories. Nevertheless, you’re ready. You feel ready.

When he finally frees himself from his pants, throwing them off to the side, you’re left speechless, unable to think of what to say.

He’s big, so much bigger than you imagined. His fingers are nothing compared to his girth. It’s almost jaw-dropping. You’re afraid he won’t fit even with how wet you are.

And it’s not just how thick he is that’s causing you to do a double-take. Along his shaft, are smooth ridges dotting his length. You’ve never seen anything like it.

Your hesitant hand dares to reach out and graze one of the ridges. It feels just like skin, raised like a hard bump. Your hand flinches back when he gasps. You look up at him, a silent question hanging off your mind.

“It’ll hurt, I won’t lie, but I’ll try to go slowly,” Yoongi says, hoping to reassure you.

You lick your lips, glancing back at his hard xoxo once more. Your body is on fire and there is no denying how badly you yearn for Yoongi to be in you. You need this demon with no true face to fuck you.

“Go ahead.”

Yoongi pulls on your hips, aligning his rigid cock head to your swollen pink lips. He pushes himself in, the thick head of his cock entering your walls for the first time. He forces himself not to bury himself into you, reminding himself how untouched you are and how he doesn’t want to hurt you.

“Yoongi,” you whimper, grabbing onto one of his hands on your hips. “S-Slower, please.”

You lay there, breathing shallowly as he watches you carefully. You move your hips experimentally around his cock, trying to adjust to the thickness as it steadily pierces you. You can feel the ridges of his cock as it enters you. The ache is uncomfortable and you wince.

There can’t possibly be any more, you think until you choose to look down to where your bodies are connected. He’s just halfway in and you gasp. Not even with all of his length in you, you feel incredibly full.

“Such a tight cunt,” he hisses, pulling out partially and thrusting back in, keeping up the slow rhythm to help you adjust.

You’re beginning to feel pleasure instead of the uncomfortable pain and with each of his thrusts, he pushes himself deeper until you can take his whole cock.

“So… hng, full,” you moan, feeling him hitting your cervix. Your back arches off the bed. You can feel every ridge sliding against your walls. Sliding your hands from his, your nails rake up his back, making red scars that will remain until morning. You anchor onto his shoulders.

He drills into your cunt, no longer concerned with your pain, only focusing on giving you pleasure. With each of your whining moans, he rolls his hips until you’re flushed and panting.

“S-Shit,” he hisses, “you like this, babygirl? You like being fucked?”

“Yes, yes!” you cry.

“You can feel me all the way in here,” he smugly remarks, pressing a hand flat against your abdomen where you can see the bulge of his cock moving inside you. His cock feels like it’s stretching you open, each thrust threatening to split you in half.

You whine, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him in closer. You can feel your second orgasm approaching quickly. Your toes begin to curl in absolute ecstasy.

“I wanna-”

“Cum? You need to cum, babygirl?” He groans hotly into your ear.

Your fingers move to lace in his blonde hair, tugging at the locks. Your hips buck to meet his in a hurry to finish. “Yes! I need to!”

His finger moves between your bodies to flick your swollen bud causing you to shudder releasing a choked sob. His finger rubs your clit in circles.

Your muscles tighten, stomach and eyes clenching as all your nerves light up.

“Cum then, let go.”

You cry his name as you cum, back arching and your sweaty chest meets his. White leaks from your used cunt, gushing around his cock, and you’re absolutely spent.

“Good girl,” Yoongi coos, almost out of breath but not quite. Being a demon means plenty of stamina. “Such a good girl.”

Your eyes open, blinking—once, twice— and realizing he’s smiling down at you. His blonde hair pushed back, revealing his forehead and glistening sweat. You’re wondering how he’s feeling after this because you’re definitely confused. Do you love Yoongi, the demon, who only wants to be human? It’s hard to say.

“I might love you,” you admit. You might as well say it. You have nothing to lose anyway.

That forces his smile to fall. He has nothing to say in return, he can’t say anything. This is wrong—all wrong. His mouth sets in a hard line.

You're forgetting the inevitable. The inevitable moment when he's forced to take your life. Even if years do go by, even if he does allow himself to fall in love with you, it won’t end happily.

“And maybe I could too.”

#BAficexchange #bangtanarmynet #bts #bts smut #yoongi smut #btssmutclub #smutcentralnet #yoongi fanfiction #bts fanfiction #bts scenario #bts reactions #bts imagines

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years ago

Text

All That Is Or Was Or Will Be

CW: Character death (no main characters), murder, so much murder, just like a lot of murder, no animals harmed in the writing of this piece, emeto (brief), referenced physical abuse, blood, drugging, knives, mind control, noncon touching (nonsexual), a kind of pet whump, trauma response, creepy whumper, suicidal ideation (brief, of the “wish I had a way out of this” variety)

Killan Josta belongs to @wildfaewhump‘s Iesin and Talvos universe, which Vic is graciously letting me use with their permission to just absolutely ruin Killan in every possible way.

Tagging Killan’s crew: @astrobly @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @slaintetowhump , @quirkykayleetam , @whumpallday , @whumppsychology, @doveotions (if you would like to be added to an OC’s tag list, please send your request via an ask! Those are easier for me to keep track of and I tend to lose requests in comments, reblogs, tags, or PMs!)

With every step, Killan tried to stop walking.

He told himself to stand still, to drop the small bag he held in one hand, to cry out and warn them he was coming. The woods were dark around him, but he never tripped on anything. He never placed his feet wrong. He never stumbled, or struggled. He walked with a perfect, inhumanly smooth stride even as his heart pounded, lurching sickly inside his chest with dread.

He couldn’t stop.

He didn’t want to stop. Or he did, but the want was buried underneath a deeper push, the twining starsong that wrapped him up in Calon Nie's voice.

Take this, you, in secret steps and quietness. Walk til you see, but do not wake. I show you what starsong can do.

Pl-please, no, don't make me do this-

His feet had already been moving.

Calon's teeth flashed in the dark with his smile. You want to see what starsong can do, my pretty human.

He didn’t want to know what starsong could do - and yet he was desperate for the knowledge, wasn’t he? If only to know what he was in for, how terrible it was going to be, what kinds of monster-magic the fae could really do.

He didn’t want to know what would happen to Ren, to Tinch and Vanya and Pyllko… definitely did not want to see what Calon Nie would do to Beron, who had sometimes helped him pack up the camp in the mornings or patted him on the back, ruffled his hair and said, you worked hard today with a hint of pride in his voice as though Killan were his own son and not just a debt-slave…

He had liked Beron sometimes, as much as you could like a man who kicked you in the stomach for eating a second helping of porridge until you threw the first one up or took your food and threw it to dogs to make himself laugh. Killan had been kind of fond of him, worked hard for his approval, been glad that Beron always asked for Killan to sit watch with him at night.

Beron had been mean, could be mean - but he was the only one of them where Killan could mostly predict that violence, and so it was as close to safe as he had been since the day he'd been attacked in town and nearly drowned. He was the only one who’d put together a bit of hot broth or tea when Killan was sick.

Beron took care of him, in between hurting, and no one else did.

What would starsong do to Beron?

He didn’t want to do this, but his feet would not stop moving.

The more he fought against the silvery web of compulsion wrapped around him, the louder the fae’s voice sang in the back of his mind. Eerie twin notes, harmonized with itself in a single voice, soaking into the deepest parts of him. Above him, Calon Nie moved through the branches in nearly-perfect silence, even his wings hidden in the dark canopy of trees.

Buachaill del… pretty boy, you are mo ragnaith, my chosen one. My human. I am all, all was or is or will be, for you.

He did not want to be Calon Nie’s human, but he had no choice.

His mam used to tell a story about a wicked fae who sang away all the children in a village who had not listened to their mothers when it was time for bed, using her hands to make shadowed wings on the wall, while a tiny Killan had watched and listened, wide-eyed and rapt. The fae led the disobedient children right off a cliff just to hover in the air with its awful wings and watch their bodies dash to the rocks below.

You see, then, Killy, why it’s what you must do, to listen to your mam when she sends you to sleep? Otherwise the fae monsters will take you and tear out your throat.

It was just a story to scare children - until it wasn’t.

He would have been less terrified if Calon Nie had simply wanted to kill him and drink his blood and make things out of his bones, like his mam had said fae would. What was happening to him instead was much, much worse, because he was starting to understand that it wouldn’t end, that Calon Nie had some plan for him he wasn’t explaining. Some idea that had led him to want a human boy for his very own. There was some hidden reason he kept measuring Killan’s arms and fingers and legs, pressing on his sides to feel at the ribs beneath, not counting - just saying too much bones, and Killan was both desperate to know what that meant and praying to some dim concept of a forest god that he never, ever would learn.

He couldn’t stop walking, but one hand raised to feel over his neck as he went, the bandage wrapped around it felt too tight, constricting. Calon Nie was not gentle. It covered the sliced-up skin down one side, where Calon Nie had let blood drip down to dry and stain brownish on his collarbone, but it didn’t feel like a bandage.

It felt worse than that.

Killan felt like a collared dog.

He felt like a pet that walked on its hind legs for the amusement of its keepers. Like the little dogs at the harvest festival who could balance balls on the tips of their noses as they ‘danced’, hind-legged, while the people clapped and cheered.

The bandages crinkled, the barest hint of noise in the dark woods. Above him, there was a soft hiss, and Killan’s hand fell back to his side.

Quietness, buachaill del. He didn’t have to hear the words spoken to hear the order. Not any longer.

He could see the camp ahead of him, the fire banked low to embers, the men stretched out in their bedrolls to sleep under the stars. The horses breathing in soft snorts, ears back, heads turned in his direction. They saw him, but they knew Killan - he fed them, sliding the heavy bags up over their noses so they could munch where they stood, even deep in the woods with no real grass to graze on. They weren’t scared of him like they would have been of Calon Nie, and so they made no sound at his approach beyond the softest whicker.

Beron and Tinch were on watch, sitting up with their backs to him for the moment, and Killan opened his mouth to warn them, to say, please, he’s going to kill you-

“Sleep,” The fae in the branches above him commanded. Killan’s knees buckled and he crashed to the ground as the world spun to sudden exhausted wooziness around him.

The last thing he heard was the sound of Beron and Tinch falling forward, too, the soft thuds of their bodies falling into the dirt.

Then, darkness.

He woke to the whisper of Calon Nie’s talons across his back, ghosting over shoulder blades long-scarred by Ren’s punishments for past transgressions. He tensed at the touch of those clawed fingertips, but they didn’t quite cut his skin. Instead, it felt more like Calon Nie played his spine as an instrument. “Wake, only you.” Calon Nie spoke almost gently, almost lovingly. “But be still. Time for the first.”

“The… the first what?” Killan asked, blinking, pushing slowly up onto his elbows with his hips and legs still splayed on the ground. The little bag he had been forced to carry all the way here lay on its side, still tied tightly closed.

He looked around to see the bandits he had lived with were now all asleep - three in their bedrolls, and Beron and Tinch simply slumped on the ground, too deeply unconscious for dignity. Everyone’s breath came deep and even, low snores settling in the air around them. “I thought-...” His own voice was slurred, struggling to come all the way awake even with the command. “I thought you were going to kill-... to kill them.”

“No kill, me,” Calon said easily. “Now. Hold still. Silence, Killan.”

He only said Killan’s real name when whatever he was about to do was going to hurt. Sure enough, when Killan had frozen on the ground like a boy made of stone, Calon’s taloned fingers slipped, for the first time, into his skin.

Killan had begun to hate his name. At least buachaill del, mo ragnaith, pretty boy, my human - at least those names didn’t come with the promise of pain.

He tried to cry out with the sudden burning pain, but no sound came. Compelled to silence, Killan could do nothing but dig his fingers into the loose earth, mouth open in a scream he could not voice, his vocal chords locked tight with starsong wrapped around them. He felt the talon trail through like his mam heating a knife and slicing butter, his skin falling away almost eagerly to either side, leaping to do the fae’s will.

Only when he could feel the blood running did Calon Nie pull back his hand, his head cocking to the side as he held the talons up in front of his own face, slit-pupiled yellow eyes locked on the deep red, colored nearly black in the dark night, running warm and then cool down the palm of his monstrous hand.

“Pretty,” He whispered. “So red, with iron. Dead star, you. But I can give life.”

Killan breathed in gasps against the pain, tears running hot down his face, dripping saltwater to a forest floor that maybe had never seen water and salt mixed before. He couldn’t speak to ask what the fae meant, and he didn’t wan to. He didn’t want to know what life meant to a fae that thought Killan, with his beating heart and red blood, was dead.

“Is time, now,” Calon Nie said after contemplating Killan’s blood a moment longer. “Stand, you. Keep silent.”

Killan’s arms moved, palms pressed to earth, shifting onto his hands and knees even as his back screamed and he wept silent tears into the earth beneath him, blood trickling in a garish tickle down his sides and then soaking into the waistband of his pants, until he stood, swaying. He could be forced to silence but the rictus-scream was stuck on his face, the only expression of his pain he was allowed beyond his labored breathing.

“Good. Now, is time, is time, is time for celebration.” Calon Nie sing-song sang the words more than spoke them in his hissing, sibilant accent. He reached his own hand behind his back and then pulled from the waistband of his own pans an intricately carved dagger made of no metal that Killan had ever known. He was used to Ren’s weapons, all good solid strong iron, poison to the fae and a good defense when you hunted as close to the mountains as Ren did.

This, though, shimmered in the darkness like silver, was carved with the peaks of mountains clear along each side of the blade. Crafted with a sharply angled serration, it looked like something you couldn’t possibly need for hunting.

Calon Nie held the knife out to Killan. “Take,” He commanded, and Killan’s hand moved without him even as his heart dropped, went cold, turned to a block of ice in his stomach. The pain in his back was forgotten, simply overrun by the horrified understanding.

He tried to move his mouth, but the compulsion to silence still held, and he couldn’t do anything more than that.

Calon raised his eyebrows slowly, curious and amused. The moonlight caught his eyes as his chin raised to look Killan in the eyes, turning yellow eyes briefly to a cloudy opalescence, and he seemed somehow more a product of a story meant to scare children than ever. “No questions, you. Time for questions gone.” He drew his hand through the air, a quick sharp dismissal, and Killan felt his stomach twist as some of his own blood flew off Calon’s taloned fingertips and landed on Ren’s face where he lay in his bedroll.

Wake up, Killan begged him, mouth moving, silent. Wake up. Fight him with iron. Wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up-

Ren shifted, mumbling to himself in a slurred voice, and wiped at the blood on his cheek.

Then he settled back to unconsciousness again.

Calon Nie swayed lightly back and forth, as if to a rhythm only he could hear, eyes half-closed as his head tilted back and forth with his movements, long black hair that turned nearly white by the ends moving, his wings slightly - deeply auburn reddish-brown on the outside and a layered, striped black-and-white on the inside - spread in the small clearing for balance. He smiled, head tilted up to the moon, to the stars, visible in the perfectly clear night sky.

Without looking away from a constellation just next to the moon - Killan had always known it, three stars in a line and two more above, as the Rider - Calon Nie pointed to Ren, and said, “Slit his throat, Killan. Stop only when no living.”

Killan’s body moved without him to obey the starsong command.

His hands moved steady and sure, one to grip Ren by the hair and yank until his head was forced back, the other to draw the serrated blade across the man’s throat, digging in deep, blood bursting as though a dam had broken, a waterfall of a man’s life soaking into his bedroll, snuffled half-breaths that could no longer be drawn.

Killan’s hand didn’t loosen the grip on Ren’s hair - on the man who had saved him when the robbers threw him in the river, who had owned his life and hurt him and written all the scars on him that weren’t Calon Nie’s - until the man was dead.

Right to death, the fae’s magic held Ren in a deep slumber.

He never woke, before he was gone.

Killan wept for him, his heart burning, and waited for what he knew came next when he let Ren’s head drop onto his bedroll, never to wake again.

“Good,” Calon Nie praised, eyes fluttering half-closed. “Now.” He pointed at Pyllko. “Slit his throat.”

Killan moved to the next bedroll, grabbed Pyllko by his curly hair - he was vain of it, Pyllko, found new women in every town they stopped in, had babies scattered through the land, or so he said - and killed him, too. His hand was dripping red with blood. Pyllko liked to say awful things about the women he saw, but he was like a spoiled selfish boy, younger even than Killan in mind if not in body.

A nobleman’s son, so he swore, who had been banished for something to do with a higher noble’s eldest daughter.

Ren saved me, too, Pyllko had said to him once. I could have died. You should be grateful that he’s got such a big heart for you.

Then Vanya.

Killan forced Calon Nie to give the command for each one, refused to move of his own volition. His eyes were too blurry to see with the tears and he knew his hand was struggling, he was getting Pyllko’s blood in Vanya’s hair, his grip on the blade now slick with red, struggling to hold it tightly enough for the killing stroke.

Vanya, who was cruel and cruel and cruel again, for his own amusement.

Killan still had never wanted him to die.

He killed him anyway.

Now, Tinch.

Tinch, who had ignored him mostly as a child but had started to stare at him as an adult, get too close, look too long. Who joked about sneaking to the river to see what it was about bathing naked there that Killan loved so much.

Tinch, who had a habit of grabbing at Killan’s arms or chin or hair whenever he wanted. This throat, Killan slit with hardly a lick of grief at all. I know what you would have done to me, soon enough, Killan thought, as the man bled to death on his side, his hand lying outstretched. If they were ever found, it might even look like Tinch had reached for his weapon.

He hadn’t.

He would look like he’d had a chance to be brave, when he wasn’t, and he hadn’t had any such thing. But there was a comfort in the idea that someone might find their bones, one day, and think that someone had tried to fight the fae.

Finally… Beron.

Killan stalled, now, fought the starsong as hard as he could, its tendrils wrapping so tightly around him that they felt like new fire licking blue across his skin. He turned to look at Calon Nie, still swaying to the song only he could hear. No, he whispered, still unable to speak.

Calon seemed to hear it, anyway. He opened his eyes and looked at Killan, smiling to show his sharp teeth. “Say no, you?”

Not Beron.

For the first time since the fae had taken him, something dark and ugly passed across his features. Killan had never seen it before, not in relation to him, anyway, but he could read it easily nonetheless.

Calon Nie was jealous.

“Slit. Throat. Now.”

The command was spat instead of sung, but Killan’s hands began to move, and he hitched in a breath, a half-whispered, half-silent sob, his tears falling right onto Beron’s peaceful sleeping face.

Beron would toss his food just to watch him cry over is loss, would smack him around when he took too long at a chore, but he would also tell Killan stories like his mam used to, and volunteer to take him into the shops when they visited towns.

Killan grabbed the hair of the only one of them that had ever offered him an ounce of kindness and he murdered him, too, crying over him as he watched Beron, peaceful to the bitter end, take his very last breath. Then he slumped down to his knees and leaned over him, gripping fingers into the fabric of his shirt like a child clinging to its mother after a nightmare, and cried at the loss of what he hadn’t even known was a better life than what he was now living.

Somehow, Calon Nie did not stop him from grieving. He cried, holding Beron with one hand and the blood-slicked blade with the other, into the man’s slowly cooling body.

He wept for them, and for himself.

Then he straightened his back - singing pain up the tiny cuts Calon Nie had made, but he didn’t care any longer, none of it meant anything and maybe if he was lucky Calon Nie would let him bleed to death here with the closest thing he had left to a family - and threw the silver-colored knife as far as he could into the dark woods.

He heard it land, a rustle in underbrush, and that was all. Whoever found the bodies - maybe they’d find the murder weapon, too.

I killed them. I killed them. I killed them. The word rang round and round inside Killan’s mind, and this time when his stomach twisted he let it lead him, curling himself over on the ground and losing the contents of his stomach across the beaten-down grass and earth. He retched and heaved until his stomach and his back hurt in equal measures, until nothing was left but sour spit and bile on his tongue, until… until nothing was left but his guilt.

Thrall, murderer, fae-led slave boy, you did this you did this you did this you did this-

Ren’s flask dropped to the ground next to his knees and he slowly looked up to see Calon Nie staring down at him, head tilted so far to the side it seemed an impossible angle, evidence of the fluidity, the flexibility of fae bones. “You drink,” Calon Nie said, pointing with his talon. It wasn’t a command, but Killan grabbed the flask up anyway, sucking down the burning liquor inside, letting it wash the taste from his mouth.

But it couldn’t wipe the blood, thick in the air, thick on his hands, thick on his soul.

“Now is me only,” Calon Nie said, firmly. “Only me, you for. I am start and finish and all things. All that was or is or will be. These, gone. Paugh. No need. You may speak.”

“You said-... before, you said you would only make me put the sleeping drug in their water!”

Yellow eyes met his above Calon Nie’s patient, loving smile. “Calon Nie lies.”

“But, you... you have cl-claws, y-... you... y-you could have k-k-killed them y-y-yourself-” He started crying again, now that he could cry openly he let his voice wail, bouncing off the trees and back at him like a physical blow. He let sobs turn to wails and wails becomes screams and he prayed and prayed and prayed someone, somewhere, could hear him.

“I not kill these.” Calon Nie shook his head, and when he held out his hand, Killan could do nothing but take it and let the fae help him, shaking legs and all, to his feet. “Yours to kill. Kill pretty human’s family, I am family now. Done. Those, though…” Calon Nie’s eyes went to the horses, who were pulling on the ties that bound them near trees, ears back, herd animals wanting to run from the smell of blood and the teeth of the predator that stood openly before them. “Those I kill-”

“No. Please.” Killan put a hand on Calon Nie’s arm, smearing it with blood. “Please, Calon Nie, please, n-not the horses, please.”

Why did it matter if he killed them? Killan couldn’t have said. But in that moment, where he felt a mix of guilt and grief shredding him apart, it mattered more than anything that Calon might give him just one hint of mercy.

Calon Nie looked back at him, surprised, and then to the horses again. He sighed, smiling - affectionate and indulgent, as though Killan were a child who had asked for an extra sweet at market. “Más mian leat, buachaill del. Find other food, me.”

Killan nodded, whispering his sincere thanks, hating himself for the depraved gratitude he felt. He grabbed Beron’s sword from his bedroll - it had been all ready for his watch to end but he had never had a chance to use it - and moved to the horses, cutting them free from the tree they’d been tied to, watching them as they fled.

Wishing he could flee, too.

His eyes drifted down to the leather-wrapped hilt of the iron sword in his hand just in time to hear Calon Nie to say, sharply, “Drop sword, you.”

Iron thumped to the earth, useless.

Just like Killan, to everyone but the fae who held him in thrall.

When he turned, Calon Nie was right there, had moved with perfect silence and speed to stand just behind him, and Killan didn’t have to be commanded to hold still under the look in those yellow eyes. The camp smells - fire and smoke and the horses, whatever they’d had for dinner maybe - were overlaid with the thick copper-salt-sweet scent of blood.

Killan would never stop smelling that blood, he thought, no matter how long Calon Nie allowed him to live.

“Mine now,” Calon Nie whispered. “Truly mine, you.” He lifted his hand and Killan shuddered, shivering like a spooked animal as a blood-tipped talon drew lightly over his bandaged throat, not quite cutting the cloth strips, not cutting his skin. The fae moved around him, chin tilted up slightly to look, focused with unsettling intensity as he moved in a slow circle around Killan, tracing a perfect circle around his throat.

The message was clear.

Killan was a collared dog - to be fussed over to set to kill, whichever his master commanded. To the fae, humans were nothing but livestock that could speak, weren’t they? Killan was nothing but a bit of skin with a puzzling habit of having opinions.

“Don’t-” His voice caught, and Calon Nie’s talon came to a stop, just beneath his ear, pressed lightly against his pulse. A trickle of blood ran down to soak into the bandages. “Please,” he whispered. “Please don’t make me kill anyone else.”

“Not worry,” Calon Nie whispered, opening his hand to rest the palm of it against the back of Killan’s neck, bloody taloned twisting and playing with his hair until he thought he might throw up all over again, even though he had nothing left. “Not you, next time.”

Killan’s eyes closed, trying to hide the tears that escaped anyway, the new wash of fear. “N-next ti-... ti-time?” He managed, his voice shaking so badly he could barely get out the words.

Calon Nie went up on his toes, his breath hot against Killan’s ear. “Next time, I kill, for you.”

“I-I don’t n-n-need anyone to, to die for me,” Killan protested, in a hitching half-sobbed whimper. How did he have so many tears in him? It felt like he would never stop crying.

He tried to open his eyes, only to see the men he had murdered with his own hands, and had to close them again. When he broke out in sobs this time, Calon Nie bundled him close, held him in a tight grip with those heavily muscled arms, and petted through his hair with his bloody talons.

Where a bit of Killan’s blood touched his skin, Calon Nie hissed against a faint burn.

“Calm, calm, calm,” Calon Nie sing-songed, soothing and soft. “Calm, calm, my pretty. Did well for your Calon Nie, yes? Did well for me?”

He was a murderer. He had blood on his hands. He had taken men’s lives while they slept, like a coward, like a monster, like a thrall.

“Pretty boy, answer me,” Calon Nie said.

I am the children the fae threw off the cliff, but you won’t let me go far enough to escape you, not even if I died.

Killan hitched in breath, tried to find his voice where it had fled this time, deep within his chest where he knew their lives would stay wrapped up in him, wreckage and ruin, his own fault for being alone in the woods near the mountains. “Yes,” He said, miserable. “Yes. I d-did what you-... what you, gods, what you s-s-said-”

“Good. Good human.” Calon Nie hummed, nuzzling his nose against the side of Killan’s face, sharp teeth entirely too close to the veins in his neck. Killan kept his eyes closed, ground his teeth together, and hoped - for one long drawn-out moment - that Calon Nie would kill him, too, so he wouldn’t have to live like this.

After a long silence, Calon Nie pulled away from him, taking his scent of something metallic and wild with him, and Killan felt the pain in his back all at once, as though the adrenaline and guilt had dampened what he could feel.

Calon Nie smiled at the way Killan whined at the pain.

“Get used to,” He advised. “Back must hurt, for now, all time.”

“What? Wh-why?” Killan looked at the fae, whose eyes had gone back to the stars above their heads, basking in the faint silvery light, in the song he swore he could hear but Killan heard nothing but the beat of his own heart.

Even the birds were silent in the trees.

Even the forest knew when monsters walked.

Calon Nie did not open his eyes when he said, in a voice of perfect bliss, “To ready you for wings, mo ragnaith.”

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darkblueboxs · 4 years ago

Text

Fang and Stake

For @aftgangstfest Day 21: “Bite me.”

For most hunters, it would have been a wet dream: his quarry beaten, bleeding, trapped and prone before him. He might as well have been holding a stake on a silver platter. If it had been any other vampire in the world, Andrew wouldn’t have hesitated to drive the splintering chunk of wood through his chest and be done with it.

Unfortunately, Neil wasn’t any other vampire.

Read here or on AO3 (check AO3 for content warnings)

The vampire was slippery. Andrew didn’t like slippery; more challenge, more effort, more time spent charging through woodlands with rain and sweat soaking through his clothes and the echo of Kevin’s orders biting at his heels. The night was too cold for running, and the ache in his legs told him that he would be ending it bruised and exhausted. If bruising was the worst of his injuries come sunrise, he would consider himself… not lucky, Andrew had never been lucky, but satisfied. He had to find satisfaction somewhere; despite Kevin’s enthusiasm, the promised thrill of the chase had yet to ensnare Andrew. The thud of his heart in his chest was born of exertion and no more. It played a deafening drumbeat in his ears, perhaps compensating for his quarry’s shortcomings in that department.

The hunt required little strategy or forethought; tonight’s mark was bleeding. Profusely. Any idiot could follow a trail of blood, and frankly Andrew’s talents were wasted on this assignment. To think that Kevin had wanted him to take backup. Kevin was intelligent, of course, no man could keep his position without a few brain cells between his ears – but when it came to Andrew, he magically developed both the stubbornness and IQ of a common mule. Kevin was adamant that Andrew learn to work as part of a team. Andrew was equally adamant that he hunt alone.

Specks of red flecked the path ahead of him, a glinting ruby treasure-trail. Kevin’s notes divulged few details where tonight’s quarry was concerned, but Andrew wouldn’t have paid them much mind anyway. Andrew’s marks were all the same; cruel, cunning, merciless. It took one to catch one, and if Kevin passed this vampire to Andrew instead of one of his more cooperative hunters, it was for a good reason.

After a pathetically short chase, Andrew tracked the figure to a riverbank swollen by rain. He could feel his lips slicing open into an empty smile as he saw the figure staring morosely into the water which cut through his escape route with the efficiency of a ravine. Vampiric rules, as strange as they were convenient.

Andrew flicked the stake over in his hand a few times as he approached. He wasn’t one to draw out a kill, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t make a show of it, if only to sap his victim of any remaining morale. The gesture was wasted on this vampire; its shoulders were heaving and shuddering in turn, heavy with defeat. Its hair was plastered to his head, darkened by the rain which ran rivulets down the nape of its neck.

His mark hadn’t been having a good night, even before Andrew caught its trail. The burnt, decaying smell of vampiric blood was thick in the air. Andrew’s mind caught him by the throat and dragged him somewhere deep and dark, where old memories thrashed and screamed. If the vampire had gained its injuries doing what Andrew thought it had been doing, a quick death would be more than it deserved.

The snapping of twigs underfoot gave him away, not that Andrew was making any effort to mask his approach. He had no need for the benefit of surprise.

The vampire looked up, eyes piercing blue. The familiar colour jolted through Andrew like an electric shock. He lowered his stake. “You. You’re Nathaniel?”

“Shit,” Neil said, half-way between a gasp and a laugh. “Andrew.” His legs gave out as though knocked from beneath him, and the vampire fell to his knees.

For most hunters, it would have been a wet dream; his mark beaten, bleeding, trapped and prone before him. He might as well have been holding a stake on a silver platter. If it had been any other vampire in the world, Andrew wouldn’t have hesitated.

Unfortunately, Neil wasn’t any other vampire.

Neil – Andrew had never believed it was his real name, not for a second – was, irritatingly, one of the good ones, a fact which Andrew believed with the kind of certainty that he had long thought himself to have outgrown. Hunters only pursued vampires that were a proven danger to humans, which meant that somewhere down the line, Andrew had been lied to. It only remained to decide which end the lie came from: Neil, or Andrew’s superiors.

Common sense should have put the blame squarely on Neil’s shoulders. He had every reason to lie to Andrew – to preserve his cover, to get close to someone with inside information on the Hunters, to buy himself a little protection or mercy from a friend on the inside should the time come – but Andrew’s instincts screamed over common sense.

He always knew Neil was trouble, of course. He was a vampire – it came with the territory. Neil was the only vampire Andrew had ever met that showed no sign of fear or revulsion upon discovering how Andrew paid his rent. It made Andrew wonder what else Neil had to fear, that the human who slept with a stake under his pillow should have no effect upon him at all. It made Neil a puzzle, but worst of all, it made him interesting. Deliberately or not, Neil certainly knew how to interest Andrew.

The whole situation smelt of a set-up. Someone in a high place must have really, really wanted him dead. Somehow, Andrew wasn’t surprised. After all, he had wanted Neil dead from the first night Neil slipped a name through the open crack of Andrew’s window, a name which lead him to a very, very bad man. At first, Andrew had wondered if Neil was using him as his own personal hitman, picking off vampires that posed a threat to his territory. As time passed and bodies mounted, it became clear that Neil had the same distaste for bloodshed as Andrew. The same immunity, too; when they arrived by chance at the scene of an attack within moments of each other, Neil’s reaction to the family bleeding out on the living room floor was as muted as Andrew’s. Andrew was tempted to blame it on the side-effects of vampirism, were it not for the way Neil’s eyes slid past the pools of blood with complete disinterest.

Neil never seemed to send help Andrew’s way with any hope of recognition or reward; he seemed to think it was the right thing to do. A good Samaritan; Andrew’s least favourite type of person.

“If I were someone else, you would be dead,” Andrew said. He noted the way Neil’s eyes tracked his stake, and he slotted it back into the hook on his belt.

“As would you.” Neil pressed a hand to his side and winced. “At least I don’t have a doppelganger running around. Makes things a lot more confusing.”

“Remember the rules, Neil.” Andrew tapped his fingers against the handle of his stake. “Family stays out of this.”

“Don’t worry, it’s easy enough now I know your smell from his. Yours is far more…” Neil’s gaze grew strangely distant, eyes flickering black, before he realised, wisely, that this wasn’t a good line of thought to follow. “Sorry.” He wobbled before falling onto his side with a quiet thunk. “Ouch.”

Andrew walked forward until he was standing over Neil. His shirt was dark with patches of blood, presumably his own. Andrew didn’t know whether to be relieved or concerned. Neither, if he were smart, but smart always seemed to go out of the window at the same moment that Neil entered through it. “Vampires are supposed to heal quicker than this.” He nudged Neil’s abdomen with the toe of his boot, ignoring Neil’s protesting hiss. “Stop being dramatic.”

“I can’t.” Neil’s voice cracked with strain. “They doused their blades in holy water.”

There was a sudden, piercing pain at the back of Andrew’s skull. If he didn’t know better, he would call it fear. “You’re going to die.”

Neil laughed mirthlessly, fangs catching the moonlight. “I’m already dead.”

“Fix it.”

Neil smiled as though amused by the urgency in Andrew’s tone. Andrew hated that smile as much as he hated the man who wore it. “No.”

Andrew dropped to his knees and clinically yanked Neil’s shirt open to examine his wounds. Neil’s body was a mess of scarring, but it was the fresh wounds that drew Andrew’s eye, raw and red in some places, scorched black in others. His hands hovered over the ragged remains of Neil’s torso, twitching with uncertainty. Hunters weren’t taught to heal; they were taught to kill. For the first time in his life, Andrew wished his brother was there in his place. “What kind of blades?”

“I didn’t stop to ask.” Neil coughed, missing the look Andrew levelled at him. “Sharp ones.”

Andrew let out a low, involuntary hiss. He placed a careful hand to the raw red of Neil’s abdomen. Neil jerked, his skin ice-cold under Andrew’s palm.

The solution came to him with an abruptness that was almost painful.

“Feeding will heal you,” Andrew said. It was barely a question, but all the same he knew the answer before the words even passed his lips. He also knew from the cold determination in Neil’s eyes that Neil had reached the same conclusion and dismissed it immediately. Neil knew Andrew, knew the stories behind the stake under his pillow, and would never ask, would never even think to ask, even if it meant dying in his arms. The quiet understanding, the assurance, the silent promise of not like them that underpinned their every interaction was almost enough to rip Andrew to pieces. Because just as Neil knew Andrew, Andrew knew Neil, knew that Neil would never tear Andrew apart for his own satisfaction, would never use him up and throw him away like butcher’s scraps. Not like them. Neil looked at Andrew in a way that none had before, not like something to be consumed, but like something… else. Something important.

Andrew could slit his own throat in front of Neil, and Neil would still bleed to death before taking anything from Andrew that hadn’t been offered.

Andrew shook Neil’s shoulder, and when he saw the distant, glassy look in Neil’s eyes, he tried again. “Neil. Feeding will heal you.”

Neil coughed. His lips were flecked with his own blood. “If you know where I can buy a gallon of purified pig’s blood around here, I’m all ears.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Andrew growled.

Neil’s eyes flicked to Andrew’s as understanding dawned. He tried to push himself away, but there was nowhere to go but deeper into the loose dirt of the riverbank “I don’t feed from people. I won’t be like them.”

“I won’t let you be.” Andrew tightened his grip on Neil’s shoulder. Neil looked like he had more objections to make, but the violent shake of his hands betrayed him, as did the terrible, ashy colour of his skin. “I trust you.”

“No.”

“Bite me,” Andrew said, “Or I’ll cut my wrists open and force the blood down your throat myself.”

“You wouldn’t,” Neil said, and his certainty burns in the back of Andrew’s throat like bile.

“Try me.” Andrew said lowly.

Neil looked at him for a long moment, jaw clenched. Andrew could see the moment he caved in; however flimsy Andrew’s bluff, Neil would never risk calling it. He watched with careful blankness as Andrew tugged at his collar before giving up and tearing it along the seam, the sound surprisingly loud in the night air. Neil’s eyes caught on the bared expanse of Andrew’s neck and stuck there. There was a want in his eyes, but it wasn’t the kind of hunger Andrew was used to seeing from his kind. It was cautious, careful, aware. A single word from Andrew and it would be buried without complaint or reprehension. It was this knowledge that let Andrew shuffle closer, pulling Neil up and against him so that his weight was supported by Andrew’s arms. Neil might have been cold, but he was warmer than the night air, and the sensation seeped through Andrew’s skin slow as syrup.

Neil’s breath stuttered out of him as his head lolled against Andrew. “I’ve never…” Neil said, little more than a whisper. “…I’ve never done this. I don’t know if I can… If I can make it not hurt.”

“I know.”

“Is it still yes?”

“Yes,” Andrew said. Then, impatiently, “Sometime tonight?”

Neil sighed. There was a flash of teeth, and then a heat burned through Andrew’s shoulder unlike anything he had ever felt.

Andrew wasn’t sure what kind of noise escaped him. Neil twitched like he was about to pull back, but the clench of Andrew’s hand in his hair urged him on. Neil’s hand wavered between them as though searching for something to steady himself with, landing at last Andrew. For once, Andrew didn’t mind the contact as Neil dragged one hand from Andrew’s shoulder down to his arm, gripping on like Andrew was a rock in a stormy sea. Andrew’s body was a jumble of warring sensations, but the sudden wet heat as Neil’s tongue slid across the bite wound sent a shiver straight through him.

Neil pushed himself back, quick to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth. His eyes had turned a deep red, and they didn’t quite refocus again until they had faded back to their normal blue. His skin was closer to his usual tan, and his wounds appeared, mercifully, to have scabbed over. They tingled under Andrew’s hands as though his blood was calling out to him from within Neil’s body.

Neil’s eyes fixed on the mark left on Andrew’s neck. For a moment, Andrew worried that Neil needed more, that he had denied himself what he needed for Andrew’s sake, but the crease between Neil’s eyebrows was concern, not hunger.

Neil reached for the wound, running cool fingers across damp skin. Beneath the sting of the bite was that tingling sensation again, and this time Andrew was certain he could feel his own pulse in Neil’s fingertips. Neil pressed two careful fingers against Andrew’s pulse-point, but before worry could blacken his expression any further Andrew caught Neil’s hand in his. With his other hand, he tugged what remained of his shirt back into place. “What is it you’re so fond of saying? I’m fine?”

“Fuck you,” Neil replied, his words slurring through swollen, pink lips. His pupils were still a size too large, but there was no hint of anything but his usual ice-blue irritation in his expression.

“You can thank me with the name and address of the man who did this.” Andrew punctuated his words by resting his palm on Neil’s healing torso.

“He doesn’t take kindly to house visits.”

“I don’t care what he takes kindly to. Name, Neil.”

“Nathan.” The word shook from Neil’s chest as though it had clawed its way free with no regard for what it tore along the way. “My father, Nathan Wesninski.”

Nathan Wesninski. An influential figure and generous donor to Andrew’s organisation. It would explain how Neil ended up on Andrew’s hitlist.

Little did they know.

“He isn’t the kind of person you can go up against on your own.” Neil tried to wipe a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth and missed. Andrew wiped it off with his sleeve, ignoring the way Neil’s lips twitched upwards at the gesture.

“Good thing I’m not on my own, isn’t it?”

Neil’s smile grew. Damn him. “Can I kiss you?”

Andrew flicked his gaze over Neil’s bitten lips, the growing flush of his skin, hair mussy and clotted with dried blood. “No.” Then, before Neil could get the wrong idea, he added, “ask me again when you aren’t delirious.” Andrew wouldn’t be like them; he wouldn’t let Neil let him be.

Neil’s smile, somehow, grew even more.

#all for the game #the foxhole court #aftg #tfc #andreil #aftgangstfest #aftg angst fest #my fic

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anonniemousefics · 4 years ago

Text

My Dearest Inej | Chapter Nine

Chapter Masterlist

Originally posted on AO3

Rating: Teen And Up

Synopsis: A series of letters kept among the personal belongings of Captain Inej Ghafa.

Chapter Nine: Temporary Arrangements

My dearest Inej,

I think I’ve stared at the window for the last hour, at the spot where you said you’re in love with me. This can’t be normal behavior, and I should probably be more concerned. Tell me you’re as distracted as I am.

I think I like kissing, but thorough reconnaissance ought to be conducted before we make any real conclusions. At least a hundred similar nights ought to do it, don’t you think? We should really know this thing inside and out – a sentence that I did not intend as a double entendre and now I immediately regret writing it. I would ordinarily be throwing this out and starting again. But you said you wanted it all, not just the sides of me that are acceptable and amusing. So, here we are and now you know. I’m only human and sometimes I write regrettable things in black ink.

Are you’re enjoying how flummoxed you’ve left me? Because I’ve reached truly unprecedented levels of flummox. I’ve done hardly anything this week. I’ve spent a fair amount of time moving some stocks and shares around, and given the high return on investment I’m gaining back from that, I should probably be spending more of my time pencil-pushing anyway.

Gods, I’m boring myself. I’d rather be kissing you again. I’d rather be kissing you than doing just about anything else.

Will you still be amenable to kissing me again if the aftermath of our first kiss turns me into a simple moon-faced, pencil-pushing mercher? Inquiring minds need to know.

It’s mine, full disclosure. It’s my inquiring mind. Tell me when I’ll be able to kiss you next. Come home and flummox me again.

With a disgusting and mortifying amount of affection,

I’m yours,

Kaz

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

My most perplexing Inej,

This letter of yours, Inej, was a bit of a ride. It starts out so well, and then… Why wouldn’t you just tell me about the teeth grinding while you were here, if it was that bad? I could have done something, and then you might have slept better. Now what am I expected to do? I can’t very well experiment with solutions on my own, now can I?

I don’t know how to answer any of your questions. Am I meant to read these as concern or condescension? I suppose I still have teeth because it’s not actually as bad as you’re hyperbolizing. I don’t know why my jaw doesn’t hurt. Or maybe it does. Maybe you’ve never met me – something literally always hurts. You live with pain long enough, and it gets difficult to discern after awhile.

Damnit, Inej. This is going to bother me.

I’m not ready to be angry. It’s too nice being flummoxed. I propose a change in subject.

Jesper and Wylan have done something dumb. There have been a string of break-ins in their neighborhood, which I could easily have taken care of for them, but instead Wylan’s gone and decided they need a dog. Which is beyond me – he lives with the best marksman I’ve ever known. A dog isn’t going to improve their situation. And certainly not the dog they’ve picked out.

I think it’s supposed to be some kind of hound someday, but it’s barely weaned from its mother. They’ve named it Ambroos, and the name is bigger than the dog itself. It can fit in the middle of a single kitchen tile. It’s not going to protect them from anything except respectability. I’ve been told it’s already peed on every surface in the house and howls at least four times a night.

Inej, it is so useless and stupid and fucking delightful. It will actually trip over its own ears when it runs to greet you at the door. It sleeps with this hot water bottle that’s nearly twice its size. I find myself visiting it almost every lunch hour. I hate myself. You have to come see it.

All of this goes to say, you have two equally grim options for sleeping arrangements when you return next month. You get to choose between my teeth grinding or Ambroos’ whining and house breaking. You’re really excited to visit now, aren’t you?

Yours,

Kaz

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

Inej, most charming treasure of my heart,

Miscommunications happen. We’ll call it water under the bridge. Incidentally, once I stopped grumbling, I did visit a medik for some recommendations. Wouldn’t it be something if maybe my jaw had been hurting this whole time, and I wake up one morning and find myself less loathe to face the day? Maybe you’re about to change my life again.

The medik gave me some muscle relaxer that might help with the way stress manifests at night. You are going to be so entertained with how I’m about to test this out.

I’m staying at Jesper and Wylan’s this weekend. We’re all sleeping in the parlor and taking turns trying to get Ambroos to do his business outside instead of on the rug. They’ll let me know how this muscle relaxer works.

Remember this moment if you find yourself doubting the depths of my love for you, Inej. Think of me standing outside alone in the cold, dark night with the tiniest, dumbest dog in Kerch, all in the hopes that you will sleep comfortably in my bed next month.

Fine – if we’re being completely honest, the dog listens to me, for some inexplicable reason. Jesper and Wylan begged for my help, and we made an arrangement. But the depths of my love thing is still true.

Yours,

Kaz

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

Our strong and stalwart Inej,

We send our deepest regrets, but we have to do it. We tried for three nights, but now we’re lying to Kaz and telling him the muscle relaxer works. He can’t stay here again; it’s too awful. The only thing it does is make him sleep like the dead, and then he was absolutely no help with Ambroos at all. So, we’re sending him home and it’s up to you now. Our hands are too full with house breaking for this particular nonsense, too.

Good luck and godspeed, old friend. That is a truly abhorrent sound you’ve discovered.

Our hats are off to you.

With deepest respect and sympathy,

Jesper and Wylan

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

My dearest Inej,

Well, the arrangement failed. Jesper and Wylan obviously cannot withstand the dreaded teeth grinding. They’ve just lied to my face and sent me back to The Slat.

I wish I’d known I was capable of torturing with so little effort. The things I could have been doing with all that extra free time. I’d probably have far fewer scars on my knuckles.

Never fear, my love. I am not so easily deterred. I think I’ll pay a visit to a Fabrikator this week. Maybe I just need to have my jaw wired shut.

This evening took an interesting twist while I was in the middle of writing this letter to you. Someone knocked on the front door of The Slat. No one ever knocks. And then some events transpired, and now there’s a kid asleep in my bathtub. Don’t worry – he won’t try to kill me in my sleep tonight. I’ve locked him in. (Calm down – there’s a toilet, there’s water. What else could a person need?)

Explanations.

There was a kid who tried to mug me on the street one evening a couple months back. I think I told you about it, if you ever got that letter. He had made his own shiv. He was incredibly stupid. I did what I had to do and left him with my card. He had the looks of a good spy, but far too much foolhardy self-assuredness. The Barrel needed to break him a bit more. The Barrel always does.

It’s been cold here this week, and raining. It’s been raining for days. And it seems the kid got desperate enough.

He came knocking tonight, and Pim brought him up. Probably twelve or thirteen by the looks of him, though he’s on the smaller side. I don’t think he’s been eating well. He’s Kaelish and homely as hell, with the red hair and freckles and a giant gap in his teeth. He said his name’s Arthur Galligan. He said he goes by Artie, and he wants to join the Dregs.

For the record, I didn’t want to. I’d much rather leave him on the streets and pay him for information. We have no room here in The Slat. Recruitment has been at all-time high. And Artie’s got that mean, unpredictable spark in his beady eyes still and a smart mouth to go with it. He does not have the air of someone easy to rein in. I fully expect him to try to stab me again.

I don’t know what it is I like about him.

And it’s too cold and wet for anyone to be sleeping outside. We gave him some dry clothes and the only available place in The Slat to sleep: my bathtub. I’ve moved the bed in front of the door so he can’t get out and slit my throat in the night when my teeth grinding inevitably pushes him to the brink of insanity.

I am as dumb as Jesper and Wylan, aren’t I? Damnit.

If I’m found dead in the morning, let this letter serve as evidence of the perpetrator’s identity and motives. Avenge me, Inej.

Yours until my untimely demise,

Kaz

P.S. – I just had this blinding image of the face you’re making while you’re reading this. I will find another room to lock this kid in while you’re here, I swear it. There will not be some Kaelish mugger in my bathtub while you’re in my bed. This is a temporary arrangement. Just so we’re clear.

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

Kaz -

Please tell me you let Artie out of your bathroom. Did you ask him anything at all about how he got to Ketterdam? About where his parents are? Is he being fed?? I’ll be there in a week – do not kill this kid before then.

And, for Saint’s sake, stop locking him up alone in rooms in The Slat. Sankta Alina, Kaz. I would stab you, too.

With love and exasperation,

Inej

P.S. – I’m bringing earplugs. Don’t you dare let a Fabrikator anywhere near your mouth. I only just started kissing you. I am not letting you ruin it now with a bunch of wires.

#soc #crooked kingdom #grishaverse #ketterdam #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #nina zenik #fanfic #fanfiction #kanej fanfic #kaz x inej #kaz brekker x inej ghafa #six of crows

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inforapound · 5 years ago

Text

Ease The Dawn Pt.2 Ch.17

A/N - Will get the final chapter up this week. Previous Chapter 16 . Before starting this story, I read that the real Aethelswith was so little, that when she passed away in Italy, they used a child’s coffin as she was well under 5 feet tall. She was described as being built like a sparrow. I always picture them with this massive height/size difference as the stories say the real Ivar was over 7 feet.

Pairing - Ivar and Aethelswith Words - 1,500

Warnings - Angst, human sacrifice, death, sorrow, mentions of rape, true love.

Standing in the hall, Aethelswith clung to Ivar's arm; Hvitserk, on her far side, stood with his hand subtly outstretched as if she might, at any moment, lose her balance and tip over. Back straight against the wall, Brana waited near the entrance to the corridor, her expression was rigid, and her cold eyes stayed fixed on the hall doors.

Angling down, Ivar pressed a kiss to the top of Aethelswith's loosely braided hair, murmuring quiet praise and soft encouragement. Letting go of his arm, she adjusted the ties of her green dressing gown around her spare waist. The way the fabric draped from her weak posture gave her the appearance of a starved child; evidence that restored health was still a ways away.

At the sound of approaching voices, she squared her shoulders, lifting her chin, as Loni and Ruud shoved Freydis through the doors. Still wearing her beige dress, her hands were shackled in front and at the sight of Ivar, her eyes bulged with fear. Pushing her onward, they stopped a few meters back and she lowered her face in a futile attempt to avoid his scrutiny. Instinctively, Aethelswith reached back to Ivar and squeezed his arm, feeling his body tense and sensing his desire to drive his blade into the top of her skull.

Opening his mouth to speak, Aethelswith tightened her grip and glanced up to him, wordlessly conveying her insistence.

"You do not need to see any of this," he spoke quietly.

"But I do."

Looking back to a cowering Freydis, Aethelswith squinted, her sensitive eyes still adjusting to the return of her sight. Even with the glare of the sun streaming through the open doors, she could see the filth on Freydis' dress and hands and caked under her nails. Her skin looked grimy and her previously shiny hair was dull. Aethelswith wanted to laugh, cackle like a witch, noticing Freydis' dry, chapped lips, perhaps even offer her a damp cloth to suck water or poisoned milk from. She should take mercy, attempt to understand and possibly forgive but none of that felt brutal enough for a girl who had been working her nocuous plan from the start.

And yet, nothing about Freydis rotting in a dingy cell for weeks while Aethelswith recovered enough to attend her hearing, pleased her. She felt no satisfaction or sense of peace, only rage so rich, at times, it took her breath. The image of Ivar sitting on his throne moments from giving his life plagued her sleep. Even awake, it seemed burned into her mind, visible still when she closed her eyes.

And Freydis had done that; spoon-fed sadness and devastation to all those Aethelswith loved and as a result, forced Ivar to place a blade to his throat. Blinking away the image, she steadied her thoughts, hoping her voice sounded stronger than she felt.

"What do you have to say for yourself?" Letting go of Ivar's arm, she straightened, clasping her hands in front, her face entirely void of emotion.

"Please, my lady," Freydis whined, "I could not explain this to anyone but you. I did not want to do this; any of this. I was forced. I had no choice."

Air shot out of Ivar's nostrils and his body vibrated, holding back by only a thread. Frowning, Aethelswith stepped closer, uncertain of her meaning.

"He forced me!" Freydis squawked. "He made me do it."

"Who?" Aethelswith narrowed her eyes.

"Burgred!" Freydis cried.

"That's it!" Ivar roared, reaching for the ax on his belt.

Eyes flashing, Aethelswith's hand flew out to stop him, latching onto his wrist and pulling him closer to calm him. Grunting with both frustration and resignation, he stepped in behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. Nodding, she squeezed his hand giving assurance that she was not phased.

"My lady," Freydis pleaded, lifting her shackled hands as if in prayer. "He threatened the life of my child sister. Keeps her like a whore...his carnal slave. Does all sorts of depraved things to her. Promised to release her if I did this, otherwise, he would kill her. She is only fifteen-years-old!" Freydis cried again. "You would do the same for your own flesh and blood, I know you would. You would poison anyone if it meant saving the life of someone you love. She is only a child!"

Horrified, Aethelswith covered her mouth, "I have known the brutality of that man," she nodded, lowering her hand, "I do understand the lengths a person would go to to escape it, I do," she nodded again.

Closing her eyes, Freydis shoulders settled with relief.

"Freydis, look at me?" Aethelswith called in a gentle tone. "Do I look stupid to you, though?" she lifted her brows. "Hmm?"

Frowning, Freydis shook her head, panic creeping back into her eyes.

"There is no question in my mind that you conspired with Burgred, and that you are, in fact, Saxon but I do not believe he has your sister." Lowering her chin, Aethelswith's expression hardened. "You are a power-hungry liar."

Disgusted, Ivar let out a threatening growl, the sound rumbling through Aethelswith's back. Stepping forward, Freydis lifted her hands like a beggar making Loni yank her back with a tug of the chain fastened to her cuffs.

"It was your husband's doing!" Freydis shouted, lifting her face in defiance.

"He is not my husband!" Aethelswith screamed. "You are standing in front of my husband. In fact," she pointed at the floor. "Kneel! Get onto your knees before the king."

Grabbing her shoulders, Loni shoved her down, Freydis squealing as she landed hard on the floor.

"Please," Freydis whimpered, looking back up.

"Further, Burgred does not care for little girls," Aethelswith sneered. "Does not care for girls at all," her eyes bore into Freydis, "As I learned on my wedding night when he took me like a man would take another man."

Freydis' eyes flashed at the revelation and every person in the room shifted on their feet. Hugging Aethelswith tighter to his front, Ivar leaned in pressing another kiss behind her ear, whispering how strong she was.

"Your stories fool no one." Aethelswith continued, her voice growing steadier. "Burgred wanted me dead and you wanted to be a queen, you stupid, stupid girl," she shook her head. "Did you truly believe you could take Ivar from me?" Raising her hand, she touched the faint scar across the top of her temple. "This will remind me, each day, how close I came to losing everything."

Turning her head, she pressed her face back against Ivar's chest.

"You are certain?" he asked in a low voice, his lips still touching her hair. At her nodded reply, he reached to his belt and withdrew the gold and ruby dagger from his scabbard, offering it for her to take.

"Hold her," Aethelswith ordered the men, taking the knife and stepping forward out from the security of Ivar's arms.

Panic struck and Freydis jolted forward, thrashing against Loni and Ruud's grip. Fighting, she spat and shrieked like a frenzied animal being pulled under water. Cinching up the chain, Ruud and Loni grabbed her under her arms, bracing her in place.

"Last words?" Aethelswith's asked staring down into her wild eyes.

"I ask our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ to receive me," Freydis spat, out of breath from her struggle.

Reaching down, Ruud grabbed the hair at the nape of her neck, yanking her head back so she could not look away.

Pressing the edge of the blade to the skin of her taut throat, Aethelswith leaned closer.

"You have no god," she whispered, "and now you will bleed like the sheep that you are."

In one swift sweep, Aethelswith cut the width of her pale throat; Freydis' eyes flashing wide as dark blood spewed out, streaming down her front, the faintest sound of air rushing from the slit in her skin. Silently, Freydis' body sagged as her blood drained and her round blue eyes lost focus.

Grabbing Aethelswith from behind, Ivar spun her away, wrapping his arms around her, and hugged her to his chest. Collapsing against him, she let out a choked sob with the dagger still dangling in her hand.

Thick blood began to pool on the floor and Ivar led her away back to the base of the thrones. Without a word, Aethelswith stopped and turned to face him, peering up into his worried eyes. Clutching her arms, he leaned in, studying her shocked face, the colour now entirely drained from her cheeks. His eyes flitted down to the dagger she held in the palm of her bloodied hands.

"I used this knife in the way my grandfather intended, defending what is mine," she too glanced down at the blade. "I think he would be proud of me today. Are you proud of me?" she looked back up, searching his face, his bright eyes marveling down at her.

"Always."

Lifting the knife higher, she cleared her throat, "I give you this family knife...my grandfather's knife as a martial offering, stained with the blood of our enemies. I pledge my life and heart to you and promise that I will allow nothing to part us. Ever."

Leaning closer, he pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes alive with adoration.

"Ivar Ragnarsson, will you marry me?"

@youbloodymadgenius @whenimaunicorn @ceridwenofwales @jaydelesley4 @sweeneythots @funmadnessandbadassvikings @redama @mdredwine @didiintheblog @londongal2810 @fields-and-fields-of-poppies @littlecarolina94 @oddsnendsfanfics @youbelongeverywhere @blonddnamedhandz @hecohansen31 @naaladareia

#Ivar The Bonless #ivar fanfic #vikings ivar #vikings smut #ivar smut #ivar ragnarson #ivar lothbrok #ivar and oc #ivar and princess #ivar love story #ease the dawn #ease the dawn part 2 #ivar and aethelswith #ivar slow burn #ivar anst #aethelswith #king ivar

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geraskierficrecs · 5 years ago

Note

litcherally anything where geralt is being mean to jaskier and then is guilty when it actually upsets the bard bc he doesn’t think before he speaks :( and then making up for it and realizing how all these things he’s said over the years have weighed on jaskier and JUST TRYING TO BE BETTER AFTER THAT. tysm i love ur writing

Get ready to hurt.

______________________________________

It happens so suddenly that Geralt finds himself stunned and stumbling like a soldier in his first battle.

He’s surrounded in a field full of growling, snapping ghouls trying to kill the fucking massive alghoul in the center when he hears it. Unmistakable despite the unexpectedness.

“Geralt!”

Jaskier’s voice is high on adrenaline and foolish courage as he rushes into the fray with his Geralt’s spare sword held high. He slashes at the ghouls who turn toward the noise, managing through luck or skill to hack off the head of the first and shove another away.

Geralt curses viciously--torn between the need to protect the damn fool and the logic of killing the alghoul first.

The beast decides it for him, slamming one hand into Geralt’s chest and leaping to close the distance between itself and Jaskier.

Jaskier turns--blue eyes wide and frightened--and takes the hit on his side, falling beneath the onslaught of a monster of nightmare and legend. He disappears beneath the weight of it.

And Geralt sees red.

He feels his hands grip onto the oily, slick, and rotting skin of the next ghoul and yanks its head loose in one vicious pull. His sword moves in a violent arc through the next, clearing the way to the alghoul with almighty purpose.

He can’t get the image of Jaskier’s expression out of his mind.

It drives him to madness as he roars and slams his weight against the alghoul--the last of the monsters left in a field of blood and viscera. The beast shrieks, bloodied jaws reaching for his throat, but Geralt is beyond caring. His sword is too large for such close conflict so he lets it fall to the grass, rolling with the rotting creature as they struggle bodily for control.

His hand slips low and finds the familiar hilt on his thigh.

He thrusts upward, blade moving like an extension of himself. High and sharp and cutting deep--

He feels the wet pull of muscle giving way beneath his fingers and snarls into the face of the beast above him--

A twist, and then it goes still, face frozen in a permanent maw of agony.

Geralt lays still for a moment, panting, before he shoves the carcass off of him and gets to his feet. His heart is still pounding a vicious rhythm in his chest thanks to the adrenaline and potion he’d downed before wading into the fray. He scans the impromptu battlefield desperately, terrified of what he’d find.

Then, a groan and a small shift of movement.

Panic and terror gives way to anger as Jaskier slowly gets to his feet using Geralt’s sword as a crutch. He turns--his face streaked with mud and oily blood--and beams at Geralt.

“Well, Geralt, I think we really proved--”

“What the fuck do you think you were doing?” Geralt’s voice is whip quick and carries the same sting. He sees Jaskier’s expression falter, but he’s near seething now. “I told you not to come near this area.”

“I know, but you didn’t come back when you said and I--”

“What? You thought you would be able to come in and save me?” Geralt’s sneer felt as sharp as the ghoul’s hunger. “Did you really think you would be anything but a gigantic pain in my ass here?”

Jaskier’s voice trembles slightly and he leans more heavily against the sword. “Geralt-”

“The only thing you are good for is crafting lies to charm women into your bed and getting on my last damn nerve--neither of which is any good here!” Geralt paces away from him, trying to blow off some of his frustration by kicking on of the corpses.

“Please, I--”

“What, Jaskier? How could you possibly think that I would be glad to see you rush in like a damn fool just to get yourself included in the next stupid ballad you--”

Geralt’s words give way to horrified silence a moment after Jaskier fell unconscious on the ground.

He runs forward, ignoring the mud soaking into his clothes as he pulls Jaskier up against his chest. The bard is pale, completely limp in his grip. The stolen sword falls to the ground from lifeless fingers and Geralt feels his fury drain away so quickly he is breathless.

“Jaskier,” he calls, shaking the man. “Jaskier, wake up.”

Nothing.

The only sound he hears is the echo of his vicious words and the heart beneath his palms beginning to slow...

_____________________________

The bite is high on the chest, just above a dusky nipple and the heart that continues to pulse weakly.

The sight of it makes Geralt feel a cold sweat creep down his back. A ghoul’s bite is poison for human, Vesemir’s voice murmurs from his memories. Better to kill the poor creature than to let it make the change.

Just the thought of using one of his blades to slit Jaskier’s throat makes him turn and vomit bile and regret onto the grass.

There are more injuries littering Jaskier’s body, but Geralt knows that it is the bite that will doom them both. Already black lines filled with poison are spreading away from the cutting--taunting Geralt with their inevitability. This close to Jaskier’s most vital organs, it might only be a few hours before the bard would draw his last breath and awake a monster.

Unless...

Geralt’s hands shake as the reach for the knife at his side. It’s still caked with ghoul’s blood and he pauses to wipe it clean meticulously. He reaches out and cups one of Jaskier’s clammy, cold cheeks and whispers,

“Forgive me.”

And begins to cut.

_____________________________

Jaskier’s wakes--wild and glassy-eyed--after Geralt makes the second incision.

The ghouls blood stinks like rotten pus and burns like acid as it drips sluggishly from each carefully placed cut around the bite. His mouth is bloody from coaxing the black liquid free and his hands are forced to pin Jaskier flat against the earth as he works.

The bard screams, high and agonized. His eyes fix on Geralt mindlessly and tear carve pale trails through the dirt streaked across his face.

“Please--no! Don’t!” he begs, “Geralt, please!”

Geralt grits his teeth, feeling his own eyes burn at the betrayal in those blue eyes. “I have to get the poison out.”

His knife digs deep once more, the line jagged as Jaskier arches bodily in a weak attempt to escape the pain. He thrashes, wild as an animal caught in a trap, and sobs.

“Please, Geralt. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please, I’m sorry.”

The bard babbling cuts off with another scream as more blood gushes from the wound. His body seizes and Geralt is forced to lay bodily against his in an attempt to keep him from hurting himself more.

Geralt’s heart is made of ice and stone as he sees the last of the darkened and sickly blood run clear of the wound. His hand clenches around the slick handle of his knife and he takes a deep breath. The scent of poison and rot has faded now beneath the acid sharp scent of pain radiating from the sobbing bard.

He takes a breath and tells himself he deserves this suffering.

His hands trace the sigil Igni as he looks over the trembling man beneath him, face turned away from the Witcher and teeth chattering in agony.

He waits until the blade is red hot before he presses it firmly against the bite.

Jaskier’s scream sends the birds into flight.

__________________________

There are no towns close enough to risk moving the bard nor does he have some hidden trick that will summon a mage or a healer to his side. It is the first time since the mountains of Cairgorn that he has wished to see Yennefer, if only for her ability to heal what he seems incapable of not destroying.

Jaskier is still in his arms as Geralt carries him out of the woods and down a game trail that takes him to the trapper’s cabin that had started the mess. There are scratches and blood along the walls, but the door and windows are still intact. The bed stinks of old sweat, but Geralt finds fresh sheets laying limp and forgotten on the clothesline outside.

He makes the bed quickly, the unfamiliar task sped by the sight of Jaskier lying silently on the ground nearby.

The silence, he decides, might be the worst of it. It gives him plenty of time to remember the cruelty of his voice and the hurt he seemed to spew at Jaskier at every opportunity. Somehow, he always manages to lash out against the only person who has ever remained loyal and devoted even after seeing the worst parts of him.

But this, this might be the final blow that brings Jaskier’s endless faith to its knees.

Geralt tries to tell himself that he could watch Jaskier leave him if it meant the bard would survive this.

It is little comfort.

____________________________

Geralt stands watch over the too-still body for three days before he begins to hope that Jaskier might live.

He’s barely left the small bedside except to call for Roach and bring water and food for the bard. He washed away the blood and mud until Jaskier looks soft and young--so damn young--and almost peaceful. If you ignored the red, angry burns across his chest.

The scars are brutal--far more fitting for a Witcher than a bard. He winces when he thinks of what Jaskier will say when he sees them. The vanity and snobbishness of the courtiers Jaskier plays for is foreign to Geralt, but he would strip the skin from his bones to keep Jaskier from feeling their scorn or pity.

Geralt has ruined so much of the man laying pale and broken before him.

He leans his head against the mattress, feeling his eyes burn once again at the reminder of what he had done. Jaskier could have died with Geralt’s sneering and mockery still echoing in his ears. He would have believed every bit of the poison the Witcher spewed in place of real emotions and to avoid the concern he truly felt. It proved what Jaskier had been trying to disprove all along:

Geralt was a monster.

_____________________________

The Witcher wakes to hands carding through the tangled strands of his hair.

For a moment, his mind is at peace, enjoying a rare moment of calm with Jaskier--

Geralt’s head snaps up so quickly the bard jerks in surprise, wincing as the gesture irritates the wound on his chest. Geralt feels his body tremble faintly and his voice is raw with emotion when he speaks. “Jaskier?”

Jaskier gives him an awkward smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Ah, yes. Sorry for waking you. It just, it looked like you were uncomfortable.”

The bard’s voice is raspy and rough from the screams Geralt will hear in his nightmares for the rest of his life. He stands quickly and grabs a cup near the water pitcher to press to Jaskier’s lips. “Stay still,” he says, “You still need to rest.”

“Must be bad if you stayed,” Jaskier answers with a trace of bitterness. Blue eyes flick to Geralt and then skitter away to focus on the fingers toying nervously with the sheets. “You don’t have to, you know. Stay, that is. I know I shouldn’t have distracted you like that. You don’t owe me anything--it was my fault.”

Geralt’s throat goes tight and he falls to his knees beside the bed. He grips Jaskier’s hand like it’s made of glass, pressing his forehead against his palm. Tears drip unnoticed down his cheeks and his voice trembles, “I thought I’d lost you.”

“Geralt...”

The Witcher shakes his head when Jaskeir starts to speak, determined to release the words that had been swirling in his mind since he’d seen Jaskier charging into battle.

“I should never have said those things to you. It’s just--I thought you’d died when that alghoul turned on you and it was easier to be angry than be scared. Then you nearly died right after I said all those horrible things, and I--”

Jaskier’s hand shifts against him, coaxing Geralt’s chin up until he was staring at the bard while tears dripped down his cheeks.

“I would never survive losing you, Jaskier. Not now, not decades from now when we’re both old and slow. I will never forgive myself for all the scars and the pain I’ve caused you and I wouldn’t blame you if you chose to leave me for it.” Just the thought made his stomach twist in knots. “But if you give me a chance, I will spend the rest of my life making up for every horrible thing I’ve said to you.”

Jaskier’s eyes are bright with an emotion that Geralt is too terrified to hope for. His fingers tighten around Geralt’s jawline until the Witcher raises up on his knees to close the distance between them.

“Ready to start making it up to me?” he purrs and leans forward to swallow Geralt’s sigh of relief with his lips.

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thisartemisnevermisses · 5 years ago

Text

Freefall 6/-

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warning: angst, fluff, mild smutt, romance, adventure, reconciliation, cursing, anxiety.

Summary:

After the events of ‘Going Under’ you start a new life in Tokyo. Realizing those events changed you in more than one way. You’re not just the nice analyzer girl, you take life in your own hands again. Only to be pulled back into the rabbit whole.

After almost 2 years the Avengers call upon your help. Recapturing the one person that made your life a living hell. Going on a manhunt, or more likely woman hunt, with the one person you hoped to leave behind for good. Will things spark again between the two of you or are you as cold as ice?

A/N: Finally! Well my live isn’t going anything other then yours at the moment, but my live is never been this crazy. Working from home, with two kids and everything else around it...I’m sorry I haven’t updated in such a long time, but I’m going to try update regularly....For now enjoy this new chapter of Freefall...

Chapter 06: Junbi / Preparing

Reuniting with the two ex-spies was something you needed. Seeing that in your line off work, love was possible. Both were madly in love with each other, even after all those years. Just like every other couple they would bicker or discus things, but always reconciled. That was one thing, being a spy had learned them, don’t go away angry or mad. You loved to watch them, but felt sad thinking about your own relationship, or rather the non-exciting fact about it. Focusing on the upcoming mission, became more difficult by the day. The way Steve was behaving around you, didn’t make it any easier. He tried to act as normal as possible, trying to let the events in the quinjet don’t influence him nor you. For the both of you, it looked like it worked, any other could see two fools not giving in on another.

When you left for Ait Rbaa, 3 days for preparations seemed enough, but the day of the charity-event had come to soon. Today was the day, the day you’d try to cross Sharon’s plan. Dressing yourself in a dress Natasha had chosen, you debate with yourself. Were you ready for this mission, could you shut off all your emotions, that had grown with the days. Pretend that what did happen between you and Steve, didn’t. Applying the last bit of eyeshadow to your eyes, a knock interrupts your inner thoughts.

“Y/N, can I come in?” Bobbi asks, awaiting your answer. “Yes, come in Bobbi”, you answer, while looking at yourself in the mirror. “Wow….you sure you’re going on a mission?”, Bobbi compliments, seeing your red dress. “Is it too much, am I standing out?”, the insecurity on your face, “Natasha packed it for me, saying I would need it”, you smile, thinking back at the big smile the redhead had. Giving you the order, only to take the cover of, when you were changing for the event. When you finally did, half an hour ago, you knew why she had asked you that. When you had seen the cut and color of the dress back home, you would’ve swapped it with something more discrete. It was a long crimson red A-line dress with a slit by your left leg. The bodice with sleeves, hugged your figure and cupped your breast perfectly. As if it weren’t enough, your cleavage stopped just above your belly button. The red peep toe’s making you stand tall and elegant, but were a challenge for you, this was a height you weren’t used to.

“Were do I keep my gun?”, you ask no one particular, eyeing yourself in the mirror. Bobbi laughs at you, “That’s the thing you worry about? I think Steve will love it. You look stunning”, her eyes shining with amusement. “Steve..what has he to do..?”, you stop midsentence, seeing Bobbi give you the look, “Don’t fool me y/n, the longing looks you both give each other, don’t go unnoticed by me nor Hunter”, she blinks, “I think the mission will go just fine. And with your gun problem, I think I’ve got something that can help you. Just need to check my old equipment”, walking out of the room.

Checking your hairstyle in the mirror, you decided to put in some more bobby pins and walk into the bathroom. Hearing someone enter the room, you assume it’s Bobbi, “Did you find..”, coming out of the bathroom, stopping when you see Steve standing there. The tuxedo he’s wearing frames him, making him look handsome. His freshly trimmed beard and styled hair, makes the picture complete. You both stare at each other for a moment, not knowing what to say to the other. His gaze roaming over your body, just like yours does over his.

The dress hugged you in all the right places and made him wish there was no mission. How he wished you trusted him, that there was no rift between you. He was tired of the fights and discussions you’ve had with each other. Or the fact that every time he came close, you stopped him and put up your wall again. How he wished for you to let it go and accept your feelings. He knew you felt the same way, you were just to fucking scared or angry to accept it.

Imagining helping you out of that dress and into bed, awakes that urge he had tucked away safely. Trying to ignore what you do to his body and mind, he starts talking about the mission.

“I wanted to talk to you about..Well..just wanted to check if you’re okay with what were about to sell. You’re okay with us pretending to be a couple?”, Steve asks breaking the silence, shifting in his stance, his movements emphasizing how out of place he’s feeling.

“Steve, it’s part of the job. I don’t think we need to talk about boundaries, just be yourself, act natural. Do what you would do, if we were a real couple”, startled by what you say, you avoid looking at him. Screaming mentally, how could you be so stupid to say something like that. Asking yourself how he would be, if you really were a couple. After this mission was done, you needed to talk to yourself. Seeing your body, had already made up its mind, twice, you needed to decide if you could let go of the past, “What I meant was I will follow your move, they won’t even notice that we’re not together”, you answer, looking at him, the question visible on his face.

“Y/N, I..we need to talk about what happened. I know you’re not ready, but you just can’t let me expect to ignore the signals you’re sending my way. In the quinjet you kissed me back, I think that’s pretty clear. I know I made some bad decisions in the past, but I need to..”, Steve takes a few steps towards you.

“Steve, we’re about to go on a mission. I need my head clear and talking about that stuff, thinking about Us being together, doesn’t help. I can’t talk about it, not yet..I need to focus, we can’t afford mistakes”, you interrupt him, seeing the pain in his face makes you regret your words that instant. Stepping closer, laying your hands on his shoulders, “The past marked us with scars, it left us vulnerable. I’m trying to let it go an accept my vulnerability. But at this moment I need Steve Rogers the soldier”, adjusting the collar of his blazer, pecking his cheek “I’m sorry”, for a moment you stare each other in the eyes, trying to except the situation you’re in at the moment.

“Here I found my old holster”, Bobbi says walking in, seeing the both of you staring at each other, “Everything okay?”, she asks looking at you. Snapping out of your stare, you look at Bobbi, “Yeah Fine, nothing’s wrong”, you smile, looking at the item Bobbi had brought. “Here, you can attach this to your leg. It adjust to your skin color, hiding your gun in plain sight”, handing you the holster, ignoring Steve for a moment. “Thanks, that way I won’t go without a weapon”, fastening the holster onto your right leg, attaching the gun to it. “So, ready to go ?”, you look at Steve, who’s still having an intern monologue. “Steve, can we go?”, you ask again, a little louder, finally getting his attention. “Yes, we can go, just need to check our coms and equipment with Hunter”, Steve answers clearing his throat at the awkward situation. “Let’s go then”, taking your clutch, you walk downstairs.

“Jowsa, you look hot, smalls”, Hunter whistles, handing you your earpiece, “Thanks, but don’t let your wife hear it”, you wink at him. “He’s only speaking the truth”, Bobbi remarks, handing you your items, a lipstick laser, a powder box with compartments, earrings and matching neckless and a bracelet that turns in a chain. “How cliché”, you say amused, looking at Steve, who’s been quiet the whole time.

“Say, Rogers, cat got your tongue?”, you ask, not getting an answer, you turn towards him. “You’re not thinking about aborting the mission, are you?” standing in front of him with your hands on your hips, “Stev..”, he interrupts you by giving you a quick kiss on the lips, “I was just admiring you, you look gorgeous”, he softly says and walks towards Hunter for his equipment.

You look stunned at Bobbi, who raises her brows, mouthing ‘finally’. “We’ve explored the venue and hid some camera’s and mics. Your back-up equipment and gear are hidden on different places. You can find them with the tracker on your purse and watch if you need them. The cameras are connected to the com room in the compound”, Hunter explains, “You’re necklace and bowtie are new gadgets from Wakanda, greetings from Suri and the warning not to lose them. The items contain your uniform. Just like T’Challa you can summon your uniform if needed. Let’s hope it’s not necessary”, Bobbi gives a warning look.

“Remember, were gone as soon as you leave this house. It will be like we’ve never been here. Your belongings will be stashed away in a safe at the train station. Along with your passport and two train tickets to Tarbaka in Tunisia. From there you need to contact the base”, he continues, hugging you tight, “Be careful, smalls” pecking the side of your head.

“As of now, we were never here. Never met you or helped you prep this mission. We’re retired state agents, enjoying a vacation”, Bobbi smiles, guiding you out of the house. “Watch each other’s back. Once you’re in the venue your coms will connect automatically with the compound, oh and Cap, watch her, keep her safe!” Hunter warns Steve, glaring at him for a second. “Don’t worry Agent Hunter, she’s important to me to”, Steve says stepping into the car.

Stepping into the car you take one last glance at those two, they were legends, ghost if you would believe their files. Retired for a long time, stayed in hiding since Hive and now they risked everything to help the both of you. Hopefully they could continue their way of living, without any interruption.

#captain america #captain america x you #fluff #Steve Rogers #steverogers #steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fluff #marvel #Avengers #agents of shield #romance #love #imagen #reader #reader insert

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archadianskies · 4 years ago

Text

[Ch2 of {the softness in the steel}; warning: explicit sexual content below]

→ on Ao3

It’s been three days since the mission where everything went wrong, two days since he visited the rookie in Jericho’s Med Bay and a day since he’s been back at work. It’s meant to be business as usual and would’ve been, if not for the fact he kissed that android and made some sort of vow to treat his heart well. Fuck.

He can try and blame the exhaustion, the lack of sleep, the shock of sticking his hands into the android’s open chest and holding his heart together for his sudden lapse in judgement. He’s always kept people at arm’s length using the excuse it’s to keep them safe but that’s only half true. The truth is he’s terrified because he knows what love is, he grew up in it, basked in its glow under the care of his mothers. He knows it can be ugly and fearsome and all-consuming, and that it’s hard work, back breaking work and compromise and the belief that love conquers all is what makes it true, what makes it real, what makes it worth it.

It’s too frightening, the fear of giving himself so wholly to someone else and so he’s hidden behind his job all these years to avoid it. And it’s all come crashing down because of one android, so painfully honest, so openly vulnerable with his heart on his sleeve that it’s almost magnetic, the helpless connection between them.

“Captain Allen?” The rookie stands in the doorway, waiting for permission to enter.

“Yes?” God why does he have to be so awkward? Why all this toeing the line, why all this caution around each other? It’s excruciating.

“I have submitted my application for a legal name. Once processed you will receive a copy for your records.” He stands in front of his desk at parade rest, body language formal but expression shy. “My name is Caleb Anderson.”

“Caleb.” He echoes, finding himself smiling. “Good name.”

“Thank you sir.” He ducks his head, and there’s an honest to god soft lilac tinge across the tops of his cheeks. (Does the DPD have a direct line to Elijah Kamski? He’d like a formal word.)

“Would you like to go for a drink after work?” He blurts it out like a high schooler up to his eyeballs in hormones, and realises his mistake immediately. “Oh, err, you can’t drink alcohol. I guess it’d be pointless.”

“I understand it’s a social invitation, sir.” Caleb smiles shyly. “I’d like to spend time with you socially. Besides, the bar down the road sells beverages for android consumption, it wouldn’t be pointless.”

“Alright. Drinks after work, then.”

“I look forward to it.”

*~*

That he has any semblance of social skills is a testament to his school teacher mother, that even after all these years of quick and dirty hookups via apps, the moment he’s taking someone out for a drink he’s automatically getting the door for him, taking his coat from him, offering him the first seat. It’s all muscle memory, and he wonders what his ma will think of him trying to woo an android. Probably incredibly confused but still exasperatedly fond, as she usually is when trying to process most of his decisions. She’ll share that look with his mom and they’ll have an entire conversation through that look alone. He wants that, he thinks, that easy intuitive back and forth without a single word being said. He wants that kind of love.

Caleb is right, they sell something called Tearium which is thirium coded to imitate human beverages. There’s a whiskey one apparently, so he orders him one of those to match the real whiskey for himself. Subtly Caleb brushes his ankle against his, trying to feign innocence but failing to play it cool because that soft lilac tinge spreads over his cheeks and the tips of his ears and god, he’s ruined, he’s such a mess for him already. When did he get so soft? More importantly, when did he stop permitting himself to be soft around others? When was the last time he allowed someone close enough to be soft with them?

He actually doesn’t remember a single thing they discuss, though they apparently discuss a lot because it’s past ten when they leave. All he thinks about is how that blush is driving him insane and how he wants to kiss him so badly it’s a physical ache.

“Night cap?” He offers as they’re standing at the curb waiting for a cab.

“You wouldn’t have anything for me to drink, I wager, sir.” Caleb says lightly, and they’re standing just far enough between the streetlamps that the light looks like a halo behind his dark hair. Their fingers brush, and Caleb traces the inside of his palm delicately. The contact burns. He dares to step closer, lips brushing his ear as he tangles their fingers together.

“Come home with me anyway.”

The taxi arrives and they crawl inside and Caleb straddles his lap and then they’re kissing, they’re finally kissing.

“I have thought of nothing but you, nothing but doing this with you.” Caleb whispers, voice slightly staticky when they pull away. He paws at the buttons of his shirt impatiently. “Last week in the showers, when I touched your scar- your skin was so warm. I’d never touched a human before. You had droplets of water all over you. Caught up in your hair. Dotting your lashes. Running down your skin.” He leans in and punctuates each statement with a kiss, hand slipping inside his shirt. “I wanted to taste it. I wanted to taste you. I went home that evening and I touched myself while thinking of you.”

“Christ Caleb.” He hisses as the android scratches his nails along his ribs, head swimming as he tries to process the confession. Caleb looks down at him, lids heavy and cheeks flushed.

“It felt good, touching myself while thinking of you, but-” he tips his head back, exposing his throat and he accepts the invitation, licking a long stripe and revelling in the shudder he extracts. “But I want to know what it really feels like, to be touched by you.”

God the guy’s brand new, this is a first for him and if he stops to think about it, it’s a first for him too. He’s bedded a lot of people to sate these basic cravings, with a variety of...genital configurations, but he’s never taken an android to bed before. Guess there’s still a first time for everything.

He fumbles for his keys when the cab pulls up and Caleb dives forward to slam his palm on the dashboard, LED flickering yellow rapidly before settling back to blue.

“What-”

“Scrubbed the security feed.” The android shrugs, expression mischievous. “Wouldn’t want the taxi company seeing all that.”

“I’d say they’re used to it.” To his credit he manages to keep it together long enough to swipe the security fob against the panel and keeps his hands to himself in the elevator, blatantly ignoring the intense look of hunger on Caleb’s face. To his credit it only takes him two tries to unlock his door and then he’s being slammed against it and kissed senseless as the android makes short work of divesting him of his clothes.

“Stop.” He says firmly, pushing him back by the shoulders. Caleb pauses, LED red and lips glossy and hair tousled; a perfect picture of debauchery. He takes a deep breath and cups his nape, thumb rubbing along his synthetic skin. “Do you really want to do this?”

“Yessir.” No hesitation.

“We’re not at work, Caleb.” He chastises gently, and something wicked flickers in those grey eyes as he feigns innocence more successfully this time.

“But David, I can see how it affects you when I say it.” He nearly purrs the word. “Sir.”

He growls and tightens his hold on his nape, like holding the scruff of a dog to keep it in check. “How do I-” he swallows thickly, trying to distract himself from the throbbing ache between his legs, “how do I please you? Teach me.”

Why is the bedroom the furthest room from the door? They stumble to it somehow, losing the rest of their clothes along the way, pausing only so he can watch Caleb’s gorgeous ass when he walks ahead, and then he’s pushing the android down onto his bed. Past him really had no idea he made the best choice ever choosing black sheets because it makes Caleb’s pale skin glow. Their mouths meet, and it’s a clumsy, feverish clack of teeth and tongue and he wants to devour him whole. Caleb grabs his wrist and guides it between his legs.

“I have a- there’s-” the android lets out a frustrated growl, seemingly done with words and simply swaps to actions instead. He presses his fingers along a discreet seam in the crease of his inner thigh, and when he hooks his nails in the faint indent it slides a hatch open. Huh. Inbuilt codpiece to protect the bits. Neat. Scooting down further on the bed, he lowers himself for a closer look.

“God is that all for one person?” He blurts, and Caleb blinks in surprise, propping himself up by his elbows.

“What?”

“Why are you so big?” Blood’s all between his legs and none left in his brain apparently.

“I- is it not proportionate to my build?” Caleb stammers, confused and slightly defensive.

“I’m not complaining, I promise.” He laughs because, well he’s an idiot for him apparently as he scoots further down on the bed so he can admire the android’s stiffening cock. “Show me how you touched yourself the other night.”

“Yessir.” Caleb says obediently, palming himself slowly before gripping the base of his cock and thumbing over the slit. He tips his head back, arching slightly into his hand as he strokes himself slowly. Spreading his legs wider, he reaches further between his legs with his other hand and eases a finger inside, face going slack with pleasure.

“You thought of me while doing this?” His voice is rough and dry as he cradles his hips, leaning in to press open mouthed kisses to Caleb’s pale thighs.

“Yessir.” He bites his bottom lip as he presses another finger inside. “No one but you.”

“Let me touch you.” He kisses the base of his cock, nipping at Caleb’s fingers playfully. “Will you let me touch you?” He waits until Caleb nods, pulling his hands away and resting them on his shoulders, grip tight. He wonders if he should say grace before this meal, and the absurd thought makes him giggle and everything is wonderfully ridiculous. The android is...wet where he shouldn’t be, and that’s another thing he’s going to have to talk to Elijah Kamski about (though actually he’s not sure if Kamski designed this one, in which case a formal investigation will need to be opened to find those individuals responsible). Pushing his tongue inside of him coaxes a strangled choke of surprise out of Caleb, causing him to buck his hips reflexively. It’s delightful so he latches his mouth over his hole and sucks as he licks inside of him. He tastes vaguely of salt, like a mild mimicry of sweat.

“Please, please sir I-” Caleb whines, clawing at his back. He pulls away and crawls up his body so he can kiss him, rutting against him for that delicious friction. “In, please, please I need you inside me.” The android is leaking as if he possessed a vulva and he finds that a fascinating, lewd little disregard for human physiology. Caleb’s thighs are slippery with it, and there’s a growing damp spot on the dark sheets. Fuck, he finds that so hot. Clumsily reaching between them, Caleb squeezes his cock and guides the tip to his asshole, bucking needily against him. “In.”

He breaches him slowly and all he can process is tight and wet and hot. God he wants nothing more than to fuck him mercilessly, desperately, but the guy looks slightly nervous and so openly trusting that if he wanted to hurt him he’d just take it. And it’s that thought that makes him ease up, that makes him start off with an agonisingly slow pace so the android can adjust, adapt to the intrusion.

“Is this what you thought of, when you touched yourself?” He whispers when he’s bottomed out, sheathed completely inside him. Caleb’s pupils are blown wide with lust, another minute detail someone surely borrowed from the Traci models because why else would a military android come undone like this?

“Yessir.” A satisfied sigh, eyelids fluttering closed. Locking his legs around his waist and hooking his ankles together at the small of his back, Caleb wriggles impatiently. “Move, please.”

“This is alright?” He asks, pressing their brows together and not moving until Caleb opens his eyes. “Caleb? Is this alright?”

“I need more, please sir, please.” God he even begs so prettily, and that’s the cue he’s been waiting for. He loses himself to the raw animalistic urge to just fuck into that tight wet heat, hips snapping hard as he rutts into him. The room fills with the filthy sounds of their lust, of their panting, their groans, of the vulgar squish of his cock fucking into Caleb’s dripping ass. The android’s LED is a bright neon red in the dark of the room, painting his face in a soft pink hue. Beautiful.

An irritated, impatient growl escapes his throat, and Caleb grabs him by the shoulders, swapping their positions so the android is pinning him against the mattress. Chest heaving, Caleb takes a moment to smooth back his hair distractedly and he can only admire him in unabashed awe, eyes roaming over that perfectly chiselled body. Licking his lips, Caleb leans forward a little and guides his cock back to his asshole before swiftly dropping his entire weight down. It punches a moan out of him, and he grips Caleb’s hips as the android braces his hands on his chest and rides him wantonly.

God he’s going to think of this every single night for as long as he lives, isn’t he? He’s never going to be able to forget the blissful expression on Caleb’s face, the burning red LED at his temple, the slick smeared all over their thighs, the pretty way he nearly sings in gratification as he bounces on his cock.

“That’s it baby, that’s it.” He tosses his head back against the pillows. “Take your pleasure from me, it’s all yours.” The climax hits him between the eyes, everything rising from fever pitch to white hot and blanking him out for a few glorious moments as he spills himself inside of him and he chases after it as Caleb shudders above him, face frozen as he reaches his own orgasm, spurting sticky white ribbons across his stomach. They stay that way for a little while, and he tries to remember how to breathe as he feels Caleb’s thighs tremble as the aftershocks of his climax settle in. He runs his palms along those strong, muscular thighs, grin lazy and thoughts hazy.

“That was-” Caleb pants, LED flickering red-yellow-red-yellow before slowly spinning blue. “That was a lot.” He eases himself off his softening cock and sprawls out beside him atop the ruined sheets. He looks beautifully fucked out and lax, and he can’t help but lean in and kiss him, slowly, sweetly. When was the last time doing this ever meant something? Did it ever mean anything to him? Who knew all it would take to lower his defences was a 6’5” Terminator with the personality of a loyal puppy and nearly losing him on a mission while having to literally hold his broken heart in his hands.

“C’mon. Shower time. We’re both a mess.” He grunts, pushing himself to sit up and get off the bed. Caleb doesn’t follow immediately, reaching out to smear the thick stripes of come on his stomach before bringing his fingers to his mouth and licking it away. The sight makes desire stir in his cock tiredly and he rolls his eyes. “Do not.” A warning that goes unheeded as the android reaches between his legs to dip two fingers in his messy hole, maintaining eye contact as he sucks them clean. Fuck. “Caleb.”

“Coming, sir.” He says casually, following him to the bathroom. The large glass shower fits them both, not too snug they can’t move but enclosed enough they have to stay close. It’s a stupidly expensive apartment but now he’s glad he bought it with all its fancy modern trappings. Like this shower that can fit them both, with enough room for Caleb to drop to his knees and start sucking him off. He bites back a groan, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other tangling in his dark hair. Caleb looks up at him with those bright grey eyes, and the sick fuckers at CyberLife built him with no gag reflex apparently because he swallows him down with no pause.

He’s already sensitive from his last orgasm, but oh fuck he’s hard again in record time. Strong hands grip his ass and keep him from thrusting into his mouth, Caleb controlling his pace as he bobs back and forth, able to take him from tip to base effortlessly. He comes embarrassingly fast with a long string of expletives and the smug, mischievous look on Caleb’s face as he swallows is hotter than the entire act of fellating him.

“You little shit.” He pants, boneless as he slumps against him once Caleb is back on his feet.

The android hums a little pleased noise, arms wrapping around him. “You told me to take my pleasure from you, so I’m taking it.” Kisses are smudged atop his head and after a moment there’s a soft click behind him. Fingers scritch along his scalp, lathering shampoo into his hair and there’s something way too intimate about this, and it’s both exhilarating and terrifying all at once. He grabs the shampoo bottle, squirting out a dollop before reaching up to muss it into Caleb’s hair.

“Oh, it isn’t real there’s no need to-”

“I want to.” He cuts him off, trying to keep his voice casual. “I want to do this.”

The shower lasts far longer than a shower should because his limbs feel heavy and the heat and the steam are clouding his head and making everything feel not quite real. Caleb turns off the water eventually and they pat themselves dry with the towels, and then they’re crawling into bed and tangling their legs beneath the sheets. Is this his belated birthday present? Is this good karma for palming off the mission to confront the deviants marching down the streets, those same deviants later on identified as the Jericho Four? Is this the universe’s way of rewarding him for getting his shit together and crossing to the right side of history?

Caleb makes a soft pleased little noise as he tucks his head beneath his chin, arms draped loosely around him. “You’re thinking so loudly. What are you thinking about?”

The question makes him pause, and he cards his fingers through the android’s dark hair, idly tracing his blue LED. “That I could get used to this.” The ring flickers yellow, blinking rapidly for a good thirty seconds before cycling back to blue. “Caleb?”

“Oh, that was Connor.” The android murmurs, words smudged into his collarbone. “I was just telling him I was staying the night after having sexual relations with you.”

“...what?”

“Hm?”

“What did you tell him?”

“Well I-” Caleb pulls back just a little so he can blink up at him. “I live with my brother, at Lieutenant Hank Anderson’s house. I return there after work, every day. I initially told him I was staying out late to have drinks with you under the assumption I would be returning home afterward. Unless...you’d rather I leave?”

“No! God no, I don’t want you to leave.” He reassures hurriedly, pressing a kiss to his frown. “I just- I wasn’t expecting you to tell Connor...that.”

The android regards him with those startling grey eyes, blinking slowly, LED flickering yellow briefly before a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips. “You’re nervous because you think my brother is going to tell Hank.”

“Hank Anderson is likely to skin me alive tomorrow if Connor tells him exactly what you just told him, yes.” He grumbles as Caleb laughs brightly and he can’t ignore the lightness in his chest, that happy little skip his heart makes as the android nuzzles under his chin again.

“I’ll deal with that in the morning.”

#rk900 #Captain Allen #Detroit: Become Human #allen900 #smut #nothing but FILTH and FLUFF in here folks #annie writes: dbh #hope you like it anon #i snuck in an Almost Human joke in there

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