#this made my teeth decay stop

[fangdokja]

In the world of the dead, he was the only thing keeping you alive—and tearing you apart.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured: A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor x Fem. Reader

♡ Oneshot. #1

♡ Word Count. 886

The world had gone to hell long before he found you—a blight of rotting corpses, the stench of decay clinging to the air like wet fabric. He’d watched cities crumble, mothers devoured by children, lovers split apart by jaws that once kissed. Humanity reduced to a desperate scramble for survival. He’d survived because he was better, stronger, smarter. Not like the others. Not like you.

The first time he saw you, it was through the jagged slats of a broken-down shack—you, filthy, trembling, a pathetic little thing clutching a rusted knife like it could keep the monsters at bay. You didn’t know it then, but the real monster wasn’t outside that door. He let you run, let you think you’d slipped away. He liked the chase. Liked watching your frail little body collapse from exhaustion after days of running. He followed your trail of broken twigs, discarded scraps, bloodied rags. You bled so easily. It excited him.

When he finally cornered you, it wasn’t with the blunt savagery of the infected, but with the calculated precision of a predator. His voice was honeyed, deep and soothing in a way that made your legs quiver despite the terror clamping your chest. “Easy, little one,” he murmured, stepping closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over your crouched form. “I’m not here to hurt you.” A lie, but you didn’t know that yet.

You screamed when he grabbed you. Oh, how you screamed. His hand clamped over your mouth, thick fingers swallowing your cries. “Shh,” he cooed, dragging you against his chest. The muscles there were hard as steel, his arms unyielding as they pinned you to him. “You’re safe now. No more running. No more fighting. Just be good for me.”

You fought, of course you did, but he liked that about you. Liked the way your nails raked against his skin, the fire in your eyes even as tears streaked your dirt-smeared cheeks. It made breaking you all the sweeter.

The place he kept you was dark, damp, a bunker carved out of the earth’s rotting guts. Chains rattled when you moved, the heavy metal cuffs biting into your wrists and ankles. He made sure you couldn’t escape. You’d tried once, crawling like a desperate animal through the narrow tunnel he left unguarded. He found you before you reached the surface. You still remembered the taste of dirt and his boot on your back as he dragged you, screaming and sobbing, back to your prison.

“Disobedient,” he’d called you, his voice like a father’s scolding a wayward child. Then he’d smiled, and that smile was worse than any snarl. “But you’ll learn.”

The days blurred together. He fed you, bathed you, kept you warm with his body when the nights grew cold. “You’re mine now,” he whispered in your ear, his breath hot and heavy. “No one else will touch you. No one else can. They’re all dead, you know. Out there in the dark. In here, it’s just us. Forever.”

Sometimes he was tender, brushing the hair from your face, pressing lips to your forehead like a lover. Other times, he was cruel, tightening his grip around your throat until you saw stars, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as if he wanted to devour you whole.

“You’re so fragile,” he murmured, running a calloused hand down your trembling arm. His fingers stopped at your wrist, pressing just hard enough to feel the thrum of your pulse beneath the paper-thin skin. “So easy to break. But I won’t let you. I’ll keep you safe, even from yourself.”

When you cried, he mocked you for it, his laughter echoing off the stone walls. “Tears won’t save you, my little prey. You’re mine, whether you like it or not.” And yet, when your sobs subsided into quiet sniffles, he cradled you against his chest, rocking you like a child. “Good girl,” he’d croon, his hand stroking your hair. “Good, obedient girl.”

Escape was impossible. He made sure of that. Shackles bound you when he wasn’t there, and when he was, his watchful gaze never left you. Those eyes, sharp and calculating, missed nothing. You learned to fear the tilt of his head, the narrowing of his gaze when you stepped out of line. His punishments were swift and brutal—a backhand that left your cheek throbbing, a hand around your throat until you gasped for air.

And yet, there were moments when he was almost kind. When he brought you clean clothes, when he stroked your cheek and murmured promises of a future where you’d thank him for saving you. “You’ll see,” he said, his voice a low, rumbling purr. “I’m the only one who can love you like this. The only one who will.”

The infected were the least of your worries. The true horror lived in the man who kept you alive, the man who smiled as he reminded you that you belonged to him, body and soul. You learned quickly that resistance was futile. He thrived on your defiance, twisting it into something dark and intimate.

And every time he whispered in your ear, every time his hands claimed you, you wondered if maybe—just maybe—he was right. That in a world gone mad, there was no escape. That he was your salvation. Your damnation. Your everything.

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Ludos Imperiales 6

Summary: More battles and more bargains come into play as things go from bad to worse.

Content Warnings: Blood and Gore, Violence, Character Death (Unnamed); Mentions of Slavery/Assault/Incest (the twins are back)

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

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I’ve aged a decade in the time it takes to get inside the Imperial Palace. The blistering heat makes sweat bead down the back of my dress, every inch of heavy fabric feeling like it’s plastered to my skin. Everything feels too heavy on my body. I need to get home and into the tub, maybe with enough soap and water I will be able to purge the oppressive weight that clings to my skin.

Though I have my doubts. It’s not just the heat or the dirt, it’s this whole place. Everything I have known and loved about the city feels like it has been stripped down to nothing but the oozing, wretched thing that has been hidden beneath golden arches and layers of stark white marble. It reeks of a decay that has nothing to the crucified bodies hanging outside our doors.

Senators and Commanders mingle, wives dripping in expensive jewels hanging from their arms, laughing and talking about how magnificent this celebration for Amarantha is. I’d be shaking with the rage I feel clawing up my insides were it not for the way Rhysand still held me in his mental grip.

“Steady,” he warns for what feels like the fiftieth time today. I don’t know how he’s managed to stay so calm, especially when his men have been taken through the back streets of the city. There is a prison on the outskirts of the capitol, on the eastern wall, hopefully there will be less cruelty on the streets now that they’re away from the parade, but it is still a fate I wouldn’t wish on anyone. It cannot be easy to be forced to stay here, with the enemy at every turn, while your men labor in a dungeon, yet he and Cassian, stand with their heads high behind me.

One of the guards untethered them from the back of my horse, but holding their chain in my hands is just as bad as leading them on horseback. Cassian gives me a wide berth, far enough away that if I take two steps ahead I’ll drag him by the throat. Azriel, however, hovers near my left shoulder, head down like he’s trying to hide, even as I watch his shadows slither down the back of his legs and scatter across the floor in search of something. One still remains coiled around my ear, hidden by my hair.

“Be careful around the twins,” I warn as my cousin catches my eye and makes her way towards us. She’d been too far behind us in the procession for me to see her reaction to the horrors, but, judging by the grin on her usually stoic face, I’d say she enjoyed it. 

Rhysand shifts so he’s standing behind my right shoulder, so I’m framed on either side by a towering Illyrian. Their presence is soothing, especially when Brannagh’s grin could peel paint. She obviously wants trouble. I’d be a fool to think the bloodshed outside was enough. She’ll need something to sink her fangs into before the night is over to be satisfied with the day. 

“There you are, cousin!” We have the same slate colored eyes and that is where the family resemblance stops. Everything about her is rigid and uniform and for so long being near her had made me feel like a lamb being watched by a lion. Yet, with the males at my back, I don’t feel so small anymore.

“I’m surprised you made it,” she says, eyes raking over Rhysand, then Azriel, then Cassian, sizing each of them up to see which would be an easier meal.

I’m suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to punch in her teeth. 

“First the Games, now this,” Dagdan says as he abandons an attempt to woo one of the Senators with his bullshit war stories, and joins us. “Maybe we are related after all.”

Rhysand withdraws his mental presence from my head and I draw my mental shields back up to make sure I keep the twins out. 

Brannagh walks a slow circle around us, tongue running over her lower lip. “I really didn’t think you were capable of this.” Her bony fingers reach out to flick the chain looped around their throats. “It’s a little… what’s the word you always throw at us? Barbaric for you?”

“All it took was Mommy Dearest to lose her head for you to grow a spine, huh?” Dagdan sneers.

Azriel’s shadow hisses angrily in my ear as his head jerks up off his chest. The glare he throws over my shoulder could melt a glacier, the heat in it seering across my skin. 

“This one’s pretty,” Brannagh coos at him, her fingers reaching out to brush across his cheek.

“Don’t touch him,” I bite out through my teeth. 

“Careful, we bite,” Cassian snarls.

This only makes Brannagh grin further and my first instinct is to draw all three of them behind my back, as if they were small children in need of protection and not three fully grown warriors. As if I had not seen them kill a Giant and a handful of Wargs in the Arena just yesterday. 

“Were they fun?” Brannagh teases, making another circle so she can draw her nails over Rhysand’s nearly bare chest.

Red tints my vision. 

“They look like they’d be a good fuck.”

I clench my hands into fists to keep my power from erupting and taking out everything in the room. Rhysand can’t save me from this one, not without them sensing his mental presence. And if we are to play this game, I need to be able to stand on my own two feet. I might not be the most skilled fighter in this room, but I have plenty of other weapons in my arsenal. 

“How would you know? The only thing you’ve ever fucked is Dagdan.”

She flinches like I’d punched her right in the stomach. It was all rumors of course, but the whispers were there. The twins still insisted on sharing a room; still went everywhere together. They were toxically co-dependant and on more than one occasion they’d mentioned old practices of keeping bloodlines pure. I knew it was a sore spot, I didn’t care very much if it was true. As long as the blow landed; as long as I had something strong enough to cut her, so the bond screaming in my ears didn’t prompt me to cut off the hand still lingering too close to my mate’s skin. They were not hers to touch. 

Cassian chokes out a cough, trying to keep back a laugh as Brannagh’s face twists. 

Dagdan’s teeth flash in a snarl.

I merely grin as I give the chain in my hands a very subtle tug. “I think we’re done catching up, cousin. Do enjoy the rest of the celebration.” I do my best to leave them in the dirt as we head deeper into the palace. I’m sure she’ll find a way to make me pay for the remark later, but for now, I’ll count it as a victory. 

The exchange took place in the open foyer, the roof held up by pillars and the outside world only separated by billowing sheer curtains. I mount the steps that lead us into a secondary foyer, where bubbling fountains and a pool of multicolored fish take up much of the space. Standing guard atop the fountains are twin statues of our gods of war and victory; the golden bowls at their feet overflowing with coins left by worshipers as they come and go from the Palace. We need more than a little luck and victory on our side and I leave a handful of coins on Victory’s altar. I will go to the Temple later and beg the Mother for forgiveness for how blind I have been, and seek a Priestess to make an offering for her blessing in what is quickly becoming an act of outright treason.

I feel Rhysand’s violet gaze on me as I make the offering. 

“The twins really are… like that?” Cassian asks as we round the fountain. It has to be morbid curiosity that prompts the conversation, but the fact that he’s speaking to me at all makes my heart race in my chest. I’ll take whatever scraps he’ll throw my way, if it only means he doesn’t hate me as much as he did yesterday.

“I’d be more surprised if they weren’t than if they were,” I say, unable to suppress a shutter when thinking about it. “They’ve always been… together… and weird about it.”

“Sure, and we’re the animals.”

I can see the back of Amarantha’s blood red head as the inner circle makes its way towards the atrium for food and whatever entertainment could be dragged into this den of vipers for the afternoon. Servants carrying goblets of wine drift through the clusters of visiting dignitaries and soldiers. There’s more than a couple armored gladiators, acting as guards for their sponsors, in attendance. I try to keep track of who belongs to who as we go, in order to give us an edge for the next match. Senators Beron and Tamlin, former lords from Prythians courts, now given new titles within the Empire for merging their kingdoms, both have sponsors shadowing them. The males have to be half Giant, with arms and thighs thick as tree trunks. Their armor has to be custom made to be able to fit them. I don’t know the names of either males, only that they’ve been employed long enough for their conditions in the Arena are they don’t fight Amarantha’s Attor. Too much money has been put into them to let them get torn to ribbons by that beast. 

I slide my way through the throngs of people to get closer. To play this game, there is no doubt that they will have to go back into the Arena a couple times. I need to start finding ways to give them an edge. I can start by seeing up close just how much taller they are then Cassian. If they have to go hand-to-hand in the future, I want to see how they compare next to each other so I can plan to get around it. 

The gladiators have at least two feet on Cassian, which makes me basically an ant in comparison. I already have to tilt my head up to look my mates’ in the eye, these males make me have to keep distance between us to be able to see anything other than they’re stomachs. 

Cassian is fairly nimble, from what I’ve seen so far, as long as the wound on his leg is healed by the next match, he can use that to his advantage. But the thought of having to watch him fight males this size makes my stomach twist. I’m going to need to do more than size up the competition. 

Beron is accompanied, as always, by several of his sons, but it is always Eris by his side. The well dressed male turns a grin in my direction when he catches sight of me. “Highness,” the bow is graceful, fox-like in a way that reminds me of Lucien, wherever he is in the crowd to avoid his Father. It’s not like him to leave Tamlin alone in these situations, they’re usually joined at the hip.

“It does me good to see you outside,” Eris continues, as he reaches out to take my hand and press a chaste kiss on the back of my knuckles.

Azriel’s shadow hisses in agitation in my ear as something hot flickers down the bond.

“It’s been too long since you’ve graced us with your presence.” I’ve known the Vanserra’s for a long time, Eris is not quite the flirt Lucien is, but he has no shortage of sway over females, males too for that matter. It had always surprised me that Father hadn’t tried to arrange a union between us. Eris was known, from time to time, to share the same savage brutality the Emperor valued in his court; it should have pleased him to have Eris for a son in law. 

“Are you finally feeling better?”

“It took longer than I expected to recover,” I say honestly. Better to not oversell anything; all lies have a little truth woven in. “But getting some air has been good.”

His russet gaze jumps to the males behind me, and the grin I’ve known for decades turns serpentine. “And profitable, I’d imagine?”

“For the Empire, of course, all earnings will go to aid the far reaches.”

“So I heard,” he nods, still studying them. “You always did have a bleeding heart, Highness. It is good to see it benefit you.”

The compliment feels underhanded, but so do most things around here. 

“When will we get to see them in action again?”

Talking about them like they’re not standing here makes me want to start smashing things, but I reign in my temper. “I was just about to ask you the same about your Father’s gladiators.”

He glances back at the male and shrugs. “Felix is always ready, but we’ve gotten no summons.”

Interesting. The Gamesmaker should already have a match-up in place, even if the Arena will be closed for repairs for a few days still. 

“How unfortunate, it’d be quite the fight for Cassian.”

I feel Cassian shift a little closer, the scent of sandalwood and snow-capped mountains invading my senses. It is an effort not to step back and lean into him, he’s never dared be this close before. 

“It would be quick,” he states.

Eris huffs a laugh. “For your neck to be broken, brute? Yes, we’d be in agreement.”

There’s a snap as Cassian’s wings ruffle and whip closed again, his agitation so clear I can taste it. The frayed edges of our bond simmer, but I can’t tell if the rage is his or my own. We are alike in that aspect.

“Who was summoned, then?” We can’t linger too long here, especially not for information I do not yet need. Rhysand still needs to get a better look around and we’re starting to linger on the stairs, people clustering behind us.

“Not Tamlin’s man either,” Eris says with a shrug. “I’m as in the dark as you.”

“You?” I force a teasing smirk to my features. “I thought you knew everything around here, Eris?”

His russet gaze darkens as his perfect teeth dart out to bite his lower lip. It’s a move I’ve seen thousands of people swoon over. “I’ll happily find out for you, Highness.”

Azriel’s shadow snarls in a language I can’t make out, but it is Rhysand’s side of the bond that ripples with promised violence. Is that jealousy I feel? I try to shove the thought aside; hoping that they feel this thing between us is too much to ask for. I will only hurt myself if I start to hope that I am more than a means to an end.

“Please do. I’d be indebted to you.” That’s all it takes for the Autumn male to bow and disappear into the crowd.

Senator Thessian and his large entourage of guards pushes past us on the stairs, the armored guard slamming into Rhysand from behind hard enough that he stumbles forward, hands reaching out to catch himself on my hips before he can take both of us to the floor. My whole body freezes under the contact, the warm press of his body against mine enough to make all rational thought fly out of my skull.

He leans in, like he might offer an apology, breath ghosting over my neck as his lips brush the shell of my ear. My whole body shivers in anticipation. “Clever, little vixen.”

The low baritone of his voice makes heat rush between my legs, something hot coiling in the pit of my stomach. Now the citrus and jasmine scent of him invades all my senses and I really, truly have no thoughts left in my head. 

My knees wobble as he gives my hip a squeeze, even as the bond roars at the loss of contact as he steps back. Maybe it’s just been awhile since I’ve been intimate with anyone, but that small amount of contact feels like an electric current beneath my skin. It is an effort to keep moving up the stairs and not turn and do something foolish, like press my lips to his and slide my fingers into his hair. 

The atrium is a wide, open room with tables piled with food lining the far walls. On the left are floor to ceiling windows, thrown open to let in the warm summer breeze, a few Praetorians standing at attention amidst the billowing curtains.. There are low couches along the walls, some of which are already taken. If not by anyone with a gladiator, I don’t linger on who sits where. 

A servant with a tray of wine passes and I snag one to try and calm the sizzling beneath my skin. I didn’t realize one of today’s many battles would be trying not to throw myself at my mates. 

There is a raised dais against the far wall, the couches and lounge chairs far more plush and ornate than the rest. Father has found his seat, a slightly less gaudy throne than usual, and reclines as a servant fans him with a palm frond. Amarantha has taken her usual seat on his right, reclining against one of her pleasure slaves. The male wears little but a strip of crimson fabric between his legs, every inch of bare skin lean and smooth. There’s another perched on the armrest of her chair, holding a goblet of wine for whenever she needs it; a third sitting at her feet, running idle fingers up the side of her calf. All that attention, and yet her dark gaze still tracks the males behind me with enough hunger I debate how much trouble I’d be in if I threw my own wine glass at her head.

She is not the only one who pays such close attention to the Illyrians. A couple dignitaries’ wives and high ranking soldiers gawk blatantly at how much skin they have on display. More than one head turns to get a better look at Rhysand’s ass in this get-up.  He neither cowers or preens under the attention; it’s like he doesn’t even register it. I can’t help but wonder if that was the point: Everybody is so busy ogling him, they’re not really paying attention to what he’s doing. It’s a good mask, it shields his intentions and lets him observe without it being obvious, but the way they look at him, like he’s a piece of meat makes me wish I had claws to scratch out their eyes. 

I take another sip of wine, trying not to look too desperate for the emptiness it’ll bring as I head in the direction of the dais. 

“You’ve surprised me,” Father says as we approach. It’s the first real acknowledgement he’s shown me all day.

The shadow curled around my ear burrows a little deeper under my hair to avoid detection, the soft ether brushing against a sensitive spot on my temple that has me gripping the wine glass a little tighter to keep from reacting.

“As I said, I am trying to do better, Father.”

His gaze flicks to the chain in my hand, down the length of it like he’s inspecting the strength of each wrung before finally arriving on the occupants tethered to it. He grins in triumph as he takes in their attire. Maybe they were right to ignore what I’d brought out. It certainly looks like I’ve intended to humiliate them by dressing them in the same attire many of the Senator’s slaves are sporting. 

“Tell me how you managed to bring the three of them to heel when Amarantha couldn’t?” 

Amarantha bristles in her seat, her perfect teeth flashing in her pale face.

Another small victory. 

“Tell him you instructed the healer to give us a sleeping drought in our wine.” The twins haven’t reappeared and his sudden return in my head nearly makes me jump out of my skin. “And faebane in the water this morning.”

I repeat his instructions as I move to take the seat that is mine on his left and force myself not to think about how it’s a couch instead of a chair like his because it used to be shared with my Mother. 

“You’re hoping to acquire mirthroot in the city to keep us docile until the next match.”

I repeat that too, making a mental note to ensure that I follow through with it. He will monitor my every move in the city, if I don’t follow through, he’ll know it and then we’re dead. An issue that seems far less pressing when Rhysand’s hand brushes over my wrist. Watching him in the Arena did nothing to show just how agile he is, not when he expertly maneuvers my hand towards his chest, the chain blocking his part in this. The next thing I know, I’m moving to sit and he’s falling into the couch behind me so it looks like I pushed him down into the seat so I could recline against his chest. The motion takes him seconds, it looks like he rehearsed it down to the exact placement of the chain to hide the fact that he’d been the one moving me and not the other way around. 

Azriel seats himself on the armrest wordlessly; Cassian grunting as he sits on the floor with his back against the couch. I get the distinct impression he is only keeping his shoulder against my knee because being any farther away would mean his wings were in reach of Father’s hands. 

It takes me a minute to find my bearings again as my brain short circuits over how close they all are. Rhysand’s heartbeat is steady against my back, his skin warm even through the fabric of my dress. He lets his head lean back against the back of the couch, feigning exhaustion or maybe repulsion from being “forced” to be this close to me. I’m close enough that I could run my hand up Azriel’s thigh if I wanted, and damn me do I want to. Or close enough to Cassian that my fingers itch to brush through the thick strands of his hair. It is a cruel trick of fate that my mates are close enough for me to touch and I can’t.

At the mention of the mirthroot, one of Amarantha’s males leans around the Emperor to offer a rolled cigarette, even dried the hint of mirthroot is obvious. The male’s eyes are glassy, shining under the effects of it himself, the grin on his features lazy and unbothered. Far too soft a male to be shackled to Amarantha. 

I tap Cassian on the shoulder to prompt him to take it. A mistake because he flinches like I hit him and I think I might have undone any effort I’d made to get him to at least tolerate my presence. He snatches the offered cigarette, and the liter that follows and passes it back to me with a huff.

The Emperor watches the exchange with more interest than he’s ever shown me in my life. “What would you have done, Amarantha?” He asks.

“The same,” she says through her teeth. 

I take a deep breath through my nose to keep from making a disgusted face at her. “Ember said that’s what she used to do for Amarantha’s slaves before she came to my keep, so I simply took a page out of her book.” 

I pass the cigarette and liter to Azriel, and pray the sight of the flames doesn’t cause the same reaction it had when he’d been branded. He grits his teeth, but there is no angered flash down the bond or hiss from the shadow to indicate it’s anything other than a show as he lights it and takes a long drag. 

“I’m glad to see that in your seclusion you’ve finally grown half a brain,” Father says. “I was beginning to worry that your Mother’s poisoned tongue had gotten to you.”

I flinch despite myself and all three of the males tense around me. Cassian’s jaw ticks, the flutter of movement brushing across my knee. For the first time all day, his hazel gaze flicks to me, and  maybe it’s a trick of the light, but I swear I see a flash of pity there.

“No, it didn’t,” I whisper, unable to put any feeling into the words. I haven’t been back here since the execution. I’d found every reason to avoid it. Being back feels like peeling a scab off the wound and letting it bleed all over the floor.

Azriel takes another drag and I wish more than anything to take a hit of it myself and numb this feeling in my chest. What I would give for the empty numbness that had filled me in the early months of my grief. There are so many tangled emotions here, between the loss and my mates and the horrors of what we just witnessed outside. I cannot pick just one to focus on; can’t find some outlet to expel the building pressure. It all tangles and lodges itself in my throat like it's trying to drown me.

Rhysand’s fingers brush over my arm as he draws his hand up to take the cigarette from Azriel. To an onlooker it looks accidental, maybe it is, maybe I’m just reading into it, but even that faint brush drags me back to the surface for a bit of air again. At least I am not alone in the water anymore. Mother had always been emotionless, nothing got to her. I was always the one that felt too much. At least now the emotions can be shared.

“Your actions yesterday inspired me,” the Emperor says after a beat. 

Apprehension licks its way up my spine.

“I haven’t taken a champion of my own in a long time. It’s become dull, betting on someone else’s man.”

Shit!

Azriel’s shadow dares to peek out around my bangs, observing the crowd as they begin to settle in their seats with plates of food, as if on some silent command. Brannagh and Dagdan join us on my left, on the seat closest to the dais, the stare they level at me hot enough to melt glass. So much for Rhysand being in my head the rest of the evening. 

With a wave, the Emperor motions over a creature I have no name for. It walks on two legs like a man, but is covered head to toe in thick, brown, fur. Horns curl from the top of its head; a beak with a hooked tip jutting from its face. Its hands end in talons like that of a bird, but there are five on each hand instead of three. Its tunic has been folded down around its waist, leaving its chest bare, revealing a spider web of scars gouged through the heavy layer of fur. A thin, whip-like tail ending in a spiked tip flicks back and forth behind it as it walks, each step sending a shutter through the Palace. 

My skin pricks with goosebumps. Some strange sort of alchemy made this thing.

“I was hoping to test it in the Arena, but with the repairs in order, I thought a smaller show would do just as well.”

My stomach hurdles into my throat.

“Why don’t we pick one of your champions to break it in, daughter?” The Emperor suggests as if this is a thought that just came to him and not something he’s been planning from the beginning. 

I take another sip of wine as I turn to look at him, trying to steady the rapid pounding of my heart. I can’t let one of them fight this thing! Its maw opens and snaps shut with a clack as it stands before us, growing impatient.

“I’d personally like to see Cassian’s thick skull get crushed like a watermelon,” Amarantha chimes in from her seat.

I’m really going to throw up right here in front of all these people.

“A splendid idea from our woman of the hour, don’t you think?” He grins like he’s caught me, like he knows I’ve been playing games and have walked right into his trap.

“Nothing can be as bad as listening to you speak, Amarantha,” Cassian snarls as he gets on his feet, effectively making the decision for me.

He cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders, wings ruffling behind him, but before he can step into the center of the room, he turns to face me, much to my surprise. Hands scarred from swordplay reach out to give the chain around his neck a little tug. “Mind letting me off the leash, Princess?”

One of the Praetorian steps forward to unchain him but I stand and snag the key from his hand instead. I’ve seen enough males get stabbed or injected with something right before a fight to give the opponent an upper hand to know I can’t trust anyone near him. And, maybe, just maybe, the act of giving him a little relief from the chain might make him not hate me so much.

My hands shake as I reach up to his neck to unclasp the chain. I know better than to take the whole collar off while there are so many people watching even if I wish I could. His breath is warm on my face as he watches me, waiting for his moment of freedom. The urge to stretch up on my toes and kiss him for luck is overwhelming; maybe in another life we could have. 

I step back with the chain in my hand and return to my seat before I can follow my impulses. 

Cassian turns to face his opponent and even though I saw him perform yesterday, I can’t shake the sinking feeling that I have just sent him to his death. The creature sizes him up like it's calculating the best spot to take a bite out of him and its beady eyes settle on the bandage tied around his bare thigh.

Rhysand leans forward, resting his chin on my shoulder to watch, arm loosely looped over my waist. It looks casual. No one bats an eye at the gesture, but I am pretty sure he’s done it so he can keep me from jumping off the couch.

Azriel leans forward, bracing himself with his knees on his elbows, hazel gaze tracking the steps of Cassian’s opponent as he also calculates its weak spots. 

“Let’s make it interesting, shall we?” The Emperor asks, leaning over to be heard over the rush of excitement the audience gives to the challengers.

I tear my gaze away from where I’m trying to memorize every line in Cassian’s wings, every curve of tattoo over his back and shoulders, just in case. “How so?”

“Cassian wins and I’ll let you pick their next opponent in the arena,” he suggests. 

I like the offer; it gives them a better chance at surviving. 

“Cassian loses, and you give Rhysand to Amarantha.”

The world flips and spins and the roaring in my ears has me clutching my hands in my skirts to keep a surge of power from destroying the room. My power singes the fabric, only the smoke from the mirthroot hides the smell. 

There is no way in Hel I am making that kind of bet!

Rhysand stiffens behind me, heartbeat skipping for half a moment before he pretends to be unbothered by the comment and takes another drag of the mirthroot. 

I’d rather throw myself on a blade than chance that. Cassian is an exceptional fighter, but I cannot take that risk. I am already risking his life by letting him fight like this, how can I risk both of them?

My chest aches. There are too many opportunities to lose them. Too many things that can go wrong. 

“And let our people think I am weak and incapable of following through on the deal we made yesterday?” I challenge. My voice trembles as I fight to hold his gaze steady. 

Azriel’s shadow hisses what sounds like a warning in my ear.

“You know if we split them up now it makes me look as if I can’t handle them.”

“Attached, are we?”

“No, but I am tired of looking weak,” I hiss. “If Amarantha wants them, she can challenge me for them herself.”

Rhysand stiffens behind me. The twins are too close for him to slip into my mind again, but I can practically feel him shouting at me down the bond.

She huffs a laugh around the other side of him, “As if you’d stand a chance in that!”

I ignore her as I hold my ground with my Father, “You have always thought so little of me.”

He doesn’t deny it.

“So if you really want to make this interesting, then fine. If Cassian wins, I pick when and who all their matches are with. And if he loses, well, you’ve already chosen a husband for me I’m sure, so you can speed up the process and I’ll provide them the heir you so desperately want by the end of the year.”

The bond shakes so hard in my chest it feels like Azriel’s screaming in my ear. Rhysand has gone still as death behind me and I didn’t think I said it that loud, but Cassian’s head whips in our direction, eyes wide.

Father throws his head back and laughs at that. “This new found confidence is amusing. I will allow you to pick the next two fights, but not all.”

Better than nothing.

“Deal.”

I think I can hear Azriel’s teeth grinding together beside me, so I force myself not to look at him. The bond thrums like he’s in physical pain and I hate that I have caused it, but I will not barter with their lives.

“To first blood!” The Emperor calls to the room.

“To the death!” Brannagh chants instead. 

When this whole Empire goes up in flames, I’m pushing her in first.

The crowd begins to murmur to themselves, debating. “I’ll put some money on it if they fight to the death,” Tamlin tosses out. 

“As will I!” Shouts a commander whose name I’d never learned.

The motion goes around the room in a full circle, by the time the Emperor concedes, I’ve drank my full glass and abandoned it on the couch. Didn’t we just do this?

The Praetorians provide blades for the two males, but the Emperor’s creature can’t hold the blade with its claw tipped hands and tosses it to the ground with a screech. Its barbed tip tail draws back behind it as it drops into a defensive stance. 

I forget how to breathe as Cassian drops into his own.

Time slows in a familiar sensation of undiluted horror as the creature moves first, striking forward with its tail like a spear. Cassian pivots back a step, rearranging his feet as he blocks with the sword.

The crowd cheers excitedly and I distantly recognize coins changing hands as they take bets, but cannot tear my eyes away enough to watch who is participating in it. Cassian remains on the defensive as the creature rears its tail back and attacks from the other side of its body this time, testing the Illyrian’s reaction time. When the strike is blocked a second time, it switches tactics and goes for a punch, talons extended towards Cassian’s face.

While the creature is taller, it is not as agile, and Cassian side steps out of the way of the blow, using the momentum to lunge into the next step and strike the tip of his sword across his opponent’s stomach. Its ear shattering screech shakes the room as the blade makes contact, drawing black blood. If it wasn’t for Brannagh, the challenge would be over, Cassian would have won. It would have been easy for once.

Enraged, the creature strikes with its talons again, missing a second time, but catching Cassian in the jaw on the backswing. The whole room can hear Cassian’s teeth clack together as he stumbles backwards.

It takes everything in me not to squeeze my eyes shut, not to wince and react to every blow. I have to keep telling myself that this is part of the game and I cannot give them away, but by the Mother it is harder and harder with every passing second!

Rhysand remains with his chin propped up on my shoulder, the bulk of his weight keeping me in my seat. I so desperately want to reach out and take his hand, give myself something to ground in, but I can’t. I have to accept that this might be all we’re ever allowed to touch, especially after today.

The creature strikes again with its tail, once, twice, a third, each like a punch. The third blow shatters Cassian’s sword into pieces and my heart plummets into my stomach as he dodges a fourth assault. He’s not so fast on the fifth and that barbed tip punches right through his bandaged thigh! Blood splatters as the tips hurdles through muscle and sinew until it pushes through the back of his leg.

One of the dignitaries' wives reaches for a bucket and wretches as Cassian’s roar of pain rattles my teeth. 

Azriel flinches, looking like he might just jump into the fight and stop it, but then catches himself. 

The bond screams and bashes against my insides as my powers flare again, singing more of my skirts as I hold them in a death grip that only worsens as the creature yanks the barb back out of Cassian’s leg, bringing him to the floor. Blood pours from the wound from both ends, cascading down his calf to make a puddle on the stark white tile.

There’s enough of my skirts to hide the motion, Rhysand buries his hand beneath them to hold onto my hip tight enough to bruise. I don’t know if that’s to keep me in place or himself. 

The creature snarls out a noise that sounds like triumph as it pulls its hand back, aiming to use its claws to sever Cassian’s head.

Not again! Not again! Not again!

I have to stop this! I have to do something!

At the last second, Cassian throws himself out of the way, knees tucked to his chest as he rolls out of reach, right to where the creature’s discarded sword lies. He snags the blade with a grunt, one hand pressed to the gaping wound in his thigh as he pushes himself back onto his feet. His face twists in pain at the slightest movement, but he manages to stay upright. 

Rhysand breathes a little easier behind me, but his grip on my hip hasn’t let up.

The Emperor frowns beside us, displeased with the outcome thus far no doubt. He really expected this to be easy. 

The creature strikes again, sticking to what it has found successful, and it becomes a mistake. Cassian twists at the last second, blade raised so when the strike comes, he doesn’t need to block it. At this angle, not only does it miss him, he has a height advantage and he brings the sword down as hard as he can, cleaving the tail in half. The barbed tip hits the floor twitching as the creature reels backward and wails.

Holy shit! I’ve seen a lot of warriors in my life, but I don’t think I’d ever describe them as beautiful until now. Each move is calculated, backed with training and muscle. His tattoos seem to come to life with his body as his muscles shift and strike. 

He doesn’t let up as his opponent stumbles back either, he uses the distraction to his advantage and plunges the sword into the creature’s shoulder. He might have been aiming for the heart, but the wound in his leg gives him too great a limp to lunge far on. The blade catches in bone, the resounding crunch deafening in the domed ceiling, and when he reels back to pull it out, he twists it just enough to make his opponent’s arm absolutely useless.

With two of its preferred methods of fighting gone, the creature bends at the waist and charges with a roar, hoping to use its horns like a battering ram into Cassian’s chest.

An otherwise horrifying sight, if Cassian didn’t laugh and step dramatically out of the way so the creature rams right into the wall. “Is that really all you’ve got?” He taunts as a rain of dust falls on his head. 

The creature screeches as it yanks itself free from the wall and shakes its head, clearing the debris from its beady eyes. 

Cassian spins the blade in his hand, adjusting his grip, and I think it might be one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen in my life.

He can’t crouch with his leg, but he doesn’t need to. The creature tries to ram him again and he dodges and brings his hilt down on its neck, knocking it to the floor. He wastes no time in rearing back with the blade and bringing it down, easily cleaving the creature’s head from its shoulders. 

Amarantha throws up her hands in a huff at the sight.

I finally take what feels like my first breath in an hour as Cassian tosses the blade on the floor. He did it! He won!

Azriel removes his elbows from his knees and reclines back against the armrest, clearly satisfied with the outcome. 

“Excellent! Excellent!” Praises the steward as he goes about helping anyone who placed bets collect their proper earnings. 

I tear my gaze away from the carnage to the nearest guard, “Find him a healer, now.” Before he bleeds out on the floor or Father decides he has another champion he wants to test. 

The Emperor takes a long drink from his goblet, eyes narrowed on the severed head the staff has to now clean off the floor. Around him, his dignitaries drink and argue over why they bet the way they did. It is business as usual, completely unbothered by the blood around them. 

When he finally turns to me, I have to brace myself against the anger simmering in his eyes. This is usually the part where I put my chin to my chest and try to make myself as small as possible. Usually. But not today. 

“It seems I’ve underestimated their talent for bloodshed.”

Cassian hobbles back over to us and I make a show of telling Azriel to help him before he gets blood everywhere, so no one thinks I just let them wander off on their own. 

“The Games will continue at the start of next week,” the Emperor continues.

That gives us days. I try not to look at the gaping hole in Cassian’s thigh. Thank the Mother it looks like it missed bone, but how is he supposed to participate with that? There’s no way it heals in time, even if I have Ember work twelve hours a day on him.

“I expect you to have their opponent picked out by the Senate meeting in the morning. You still have that end of your bargain to uphold.”

This victory will not be without repercussions, but it is still a victory nonetheless, and we have to take what we can get.

--

Managing to procure the mirthroot I need to trick my Father into thinking I’m following through with the regime I’d given him, as well as finding horses for the Illyrians to ride back on takes longer than usual, given the massive partying happening in the streets. We have to take the backroads home to avoid being pelted with more rocks, or outright mobbed. Compared to the rest of the day, the journey is uneventful, spent mostly with the others ensuring Cassian doesn’t pass out on the horse. 

The sun is already changing colors by the time we return to the River House, but I know if I try to prepare for bed now I’ll never sleep. Instead, I leave Anise with instructions to look into potentially safe opponents in the Arena, so when I see Eris again tomorrow I can compare their notes, and then set out for the Temple built on the edge of the property. 

I doubt there are enough blood offerings and animal sacrifices to cleanse the sins of this Empire, but I offer as many as I can in apology for my part in it. I don’t know how I’ve been so blind to all of it. I can’t stop seeing it now, it should have always been so obvious to me.

The Priestesses do not ask why I linger for over an hour, praying long past the time it takes for my offerings to burn atop the altar. I’d hoped that, if I said them hard enough, the weight of the day would slip off my shoulders. I’d thought, with enough sacrifices, the guilt would ease, but I can still feel my mates’ agitation and pain clearly through the bond. 

I return to the House as weary as before. Tomorrow will be a whole new set of problems. I cannot put it off by lingering in the Temple. 

The walk doesn’t clear my head, or loosen the tension, and I climb into the tub with that same heaviness still clinging to my skin. I heat the water as hot as I can, hoping it might cleanse me in a way my sacrifices couldn’t.

Exhaustion creeps its way in as I scrub and scrub and scrub until my skin is pink. Every time I close my eyes I can see the crucified bodies, gasping for air as they slowly suffocate under the weight of their own body pinned to the wood. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that sight; I can only imagine how it would feel to know each of those males before this. The bond still swirls beneath my skin, heavy with agitation the hot water can’t touch. 

I wish there was a way to take that from them, but how can I do that without calling attention to the mating bond? 

I give myself a few extra minutes in the blissful heat before dragging myself out and tossing a silk robe over my waterlogged skin. My brush is on the vanity where Anise left it this morning and I have just started to brush the knots out of my hair when I hear the bedroom door open. My hand stills halfway through my hair; it is unlike Anise to not announce herself when it’s this late. 

The door clicks shut again, the eerie silence that follows enough to make my heart drop into my stomach. The darkness of the room makes it hard to see beyond the candlelight that fills the bathing chamber and my hand goes instinctively into the vanity drawer, where my Mother had always kept an extra knife. The blade is cool in my fingers, the handle smooth and undamaged from never being used. The benefit of having constant guards is you usually never see the threats against you, though there are always exceptions.

There’s no footsteps on the carpet, but I can practically feel movement next to my bed. 

I’m a sitting duck here among all the candlelight, but if I step into the darkness beyond I’ll be totally blind. Better to wait for something to make itself known. 

I suppose there’s enough guards around, I can always start screaming for help if it comes down to it.

A heartbeat passes before something dark and snakelike comes slithering across the floor. The ether loops itself around my ankle and crawls up my thigh like a purring cat before the shadow takes its perch behind my ear.

I set the knife on the vanity with a sigh of relief as Azriel steps into the light. “You scared the shit out of me!”

His shadow caresses the back of my ear in apology, far more expressive now than it was earlier. “Sorry.”

He side steps out of the doorway, but not in my direction, which is odd until Rhysand steps out of the shadows behind him.

“How did you two get in here?”

“Found the lever on the door to your secret tunnel,” Azriel says as his eyes trace up my bare legs, brazenly taking in all the damp skin I have on display.

Heat flushes up my cheeks and I have to look away from him. The candlelight and the hour of the evening makes this feel more intimate than it should, given the way Rhysand looks like he might burst out of his skin. I certainly shouldn’t be entertaining the idea that Azriel would look at me as anything other than a means to an end. Hope is too dangerous a thing to have right now. Just because we agreed to do this, doesn’t mean they’re anxious to accept me as anything other than help. Besides, I need to remind myself that it will be even more dangerous for us than it already is if we were to acknowledge the bond.

 “We were careful, no one saw us,” Azriel assures.

I should be relieved that they’re being safe about it, but the frown on Rhysand’s face makes me rethink it.

“What the hell were you thinking back there?!” He snarls.

Normally, that kind of outburst from a male would make me jump back in surprise, but at this point I’m too exhausted to move, let alone figure out what the hell he’s referring to. “I’ve had a lot of thoughts today, Rhysand, you will have to be more specific.”

The chain rattles around his neck as he steps further into the room, like it's fighting to hold back his powers. “Your bet with Hybern!”

Ah, right. That. “What of it?” Is he really still upset about that? Cassian won, nothing was lost.

Azriel winces and the shadow at my ear hisses in warning. 

“What of it?” He repeats, his voice rising to an octave just shy of shrill, like he can’t believe he heard me right. “You can’t just offer yourself up like that!”

“And what was my alternative?”

“He gave you an alternative!” He seethes. “All you had to do was say yes!”

I fold my arms over my chest in irritation, but I don’t miss the way both their eyes dip to my chest at the motion. “Oh so it’s ok for you to put your body on the line, but I can’t do the same with my own? Seems a little hypocritical, if you ask me.”

“That’s different!”

“How so?”

He’s inched his way into my space step by step, until I’m very aware of the jasmine and citrus scent of him. Sometime after he returned home he’d changed into the clothes I’d had laid out for him, the swirl of ink along his chest just barely poking out around the dark collar. Even hidden, the urge to reach out with my hands and trace the swirls with my fingers remains. 

“Because,” he says through his teeth. “It’s not a deal I can live with.”

“You don’t have to live with it because Cassian won anyway,” I retort, tearing my gaze away to look at Azriel. Rhysand is too close to me like this. I can barely think past the urge to touch him, let alone hold the argument like I need to. “Tell him he’s being ridiculous.”

Azriel folds his arms over his chest and frowns. “He’s not. You shouldn’t have made that deal.”

I throw my hands up and push past Rhysand, trying to give myself room to breathe. “You two are impossible!”

They follow like I’m still holding onto their leashes, footsteps somehow impossibly silent despite their size.  

“You’re honestly going to stand there and tell me you’d rather I offered you up to Amarantha?”

“If it meant you were safe,” Rhysand snarls. “Yes.”

I find myself gritting my teeth, a snarl working its way up my throat. “Well that’s not a deal I could live with, Rhysand.” 

Their legs are a hell of a lot longer than mine, Rhysand manages to snag my arm and turn me back around to face him before I make it more than three steps into the darkness of my chambers. 

His face looks strained, eyes rimmed red. He has to be exhausted. The bond feels fragile, strained from all the emotions that have been blared down it today. “I need you to find a way to deal with it,” he says, voice verging on pleading. 

I hate myself, but I can’t help but wonder what the hand holding onto my bicep would feel like travelling down the rest of my body. 

“Whatever you have to tell yourself, whatever you have to do, I… We need you to find a way to live with it.”

Azriel comes to stand on the other side of him, so they’re nearly shoulder to shoulder. “If Cass had lost and you had to…” even in the dim light coming from the bathroom I can see the heaviness in his eyes. 

I glance back and forth between them. “You’ve all suffered enough, I can handle myself. I knew what I was doing.”

Rhysand shakes his head, “I can bear a lot of things, but not that.”

Hope is a cruel bastard, and I’ve never learned to master it. “Why? What does it matter to you?”

He lifts the hand not holding onto my arm, fingers just barely brushing over my damp cheek and my heartbeat is suddenly very loud in my own ears. His mouth opens like he might say something, and then he clamps it shut again, debating with himself over the words.

While he can’t seem to find the words, Azriel’s scarred hand reaches out to gently grab my chin and tilt my face in his direction. “It matters,” he huffs, voice low and rich and the reverberations of it send shivers down my spine. “Because you’re our mate.”

------

Author's Note: Hehe was gonna wait for the reveal at the end but couldn't bring myself to do it. Let me know what you thought about it! And as always, if you want to be added to the taglist, let me know :)

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[iwaasfairy]

┌─ “ ! „ CADAVER

tw. wound fucking, blood, gore, don’t read this if you’re squeamish!!, somnophilia, oral, noncon, megumi is delusional in this, yandere, belly bulge but gross! , cannibalistic thoughts wordcount. 6.4k

a/n. this one,,, was me pushing myself to just go buck wild, and channel my inner junji, and i think i got somewhere with it... a select few of you will understand me when i say that ,, this is like my love letter to megumi fr ♡ like i said though, this one might be the one that has people a little yucked out but! it's basically my halloween fic, for the spooky month

fushiguro megumi x fem!reader

When the rattling of the stretcher finally quiets in the halls and the rising rate of adrenaline starts to flatten out, Megumi’s lost on what to do. Any of the other sorcerers can’t decide what the next step is either, it seems. Yuji with his back pressed against the glass and staring off into the empty part of the hall they just came from, and principal Yaga a stern quietness and arms crossed. Ieiri-san will do her best work today of any days if there’s anything to be done about it, but Megumi can tell. That uncertainty hangs over all of them as the faint breathing of a collapsed body grows more pitched and panicked.

Megumi always sort of hated you. He didn’t like you from the second he first met you, and it just grew and grew and grew from there. He hates your stupid demeanor with your higher-than-thou morals and your sky-high milestones and that grin that could make even the coldest heart split in two. It doesn’t escape him that this is the same reason he always did enjoy Maki, but you were — more recognizable to him, and yet somehow much further away.

He always hated the way he’d catch himself watching the soft motion of your lashes, or how your mouth would form words, the heat that would carry color to your face. He always hated the quiet moments you’d sit by his side, rattling his heart out of his chest and laughing at him for his hot cheeks; and he always hated how you’d be the thought on his mind right after he’d made sure his own limbs hadn’t yet been blown to bits. But standing with his hands covered in a coating of blood that isn’t his, dripping onto the panes of the old flooring, he wonders what that hatred ever really got him. It never helped him understand you better, that for someone so alike himself, you were so much better at everything.

His chest is rising and falling too fast.

Gojo’s too late, always is when it comes down to the wire, Megumi thinks as the lankier man rushes through and stops a few feet away from them. Yaga’s brow pinches, before he lifts his head the slightest bit to acknowledge the white blond. “What’s the status,” Gojo has to ask, and before he has another conscious thought, Megumi’s furiously rubbing his hands over his sweater in an attempt to get the blood off while his teeth clack with how hard he’s clenching them. There’s a thickness between his ears that makes everything sound far off. The blood stains his fingers the more he rubs, and his face gets hotter and hotter as it lasts.

But he thinks he hears the principal explain.

How you had been pinned down and knocked clean out, head bashed against the concrete pillars. How Megumi had been too busy trying and failing to keep the uglier curse from blasting you both to shit, to notice. How the other special grade had picked you up by the neck and unceremoniously shoved something into your mouth and pushed until it went down your throat - until you started convulsing, spitting out blood and bile before he could reach you. Megumi hadn’t taken the time to look then, but he knows now what it was, slimy, decaying contents of a little vial that had gone missing a few months ago.

“The girl must’ve been a real good match.” Yaga pushes his fingers to his brow, as if forcibly trying to push the frown down. “Ieiri’s doing what she can.” It doesn’t make any of them feel better when Gojo clicks his tongue and aims his eyes at the door, before casting a quick glance at Megumi under thick, blond lashes. He wants to puke. He’d shoved his fingers down your throat for what felt like hours, trying desperately to get you to throw up the curse. Had carried you all the way back while you were sobbing and wailing in pain. Nothing.

If even the worst case repeats itself, they’ll have another incarnation on their hands, and the noose will be tightened around your throat. Yuji must have already realized this, because he’s yet to say anything since you’d been tied onto the stretcher with blood pouring out of your nose and ears and coughing up grime. Megumi’s not even sure if Ieiri would hesitate to put you down without a second warning before it gets to the same turning point. And he is pissed. At the situation, his friends, himself, you. He’s so angry his hands shake, and so angry tears start stinging behind his eyes, feeling like any motion might cause him to throw up. He hates you.

+

Your chest’s rising with big motions up and down, up and down, as you drum your feet on his bedsheets like an excited rabbit. Megumi grunts, snatches the book from your hands and tosses it back down with the others that were not-so-neatly stacked on his desk. Your shape on his bed makes a dent in his mind that he’ll have to keep replaying over and over when he closes his eyes, and it has a frown pulling his eyebrows down automatically. “So grumpy,” you yawn, and also roll over onto your stomach to tuck your legs to your core, lifting one hand to rest your face into it.

“This isn’t your room.”

“Might as well be,” you giggle back, and he watches for a moment as your hair falls along your shoulders in a gentle brush, making you look even more enchanting. You’re soft and parts of you are shiny like silk, seemingly oozing your rosy, peachy aura all over his stuff. You catch his eyes for just a few breaths, still rising your chest too distractingly, before you push yourself up and slide off the bed to walk up to him. He pivots to thumb through the notes on his desk again, to be farther away from your face probably, and his shoulders rise into an uncomfortable pinch when you approach, feet patting on his floor. “Megumi.” You say his name with a clear pout.

Then heat covers his skin at the base of his throat and he freezes, letting the way you drag your soft lips over his pulse fill him up entirely. His hands shake too hard to keep a grip on the paper, so he spins you around and shoves you back against the desk as you hiss at the sudden painful grip, his fist wrapped into the collar of your shirt. “I already told you to stop doing that.” He hisses, and your eyes are wide and glittering like diamonds, beautiful color peering up at him.

“But you like it when I do that,” you whisper back ever so softly, and his head feels like it’s splitting at the seams, cracking his skull under a non-escapable pressure. He can’t think, can’t even eat normally without the ghost of you hanging over him and shaking him up. It’s unbearable even when you’re not around. His fist unclenches from the flimsy fabric to instead grip your chin with his thumb, and his heart bangs against his ribcage harder than can be normal. Harder than is healthy. A little thought in the back of his skull begs to push. Just once, deny you from digging your claws deeper into him— but he’s already melted to your shape before he can blink.

His face drops like you’re magnetic, thighs pushing you further into the desk and also into him; and it’s truly embarrassing that his hands are still shaking like they do. You lean in when he does, and let your lips meet his hungry, treacherous mouth, other hand sliding to your waist to pull you closer. Your tongue brushes his and he implodes inside, and he swears it hurts to be this close to you.

Not that you care. Your arms wind around his neck to pull him even closer, and his blood feels like it’s boiling under his skin.

+

He finds himself wandering back to the quieter wing of the school when the sun’s already dipped far past the horizon, and the cold starts picking up. He’s dragging his feet, so he won’t fucking rush back to the room he finds himself thinking about so fast he stumbles. He’s glaring at the patterns in the floorboards so he doesn’t cry. You’re stable- quiet puffs of air escaping your nose every few seconds, but you’re still under surveillance. As far as the clans are concerned, they’ll put something sharp between your eyes sooner rather than later, before whatever’s slumbering inside you wakes up. But Gojo’s fighting for you. It makes him grimace to think about.

Knocking his knuckles onto the doorframe, he enters the dimly lit room. Nanami doesn’t stand when he spots him, but does uncross his legs as he takes a deep breath. Neither of them speak for a while, and the dark haired man takes that time to run his eyes over you. You’re not as dirty as you were when you first got back, shivering and shaking. You’re no longer dripping with blood, though he’s sure if he were to look close enough, he’d still be able to see flecks of it between your cracked lips. As he walks up, he finds himself thinking that you look strangely peaceful, and that doesn’t seem entirely right.

Save for the bloody mark that seems branded into your forehead, you look like you’re quietly sleeping on the metal slab that supports your body. After all the pain and agony you’ve caused in him, sleepless nights and long days of wondering, hoping you’d be okay. Why is it that he’s the one affected by you? Why is it that he’s the one who’s going to have to say goodbye again? He stares at your unmoving form as if that’ll give him an answer, but it doesn’t. And the pit in his stomach swells again. He’s just so angry all the time. Megumi breathes out. “It’s my turn to take watch for a while.”

“You’re early,” Nanami’s deep baritone chastises, but he gets up from the seat anyway. He smooths out the wrinkles in his suit, before slowly placing a hand on the other’s shoulder. The weight is heavy, and somehow doesn’t soothe him at all. But there’s an attempt, he guesses. He’s still not entirely sure why everyone is looking at him like he’s the one who needs it most, broken and disheveled and mourning. He’s been able to finish his tasks like everyone else has, and he can banish the thought of you when he’s supposed to focus on work— at least, mostly. He doesn’t need the fucking pity. “Want some coffee? Or green tea?” Nanami asks, letting his hand slide off when Megumi shrugs.

“No. I’m okay.”

The older man seems to hesitate, simply nodding when he walks past. Before closing the door behind him, he once again clears his voice, and Megumi turns over his shoulder. The blond has this look in his eyes, of pity, as he talks. “Megumi, there’s a chance she pulls through.” Why again - that fucking pity? “Don’t give up.” Though it makes him tingle with an unbearable sort of itch deep under the skin, he grits his teeth, and his brain’s hot and irritated when he responds.

“I wasn’t going to.” Nanami doesn’t seem to believe him, but still softly slides the door closed behind him, and when the footsteps grow softer and softer, Megumi allows for a second to collect himself. He braces his hands onto the metal as he leans in, close enough to feel just the slightest bit of your warmth on his fingers, and see the way you’re still breathing, though shallow, too faint for his liking. His brows pinch when he finds himself with his forehead pressed to your stomach, hunched over like he’s praying at your shrine or something. But he can’t help it.

As much time as he spent beside you with a frown on his face, it never feels enough. He can’t stay away, like it’s an involuntary thing— you leave him no choice in the matter. Even here in the darkness, whining softly into your wheezed breaths, it isn’t enough to be beside you. He can’t do anything from here at your bedside; and that uselessness makes him feel even more uneasy. He needs to be closer to you. Wants to be so close you two get stuck together and melt together like an inseparable entity, would want to crawl inside you if he could.

His nose presses into the clean shirt that smells like your laundry, as he clenches his fists so hard along the table edge they start to ache. His eyes are pressed closed tight when he allows him just a second to nose below your sternum, and that uncomfortable stinging sensation comes back to his eyes. “Fucking idiot,” his lips brush against your covered skin, taking in the lack of heat, of your smell and the way you sounded with his face buried there, “I didn’t mean it.”

+

“Aw, ow, ow, Megumi~” You pout with a pitched whine as his hand stays screwed around your knee for a little longer, keeping you trapped under his heavier, taller body so that you start wiggling. Your head falls back against his arm, and you lean to press a few kisses to his wrist that’s holding your own to the floor. “Be more gentle.” You pout when you pull back and flash him that fucking look that sends icy shivers down his spine, and exactly nothing else. “You can be gentle, can’t you?” Every other part of him flushes with heat under your doe-eyed, pitiful look, definitely when you start wiggling out of his grasp like you’re suddenly over the game.

You started it. He wouldn’t put himself in your range on purpose. When you’re about halfway out from under his crouched form, you sit up to be face to face; and you brush your hand past his ear, down his jaw and neck and trail his collarbones, all places he’s convinced are now stained a bright, obnoxious pink from his flush. You let your fingers linger when you tilt your head aside a bit so you can slot your lips over his into a sweet, little kiss, and you pull your lips into another pout. “Swear you’re doing it to hurt me sometimes. I’m never trying to hurt you, you know.” A few strands of hair fall over your eye when you sit below him, and he has to fight every single muscle in his body not to push it back for you.

He wants to see your eyes. He wants you to see him like this, pinned under you like the attraction you render him as— his body collapses on top of you as you start giggling all fucking cutely, and his heart races more than it ever has. Your heartbeat drums into his face when he buries it into your softness, chest against his cheek, too long for his own sanity before he drags himself off you. And it is a drag. His entire body starts feeling sluggish when you’re this close to him, close enough to drown himself in your scent. He won’t ever say it, but that scent gets him hard and awfully mellow all at once, his cock coming to life in his pants before he’s moving.

You look happy. Your eyes are those bright, gentle colors that rain down on him, and your lips are quirked into a soft smile, you must know what you’re doing to him. Setting him up for failure again. He huffs and pushes himself onto his back instead, knocking his head to the floor while you’re moving from the rug - splaying your knees either side of him before you nuzzle right back on top of his chest and make it even harder to get a breath, let alone catch it. He’s sure he’s panting a little when you leave your warmth draped all over him, and you don’t do anything other than be there.

His arms are still on the floor, his body rigid under you, but you’re softly giggling into his peck before he frowns down at you again when you catch his eyes. “What?”

“Your heart is beating super fast,” you admit, not proud, not gloating - just stating the fact, and heat overtakes his neck now too. Instead of letting you wind him up any further, he bucks you off and switches positions again, now with your two wrists caught in his hands as you squeak with the ache that probably lodges in your back.

“Can you get off of me?” He sits back on his feet, not letting go of your hands yet, before your eyes flutter and you grab him back. Well, brush your fingers over the skin you can reach, pawing at him just enough to tickle. “What’s with you today?” he bites back, and also snatches his hands back to escape the onslaught of feelings that wash over him. You don’t sit up this time, and from the tilt of your head, you’re considering your answer for a while before you speak out.

“Do you like me, Megumi?” Fuck. His room seems to collapse in on itself. Or, maybe it’s his body— because he gets a little more short of breath, and his thoughts short circuit as his mouth stupidly drops open. He’s choked up for long enough that he has to clear his voice to try an answer, and even then, he gets stuck. You’re studying him so closely it must show. The blaring warmth that fills him up and makes his ears bright red. After another second, your eyes seem to dim slightly, as you push your cheek to your shoulder, opening yourself up to even more attacks. “Love y’, ‘gumi.”

+

He straightens up with enough tightness in his chest to choke him, makes his eyes sting and his head blare cold, painful warnings— he grabs some of the glasses from the small table beside him, launches it straight into the wall until it shatters into a million pieces upon impact. The loud clang doesn’t do anything to settle his anger, where he fists his hands into his hair and pulls, in hopes the worry will somehow vanish.

“Why do you always have to be such a hero?” he hisses, even though you can’t answer now, “wouldn’t it have been enough to just stay here with me?!” He tilts your face to his and drops his lips to yours, and that familiar softness is enough to have him clenching his eyes shut again against the tears. He kisses you until your mouth opens a bit, then slides his tongue up against yours and grips your shoulders, pulling your limp body towards him more. “I’ll be better to you.” He pleads. You don’t move, and the breaths going over his cheeks are so shallow.

But he can’t stop himself from tangling your tongue with his, licking into your mouth and chasing the warmth until he runs out of breath. You’re so fucking pretty still. He kisses you again, bumping teeth, and grips your hip hard as he lays over you a little more, chest to chest and feeling it brush against him with each soft pant he lets out, each gravelly moan. It doesn’t hurt so much to brush his tongue against yours, to swallow your taste on his tongue until his lips numb — but while it doesn’t ache, it’s also not enough. Before he’s able to think about the morality of his actions, his thumbs are hooking under your shirt and pushing it up, over your soft belly and ribcage all the way up until it’s over your tits, where his lips travel to as soon as the skin’s exposed. You’re so soft still, too.

He’s not sure what he’s doing other than leaving messy, open mouth kisses onto you, kneading your skin between his hands as all the warmth in his body pools into his groin. Your tits are sucked into his mouth, one then the other, as he rubs his face into the doughy skin, then he’s pulling and pinching at your tits like he knows makes you whimper. The sound’s burned into his working memory, and it drives him on to run his face down your soft body to the part where your thighs meet. The skin just above your skirt of the softest, warmest, and he full on moans when his cock twitches hard in his pants and he reaches down to grab himself.

Normally you’d be blinking up at him now, sending him that little look with grabby hands, ready to wrap your puffy lips around him— it’s different when it’s his hand screwed around himself and not even moving yet. he can’t, or he’ll cum in his pants, and he’s not going to waste his cum like that when your warm pussy’s right before him. He’s shaky when he pushes the fabric up, flipping it over your tummy; and groans again when he licks down your panties and mouths at the seat of it. It tastes so much like you his eyes roll back, and his knees give a little, while more precum leaks out of him and into his pants.

He frees his hands momentarily to slide you to the edge of the metallic table, two hands gripping your butt and squeezing, then hooking his finger in your panties to just pull them aside. He doesn’t care about the chaffing he’ll have. Not even a second thought when your little pussy is in front of him, and he pushes his mouth to you for some open mouthed kisses, down to your pussy and back up. Wrapping his mouth around your clit, he sucks hard, and rubs the bud a few times with his tongue. He swears your breathing goes more pitched and heavier when he does, when his fingers trail down your puffier lips to rub the bit of wetness around.

His cock’s painfully hard in his pants, and after a few more times licking you up and down so that your slick covers the entire bottom half of his face, he pushes the zipper down and then takes himself out to watch how red and sore the head of his cock already is, oozing pre and coating both his boxers and his shaft. He spits into his hand to give himself a few tight-wrung pumps, tighter than he likes normally- if he doesn’t, he’ll spill all over your cute, little pussy. He pushes his fingertips inside your now wetter cunt, watching it wink and beg for something to fill, and groans when one finger slides in with ease.

Your soft walls are still soft and hot around him, giving mean licks over your clit again and again in a way that would normally overstimulate you too easily. You don’t whimper or whine now, take his finger nice and sweet inside your squelching, gooey walls, only making a little noise when he slides in a second and he can feel the slight bit of stretching you need. He’s dripping onto the table now, balls tight and heavy - imagines how you moan and look when you’re sucking on them and you smack your lips with each open mouthed kiss or lick. You between his legs is always enough to have his knees giving, and it’s no different now, he has to hold himself up against you before he thinks better of it.

You’re slid back on the table too easily, making room for him when he pushes one of your legs aside— and let out a slight gasp when he hoists himself over your body. He just wants you. So bad. It’s not so embarrassing when you’re not awake to see how fucking crazy he looks, flushed, cock twitching between his legs as he strains to kiss you again, lick over your tongue for more of your taste, and breathes your name. “Baby, fuck- I need to be inside you.” He wants to hide away in your safety forever. A crystalline, fucked up thought springs up in his mind for just a second, but he banishes that with a few blinks.

Instead he lines himself up over your hot, needy pussy and pushes inside just the head at first, grunting tightly at the softness that envelops him. His whole body shudders as he pushes in deeper, feeling that pit in his stomach expand with each inch that he goes deeper, tangles his fingers with yours when he bottoms out and fills you up so well. You’re curled into his touch, and he kisses you, his thoughts blanking as he pulls back, and snaps his hips back inside you. You’re hot and wet and it feels so fucking good, clenching your hand inside his larger one. It’s not fair. He’s losing his mind, and you’re always the end of him.

His cock rubs against your swollen insides with rough, imprecise strokes — he doesn’t mean to, it’s just that trying to focus on anything other than the heat as he slides in and out of your tight pussy is too much. You’re too much; you’re haunting him even now. He kisses down your face to your neck, sucks on your skin and bites down hard enough to make a serious mark, wanting to hear you cry. Normally, you’d cry out his name so pretty, dig your nails into his back until he’s letting you go and grinding back on his cock, but you can’t do that now. His cockhead bumps your spot each time he fucks himself into you further, but it’s not enough.

It’s never been enough. He wants to be closer to you, and that horrible image that was launched into his head creeps back up before his eyes, bloody and horrible. Maybe he always told himself that he hated you because - no matter how much he fought, he would never be able to stomach actually hurting you as much as it hurts him. But now, withering on top of you as his cock thumps with how much blood rushes south, everything else falls away. He wants to claw and bite and carve his way to your insides and make you pay just a little for his sins. His body is coated in a thin sheen of sweat, thighs pumping blood through his body to his lungs, his gut, his cock.

He pulls out of you to kiss down your tits and over your covered ribs, thumbing over the head of his cock and gliding it over your puffy clit, your wet pussy lips and flicking it just in and out of your drooling cunt— before he puts a sloppy few kisses there too, tongue coated in slick. The blood pumps through his head so hard he feels dizzy, pounding behind his eyes as the heat of your cunt overwhelms him entirely. It’s too hard to stay sane -he’s never felt less sane than now- when you’re laying below him like this, ready to leave him all alone. You wormed your way into his heart when he didn’t want it, and now, now that’s all about to end.

His mouth is dry, but he’s drooling as he grips your thigh and kneads the doughy skin of your tummy— looking so soft and warm and perfectly shaped for him. He wants -needs, needs it, to feel you swallow him, ruin him- to cut you open and eat your insides out with the sick force of what he’s feeling right now— he groans your name again, desperately trying and failing to get it out of his head— the more he tries the better it feels to think it. Despite having his fist around the base of his cock, stings of white shoot over your body as he crumples in on himself and paints you with his cum. He’s still hard though, painfully so, and as soon as he’s done cumming he can already feel the building urge to do it again, trailing his shaking fingers down to your clenching pussy and rubbing your clit until your body starts wiggling back just a little too.

Megumi wants to go, bury this urge down and never think of it again. He really does— but it’s like he’s possessed, drooling over your body and flicking his cock in and out of your pussy without sliding back in. He might’ve had it wrong this whole time, but if this is love - God, he loves you, he loves, loves, loves you so much he’s not ever going to have enough. Can’t ever say goodbye, not when his entire soul’s been bound to yours, has been rotted away into nothing like this. There’s only you, and him; and he can’t get close enough to make this fucking feeling go away.

With black spots swimming over his vision, he’s not sure what he’s doing until he’s knelt on the floor and shards of glass cut his knees open through his pants; he doesn’t feel it - just trembles as he gets one of the larger shards and crawls back to you, right between your plush thighs as he kisses your face over and over until he feels like he’ll be sick. “Forgive me when you wake up, baby.” It doesn’t really sound like him anymore, faint and messy as he ruts his cock against the inside of your thigh and stares at your face for a little longer. He paws at your tummy again, maybe it’s the lack of oxygen - he feels like he hasn’t taken a breath in ages - or the fact that all his blood is cleary in his swollen cock, hot and heavy.

He kisses you again, pants against your chest as he watches between your two bodies as one arm keeps him up, and the other drags the shard of glass below your belly button just hard enough to create a little cut. He just- just wants to be a little closer, you’ll let him, you’ll let him- he’s been so fucking mean to you and if he can just do this, he’ll make it up to you. Specks of blood well up that he swipes his thumb through to slide it into his mouth, get used to the taste of copper on his tongue. Sometimes he bites your lip hard enough to split it, and you tear up and whine, tangle your fingers in his hair.

He could cum on the spot when you yank like that, but the taste now isn’t enough. As he pushes the shard of glass into your skin harder, watching one layer make way for another, tougher tissue that still gives when he grids down a little- he waits for the moment where he feels bad, regrets and walks it all back- but the feeling doesn’t come. Your body looks so pretty like this, robbed of your innocence by his hands; and he doesn’t wanna cum yet, fuck. The adrenaline swimming in his head is pounding too hard to feel anything other than love for you, and the pulling, almost unbearable sensation of wanting to slide back into you. The blood pools around the hole as he slides along, hearing the skin squelch and snap, building a sweat along his neck and collar. Maybe you’d lick it up if you were awake.

The blood runs, covers his entire fist that’s wrapped tight around the glass, it creates little rivers that you’ll both be laying in soon. He coughs, before kissing you below your jaw, feeling the weak pulse beneath his lips— and righting himself to look at his work with a better angle, groaning. There’s both more blood and less than he expected, pooling in your belly button, all over your pretty pussy, his thighs and hands- his cock not yet. He drops the glass aside as he thumbs over the wound and sure enough- he’s cut through fat and muscle and sinew without too much struggle, because you’re soft all over.

He pushes the fleshy gash open more, thumbs over the clean cut he made with a strange sort of fascination before the hot, hot blood gets to be too much for his curiosity and he leans in to lick from your clit up, up, up until his tongue reaches the raised, tight skin— what has he done, what’s he doing, this, this isn’t — he can’t stand the heat that’s coming out of you for long, and it smells, but that isn’t what sticks with him right now. He’s never wanted to be closer. The gaping pouch of your belly’s drooling red for him. The head of his cock twitches when he feels the hot of your stomach coating him in blood, and coating you in turn. The cum from before’s all but washed away, but he’s sure he can give you another couple orgasms before he tuckers out.

He’s strung so high all of this feels like a dream, like his head is about to roll off of his neck; he pushes in with a garbled sort of sound that comes from deep, deep inside him. The skin doesn’t wanna give way at first, but he manages to push back hard enough before suddenly he’s inside, and it’s like nothing else. The pressure of a slab of skin taking him where it’s not meant to go— bleeding and whining out like this, it’s euphoric. He’s able to see his cock’s outline glide into you until it’s bulging your stomach, squelching and sucking him back in; feels like you’re taking him deeper than ever, letting him fuck his cock so deep he’ll hit your ribs soon. You’re so fucking beautiful, even like this, getting coated and letting him fuck it.

He doesn’t know what it’s like to feel like you’re dying, but the peace that washes him entirely clean might be close; he grinds his hips into you hard enough to rock your body under him as he laces your hands again. Both, this time, just chasing after an end that seems like it’ll never come.

He feels infinite. Your blood’s so hot it’s almost painful, and the tightness of the hole he carved into you is entirely different from your pussy, pushing back against him like you’re begging him to get out. He imagines you’d beg so pretty- but he’s inside you, finally inside and deeper than anyone’s ever been. He’s able to watch his cock blow up your belly and make it hollow when he pulls back, and God- he should feel worse than he does. He could swallow you whole if you’d let him. The feeling has him shuddering over you as he pants your name, makes your tits brush over his chest- and his balls smack against the smooth stretch of skin until he can’t feel his feet any longer.

Now he’s got you dirtied, he wants to ruin you too, leave you a mangled mess of flesh and swallow every last bit of you until he never forgets the taste. But that would require he’d stop fucking his hot cock into your bloody, little pouch, and that won’t happen. He’s panting, sweat running down his back from the effort, and his groin starts to feel a little raw too. He might’ve been going for hours by now, licking your mouth clean from his drool only to dirty you again. The head of his cock feels fucked raw inside you, and his thighs shake before his shoulders square over you.

Megumi speeds up his pace fucking into your guts -actually- until he clenches every muscle, is overcome again and reaches heaven inside you, spurting creamy white into the pouch he’s created for himself; “Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuckfuck,” his hand has to twist into an uncomfortable position to reach for your clit, but he wildly does it anyway— cramping up, until he’s collapsing on top of you and stilling inside. The stench of blood makes the entire room smell, as he thumbs over the side of your blood-coated thigh with one hand, and feels the shaking all the way up and down his spine. He pulls out so slowly, pumping the last bits of cum out with a throaty moan, before he slides off the table onto awfully shaky legs.

If he was any more lucid, he’d think twice before leaning by your side to kiss your eyes, your nose, your pouty lips as the tears that must’ve been building for a while run down your temple— and suppresses the need to actually eat you- for now, he rubs a softer hand over your exposed tummy, before folding the now blood-drenched fabric of your skirt back down to hide your puffy pussy, lest he be tempted again. He whispers his love into your ears, nuzzles at your hairline until the feeling comes back to his hands and feet and he tucks his spent cock back into his boxers, and goes about cleaning the mess he made of the floor.

It’s only when an uncomfortable scratchy sound comes that he notices the burning heat on his neck, the dried sweat painfully sticky— and straightens up beside you when you start to shake again. Immediately his worry is sky high. Even in the gross air of mixed blood and cum and the scent of sex soaking everything, his mind is just clear enough to hold your head when you thrash around a few times, and your chest rises wildly up and down. Then before his very eyes, the damage he’d done upon you slowly starts to stitch itself together, like weaving threads. Lacing you up until every bit of muscle, fat, and skin restores to it’s pristine glory before he ever touched you, with a little puff of cursed energy.

He bites his lip hard when the shaking stops, and your back lands back onto the metal with a soft clang. The noise is louder now it’s quiet in the room. Megumi waits for a bit longer before he brushes the hair from your face, and doesn't mind it that he’s leaving tracks. The darkness is filled with his tense breathing, and then — every sound at once. Your eyes shoot open with a cry, sobbing out like a baby for a few painful seconds. But then spot him thumbing your tears away devoted like he is -though he won’t admit it to you, and you let out a noise of pure relief.

It’s almost poetic, when you crash back into his arms and this time, he lets your arms wind around his waist.

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[syatbs]

MORE NAMGYU SMUT PLEASE

Killer of the Heart

summary: Where Nam-gyu has a sick obsession with you and doesn't want to let you go, at least not until he achieves what he wants… Or not?

જ⁀➴genre/au: Nam-gyu x reader [she/her, female anatomy}, smut, 18+, explicit content, mention of murder, stalking, obsession, mention of drugs.

જ⁀➴ Word Count: 2.923k

Find me on Ao3 for more frequent updates.

[Recommended Song: High Enough by K.Flay]

Obsession.

A term where I had never imagined myself crossing paths before. A disease that inflames my insides and ascends from my sternum up to my mind, where the wisdom lies within.

Such a disease that decays the brain and leaves the human flesh guided by nothingness. However, that is not quite my case. In fact, it is far from that. I’m being beckoned by feelings. Feelings that revolve around you and only you.

“Can you slow down?”

The hackles at the back of my neck rose at the sweet sound of your voice, a thrill blazing down my spine as from my periphery I could see you clutching the cushion of the passenger seat — a pathetic attempt to prevent yourself from the damage in case I swivel the wheel and crash into one of the thick trees’ trunk.

You are scared, I can tell with eyes closed. The flash of your cheeks, your gaze flicking every so often at me and trapping the bottom lip between your front teeth, gives the spot sans using any effort to call you out. Though, your mettle and the faith you have in me, elicit a smirk to curve at the corners of my mouth.

Despite knowing what a man I tend to be, you still chose me as your driver to return you home safe and sound. Call it stupid, but to my belief, it seems the wisest choice you ever made.

I’m high as fuck and a stinging pain throbs at the upper side of my face every time my eyelids flatter shut for a blink. The drugs I previously consumed vibrate in my bones, my system, and of course, my cock that twitches in my pants, begging for relief. I am going to lay my cards on the table and profess that the third sensation is due to your presence. Just having you here, right beside me where your warmth radiates and floods in me, has me mentally groaning at the fantasy of fucking you raw until you’re a breaking mess. To scream my name and your nails to scratch my skin until blood oozes out… To squirm around me and fight to escape me.

“I’m sorry love, but I’m afraid that I can’t.”

You scoff at the lack of verity in my tone. “Why?”

“Because you are a fucking cunt who doesn’t stop spreading open her legs for every dick she finds in her wake.”

Obviously, I don’t tell you that aloud, yet the spur to sing it out has me in a painful chokehold. Because of you, the lifeless body of a guy you allowed to slip his fingers beneath your panties and inside you, a few weeks ago, is now at the back of my car with ten lost fingers and a throat slit open. In a few words, I have a corpse in my vehicle and I have no interest in encountering any of the police who lurk in such late hours.

Again, I don’t say that aloud either.

In lieu, I press a few buttons, and music fills the suffocating atmosphere. It drowns for a short period my sick fantasies and a sigh falls past my lips.

Before you called me to pick you over from a party that one of your girlfriends hosted, I was out there hidden in the bushes as I stalked you from the windows of her apartment. I took plenty of your pictures and jerked off when you danced or did karaoke. I was so addicted to your sight that when I saw you almost getting hooked up with a stranger, it militated me from stalking you, to await the right moment to savage him.

It won’t be a difficult challenge.

Like the dead guy, he will soon follow the same tragic fate. Either I will feign that I’m a fellow student in his university and pose that I want to become his friend until I gain his trust so I can deliver the blade readily on his throat or go the easiest way and invade his apartment to catch him off guard.

I have connections at the Pentagon club where I work and in case things go south, they will have my back to erase any trail I leave behind. Every proof and evidence that gives away that it was me who committed the murder.

Notwithstanding that, I have the impression that you sensed my lingering thoughts back at the party. You didn’t fuck him and satisfaction licked my limbs like ravenous flames. Yet, that didn’t suppress the longing to torture him for the audacity to touch you, let alone speak to you.

You are mine.

The canopy of trees hedged us in at all sides of the empty road and far afield where the prying eyes could see what I was about to do. Perhaps you noticed that I missed a turn and now I was driving at the pits of the dark forest.

The night was still young and will be too bad if I stop directly outside the building you live. Let alone, wait for the precise moment when you will call me once again to help you out since no one is there for you. I grew bored playing the role of your best friend and it is finally time to make a statement… A message that signifies that I own you and nobody else.

“That is not the right way. You clearly missed a turn.” You said through gritted teeth. You tried to steel your spine to show me that you are undaunted but failed miserably.

We will work on that. Soon enough, come to that, because after I’m finished with you, there is no exit for you to skitter off. And if you dare to test it out and escape from my claws, I will chain you up on my bed or break your ankles so you cannot outrun me… Ever.

“Did I?” I mused, playing with your waters.

“You ask the obvious asshole. Don’t fucking mess around, I’m tired.”

“My sincere apologies, love.”

And I pressed the speed pedal harder.

As your back sank abruptly at the seat, you whipped your head to throw me one of your lethal pointed looks. You were seething, baby, and all my bloodstream gathered on my already swollen cock.

My voice dropped an octave. “Do me a favor first. And I promise after that, within ten minutes, you will be home.”

“Hardly to believe that.”

“Where is the trust, I’m your friend.”

Arguably it was the drugs that compelled me to act cocky because the way you pinched your freckled nose had me hot all over and not the terror of the possibility of losing you by my deviant demeanor. Your reaction made me goad you on.

Finally, you huffed and rolled your exposed shoulders back, to slacken off the stiffens that gathered on your muscles. “Fine. What is it?”

Darting my tongue to lick my lips, I tossed you a dark yet lustful glance. “Play with yourself.”

At that, you burst out laughing, your enchanting girlish sound a specter on my eardrums. However, when you saw me more earnest than ever, you sobered up, and a pink hue flashed on your cheeks. “Shit. You are actually serious.”

Unzipping my trousers, I fisted my erected dick. “Was I ever a liar, love?”

You cocked a brow at my falsehood, though it dissipated when your eyes dropped to my erection — something different licking your bright orbs. You watched me as I wiped with my thumb the precum that was leaking from the veiny tip, before giving a light pump with my fist.

My other free hand grasped tight the steering wheel and giving a jerk of my chin to your direction, I drawled. “Fuck your cunt, before I pull over and do it myself.”

I’m deeply aware of what personality I have created to become your trustworthy companion. Lying about being in a relationship, feigning that I’m gentle and caring was enough to waltz in your personal bubble and make you spit out your secrets in exchange for my comfort. Conversely, my eyes first spotted you at the club where I work and since then my obsession for you has only grown.

First, I followed you home. Then I broke into your apartment when you were at the university and set hidden cameras at every corner. Two weeks later, I spiked your water bottles that were stored on your fridge and fuck-fisted my manhood while lying beside your drugged form. Sometimes I undressed you and came undone at your bare pussy and before I wished you a goodnight, I slipped my fingers that were coated with my cum inside your tight walls.

I’m not proud of what I did, yet it was the only thing I could draw myself close to you.

Nevertheless, my whole point is that you never encountered me so blunt and crazy about you. To speak to you in a rigorous manner that forces you to press tight your thighs, desperate for some friction.

Reluctantly, you push apart your long skinny legs, forgetting immediately at what speed the vehicle runs. Your mini skirt rises at the stretch and dipping your hand, I see the sight of your drenched panties.

“Bloody hell… Already wet for me.”

Maybe it was the alcohol you imbibed at the party or the exhaustion that dances on your features because the furry that a moment ago festered you like a hurricane, now ebbed.

A moan of yours blooms inside the car and at that moment I regret having you in a small space and not somewhere where I could admire you and not the fucking road. To gather with my tongue the moisture in your folds and swallow. To be drown on you and only you.

Sensing your heating gaze down on my dick, your hand disappeared to your panties before pushing a finger into your tight pleading hole. Curling it inside you, you whine and I nearly lose control of the steering.

It was utterly different, hearing and watching you from up close and not behind the computer that is connected to the cameras.

“Nam-gyu…”

“You’re doing so well baby, fuck.”

My fist tightens its hold around my cock as I pick up pace. It throbs painfully and your hidden pussy makes it worse.

My tongue clicks at the roof of my mouth. “Take them off.”

There is a slight pause in your actions but quickly fades as your hips rise and do as I commanded. The thin layer slides down to your luscious curves and on your ankles before getting an angle that allows me to see your beautiful cunt.

The regret churns harder in the pit of my stomach.  

You add a second digit, thrusting now both of them on your opening while your gaze remains either on my profile or at my hard erection. You observe as I fuck my fist with the sounds you let out and my eyes narrow at the envisions that loom before me. The kind of envisions where I’m shoving my dick past your lips until it hits the back of your throat. To degrade you until tears well up on your trembling orbs and your pussy to pulsate in need.

 Your neck cranes as your back arches from the jolts of delight that jump on your nerves, and my frustration only festers.

I can’t refrain anymore.

Putting on the brakes, the wheels screeched at a sudden halt.

“Where are you going?”

Taking out the keys, the roaring engine switched off. Only the bright headlights remained on, to enlighten our surroundings, and kicking open the door, I rounded the vehicle. I stopped in front of yours and a flick of wariness gleamed on your tired eyes.

Without being willing to give you a reply, my hand hovered over the door handle, and slipping my other one under your bicep, I dragged you out.

I liked the way you writhed on my iron grip, but unfortunately, I had no passion to tease you. Pinning your torso on the hood, and your back to collide with my hard chest, my hips thrusted in the curve of your ass and growled.

When you tried to kick me, my fingers dug at the soft skin of your hips as I pushed one knee between your legs to mitigate the chances of kicking me on the shin or any other body part that I’m damn sure will hurt as hell.

“Quite feral, aren’t you kitty?”

You gasp offendedly at my comment and squirm once again. “Stop messing around, Nam-gyu. You play dirty!”

There was no disturbance or fear in you by the fact my bare cock is twitching in your rear. I’m your best friend, hypothetically, and you don’t even confront me for treating you so nastily. Baby, I start to think that you actually want this and what you display in front of me is only one of your woeful fake attempts to stop me. What you are doing, is simply an act.

“Dirty is my second name, if you haven’t guessed. And I played dirty games since the night I first met you.” Kissing the back of your ear, you sighed. “Tell me, did you ever feel like someone was watching you?”

It was too late to seal my lips as I had already fallen into the burning depths of hell.

You stiffened underneath me, yet before you demanded a better explanation, with a lift of your skirt I thrusted all my length to your heat. My eyes rolled at the back of my head as you screamed at the sudden stretch.

You were so fucking tight and tensing over my words doesn’t help the euphoric experience at all.

Finding your clit, I growled. “Focus on my finger. Feel what it is doing to you.”

“Stop…” You cried. Pulling out, I drove another thrust of my hips making you obtrude at the hard push. “Ah!”

Once your tight walls coated us both with your wetness, I picked up the pace, slapping my hips harder against you. Your cries and my groans joined alongside the night's crickets, stealing their performance with our sinful one.

My hand snaked around your throat and pulled you against my chest. You lolled your head towards me seeing now the devious glint that filled my expanding pupils. You were hazy, yet you still had the energy to shiver at the madness that flooded every apex of my body.

“Can you feel how your sweet pussy grips my cock?” I rasped.

You nodded as tears streamed down your face. My panting breath skimmed over your lips, before dipping my head and claiming them. My tongue fought entrance, your nails clutching at my leather jacket as I was showing no mercy at the assault of my hips and mouth. Our make-out session was brimful of lust, and a lecherous frisson ran down my spine. 

You were battling for a breath and I, to savor you. To ravage your sweaty flesh and my teeth marks to remain on your skin like favorable tattoos.

You are meant for me.

“Good. Because no one will have that but me.”

In a flash of movement, my hand forced your head back to the hood, and focusing on the thrust of my hips, my balls tightened as I ejaculated inside you. Letting my high linger for a while, I finally withdrew to fix my trousers.

Then I bend down to your entrance and sucking my cum from your red cunt, I grab a fistful of your hair, craning your neck to the side. As if you knew what I was planning, you opened your mouth like a good girl and I spit my seed for you to swallow.

I slapped your cheek with a mischievous smirk stretching across my lips.

“You did drugs, didn’t you?” You finally fess up once we are back in the car and ready to head back to the destination of my apartment. You might think I abide by the promise of returning you back to your house, though I won’t. After that experience, I don’t think I will be able to let you out of my sticky webs.

“Like someone wise said, don’t ask the obvious.”

You smiled at my tease, thus I noticed at the corner of my eye that there was sadness on your exterior. You weren’t fond of, since we first crossed paths, about me caning to such substances but it is easier to resume rather than quitting.

Soon your brows knitted into a deep line, losing yourself in your dreaming bubble. “You said about someone watching me when… You know…”

“Bending you over and fucking you?”

Blush crept through your cheeks and I repressed a laugh. “Yes. What was that about?”

Oh, how much I wanted to confess my sins of watching you on the restless night were exhaustion couldn’t reach me due to being far gone with your image invading my brain like obnoxious wasps. Therefore, when I glanced at your way and saw you skeptical, I just couldn’t.

In the end, I lied that it was simply a razz and there was no truth in my statement — thanking the destiny when you seemed convinced by my falsehood.

However, when you opened the sun visor to fix your smeared makeup, a photo slipped, before falling on your lap. And that photo was from nowhere else but you at the party I picked you up from.

[fatkish]

Tomura Shigaraki x Reader NSFW

Imagine being kidnapped by All For One and being sent to Dr. Giraki only to be transformed into a Nomu plaything for Tomura Shigaraki. You’re still conscious and understand everything that’s happening and feeling everything but there’s some kind of buffer between your consciousness and your brain. You were made as a surprise for Tomura since you had a unique quirk that made it impossible for quirks to harm you. Since Tomura’s decay doesn’t work on you, AFO decided you’d be the perfect obedient toy for his successor.

When you’re given to Tomura, originally he doesn’t see the benefit of having you and fails to destroy you. After some time he gets horny one day and decides to make you suck him off. Unable to stop yourself, your body immediately obeys and begins suckling on Shigaraki’s cock. As your body obeys his commands, he soon comes and orders you to swallow it, to which you do. Tomura then realizes that you’ll do whatever he says. So he decides to explore what else you can do. He orders you to get on the bed on your hands and knees and you obey.

Tomura begins to inspect your body, running his hands over your curves and squeezing your flesh. When he reaches your nipples, he grins wickedly and pitches them before twisting them and pulling downwards. Seeing you not so much as flinch he squeezes your chest hard and gropes at your chest. Pinching, pulling and flicking your nipples in an attempt to get a reaction out of you. All the while your consciousness is in tears from his touch. When his torment of your nipples fails to make you flinch, he moves his attention downwards.

Seeing your ass on display. Shigaraki smacks it as hard as he can sending you forward a bit. He then orders you to spread your legs to which your body obeys. Seeing your cute little clit (if you’re a male, then Giraki had messed around with your body reducing the size of your cock and giving you a pussy) shigaraki pinches it and tugs downwards on it. Swirling his fingers around your swollen clit, flicking it, pinching it and pulling it, he decides to try and see if sucking on it will get a reaction out of you. As his lips close around it, he begins to suck hard on your clit, rough strong sucks pull at your poor swollen clit as he then bites it, rubbing it between his teeth.

While he’s busy with your clit, his hands wander towards your pussy. Feeling how wet you are from his constant torment he grins and releases your poor clit.

“Seems as though you’re enjoying this. You don’t even care how rough I am with you, I could destroy you and you’d still get off on it, but don’t worry, I’m going to make sure I put you to good use, after all, you’re only here for my pleasure. I wonder if you can even feel anything I’m doing?”

Tomura gives your cunt a harsh slap and digs his fingers deep inside of your pussy. As his two fingers roughly swirl and grind against your insides he inserts a third finger. As he stretches your cunt he pulls off his pants and boxers and uses his other hand to smear some of your juices on his cock. Without even so much as a warning, his cock quickly replaces his fingers as he ruts into you. He grabs your hips and pulls back before slamming his hips back into you. He begins a moderately slow pace of thrusting into your tight heat for a few moments before his pace speeds up. As his pace increases he pushes your head down and this new angle allows his to hit that spongey spot inside you just right. He moans as your walls clamp down on him and he starts swinging his hips harder.

As his pace increases he reaches around and pinches your swollen clit, giving it a few harsh tugs as he nears his climax. When he finally comes he tugs on your clit one last time while his other hand squeezes your chest as he fills you with his cum. After a few moments he pulls out and gives your cunt a harsh slap. After that he pulls on his boxers and tells you to go clean yourself up quickly and come right back. Your body shakily moves as it obeys his orders. While Tomura is satisfied, you on the other hand, are still sensitive but you’re unable to fight whatever is making your body obey Shigaraki’s commands.

When you’re done, you enter the room to hear Tomura telling Dabi about you and agreeing to let him use you since you’re unable to spread diseases or infections. You also hear Dabi ask about you and he suggests to Shigaraki to have Giraki upgrade you so you’re able to fulfill specific kinks.

(This literally just crossed my mind so I decided to make something of it. If you’re interested in a part 2 let me know in the comments)

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ I can make it right. ❞

Ω!reader x α!jeong-hyun | omegaverse AU, fluff, NSFW | sub. bttm. reader (AFAB) | reader has had top surgery and bottom growth | NOT PROOFREAD | wc: 4.8K

warnings: graphic description of violence, power imbalance, yandere tendencies, mentions of drugs, stalking, mentions of torture, panic attacks, vomitting, omegaverse element (heat/rut),

masterlist: how you met (mob yanderes) : pt. 1 (K.JH): pt. 2 (K.JH); pt.3 (K. JH)

authors note: i'm sorry but this is going to be a three parter because my writers block has been so bad,,,,but i swear,,,i swear i'm trying to get my groove back

*songs on repeat: Dollhouse by The Weeknd ft. Lily Rose Depp, Arsonist by Halsey, Music To Watch Boys To X I Wanna Be Yours mash-up

* YN is described as wearing more fem. clothing as he performs.

Ha-Joon's home is covered with knick-knacks. You honestly hadn't expected it from him. The alpha had never spoken about his interests in cute figurines or mini-items. His guest bedroom, your bedroom, had a few opened and empty boxes of these big-headed figurines in one corner. He apologised for it but you waved it off.

He was already doing you a big favour by letting you crash at his place. The paranoia and sleep deprivation were not a good combination for your mental health or physical health. The thought of using Jeong-Hyun's gift made bile rise to your throat. Action movies never bothered you, nor did horror movies, but there was something visceral about gorey thriller movies.

Yes, you know it's fake. But seeing the guts spill out, bones jutting out from under thin skin, teeth flying out — 

You sighed, pressing your palms to your face as you let the cold water spray down at you. Your father had once brought home a bag of fresh fish, going on about his friend who'd gone on a fishing trip, and little you had watched as he prepared it for your mother to cook.

Those glassy eyes staring up at nothing with that gaping mouth. He'd removed his scales first, telling you not to stand so close because they'd be flying around. Once done, he brought the kitchen knife to its belly.

It gave in to the dullness but quickly lost the fight. He angled the sharp edge, holding the fish down with his other hand, and sliced it down. The smell hits you first, and then the viscera of its guts spills out.

You didn't cry. Or scream. It'd been a fish. You'd eaten it more times than you could count — but to cut another person?

To bring the blade to their skin, push and push until their flesh gives in to your blade. Then angle it to slice it open.

Would there be a smell?

Your mind morphed the image of a man with glassy eyes and a gaping mouth, scales dusted across the high points of his face and the back of his hands. Him staring at you with that accusatory gaze, the smell of seawater and decay flooding your senses.

You gagged, clumsily turning the handle to the shower then stumbled to the toilet. You wretch, your mouth already filling with saliva as you feel the warmth of dinner climb its way up and out where it came from. The shower felt useless now; you felt unclean again.

Ha-Joon's feet stop by the door, his shadow shifting as he stands there contemplatively.

"Hey, you okay?" you press your forehead to your arm, coughing and spitting. "I'm fine, Hyung..."

Both of you wince at the gravelly tone your voice takes.

The deep red flowers in your temporary bedroom give you a pause. Still damp from the too-long shower, you wipe at the back of your neck and shoulders as you approach it. It looked so out of place on top of the empty boxes of figures, its box much more refined in its designs. The lack of plastic and colourful designs certainly helped — the matte finish as well.

Pretty like u - K. JH

This wasn't the right move. Accepting his gifts, sitting on his lap, sharing that tender moment in front of the crowd; what were you thinking?

Jeong-Hyun was kind because he needed to put a front. His kindness wasn't swoon-worthy, it was supposed to set off alarms in your head not make your omega sigh and coo. You were smarter than this. Those TV series about a naive omega in a dead-end job being 'saved' by some big bad but secretly soft alpha — that would not be your life.

Those shady figures follow you everywhere, making you lose sleep. Even if it wasn't Jeong-Hyun, perhaps it was because of him. Your bold move to flirt with him the first night you met had caused Ha-Joon to scold you and get your attention from your shady boss. You shouldn't let the feeling of your intimate under-the-skirt moment overshadow your rationale. 

A drop of water trails down your thighs, your skin prickling at the very feeling. You can still feel him. Those haunting eyes and that soft expression. Seeing your naked body in the changing room mirror backstage, the only piece of ‘clothing’ being Jeong-Hyun’s knife and halter gift. He had been so gentle and firm as he adjusted it around your thighs, fixing the tightness and smoothing his rough hands over your skin. 

You were losing it. As you locked the door of your bedroom, pulled the towel away from your waist and settled on the bed you tell yourself that this wasn’t because of Jeong-Hyun. Not his mismatched eyes or his gentlemanly hovering hands. You pull the blanket over yourself, fluttering your eyes closed as your fingers trail down to your cunt. The scent of those damn flowers makes you bite down on your lip, just as your fingers stroke over your cock. 

It’s just been a stressful couple of days, okay? 

You needed to get the edge off. This wasn’t anything serious. You pondered briefly about the schedule of your heat, but the tremors of pleasure that run through you quickly distracted you from it. Widening your legs, you slide your touch further downwards and sigh at the amount of wetness that greets you. The sound of the blankets and bedsheets rubbing against your skin pricks a sense of fear in you. Ha-Joon would catch on if you were too loud. You try to keep still, pressing into yourself and gasping softly. Rough hands spread themselves on your legs, blunt nails dragging themselves up to your slicked thighs. That heady scent of bergamot causes your cock to twitch and fill. 

 Those hands knead at your flesh, a hot breath brushing over your spread cunt as your fingers curled to tease that spot inside of you that makes you want to buck your hips. He’d hold you down, let you try and buck but keep your hips just right there. So he could watch. He seemed like the type too. Didn’t he? The type to just watch. Entranced by the lewdness of ones body.

Or would he focus on your face? A man like him, he’d probably seen so much. A weeping boypussy probably didn’t do much to him. But the point of imagination was dreaming of the impossible. Your brain conjures his face, the delicateness of his good-eye and the healed scars; an alpha baring their teeth is usually a threat. But Jeong-Hyun’s didn’t incite fear. He’s gentle with his mouth, pressing kisses to your hips and stomach, silently encouraging you to keep going. That sliver of teeth, that wet tongue. There was a hunger within him, one that you could sense even from the brief moments of contact. 

That heaviness in his honey-coloured eyes. That sweet venom, that gentle hold. Your back arches off the bed, a metallic tang erupting in your mouth. 

Panting, you pull your hand away and stare blearily at the evidence of your fantasy and shame. You grimace and lift yourself to lean on the headboard, eyes widening at the slick that’s gathered. Another shower would just make Ha-Joon suspicious. You groan, scolding yourself for this. 

No, it’s fine. This was just a stress reliever. Yeah, this was nothing more than that. 

Tomorrow, you’ll forget everything about this. You’d have to. Because Jeong-Hyun would only and could only be a fantasy. Performing for mobsters was just to pay off your debts. That’s all. You just needed to survive. Just a bit more.

You wipe your hands with a tissue, trying to make it less shameful before you come out of the room to wash it properly.

“I need to get laid,” you muttered to yourself.

Unfortunately for you, with your already tight budget, going out on ‘dates’ wasn’t exactly something you could squeeze into your schedule. Buying drinks costs money and the only bar you had a staff discount at only served to gangsters. As you walked back from your part-time job, you wondered if you could afford to get a cheap dildo at least. You pulled out your phone to check on your calendar, squinting tiredly at the screen. 

Your heat was getting close but you shouldn’t be this horny just yet.

Was the feeling of being touched by Jeong-Hyun really that erotic to your body? Was the stress affecting you this much?

Internally answering those questions made your cheeks burn. Great. So on top of having a scarred gangster’s affections, possibly having stalkers, and loan sharks to worry about, your body decides that it’s unbearably in need of more ‘stress relief’.

If you were in heat, a few pills could put off the effects. But just being horny was an unstoppable force. 

Your thoughts are cut short as you register the open door of Ha-Joon’s apartment. You could hear someone shuffling inside and tighten your grip on the spare keys he’d given to you. You reach for your phone, ready to dial for help when the door widens further and Ha-Joon stands there in distress.

“You!” the lanky alpha hisses out. He grabs at the front of your shirt and pulls you in, his teeth snapping together as he cusses you out.

“Hyung! What are you doing!?” you grab at his wrists, trying to get him to loosen his grip. Your boss at the cafe was going to kill you if you stretched out your uniform. 

“Someone was in my house!”

You grit your teeth as he tugs you again. Nearly losing your footing you stumbled along to his frantic strength.

“Why are you mad at me!? Calm down, would you? Your neighbours are watching!” 

Ha-Joon glances over his shoulder and just as you said, his neighbours were peeking out from their doorways. It wasn’t a pretty sight. An alpha shaking around an omega, yelling accusatory statements. He’d always been scolded for not being the most social person. His mother advised him to make an effort to get to know his neighbours to build a good impression so they’d at least keep an eye out on your home during long trips. Or in his case, when it was unceremoniously ransacked while he worked a gig. 

His neighbours had wondered if you were his boyfriend. With a spare key in hand as you come back to his home, sometimes even coming back with Ha-Joon in his car. 

Was this a lovers quarrel? 

Ha-Joon lets go of your collar, snapping his grip around your wrist to instead pull you inside his home. The door slam made the poor elderly lady next door jump. With the entertainment gone, they slinked back inside their homes and kept their ears open.

Ha-Joon’s knick-knacks were all over the place. His furniture and things are strewn across the floors like some modern art exhibition. Ha-Joon gestured to it. The display would have been comical in another setting but his expression was far too grim.

“They know where I live now, thanks to you!”

“Wait, what?” you stare at him incredulously. “How is this my fault?”

“You just had to go and accept Kim Jeong-Hyun’s gifts, right? I knew I should have just left it alone, no good deed goes unpunished.”

“You think I wanted this to happen?” you step over a few things, reaching for the guest bedroom and hoping that they didn’t find anything valuable. “No, but you asked for it!”

You shoot him a glare from over your shoulder, pushing the door open and freezing at the mess. Your clothes were dumped into the open. The duffel bag you had brought your things in was tossed onto the ruined bed. The flowers lay limply on the floor, their petals scattered around. The empty figurine boxes were dented now, thrown around carelessly and stepped on as well. 

“Shit,” you rush to check under the bed. You frantically reach for the box, pulling it out and onto your lap. Empty. No knife or garter. They’d taken it. Whoever they were, they had broken into Ha-Joon’s home and flipped everything over to steal away your gift. It was undoubtedly expensive but it wasn’t the only valuable in this home. You’re stuck between feeling relief that none of Ha-Joon’s things were taken and fear knowing that those shady figures were targeting you. Not because they were Jeong-Hyun’s men. But because they’d seen his interest in you. 

“You need to get out of my house,” Ha-Joon’s voice is ragged. He brushes his fingers through his hair whilst he paces around. “They know where I live now. They hacked my keypad and trashed my house.”

“Hyung,” you turn to face him. Now more than ever, you needed a friend by your side. He couldn’t - he wouldn’t just toss you out, would he? 

His expression tells all you need to know. You swallow your pride and your arguments. Even if you yelled that you’d helped him with paying the bills, cooked meals for him, and cleaned up after yourself as a good housemate should, Ha-Joon had every right to feel threatened. Someone, multiple someones it looked like, had broken into his home. His haven. All because he decided to be nice to you.

“Could you - could you at least give me a few days to find a new place to stay?” you pleaded. 

“No, no. You need to get out of here tonight. I warned you before, didn’t I? I told you not to mess with the gangsters.” Ha-Joon backs away from you, his mouth set into a tight frown.

“I told you!”

Jeong-Hyun knows that most people would consider this stalking. Which was wrong in the eyes of the law and morals of most people. But what other choice did he have? You weren’t safe. 

He’d been busy. Business was booming and when it did, snakes always tried their best to get a cut of it. Snakes, rats, pests, vermin. His sister’s empire was ruthless and blood-covered, but others didn’t see her as a threat. They thought she was a mewling little bitch. Covered in blood and afterbirth. They laughed and laughed, thinking they were so smart every time they attempted to get rid of her. 

Jeong-Hyun enjoyed watching them beg for her mercy. They always looked at him first though, pleading for him as if he had any power. Seo-Yun had apologized for inadvertently pulling him away from your side for those long days, knowing how he got when he found something he wanted to sink his teeth into. 

He wished he’d had the foresight to keep his eyes on you. Jeong-Hyun should’ve known how these pests would cling to anything they saw as a weakness. An omega catching his attention and receiving his gifts? 

He might as well have decorated you in Christmas lights and thrown you in a dark cave. 

You don’t notice him here, watching you. Too engrossed in looking through your phone. People were eyeing the baggage you had. Nothing overzealous, but with the anxious way you were bouncing your leg and the frazzled state of your uniform it didn’t take a genius to assume you’d been kicked out. Lee Ha-Joon, the bassist. He had lent you his guest room because of these stalkers. 

Now, he had kicked you out with nothing but a backpack and a duffel bag full of your things. If he were a crueler man Jeong-Hyun would’ve beaten him black and blue. But Ha-Joon had given him an advantage. You had nowhere to go to, he knows what it's like to be pushed into a corner. To feel like the whole world was against you and pushing you to the brink. 

You needed to endure it just a bit more. As you entered the bus, he did as well. You were both heading the same way after all. With nowhere else to go, he knew you’d just shelter in your little changing room at work. Seo-Yun had given him work as well. Look at how serendipitous your lives already were. Jeong-Hyun will apologize for leaving you to fend for yourself against these stalkers, then he’ll bring you somewhere you could just be. 

From over your shoulder, he watches you desperately look for micro-apartments. The kind with the shower and toilet right next to your creaky bed and windows so small its only purpose was to keep the condensation from the showers from moulding up your home. You’re so frazzled you don’t even sense his eyes on you. He’s sat like he would at your club.

Legs shamelessly spread as he took the entire seat for himself. His arms shoved into the pockets of his jacket. When people whispered, he’d tilt his head their way and they’d freeze. Even with the mask on his face, the sight of his milky eye and furrowed brows caused them to turn away. 

Just a bit more, he wants to tell you. Just a bit more of this and soon you’ll be free of these concerns. 

You mulled over your words in your head. Trying hard to figure out a way to ask for an advance on your payment from your boss. He’d never been abusive, a little rough with his words or actions but he had never given any indication that he could hurt you. Which, according to Ha-Joon, he definitely could. He was just like his clientele after all. You place your bags on the vanity and sigh, bracing your hands on the table as you replay the speech you’d been practising in your head. 

This was going to set you back in repaying those loan sharks. You’d have to survive off crappy convenience store foods and with how far the club was from your daytime job, that meant you’d have to take the bus way more often. But that’s just how it goes for people like you, right? 

Someone with more power than you always screws you over with no consequences. 

You shake your head, inhaling deeply as you cover your eyes with your hands. There was no point in complaining or begrudging your fate. You can find catharsis later. You can’t afford to waste time to do it. Now, you needed to get your shit back in order. 

You’d beg on your knees if you have to. You cussed the thieves out for taking the one thing that could help you in this moment. That knife probably cost more than most people’s rent. You make your way to your boss’s office, keeping your head down to avoid the gazes of his ‘bodyguards’. The lack of goons causes you to pause. 

His hallway was empty. Nothing but you and the wooden stools by his door where his men usually sat, resembling stone statues of an emperor’s palace though severely lacking in the grace aspect. There was a thudding noise that suddenly echoed behind the door. It was followed by a large crash and a yell and without thinking, you rushed forward to knock urgently on the door.

“Boss! Are you okay?”

Jeong-Hyun’s head twitched to the sound of your voice. His grip was unwavering as he continued to hold your boss down by his throat on his glass table. The door was locked but he watched the handle jerk up and down, putting more weight onto his arm when he felt the feeble kicks of the man beneath him. Oh Beomseok — shady man overall. He runs multiple clubs, some more legal than others. Secretly hosting gambling dens within them, among other things that would put him in jail for far longer than he’d ever wish for. 

Because of his clubs, he maintains a somewhat neutral relationship with the actual gangsters in their world. Something he often brags about. Beomseok would tout his connections with this mobster or that one. Convincing himself more than others of his importance. Seo-Yun knew he’d be an annoyance. Not much of a thorn in her side or a rock in her shoes; more like an annoying fat fly buzzing around her leftovers. 

However, he did surprise her by suddenly gaining an interest in finding their weaknesses. Asking around for names from people of their past, particularly their blood family. Then, when that couldn’t produce the answers he wished for he turned his eyes to you. Jeong-Hyun had sent you a gift, something he’d never done before. Surely, you were the missing piece. It was a tale as old as time, wasn’t it? A bit predictable. To use a love interest to their advantage. A scummy tactic villains like him often resort to. But why fix what isn’t broken?

Jeong-Hyun was here, in his office. Arguably, the glaring issue would be the fact that Jeong-Hyun had Beomseok’s throat in his hands but with you knocking on his door, concerned about your boss’ wellbeing, it gave him an upper hand. 

He fumbled for his back, grasping onto the hilt of that blade and slashing it in the air. Jeong-Hyun grunted, backing away as he clutched at his chest. Blood immediately spilt from the torn flesh, the clean-cut stinging from the cold air. The alpha snarled, the sound broken and gravelly, and assessed Beomseok. The knife he held made Jeong-Hyun snap his teeth together, furious that something he had chosen just for you was now in the hands of someone so unworthy as Beomseok. He cursed him out with his eyes and it made Beomseok laugh as he pointed the blade at the tall alpha.

“You ugly bastard! You think I’m that easy to kill, huh!?” he swung the knife around and Jeong-Hyun took a few steps back. His blood seeping into the crevices of his gloves as he tried to apply some pressure. “You and your sister think you can just show up out of nowhere and screw everyone over without us fighting back? You crazy assholes!”

Jeong-Hyun wasn’t sure if Beomseok was aware he couldn’t exactly reply. Or maybe he was using it to his advantage to yell his head off about how crazy they were for thinking they could talk to him without any honorifics or respect. His arm kept slashing the air wildly, feet tumbling over the other. 

He glanced at the door, seeing your shadow apprehensively shifting the more Beomseok screams. You were a little too curious for your own good, but Jeong-Hyun interpreted it as fearlessness. That was a good trait, the movies he’d watched always praised it. A fearless mate in his line of work would be great. 

“We built this empire from the ground up! You newcomers think you can just kill us, huh!?” 

Think was an odd word to use. They’ve done a pretty good job at killing their competition so far. Now, if only Beokseom would shut the hell up and quit moving around like those inflatable waving dolls in front of car dealerships —

Jeong-Hyun rushed forward, dove under his reach and landed a punch to his diaphragm. Spit flew out from Beokseom’s mouth, his body flying backwards and crashing into his glass desk. The edge of it meets the soft spot of his temple, making him crumple to the ground. Jeong-Hyun grunted as he gave a rough huff, nostrils flaring. He reared his foot back, contemplating where he should leave his mark on Beokseom. 

He could break his legs or his ribs. Perhaps he could slam his shoulder to bits. Seo-Yun did say he could be as creative as he wanted to be. Jeong-Hyun rolled his shoulders and hissed, reaching backwards and frowning as he felt the hilt of the blade sticking out. 

Bitch, he spat out internally. It wasn’t deep enough to cause concern but he’d rather not have a knife in his back. Pain rippled through him with every movement of his right arm and Jeong-Hyun let out a low rumble from the back of his throat.

He glanced at the blood pooling around Beokseom’s head and raised his legs. 

There was a pounding in the door. Frantic yells of ‘boss!’ and ‘hold on!’ echoing faintly in the background. Jeong-Hyun could care less about that. He was more focused on crushing this stupid fuck’s head. Zeroing in on the activity with a determined viciousness. There’d be some resistance at first but your skull wasn’t indestructible. 

The first crunch was always invigorating. He smiled wide and continued to stomp his feet. When the bone gave in to the force, the sounds turned squishier. There wasn’t a crunching noise, it oddly enough sounded like slapping a heavy wet blanket onto the floor over and over again. The brain wasn’t as jelly-like as you’d expect. It was solid and firm, turning it into mush made Jeong-Hyun’s thighs burn. 

The door slammed open, crashing against the wall, and those burly bodyguards rushed in. You watched anxiously from the end of the hallway. It was far too early for the club to start such a ruckus, the nightlife was barely beginning and someone had pissed off your boss and got into a fight with him. Those were your theories. You may perform for these men for their entertainment but you weren’t in the same world as them.

You naively thought somehow you could dip your toes in this business and not be dragged in. That’s not how this works. 

A man rushes past you, barely turning the corner before he upchucks his stomach. You flinch, nose curling at the sight of such a scary man having a stark white face heaving out his lunch. A few more men gag, looking away from the office and you lift your head.

Kim Jeong-Hyun stood over your boss, his chest heaving as he lifted his foot. Sinews of flesh and brain matter stuck to the ridges of his boot, the viscous blood making him straighten up his spine to avoid slipping. Mr Lee doesn’t look like Mr Lee anymore. There was the unmistakable head of gelled-back hair flimsily stuck to the front of his opaque table, sliding down like a slug. One of his brown eyes had popped out of its socket, though remained tethered to his skull — oh fuck, his skull.

You couldn’t pull your eyes away from him. It felt impossible, as if you were under a spell to imprint this sight to the back of your eyelids. Mr Lee didn’t look human anymore. The face that gruffly greeted you every night before you went on stage was now a mess of flesh and gore.

Jeong-Hyun sees you. Of course, he does. You’re the only thing that has colour in this world. He tilts his head, brows pinching as he takes a step forward. Your face was sickly white. You didn’t look sick on the bus, had you overexerted yourself? No. He would’ve noticed it. Jeong-Hyun moves forward, everything else fading into washes of grey. The pain in his shoulder and across his chest feels minuscule. You looked terrified. 

“You monster!” a fist connects to his jaw. Jeong-Hyun sees stars in his vision, splotches of black and white making his head spin. He finds balance and grabs at the threshold of the door, his scarred face twisting into a snarl as he throws himself forward. 

He fought like a beast. His good eye constantly shifted as he took on the barrage of fists. Even when faced with bigger opponents, Jeong-Hyun didn’t falter once. You weren’t sure when he got stabbed in his back but at one point, another alpha tried to dive it in deeper and Jeong-Hyun reached back to hold the blade. If he was in pain, he gave no indication. 

Instead, he elbowed the man in the face and ripped the blade out with a rough yell. It spun over his knuckles, righting into a proper grip and you see the memory of that gutted fish again. Wide-eyed and mouth gaped open — the smell reminds you of rust and strangely enough honey. An underlying sweetness revealing itself once guts spill out onto the floor and muscles get torn. 

You walk backwards, yelling at yourself to run but you just can’t take your eyes away from it. From him. That animal with his wild eyes and bared teeth.

Hellhound. That’s what your boss had said. He was a hellhound. A vicious, merciless, hound that spilled blood all over the floor making it shine like polished vinyl. His yells and growls barely sounded human — was he smiling or was that just his scar? 

More henchmen rush past you but you swear you see the wisps of their life already floating away from their bodies. There was no way they could do anything to Jeong-Hyun. He was still standing despite the five men who had tried to kill him, even with his bleeding shoulder. You meet his gaze and for a moment the world around you slows down. 

He smiles at you. His eyes are kind despite the splatters of blood across his face and the split open lip. Jeong-Hyun looked so human in that second. It frightened you. 

How could a man go from beast to man that easily? 

What sort of magic did he have to confuse you so much?  

You don’t know. You don’t want to know. So you turn away and run. From the gruesome sight of bodies littering the floor but most importantly from Jeong-Hyun.

[banj0possum]

What if i want to bite them (all characters), like. Its love bites <3 like not hard enough to bleed hut enough to leave a mark for a while. Like i love them so much i just cant help it! I would kiss the bite marks after in hopes to make them not hurt as much <3

-🩷

Darling Gives Them Love Bites <333

My OCs x GN! Reader

Heres a short post from an old request as a little snack before the yan gang!!

CW: biting ofc, nsfw jumpscares sprinkled in, tooth decaying fluff

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Adrian is a bit confused and weirded out at first, like why are you biting thats gross youre gross wait why are you stopping you have to bite his other shoulder or else its not symmetrical and itll feel weird come back !!

he needs to get used to it gradually, but once it gets to the point you leave marks on his skin, he's asking for a lil bite every time you two say goodbye so he can have a memento of you

he cums in his pants if you lick the bite oh my god please do it again he begs of you

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Brandon thinks it's a game and bites you back, picking you up and throwing you up in the air. You activated some kind of trigger in him that made him go full excited golden retriever.

He bites you back, kissing the area over and over again as revenge

He probably bites more than you to be honest, he's always wanted to bite but held back in case you were uncomfy with it, but now that he knows you're cool with it he's going ham.

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Valeth is cooing over you, little duckling bites!! so cute!!!

He praises your bite marks, pointing out the parts that hurt saying things like "If you tried, you could definitely break skin! Good job my duckling!"

Thinks your little teeth are cute, especially your canines, he loves comparing it to his tusks.

He allows, no, encourages to let you nibble on his hand or arm

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The horde doesnt let you, kisses are ok, but biting ? no no no

not because they dont like it, they just dont want you putting your mouth on their literally rotten skin

plus they associate biting with eat so thats a bit of a problem

but my oh my they love kisses, give them a bit and maybe just maybe theyd let you nibble a little bit.

dont let them do it back to you especially ribs, they have super sharp teeth that can break bone if they wanted

but like you might be into that so idk man

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Wolfie thinks youre being aggressive before you assure him its how you express love, then he starts to do it back or lick you.

It's more of him casually putting a part of your body in his mouth protectively, he doesnt wanna hurt his mate ;-;

he still prefers licks and cuddles tho, anything that involves cuddles are ok for him!!

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Doriks cummin buckets im sorry

are you marking him as yours ? please do it some more please! maybe on his ear? arm? dick? chest?

hes all yours !!!

he offers to bite you back, itll eventually turn into very intense sex that ends with the both of you covered head to toe in bite marks

he wants round 2

use it as a reward and hes doing whatever you ask with the speed of a sports car

appears right next to you, neck exposed, waiting eagerly for another bite

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kalva is confused but laughs and bites you back, its a little painful because of the beak but he tries his best to be gentle.

he sees it as you trying to preen him and swoons over your 'attempt'

he preens you in order to teach how its really done! its mostly just an excuse to love on you <3

hes very ticklish so expect a flurry of giddly hoots and chirps from him whenever you nibble on him

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jasper is crying sobbing rolling on the floor rn

BITE HIM ON THE BECK PLEASE BITE HIM ON THE N-

he wants to roleplay with you being a vampire and him being your mortal soulmate

lil guy a bit freaky like that <3

moans so loud when you bite him, he has to apologize

euheheh eghghhh hes so crazy for you and your love bites

doesn't wanna bite back because skin on teeth is not a good sensation for him, but he'll cover your face in kisses to return the favor

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The vampires are cooing, swooning, absolutely simping for you

our little mortal is biting us so cute soc ute!!!!

get ready for never ending teasing and kissing

they point out the marks you leave and talk about how much better it would be if you were a vampire like them!

they fake terror over your bites, oh nooo a cute little human is biting me !! so so spooky !!

please let them bite you back

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Baron is short circuiting

ohmy oh oh my oh yomhyo-

thank you.

he has to process what just happened for a bit

tries to forget about it but he cant help but want another one when he gets a glimpse of your teeth when you talk or smile at him

stays up and imagines your mouth all over his skin leaving teeth marks everywhere

stayed up that night pumping his cock when he remembers you biting your lip that one time

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Caspian makes a big deal out of it

hes literally morticia in the addams family movie

last night you were unhinged, you were like some desperate howling demon, you frightened me

do it again

no please were are you going do it again!!!

"misbehaves" so you can bite him again as punishment

oops! i splashed you with water! you might have to bite me again~

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Hallow is yanking his fabric back and scolds you, what if you choked? he'd be worried sick!

gets you a chew fidget instead

doesnt quite understand love bites

please explain to him why eating him means you love him

maybe its because you think hes delicious? awwee thank you! youre delicious too i suppose !

coos over you as he holds you close, thank you for the bite honeypie!!

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Ashvan is squealing over how cute it was!!

blushes whenever you do, like very very flustered, his eyes might be covered by soft fur but you can almost see the redness on his face

his ears flatten as he tries to calm his frantically wagging tail

he gets much shyer whenever you smile at him or when you bite into your food during meals

he has to timidly ask for another bite with his index fingers touching together

please give him more biteys!!

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Axel tells you to bite harder

try it! hes tough! lets see how strong that jaw of yours is!

*frantically hiding his growing erection*

calls you little kitten or..rat

teases you by poking at your mouth with his finger to get you to bite

he loves it, he thinks its the cutest thing whenever you do it, especially when youre just subconsciously nibbling on him as if he was a chew toy

he makes sure his hands are always washed for you, no more touching dirty stuff carelessly, he gotta take care of himself for you!!

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King Alistair is pushing you away and coldly telling you no, but once you two are alone in your shared chambers, away from prying eyes, he softly tells you to continue

of course he loves you, he wants you to be free to express yourself, but please dont do it when people are watching

he has a reputation to uphold! not because he's shy and insecure about showing pda in public or anything...

bites back, definitely bites back!! out of all the ocs i think he bites the most next to Brandon

loves playing predator and prey whenever you two are fooling around together, if he ever leaves marks, hes kissing them softly to let you know he means no harm, he just got a bit carried away because youre just so sweet~!

if you leave marks, hes covering it up in his clothes, but occasionally he heads to he mirror, pulls away the fabric covering your lovebite, and smiles

argaragrgagrggrgargagrg

[philistiniphagottini]

Hiii can I please request number 7 + Blade? I really enjoy the way you write him. Thank you if you end up doing this!

Thank you for the ask Anon. I appreciate you telling me that you enjoy the way I write Blade, he's my current favourite character and I'd love it if people wanted to talk to me more about him. I hope you enjoy. Comments/reblogs greatly appreciated.

cw. light angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of blood, gender neutral reader, chubby reader, minors DO NOT interact

7. Lightly kissing on top of a freshly formed bruise.

Prompts

Your room smelled of disinfectant and medicinal salves. It clogged your nose when you breathed deep, a pinch forming between your furrowed brow as you slowly and meticulously wrap fresh bandages around Blade’s exposed bicep. You had to discard his jacket, the material slashed and tattered laying in a bloody heap long forgotten on the floor as you gave your undivided attention to Blade. 

He thinks it's a wasted effort but he lets you do as you please. His free hand is resting in your lap, fingers lazily curled into your thigh until the soft skin squished beneath his touch. You feel incredibly warm beneath the tips of his fingers as he stared at you, absentmindedly watching you work patch up his wounds. Wounds that would naturally heal themselves, just another chip on his scarred and haggard body. Your attentiveness wasn’t needed when he was cursed to constantly heal but you always kicked up a fuss whenever he returned to you in a bloody heap, supporting fresh wounds and a tired look in his eyes. 

It was a little awkward for you shuffling around Blade as you worked. You were practically, almost in his lap as you hovered over him on the bed, the sheets already drying with flakes of blood and whatever else Blade had dragged in the door with him. The sheets needed to be changed as soon as you got the chance. The stench of decay and death was particularly strong on him today. It almost made you blanch. The tips of your fingers grazed the top of his bicep as you finished wrapping the bandage around him, your lips pressed into a tight, thin line as a pensive frown plagued your facade. You eventually had to stuff your bottom lip between the pinch of your teeth to stop it from quivering as you blinked rapidly to dispel the wetness clinging to the edges of your thick lashes. 

“Don’t give me that look” Blade said, his quiet murmur cutting through the thick silence. 

You released your bruised lip from between your teeth as your gaze now flickered up to his face, his piercing red stare causing a shiver to creep along the notches of your spine. You sniffled softly, unshed crystalline tears still vehemently beading at the corners of your eyes and making your vision a little blurry. 

“What look?” you asked as you reached for another bottle of medicinal salve. 

Blade gently caught your wrist before you could grab it, preventing you from swiping it off the little bedside table nestled close to you. Your hand started to shake and he could feel the tremble of your pulse when he pressed his fingers into your wrist. You peered up at him beneath the hood of your lashes as they fluttered over your round cheeks. 

“That look” Blade said. “Sadness doesn’t suit you.”

Something tugged on your heart strings. You were sad because of him. Because it hurt you to see his body so battered and bruised. It hurt you whenever he said you were wasting your time patching him up. He would naturally regenerate, such was his curse. It was barely a comforting thought. Too many bad thoughts plagued your head like a persistent swarm of insects, their buzzing incessant and never ceasing no matter how many times you tried to swat them away. You took a shuddering breath.

“It brings me no joy seeing you in pain.”

Tears threatened to spill down your cheeks and before they could, Blade was drawing you into his lap. You complained at first, not wanting your weight to hurt him in any way but he batted away your protests. He coiled his arms around your plump waist, giving your soft stomach a gentle squeeze as you were coddled in his lap, your thick thighs falling beside his as you were forced to sit on top of him. It felt a little ridiculous. He was the patient, not you. Blade wasn’t good with words. He didn’t know how to tell you not to worry. He couldn’t weave words like countless others he knew could. He lacked tact when it came to delicate matters and he knew his blunt words were only going to cause you further distress. You didn’t treat him like a weapon, the way he believed he deserved to be treated. You were too kind and soft hearted. You have no reason to be so close to him, when his sharp edges could cut into your soft skin and hurt you. Yet, you give your kindness to him so freely and easily, despite one wrong whisper of the mara threatening to creep in. He could hurt you. But you knew he wouldn’t. He’d rather fall on his sword than intentionally hurt you, mara or not. 

You hid your tear stained face from his sight, lips pressed to the purple and red bruises forming over his skin as they bled into his skin. These too would fade soon and the press of your plush lips was the healing balm. Blade slowly rubbed his hands along your back, his calloused fingers aching when he smoothed them against your pillowy soft skin. You were so incredibly soft and warm it was already lulling him into a state of peace. He can feel your salty tears wet his skin and it only makes him squeeze your soft waist harder. 

“Blade, can you please be a little more careful?” you softly requested. “If not for your sake, then for mine?”

He’s not sure you know what you’re asking of him. The way you had worded it, he’s unsure if it was intentional or not. Because it was exceedingly hard for Blade to refuse a request from you. Not when you ask it in such a sticky sweet voice that he can feel it rotting on the back of his teeth when you say his name like that. He was rough and sharp around the edges but only you were able to soften it up and dull it. You made him feel like he wanted to be good. Only wanted to be good just for you. No one else. Your skin squishes under his touch as his large, scarred hands touch your soft stomach, a soft hum stirring in the back of his throat as you plant another soft kiss on his bruises. 

“Just for you” he replied. 

He didn’t elaborate further and you hoped it was a promise he was going to keep. It brought a little smile to your face as you wrapped your arms around Blade’s neck, hugging him closer to your body as you tangled your hands in the baby hairs lining the nape of his neck. For now, it was enough.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

How about Crewel talking to Trey and Rook’s families about what they do in Science Club?

Crewel voice) I don't get paid enough for this.

Decided to just do Mr. + Mrs. Hunt and Mr. + Mrs. Clover since all of the Hunt and Clover siblings added might make the lab too chaotic.

Family means Nobody is Forgotten or Left Behind.

Alchemy Lab #4 was Science Club's stage for the day.

The lab benches had been maneuvered into neat rows. Each member of the club claimed one for themselves, decorating the bench as they pleased. Banners and cloths draped over exposed wooden surfaces, charts and graphs mounted up, diagrams and dioramas artfully put together. Curious parents and siblings wandered, peering at the tables in turn.

"These are the projects your sons submitted for the upcoming Science Fair we'll be putting on," Crewel announced as he paced the room, lightly tapping his pointer against an open palm. "Please take your time to browse through each exhibit. I, as well as my students, will be circulating. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to flag one of us down."

He continued down the line of benches, passing a number of normal projects. "Personal Qualities of a Mage & the Impact on Affinity with Varying Familiar Animals", "Mandrake Processing Methods for Maximum Potency", "The Magic Gene: 10% of Humans"... Crewel came to a hard stop as a jubilant shout sliced through the room.

"Très magnifique!"

Ugh, he grimaced. Not this again.

Crewel made his way to the back left corner, where the disruption had originated.

"Rook..." Trey was saying from behind his bench-- "The Long-Term Effects of Sugar Consumption on Tooth Decay". He had displayed several jars with various liquids and a single tooth, in various stages of rot, in each. In a beaker, white sugar had been piled high to indicate how many spoonfuls were found in a single can of soda.

At the bench next to him, Rook mouthed off. He moved his hands in an animated manner as he rambled, as if he were an actor exaggerating his performance. "Chevalier des Roses! Fufufu, what good fortune it is that our fates crossed on this momentous occasion. I was very curious to see the fruits of your labor--and you did not disappoint! Those delightful samples you've acquired, might I ask how you came upon them?

"What, the baby teeth?" Trey pushed his glasses up. "I asked my little brother and sister to donate those to me, and they were happy to oblige. I thought it would help my exhibit out if I had real life visuals."

"Ahhh, how very resourceful of you!!" The huntsman's eyes gleamed with mischief. "For your next project, might I suggest conducting the same experiment but with the teeth of various beasts?"

Trey's laughter was soft and strained. "And just how do you think I'd get my hands on those kinds of teeth...?"

"I would be more than happy to assist, should you need it!"

Trey said nothing--didn't need to, for the alarm on his face said it all. His eyes passed over Rook's own bench: "Curiosities of Night Raven College Campus: A Compendium of Captivating Creatures". His peer had constructed a highly detailed miniature of the school, the buildings hand-painted and the flora made of papercraft. There were signs posted around the mini-campus, indicating key points of interest: a trio of merpeople (an octopus and two moray eels) splashing in a puddle of water, a sleepy lion beastman nestled among the flowers, a dragon fae on the rooftops and nestled with the gargoyles, and more.

I can see why Art is his best subject, Trey thought, and I'd be impressed if I wasn't also kind of put-off by it.

"Er... Thanks, but no thanks, I'm good."

"I didn't realize you had such... interesting friends, Trey," coughed a mild-looking man in glasses. Tufts of green hair stuck out from under his cap.

"He's very spirited and very creative," a woman in a similar hat and hairstyle commented. She gingerly wiped the back of her hand on her pant leg, as if wiping off a kiss that had been planted there earlier.

A blonde couple with faces strikingly similar to Rook's chuckled. They whispered to each other in a foreign language. Then the woman of the pair spoke.

"Forgive him. Rook has been plagued by curiosity since he was but a child and has a tendency to be rather excitable--but that is part of his allure, non? And you, Mister Clover, are worthy of his attention."

"M-Mister Clover?" Trey was too stunned to immediately reply. "Er, Mister Clover is my dad. You can just call me Trey or something..."

"Monsieur Clover," the blonde man said. "Your project is fascinating. Tell me, do you hold opinions on dissolving other body parts in corrosive liquids?"

"Um... I hope that's not implying what I think you're implying, sir..."

Crewel loudly cleared his throat. "Ah-HEM!!"

His students visibly snapped to attention.

"Hunt. Clover. I certainly hope you pups aren't causing a disturbance for our guests," Crewel said, his stern tone a warning.

“No, Professor—not at all. We were just presenting our research to our parents and got a little carried away.”

“The mistake was ours! I apologize for the outburst. When the thrill of a scientific discovery grabs hold of me… fufufu, it is most difficult to contain. I will be more mindful next time.”

“There had better not BE a next time. Return to giving your presentations properly!”

“Yeah, got it.”

“Oui!”

Crewel turned away and put an arm out, corralling the Clovers and Hunts. He steered them away from Trey and Rook’s benches. “There are many other projects to see. Leave your boys be, they’ll only cause more trouble if you throw them a bone.”

“Oh my, is Trey causing you trouble?” Mrs. Clover asked. “But he’s always behaved himself at home. Helps with the chores, looks after his siblings. I can’t imagine that he’d be cruel.”

“On the contrary, he’s one of the few club members that attempts to keep a leash on things. The operative word there being attempts. His success rate varies,” Crewel snorted. “No, his trouble comes in his own obsessions. Every other meeting he’s whipping up cake in the labs when he knows full well experiments shouldn’t be edible! He claims hems hunting for ‘the optimal ratio of leavening agents’.”

“Oops, sounds like the baker in him slipped out,” Mr. Clover joked—taking the news in stride.

“Do you eat the cake afterwards?”

“No, we do not eat the cake afterwards,” Crewel groaned at Mrs. Hunt’s question. “It’s a clear and present safety hazard, so we dispose of it.”

“Such a shame.” She craned her head. “… Do you think there’s a student here that has looked into how much of various poisons can be feasibly consumed before starting to experience physiological reactions to them?”

“As I’ve said, madam…! We do not ingest our experiments, and students’ safety is our number one priority! I implore you to consider less morbid research topics.”

Mr. Hunt leaned into her ear, whispering something. When he pulled back, she nodded. An unknown agreement made.

“How is Rook doing in club then?” Mr. Hunt inquired, picking up where his wife had left off. “I suspect his love for exploration and the unknown persists in his extracurriculars.”

Crewel clicked his tongue. “Perhaps too much so. It’s often his messes that Clover is correcting! Most of the other club members are too frightened to approach him thanks to the bag of wild animal skulls he brought back with him from the woods! The week before that, he conjured an explosive potion.”

“Hahaha, very good.”

The Hunts shared a laugh. Like wind chimes, quiet as they tinkled in the wind. Eerie if one listened for too long, and then fixated on the silence that followed.

Crewel carefully regarded them. His eyes then drifted to the Clovers. Mr. Clover had an arm around his wife, and together they looked like a portrait of blissful domesticity.

… Looking at these sets of parents, it’s clear to see where Hunt and Clover got their… everything from.

The teacher shook his head.

The apples don’f fall far from their trees, hmm?

[beefrobeefcal]

Purpose feat. Joel Miller & Hel my contribution for @perotovar's FRITH Celebration

Summary: Everyone has a purpose, but Joel is running from his. Read the prompt here.

Jackson!Joel Miller + Hel | Rating: 18+ (MDNI) | Word Count: 1,972

Content Warnings: multiple mentions of death, mourning, grief, loss, mention of suicide attempt

Author's Notes: Thank you @perotovar for the gift of this pairing - you're a true gem in this community 💜🥩💜 read all the Frith Fics here.

Thank you to @strang3lov3, @noxturnalpascal, @bitchesuntitled & @weregirlbyknight for their eyes and love. dividers made by @saradika-graphics

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Sitting on an old rocking chair on his front porch, Joel watched the procession go by his home towards the graveyard at the end of the main road. 

Jackson mourns another, he thought to himself.

He sees the family of the departed, holding each other as they walk slowly behind the horse-drawn wagon carrying their beloved person in a pine box, and he knows the sorrow that robs them of a full breath and a full night’s sleep. He watched the two children, clutching to their weeping mother and then he looked down, unable to watch them. 

He knows they’re permanently changed because of grief, and that has given him a purpose.

She had come to him in a dream as he lay with his head bandaged and pride wounded in a FEDRA camp; Sarah was gone and his botched self-inflicted wound hadn’t let him join her. The first time she visited him, it was just a feverish nightmare of teeth and rot, struggling ineffectively against a black abyss slowly pulling him under. This dream became a regular occurrence for months, waking him drenched in sweat with panting breaths, his eyes darting wildly around in the darkness.

It wasn’t until one still and quiet night as he slept on the forest floor, his head on his backpack and his gun gripped in his hand, that she finally showed Her face. Serene and chaotic, sublime and intolerable, She stood preternaturally still above him. The scent of Her wafted over him as he rubbed his eyes, attempting to shake off the clutch of sleep. She reeked of damp earth and decay. When She finally stirred, Her every minute movement seemed to echo in antiquity, sounding of trees in the distance being forced to bow and break from a hurricane. She smelled of damp earth and decay. 

He forced himself fully awake before She was able to speak, and he refused to allow Her to ever get a word out to him. In a few blinks of his eyes She was gone.

She attempted to visit him more and more so he started drinking to relieve him of the hauntings. The alcohol helped for a while, but then Her gnarled bone hands pulled his unconscious mind open and began to let Her decayed flora seep in. But the pills… the pills are what finally stopped Her.

Nearly two decades of all of the pills and alcohol he could get his hands on kept Her out of his dreams and out of his head. There would be echoes with no origin and fleeting shadows telling him She was never far, but he remained out of reach. Internally, he blamed Her for plaguing his mind with Sarah’s last moments, reliving the moment on repeat, having to hear her begging and crying out to him as he held her for the last time. Some nights, he could still smell the gunpowder and blood that clung to his memories as he slipped into an inebriated slumber. 

He blamed the terrible thing She was - the decayed abomination that haunted him - for making him relive the darkest moments of his life, plying himself with drink and drugs to keep Her away. And it worked; it worked for so long that any indication that She was around, Joel learned to dismiss as foundations settling or leaves blowing in the trees. 

All of that changed when he lost Tess and gained Ellie. An uncanny switch in his partner, forcing him into a role he’d long since abandoned - father. Ellie held a mirror up to him, forcing him to see what he’d become and face what he was running from. The honest horrors of time and grief had etched and eroded him, and he saw shards of Her woven into the old man he was becoming, and gradually, he came around to Her.

Joel hadn’t touched a drink or drug since returning to Jackson with Ellie. They hadn’t found anything at the university beyond the evidence of the Fireflies having been there at one point, and with no indication of where they went they returned to Tommy’s new community.

Two years of sobriety had landed Joel with a clearer mind and a better temperament. She had stayed away as if to say you had your chance, and it was a bittersweet relief to him. 

Until Tommy died. 

He’d led a reconnaissance party out to secure the area surrounding the town, and Tommy’s horse got spooked, making a wrong step and falling off an embankment. While his grief swelled in him like a balloon, Joel took solace that he’d had two years with him before losing his brother again, and that at least Tommy’s death was quick. He knew he couldn’t fall apart like he had with Sarah, and that he had to be strong for Ellie, for Maria and Tommy’s child, and for the town. The funeral took place as soon as his body had returned to Jackson and that night, Joel laid in bed, staring at the ceiling. 

His eyes were wide open and he was awake when Her sweet and putrid smell washed over him in a cold, dark mist. His grief allowed no room for further pain, so Joel found that he did not feel fear. He felt at peace.

The sounds that crawled out from Her gaping maw swirled around him and words formed from them in his mind.

My beloved child - you are returned. You are needed. Tragedy and renewal bind you to me. The sun has his moon and the moon has her sun. Life turns to death and death bores life. Decay gives way to rebirth.

He woke with a startled hacking cough to find his room lit by the pale morning sun shining weakly through his bedroom window. It took him a moment to get his bearings and remember where he was. It felt like only seconds before that She was speaking to him; he could still smell the rot that heralded Her, and once he calmed down, he was surprised that he felt comforted by it. 

It was from there that the ravens began to hang round the front of his house on the fence and trees. When he sat on the front porch, they even dared to come right up and sit on the railing, quirking their heads as they made eye contact and small clucks at him. 

The ravens carried on visiting him with a cautious curiosity for a few weeks until She visited him again in the night. He was wide awake during an intense spring storm that had knocked out the power. He was trying to light the storm lamp when he felt the air in the room grow stale and damp and the sounds the the winds outside faded into dulled white noise. The flame that he’d managed to light flickered and sank low, barely casting a light beyond a faint amber and his breathing echoed in his living room, and She moved from the shadows, and her terrible and beautiful voice crept out into the room. 

My beloved child - grown in grief.

Joel looked at her, feeling his heartbeat slow and his mind quiet, and he nodded to Her. They watched one another as Joel tried to summon the courage to ask something - anything. 

“Who are y-”. His words caught in his throat before he finished as the realization that he already knew Her and Her name. It was etched in his soul and echoed in his heart. 

Hel. Goddess of death and guide to the underworld. Her name was one that should have struck terror into him from years of his Catholic grandmother forcing him and his brother to mass, and given the amount of death that he’d experienced and partaken in, part of his thought that fear should have come from seeing this as his reckoning. But instead, he felt peace in her terrible presence. He dropped to his knees and the start of tears burned his eyes. He felt the grief of everyone he had lost wash over him in waves, coming to the surface and gasping for air. Joel had spent so long trying to choke that grief and suffocate it where it sat in him, but on his knees before Her broke him wide open and gave air to the parts of his soul that he’d worked so hard to kill.

Joel woke up the next day and it was different. He moved through the day as he normally did, but inside he felt more assured of himself, feeling a peace he hadn’t known since before Sarah was born. There was a slight change in him, a light flickering in his eyes that others picked up on but said nothing about. That and the ravens.

No matter where Joel went, there was a raven nearby. If he stayed in place - at a town meeting or at home -  the ravens would slowly settle one by one until their entire unkindness was perched on the trees and eaves, waiting for him to move again. Day by day, it became more apparent to the other residents of Jackson that Joel wasn’t the same; the silent and harsh somberness that had left them wary of interacting with him had turned to a quiet warmth that radiated from within. 

At first, Joel thought this change in him was for the dead - or those that were making the transition. He sat with the sick and elderly in the medical clinic, ensuring they weren’t alone as they moved on, taking up the mantle of guide. 

But it didn’t feel right. His heart would ache in the morning from the looks of those left behind by their loved one’s departure. Joel would watch as families and friends would be thrown into their mourning, and he’d feel the familiar sting in his throat. He would leave the clinic, chest ripped open and wound burning, and he’d be right back in the throws of his own loss. Sarah, Tess, Tommy… Sarah, Tess, Tommy… Sarah, Tess, Tommy… Sarah, Tess, Tommy… Sarah, Tess, Tommy… Sarah, Tess, Tommy… 

But he would return, suffering for his perceived purpose, and repeat the cycle over and over again. 

It wasn’t until one night as he sat next to Charles, the 80-something year old who’d fallen and broke his hip, that Joel finally made the connection. 

“I mourn for what they will become…”, Charlie murmured softly, causing Joel to turn his head from counting the ravens through the window.

“Hmm? What’re you talkin’ about, Charlie?”

“My children. My Grandchildren. My friends… when I leave…”, he spoke wearily, then looked at Joel. “You know how grief changes people. Especially now. Look around. We shouldn’t mourn the dead, we should mourn who the living become because of it.”

Joel swallowed thickly. It was as though Charlie had set off a chain reaction in his head, connecting dots and seeing the truth of it. He looked into the old man’s eyes and saw Her there already, ready to guide him herself. 

He is for the living.  Again, that change in him seemed to glow brighter.

Charlie adjusted himself slowly in the bed and took in Joel with a crackled smile. “Ah. Now there’s a man with a purpose.”

The old man passed on as the pale morning crept over the mountains, and Joel wept by his side, thankful for the last bit of wisdom the old man gave.

Joel thinks back about his journey as he sees the last of the funeral procession pass his porch and he stands up, looking at the ravens. He gives them a curt nod and sighs, “Let’s go.”

He steps out onto the road and walks towards the home of the recently departed, ready and waiting to guide them through their grief so their own transition is peaceful. 

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[strlingsav]

May I request reader being saved/ rescued by ghost, then maybe otw home they're stuck at a safe house for the night and it gets spicy? Like ghost is infatuated w her and she w him cus he saved her 😳

Yes ofc 😌

Saviour

– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

— You're stuck in a safe-house with Ghost.

Explicit sexual content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

You'd already stripped from the sopping-wet, outer-layers of your gear, letting it sit in front of the wood stove to dry out. The weather was reaching the negatives, frost forming on the windows of the safehouse, a howling wind pushing against the crumbling walls.

Your extremities were numb, tingling as the cold seeped into your bones. The run-down building didn't help; cracks in the foundation and decaying floorboards let in the cold.

You were seated on an old wool blanket, one you'd found while clearing the house, which you'd wrapped haphazardly over you. Your elbows rested on your knees, thighs tucked against your chest to try and contain the little body heat remaining.

The heat of the fire warmed you, superficially, but you hoped it might ward off hypothermia. Your teeth chattered, the pauses of warm flames sending short bouts of shivers up your spine.

Your eyelids were heavy, half-shut as you stared at the fire, crackling wood that had embers landing by your feet. You didn't bother to move, merely watching the glowing pieces of charcoal as they fizzled out in front of you.

Ghost was hunched over on a rickety chair to the side of you, sitting in silence, cleaning his rifle. Your eyes would shift to his form every so-often, watching, studying. You were almost envious of the gun in his hands- he handled it with such care, knew it like the back of his hand.

Your mind hadn't stopped running through the entirety of the evening. You were grateful; he'd saved your life without a moment's hesitation- but you hadn't spoken since. It made things more tense than usual, especially once you'd realized you felt a bit more for Ghost than just respect.

He would sneak glances your way, wondering if you were still frozen. He'd pulled you from the river while escaping when evac couldn't make it in time. You'd slipped, fallen into the icy water and clung to the bank all while avoiding enemy fire. There was a rainfall of bullets pouring down on the two of you, yet he still managed to yank you from the freezing water.

He dragged you along, despite your adamant pestering, demanding him to leave you and continue. Adrenaline was pouring into every cell in your body at that point, hell-bent on making sure at least one of you made it back alive. He ignored you, as any sane man would, and ordered you to rid yourself of the soaking-wet clothes once you'd stepped inside the old building.

You were too cold to feel shame or embarrassment when you stripped down to your undershirt and panties. Though once you started to thaw out, your rational mind returning in pieces, you did feel a bit insecure. There was no place to hide, to find modesty while trapped inside the four walls with him. Even the wool blanket didn't allow for much coverage, it was nearly in tatters.

You didn't notice him staring, didn't see the quick glances up at you. He was concerned for you, of course, though the sight of your bare skin had his chest in a tight grip, his breathing in shambles. He'd never seen you so vulnerable. He had to hold his breath when you tugged your tactical pants down your thighs, look away when he could see the curve of your backside hugged by your panties.

Though, your eyes did meet, through the smoke-filled room, and you cleared your throat in an attempt to break the silence.

"Thanks," You muttered, your jaw managing to fight off the chattering for a moment.

"What for?" He asked, gruff and unwelcoming.

"Saving my ass," You looked over your shoulder. "You should've left me, though."

"Wouldn't be easy to explain, you goin' missin'."

You furrowed your brows. It was a disappointing answer, one you weren't expecting- but you weren't delusional. At least not entirely. You didn't think you'd get a warm, heartfelt response, though something more personal, intimate- which was highly unlikely, would've sufficed.

He was silent as he stared at you, hands slow as he continued polishing the barrel of his rifle. Your teeth still chattered, and you pulled your wet hair from your face in an attempt to feel the warmth of the fire a bit better. He let out a sigh, his shoulders falling when he realized you weren't warming up as quickly as he would've liked.

"Christ," He muttered, standing from his position to sit behind you.

His massive thighs encased yours, his chest meeting your back with a huff. He'd taken off most of his gear when you settled in, but lifted his shirt over his head to press his bare skin to yours. He wrapped an arm around your chest, pulling you back into him.

"You're bloody freezin'," He murmured in your ear.

You listened to the breathing in your ear, basked in the warmth that radiated off his chest. You let your head fall back, resting on his shoulder, and hour eyes glanced up at the mask on his face.

He grew more distant, a bit hazy as you felt drowsiness threaten to pull you under. Your eye lids began to flutter shut, the rhythm of his breaths lulling you to sleep.

"Stay awake," He said, tugging you back from the brink of sleep. "Not in the clear yet."

You sighed, shifting to your side as you cuddled into his chest. It may have been the tide of sleep pulling you back and forth, or pure delusion caused by early stages of hypothermia, but you didn't care how desperate you looked. He was radiating heat, allowing you to fold yourself against him- it was an opportunity you couldn't resist.

"You're warm," You uttered, punctuated by a soft sigh.

"Skin-to-skin'll warm you up faster."

He studied at you, as inconspicuously as he could, watching your chest rise and fall. The curve of your lashes, cheekbones highlighted in the orange glow- he'd always found you beautiful, even more so as you laid against him. A part of him was glad he'd stripped down with you, been able to feel your skin against his.

"Should I take off my shirt?" You asked, innocently enough, though you felt the pause, the hesitation in his words.

"Might have to."

You reached for the hem of your T-shirt, lifting it over your head before falling back against him. He was right, it was warm- like lying against a furnace. You exhaled, relief flooding through you.

"Better?" He asked.

You nodded. Your hands had come up to cover your chest, folding your arms. Your curled yourself up into a fetal position.

"Thanks," You muttered again.

He'd struck your confidence down, unintentionally, but his eyes on your body reduced you to hiding from him. Even in a life-or-death situation, it wasn't ideal to be nearly naked in front of your Lieutenant, especially not after coming to terms with your feelings for him. It didn't make it any easier that he'd saved your life, and didn't expect anything in return. You hadn't quite caught up to the reality of the situation and likely wouldn't until the feeling in your toes returned.

Your hands pressed to his chest, desperate for more heat, yearning for it while your body still shivered intermittently.

"You just nervous or still cold?"

Your eyes lifted to his, "Why would I be nervous?"

"Don't be daft," He replied.

He'd seen right through your attempt at playing innocent, trying not to open the door for anything other than professionalism. You couldn't afford to let your feelings be known, not with your entire body on display- you were far too vulnerable already.

"It's nothing you haven't seen before," You brushed him off.

"Don't think I've seen you naked before, Sergeant. I'd remember."

It slipped out- a moment of weakness while he gazed down at you. He'd crossed a line, an inadvertently risqué remark that caught your attention. Though he could see your lips part, your eyes dart between his, it didn't stop his heart from racing, choking back the urge to push you away.

"Didn't realize I was so memorable," You whispered.

"Cold's gettin' in your head."

He tried to turn back, revert to the abrasive man you knew him as, but it was too late. You'd already stuck your foot in the door, caught a glimpse of how he really felt.

"I don't think so," You muttered, curling into him further, your hands landing on his thighs. "You said it yourself."

He sighed, shutting his eyes as he tried to ignore how hot your hands were over his thighs. The sultry tone of your voice, your eyes glimmering in the light.

"That right?" He asked, a teasing cadence to his words. He wasn't one for falling into a trap.

"You did tell me to strip," You said, letting your head fall to his shoulder again. "Am I on your mind, Lieutenant?"

He clenched his jaw, watching your chest rise and fall from below him, your head tilted up to watch him. He couldn't resist, in any imaginable scenario you'd always get the best of him, whether he liked it or not.

He wondered if it was the cold, making your words out to be sultry and inviting, but when his hands met your waist and you fell into him, your beautiful eyes gazing up at him, he didn't care what it was; he just wanted you.

"All the fuckin' time," He said, low and harsh in your ear.

You swallowed. His words had immediately brought the remnants of heat in your body to the surface. It rushed over your face, settled between your thighs- everywhere you didn't particularly need it.

"Anything in particular?"

Your voice was reduced to a whisper, though you still had enough energy to pursue whatever it was going on between you.

"Fishin' for compliments?" He retorted, a smug tone to his voice.

"I want to know what you imagine when you think about me."

He slid his hands down to your thighs, cool to the touch, but under his palms it felt nice. He was burning up- from desire or the fire, he didn't know.

"Be easier to list what I haven't thought about, sweetheart."

You shivered again- this time, because of the callouses scraping against your smooth skin, the honeyed words that dripped out of his mouth. His rough hands kneaded the flesh of your thighs, moving slowly across your legs. You whimpered, a deep expression of impatience, and he chuckled in your ear.

"I've thought about you," You confessed, watching his head tilt to see you better. "Especially now."

He paused, "I ain't lookin' for a reward, if that's what you're gettin' at."

"No," You shook your head, your hands landing over his. "I've just been waiting for you to touch me."

"Hypothermia ain't enough to keep you subdued," He stated, watching you wriggle yourself back against him, desperate for more.

"I want you to touch me," You whispered.

It was a tie between wanting to stay within the norm and let yourself fall into the abyss of your desire. The threat of hypothermia was a good excuse, one you'd relied on to give you the edge you needed to admit to your feelings.

Your confession sent a rush of blood to his groin, enough that you could feel him hardening, pressing into the small of your back. You could hear him muttering curse words under his breath, especially as his hands ghosted over the seat of your panties.

"I like seein' you spread out for me like this," He said, leaning forward as his masked mouth brushed against your ear. "You want me t' touch you?" It was a rhetorical question, one spurred by the desire to hear you admit it again, words he'd only imagined you saying.

Goosebumps erupted over your skin, your hand leaving Ghost's thigh to rest over his. You pushed it down, finally, enough pressure over your pussy to make you whine.

"Please," You said, staring up at him.

He let out a short groan, hooking his legs under your ankles to pull them apart, spreading your thighs wider over his. Without your guidance, he stroked two fingers over your clit, still clothed, but it made your head fall back.

You let out a short breath of relief, planting your palms on either side of his legs as he moved his fingers in small circles.

"Yes," You breathed, arching your back into him.

He took your praise and continued, pulling your panties aside to press his fingers directly to the hot flesh of your pussy. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat, swallowing down groans of satisfaction upon feeling how slick and soft you were.

His fingers slipped down, two finding your seeping entrance while his thumb continued rubbing over your clit. He pushed his fingers deeper inside of you, his free hand wrapping over your chest again, reaching blindly to squeeze and palm your breasts.

"You warm yet?" He asked, the rumble of his baritone in your ear. He knew just how to rile you up

"Don't-" You stuttered, "Don't stop."

"You're soakin' my fingers," He said, mostly to himself, though he heard the whimper that left your lips. "Listen to that."

You weren't oblivious to the sounds of your pussy as Ghost's fingers hooked inside you, coaxing your orgasm with patience and consistency. Usually, you would flushed with embarrassment, but Ghost's heavy breathing in your ear, his hand clinging to you, you didn't care.

"I told you," You said, lifting your head to meet his eyes. "I've been waiting."

He hummed, using his free hand to lift his mask over the bump on his nose, pressing his lips against your neck. Your lips fell open, moaning softly, panting into the cool air.

"Been waitin' on you, sweetheart."

Your stomach tensed, your fingers digging into the floorboards as you rolled your hips against his fingers. Your pussy fluttered around his fingers, feeling the beginnings of your orgasm.

"Ghost," You slurred, your hips rocking into his hand. "Right there- please," You whined.

He nudged your cheek with his nose, forcing you to leave your neck vulnerable to his lips and tongue. He slid his tongue over the tendons, following with a kiss to your pulse.

He sucked in a harsh breath when he felt your pussy constrict his fingers, wrapping around him with a tightness that nearly halted his movements.

"You cummin' on my fingers?" He asked.

You nodded, holding your breath as your abs tightened. Your body twisted in his grasp, gasping for air once the overwhelming pleasure had passed and you were left weak and boneless.

You turned on your knees to straddle his thighs. Your eyes were drawn to the sight of his flushed lips, wet with saliva. You leaned forward, engulfing his lips with yours, immediately throwing yourself against him as your tongue slid into his mouth.

He moved his hands to your waist, holding tightly while you unintentionally ground your hips into his erection, making him moan quietly into your mouth.

Your fingers slid down his chest, reaching his belt. You pulled away to look at his eyes- dark, nearly unnoticeable beneath the charcoal paint, but you could see his light eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. You'd never seen his face; up until now it was a well-kept secret, but the lower-half of his face was intoxicating, enough to keep your attention.

He offered you his lips out of pure lust; in awe of you, how your body reacted to his touch. He wanted to feel you with his lips, his tongue, glide it over every inch of your skin- he'd settle for the restrictions holding him back now, but made a promise to himself to taste you, all of you.

"You want more?" He asked you, a bit surprised that you'd reached for his belt.

"I want all of you," You whispered.

Your words hit his ears with genuine desire, making him clench his jaw. The vision of you beneath him, his cock penetrating the walls of your pussy- it made him shudder.

"Go on then, sweetheart. Take it."

You freed his cock, shifting upwards, your chest against his jaw as he guided his cock to your pussy, sliding back against your clit to find the tight walls inside you.

You lowered yourself, choking back a loud moan, your heart battering your rib cage.

"Can y'take it all?" He asked, his voice strained.

You forced yourself down, effectively stretching your walls as he opened you up. You settled on his thighs, his cock buried so deep inside you it felt like he was shifting your organs to make room.

He let out a satisfied groan, praising your efforts with a grin.

"There it is," He grumbled.

Your groans made his cock twitch inside you, and as he inadvertently tugged you forward you grunted.

"You're big," You whispered, your forehead falling against the hard material of his mask. "S-so big."

"You're too fuckin' tight," He said. "Fuckin' hell, sweetheart."

You lifted yourself, perching forward ever-so slightly just to bring yourself back down on his cock.

Once you were comfortable, you set a slow pace, one that allowed you to feel just how deep he could go, how good he felt as he massaged your walls.

"Just like that," He uttered, his eyes falling to your chest, watching your breasts recoil with every bounce.

Your eyes shut, burying your face against the side of his, your hands wrapping around his shoulders as you held him close.

"No," He said, his hand reaching your throat with a firm hold.

He pushed you back. "Wanna see how you look ridin' me."

You shivered again, your pussy squeezing around him, making his lips part with a groan. His hand offered a gentle squeeze, moving up to hold your jaw while you lifted yourself up and back down on his cock, before grinding back and forth.

"Oh my God," You drawled, your eyes shutting as you devoured the friction of his trousers against your clit, the head of his cock dragging through your walls.

His other hand slid down to your ass, taking a handful and forcefully pushing you over his lap to grind against him.

"Bloody hell," He grunted. "Been waitin' for you," He said again, in the midst of a lust-induced haze. "For a long fuckin' time."

"I'm yours," You replied, sweet whimpers hitting his ears. "All yours."

"Christ, sweetheart. Keep talkin' like that- g'na make me cum."

His words drew your orgasm from you, built up from the friction and irresistible feeling of his cock filling you- you collapsed against him with a faint cry, your hips still as your pussy fluttered, contractions shooting through your pussy and lower back.

"Fuck," He cursed. "Better move."

You whimpered as you lifted off his cock, watching as he ran his hand up and down it.

Your hand reached out to replace his, a firm fist squeezing his cock- his warm cum landed over the expanse of your stomach, dripping down over your pubis.

Your head fell back, taking in deep breaths, still reeling from your high as he tucked himself back in his trousers.

His hands reached out to grab your waist with a firm hold, heavy breaths fanning over your sticky skin.

"I meant it," You said, your hands sliding over his shoulders. "Thank you."

"Couldn't leave you behind."

"I know," You nodded.

"You're too important t'leave behind."

A small smile grew over your face.

"I think I'm warm enough now," You said.

"I know," He said back. "Just want you here."

You fell forward, hanging onto him while his hands wrapped around your waist to hold you against him.

Taglist: @mxtokko

[tomurawr44]

I got a cute fanfic story idea for you? Shigaraki with a girlfriend they go on a date after he send her a little love letter, confessing his feelings for her😁

A/N: short little drabble, sfw, trying out a new format..also this is kinda..ass.

warnings: blood mention, reader is a little gross I can't lie but it's villain reader and all the league of villains except compress, toga, magne and Kurogiri are gross (in my head atleast)

"Go away." he huffed, he was extra pissed at the league today, everyone was so loud and his head was throbbing with irritation from lack of sleep (and a sugar crash after the high went down from drinking energy drinks), and he was itching at his neck, irritated that you of all people were following him on his walk, he wanted to be alone, yet everyone around that seemed to either be ignorant or completely oblivious to it.

you were quiet as you followed behind him into an empty building that you were surprised had no thugs hanging around in but atleast it was quiet. "you alright, boss?" you questioned, and he only gripped onto his neck tighter and dug his nails deeper. "No you asshole! i wanted to be alone! but you decided to follow and-" He paused. "I can't exactly find a replacement for you if i decay you right now." he growled with gritted teeth.

"I followed you here because you're scratching like you're about to claw your neck out." a hand on his shoulder made him jump, his breath hitching as he turned to face you. "I'm about to if you don't go back to hide out."

without any warning, he was pulled into a hug, it surprised him and he froze up, before letting his anger cover for his confusion. "Let go of me." he prayed you didn't, he hoped you squeezed tighter, but he would never admit that. he felt you snake your hand up his chest to gently inspect the skin that had been scratched raw against his neck. "you're hurting. i can't leave a comrade in arms to suffer alone."

he felt goosebumps run up his skin as he let out a shudder. "..stop." he said quietly, but he really, really didn't want you to. "stay still." was all he heard as he felt you use his hoodie to wipe up the beads of blood from his neck.

"This is exactly why i hate you more than i do with the others." he huffed, so badly wanting to push you away, to force this disgustingly warm feeling in his chest out of his body. "hate me all you want bossman. just let me clean you up a little." you whispered.

he heard you lick your thumb and gently brush the blood away, he tensed up at the feeling of the warm liquid as he grit his teeth. "i hate you because of this, you're not afraid of me, not even a little bit. why?" you only shrugged. "you're not scary, you're 5'9 and temperamental. and you're also my boss, you haven't decayed anyone else in the league, so i think I'll keep pushing my luck until i end up as dust."

he scoffed a little at your reasoning. "..and this is why i like you the most." he let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding, he actually said that? "Playing favourties ain't nice, boss." you said with a chuckle.

"I like you the most." he repeated flatly, "..i like you the most because you're not..afraid of me, you don't piss me off or call me..'gross' or 'crusty'." he added, clenching his jaw, ready to hear your rejection as you pulled your hands away from his neck, but to his surprise you wrapped them around his waist. "..i guess i like you too, Shigaraki." you chuckled, pressing his back to your chest.

"Don't be so formal, my name's Tomura." he tried to sound grumpy, he was elated. he was..happy that he was accepted. "you're not itching anymore."

"shut up."

-Ake but short 2024

[fruitfulfetus]

Was fighting with the machine in my last hour of light really so fulfilling as i thought it would be?

Fulfilling, but empty all at once. I feel empty slashing at this manmade metal. I failed. Hell is dead. All thats left is my decaying body. So I'll fight. Maybe that'll bring me a final ounce of joy, a flash before i die out.

A slash, a shot, 3 glistens of a coin. The chittering of the teeth of a chainsaw.

a cut.

I paused, sputtering, stammering. A lethal cut to my neck. The machine has stopped as well. That foolish thing knows it's won. I let splendor clatter to the ground. I can no longer gleam, show others true magnificence. I huffed and stepped forward, sputtering with blood, grasping towards the machine for some sense of justice in the situation. I'd berate it, tell it that it was a bloodlustful thing. But that would go nowhere, wouldn't it? I tripped over my steps, somehow, left to grovel at its feet. I loosened my grip on justice. There's no way, in this empty hell, that i can show anyone true justice. Not groveling at the feet of the very thing that has bested me. Bested all of us eternally. Shakily bringing my hands to my head, i tried to hide it. The shame, the disappointment, the failure. After all we've been through, this is how it ends? A cowardice fool. The machines eye is blaring through me. I can feel it. It leaned down to my level, i blaring sense of curiosity radiating from it. Must i look up at it? It's embarrassing, but it's only right. My gaze rakes over its features, stained blood, wires, metal plates. Nowhere near living. The light was dimming, flickering out even. I can finally see the beauty in the machine. The machine was designed so intricately, so well made. So lifeless at the same time. Looking in its eye, i could see a reflection of mine. My memories. A reminder as to what led me to this. All of them, my entire past. My gaze refocused, the machine still glaring at me. But as i flickered out, i could see a flicker of personality in it. Maybe it wasn't all so bad. At the same time, everything grew blurry. My limbs felt heavy. I felt exhausted. Like my body was dripping from the inside out. My breathing stuttered, heart rate slowing. The machine, cold, stained with blood, rested a hand against my cheek. Metal against metal. Yet its metal was cold. But not completely lifeless.. almost loving. If that was possible. All i could do was let out a breathless gratituity, everything falling dark. I fell limp. The light was gone.

Hell, now empty except for a now lonesome machine, fell quiet. Silence. The machine, lifeless, couldn't think upon its actions. How many it's killed. It's now ran out of a bloodsource, and now all it could do is try to find a new task before it ran out of fuel.

Treachery has fallen upon us all.

[fourraccoonsinacoat]

Fall for Me | One Shot

Pairing: Astarion x Dark Urge

Rating: Explicit NSFW18+

Chapter Count: One Shot | Read on AO3 Word Count: 8,048

Title: Fall for Me - Sleep Token

Summary: Takes place during the events of Baldur's Gate 3 during Act 2. Explores the romance between Astarion and the Dark Urge as Astarion realizes there's a depth to his feelings that he's been trying to deny. Tags: Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Humor, Idiots in Love, Mentions of Violence, Soft Astarion, Spoilers for the Dark Urge and BG3 in general, Dark Urge as Original Female Character.

Author Note: Well…this got a bit out of hand. It started as me wanting to write about the moment Astarion realizes he's in deeper than he thought with this relationship, then morphed into me wanting to explore his headspace while being intimate, and then just devolved into absolute filth. I have no excuses. This fic precedes another of my fics called "Faint of Heart," which can be found on my account.

Astarion woke to a cold and suffocating darkness. A scent of wet decay hung in the air, eerily familiar, and all around him the silence screamed.

The night was distinctly void of the mundane sounds that had become commonplace during their journey. Even as they trekked through the Shadowlands towards Moonrise Towers, their nights usually bristled with distant howls and the whispers of skeletal trees as their limbs tangled and clacked in the wind. Now, however, there was nothing but a heavy and stifling quiet that set his nerves on edge. An anxious sense of wrongness stirred in his gut as he tried to get his bearings.

Where was he? Last he remembered, their group bedded down on the outskirts of an abandoned town called Reithwin. They intended to explore the decrepit buildings and shadowed ruins the next day as they pushed towards Moonrise.

Astarion sat up and blinked into the clawing darkness, squinting as if that would somehow bring the world around him into focus. Even with his darkvision, nothing manifested except the ever-expanding gloom all around him.

He ran a hand across the damp floor and shivered against the deep chill that engulfed him. He cast about for his belongings but found none, only a cracked tile floor slick with mildew and grime.  

He heard a metallic clatter in the darkness as he shifted around and suddenly tuned in to a weight around his right ankle. An icy dread began to rise in his throat like bile as he hesitantly reached out and touched the shackle, fastened tight.

No…

Panic shot through his heart like a stake and his mouth went dry. He realized with a vile shock why he recognized the scent of old rot which saturated the air. It was the smell of stale rat blood mixed with years of filth and dirt.

He was back in the kennels. Back in Cazador’s grasp.

The realization nearly made him vomit as terror and confusion twisted in his stomach. Astarion hadn’t needed to breathe in over 200 years, and yet that didn’t stop his chest from tightening nor his lungs from seizing. Panic swept through him. He tried to gulp down air as a constricted and choking feeling pressed over him. Eyes wild, Astarion desperately tried to catch sight of something…anything in the relentless gloom.

How? Why? What in the hells had happened?

His mind wheeled, fueled by a horrifying sense of upheaval. He didn’t recall being attacked, but that didn’t change the situation he now found himself in.

He had to get out. He couldn’t be here. This couldn’t happen. This wasn’t right.

Except…it was. Because this was how his life had always been. He’d never escape. Never be free. Cazador would always find a way to drag him back. His master would never let go. He would always find Astarion, no matter how far he ran.

Thou shalt know that thou art mine.

Cazador’s fourth rule burned in Astarion’s mind, haunting and vicious. He stifled a sob, swallowing it back down and gritting his teeth until his jaw ached. He needed to figure out what had happened, because if he was here then…

Eli…

His stomach lurched as a fresh wave of dread nearly choked him. Where was Eli? If Cazador had been able to seize Astarion, had he taken her, as well? Guilt flooded his mind as it raced, trying to piece together some sequence of events that made sense. None of it seemed logical, but he was too panicked to dwell on the irrational nature of it all.

If Cazador had Eli…

But Cazador didn’t know, he couldn’t know…how Astarion felt about her. Hells, Astarion didn’t even understand his own emotions when it came to Eli. She was…something to him. More than nothing, so much more than nothing.

If Cazador had her…if he turned her…hurt her… Gods, what had Astarion done? He’d put a target on her, and of course Cazador would find her and take her. Because that was what he did. He destroyed anything that brought Astarion even a moment of happiness. How could he have been so stupid?

“Eli?” Astarion called quietly into the darkness, unable to mask the distress that clawed at his throat.

The voice that answered struck him numb with fear.

“Foolish boy. How easy it was to deceive your weak mind.” The cruel mockery in Cazador’s voice caused Astarion to flinch as if he’d been hit.

“What did you do with her?” Astarion hissed through bared teeth, dreading the answer.

“Nothing. Because she is nothing.” Cazador’s voice reverberated in the darkness as if he were everywhere at once.

Astarion didn’t understand whatever game his master was playing, and so he remained silent; shivering, though not as much from the cold as the trepidation.

“You’ve always possessed such a feeble mind, so easy to bend and break,” the voice bit from the shadows. “Did you honestly believe you’d escaped? That you’d been abducted? I planted such an absurd fantasy in your head that I had my doubts as to whether you would believe it. But your incompetence never ceases to entertain.” 

Astarion’s eyes went wide and he froze like a prey animal that had only just sensed a trap. A slow, creeping horror slithered up his spine at the thought of what Cazador was insinuating.      

“None of it was real, you pathetic little wretch. You’ve been here, the whole time, trapped in an illusion of my design.”

Astarion was going to be sick.

“I thought it was time to pull back the curtain, before you got too attached. To remind you that you are mine, and that will never change. Because who would want something as miserable as you?”

He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t need to breathe, and yet he couldn’t. His throat burned with bile that came up from his churning stomach. Hot tears seared the corners of his eyes and his brain felt as if it were on fire.

It hadn’t been real… None of it… He’d never be free…

You are mine. 

_______________________________

Astarion gasped awake, as if he were a man drowning who’d finally come up for air.

His chest heaved as sweat cooled against his skin in the night air. He rolled onto his side, coughing as the memory of vomit receded. He felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and wiped at the ones that had already trailed down his face.

Sitting up, Astarion shivered as the nightmare withdrew, glancing around his darkened tent anxiously as the ghost of Cazador loomed in his mind. He was alone, and though night in the Shadowlands was grim, it was not nearly as oppressive as the darkness in his dream.

A feeble hazy moonlight leaked through the murky tree canopy outside, casting a dim sheen through the pitch of night. Shadows bobbed and weaved on the walls of his tent, cast by drooping and swaying trees. The snarl of an animal sounded somewhere far off in the distance, and Astarion sighed as he tried to settle himself.

His nightmares were dipping into parts of himself he’d rather not acknowledge, preying on fears he wasn’t ready to face. He frowned, stomach knotting as residual feelings of fear and loss flashed through his mind like grease catching alight in a cook pan. He ran a hand through his white curls, recalling the anguish he’d felt in the depths of his dream. He’d felt so small. So fearful and alone. It made him restless.

Astarion stood and exited his tent, stepping into the chill of the night. Their campfire had burned to embers, the light barely able to cut through the murky darkness. The hour was either exceptionally late or achingly early, and the camp was still. Astarion was the only creature stirring in the gloom.

Memories, unbidden, jerked into his mind. Nights spent lurking in silent shadows, looking for a hapless target to bring back to the mansion. The endlessness of his putrid life was the only thing he thought lay before him. More decades of pain, torture and misery. The uncaring hopelessness of it all crushing every scrap of faith and every desperate prayer he had within until all that remained was a broken shell. Unfeeling and brittle.

He hated how wretched and pathetic he’d been. Used up and miserable. He never wanted to feel that way again. And so he fled from those memories, seeking distraction and solace, until he came to stand at the entrance to Eli’s tent.

Astarion paused just outside the mouth of the tent, apprehension twisting in his gut. He was being silly and foolish, he knew. Eli was fine. She’d be asleep in her bedroll and Astarion would feel like an idiot who’d allowed himself to get worked up over a godsdamn nightmare.

Gently, he pulled back the curtain that hung across the tent mouth and peered inside. As predicted, Eli was fast asleep with her back to the entrance. Astarion watched her shoulder rise and fall slowly as she breathed and felt the gnawing tension inside himself loosen its grip, just a bit.

Stupid. This was stupid. He was stupid. Gods, he wanted to hold her…

He wanted her to look at him like he meant something, like he was worth something. He wanted to lose himself in her, like that first night when they’d created their own pocket of nowhere. Free from Cazador and all of his miseries, free from the pain and the fear. Just them, wrapped up in hushed whispers and sweat and lust…and something else. Something different and needy and fragile. Something he’d never felt with anyone else.

“Astarion?” Eli’s voice pulled him back into the world and he blinked, focusing on her as she turned over to face him.

Of course she was awake. Eli’s sleep had become even more restless and fleeting since the night she’d woken him in a panic and he’d had to restrain her. He’d watched over her as she writhed, witnessing her loss of control as the thing within clawed for the surface. It had reminded him of how Cazador would wrest control of his spawn, forcing them to do as he commanded without resistance. He’d realized then that he feared losing her. That he cared and desperately wanted her to overcome whatever this monster was.

He was struggling with the realization, but that didn’t make the truth of it any less real.

“I’m sorry, my dear.” Astarion spoke quietly, shaking his head as if that would rid his mind of its cluttered thoughts. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Without pausing to dissuade himself, he crawled forward into Eli’s tent and sat next to her bedroll. He had allocated absolutely zero thoughts to what he would say or do next, but that wasn’t necessarily uncommon for him these days. Things had been working out for him so far, so why shift strategy?

Eli sat up and watched him curiously. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh, yes,” he said, waving off the concern that was growing in her eyes. “I’ve just been unable to sleep, what with Gale one tent over and snoring like an ogre with swamp lung. So, considering our current arrangement, I thought I might share your tent for the remainder of the night.”

Astarion’s words flowed with well-practiced ease and charm, as if he hadn’t just made that entire excuse up on the spot. He smirked at Eli, who was still fixing him with a skeptical stare, and fought down the sudden anxiety that was rising in his chest and urging him to back out of the tent.

Eli had become rather versed in reading Astarion and it was something he had not quite come to terms with yet. On one hand, it stroked the egotistical part of him that desired attention and affirmation to have someone so attentive to him that they could peak behind the pomp and bluster he so often put forth. On the other hand, he felt as if a part of him was at risk of being snatched away or trapped if someone was able to pull back the roguish mask he’d so carefully crafted. He felt unbalanced, oscillating between moments of vulnerability with Eli and moments where he slammed his walls back in place.

A part of him wanted to tell her why he was really there. That the thought of her, the thought of them, not being real had shaken him to the point where he physically needed to see her. Just to put his mind at ease. He didn’t understand it, himself; the feeling that had driven him to seek her out after he woke. And so he kept his mouth shut and didn’t elaborate, fearing that Eli may think him rather pitiful.

Eli continued to watch Astarion, dubious yet silent, before she sighed and shrugged. “Alright then. If you don’t want to tell me what’s really going on, that’s fine,” she said, then patted the space next to her on the bedroll. “You’re always welcome, you know.”

Astarion felt a strange pang of…disappointment twist in his chest. He’d honestly expected Eli to press further for an explanation that wasn’t clearly pulled out of his ass. But she didn’t. It was disarming.

He moved to her side and situated himself as Eli laid back down. She watched him for a moment as he fluffed a pillow and settled, then she closed her eyes with a deep breath and said nothing more.

“Thank you,” Astarion said quietly as his eyes danced across her restful face.

He felt a sense of unease, unused to having his boundaries respected in such a way. Eli had never been the sort to prod at him for explanations, or to prod at anyone, for that matter. As someone with their own menagerie of secrets and internalized darkness, she tended to allow others the leeway to decide how much or how little they wanted to share. Still, they’d been…indulging in one another rather frequently these days, and Astarion was realizing that while their nights together were a lot of fun, he wanted something…more.

The problem was he hadn’t any idea what that “more” was. And gods did it frighten him. The last thing he wanted to do was give someone else control over him, not after he’d so recently regained a taste of freedom. Over the past 200 years, every relationship he’d ever been involved in had been nothing more than a means to an end with Astarion either playing the role of manipulator or the one being manipulated. Attachments were leverage, giving someone a hook they were able to dig their claws into in order to gain ground. Isolating himself from connecting with others was how he had survived.

And yet, as he watched Eli drift back into sleep, his eyes found her hand resting near her pillow. A longing came over him and, carefully, he reached out tentative and slow until his fingers brushed gently against her own, quietly connecting. Questioning.

Eli’s eyes opened, sleepy but curious. She watched his fingers lightly caressing her own, and with a small smile took his hand and tenderly wove her fingers in between his. Moments like this, made up of soft touches and careful affections, were becoming more common between them. And the intimacy of these moments never ceased to fascinate Astarion.

To Astarion, intimacy had always involved passion and lust. It was created in the pressed spaces between fervent bodies as they worked one another towards ecstasy. It was fleeting and vanished just as quickly as it emerged.

This, however…this was different. This was calm and soothing, and it lingered almost like a promise. Always available to be restoked and explored.   

“I…” Astarion began, hesitating for only a second before he steeled himself and pressed on. “I dreamed I was back at the mansion. Back under Cazador’s control.” The name was spoken on the edge of a growl, his red eyes fixed on their joined hands.

He paused, thinking through what to say next, and Eli allowed him the silence to collect his thoughts and continue. “He mocked me,” Astarion spat. “Saying that all this was an illusion. That I hadn’t escaped. That you were an illusion.”

He glanced cautiously to her face, and when his eyes met hers, he found understanding there.

“Well, you came to the right tent,” Eli smiled, voice playful though not dismissive. “I’m something of an expert on nightmares. We can even compare notes, if you like.”

She squeezed his hand lightly and repeated his words from the night when he’d kept vigil over her as she fought against the dark madness within herself. It was unexpectedly touching and Astarion felt something twist where his dead heart was.

“As for whether or not I’m an illusion,” Eli said as she propped herself up on her elbows, slinking closer to him, eyes locked in to his own. “We can thoroughly investigate that claim, if you’d like,” she whispered, a sly question lingering in her gaze.

Astarion smirked, rising and leaning in to close the space between them. He untangled his fingers from her own and placed his hands on her shoulders, fulling intending to roll her to her back and ravish her while she squirmed beneath him. Astarion had come to Eli’s tent with no expectations beyond wanting her close, but he certainly wasn’t about to turn down the opportunity to get even closer. They were good together. Really. Fucking. Good. And already desire was clouding over his mind as he bent to capture her mouth with his own. He had tasted her many times before, and yet every time they came together after a prolonged absence it felt fresh and raw. Rejuvenating and wild.

In all of his time as a thrall to his master, Astarion had never bedded the same person twice. Every night was a new conquest, new prey for him to stalk and tease until he’d gathered just enough information to get him through the evening and to get his target back to the mansion. The encounters always played out very tactically on his end as he gathered just enough surface-level drivel to ensure his quarry was seduced into the trap. Once Cazador came for his prize, Astarion would never see the poor wretches again, and that was fine by him.

With Eli, though, it was so different. There had been nothing tactical about any of it after that first night, and even during. The ecstasy of freedom, of choosing to give of himself rather than being forced, was intoxicating. They would explore one another, finding comfort in both familiarity and discovery, honing in on the things that drove the other mad and had them coming undone in the throes of rapture. They were becoming known to one another, intimately and completely. Perfecting and exploring and discovering every time they were together.

It was both enthralling and terrifying, being known like that. Being laid bare as Eli unraveled him just a bit further every time, uncovering parts of himself that had been left dormant and untouched for so long.

The anticipation of it all was already causing a firm swell to build below the waistline of his trousers as he pressed into the kiss. His tongue darted and teased at her lips, gently prodding between them and beckoning her closer. One of his hands had slipped to the small of her back as the other pressed into her shoulder, gently guiding her so that he could tuck Eli below him and crawl on top.

Eli, however, seemed to have other plans in mind and resisted his direction, pushing back into him and maneuvering the both of them until he was on his back with her legs straddling his waist. She never broke the kiss, rocking forward on her knees as she took his hand from her back and pinned it to the ground above his head, her fingers lacing in between his own. He growled into the kiss and playfully ghosted a fang over her bottom lip, causing her to hum needfully into his mouth.

And then her lips were gone, leaving only the hot impression of longing against his own as Eli trailed her lips from the corner of his mouth to the shell of his ear. Her breath was tantalizingly warm, brushing against the sensitive skin there, causing a shiver to course down his spine before it pulsated up into his firming dick. His free hand came to rest on her hip and he fingered mindlessly at the hem of her pants. He wanted her to sit back onto his groin so he could roll his hips up into her and rut his straining cock in between her legs. Hells, he wanted to be free of their clothes so he could sheathe himself inside her warmth and watch her ride him while he speared her over and over as she screamed his name until her throat was raw.

But then all thoughts and wants were lost to a white hot flash in his mind as Eli bit down on the tip of his ear, careful not to break skin but sharp enough to fire lightning off into his veins. His hips snapped up, needing to feel her as his cock throbbed. His left hand was still pinned above his head by one of hers, and he felt his nails digging at the skin of her knuckles while his right hand desperately tried to pull her hips down against him. He choked off a whine in the back of his throat and closed his eyes as his head rolled back against the ground.

She laughed breathily into his ear, and oh gods it was undoing him already. This was dangerous. She’d been paying attention, noting all the things that set him off and applying them expertly until she had him writhing. It was a wholly new experience for him and beneath his fervor and lust was a seed of trepidation.

When it came to sex, there had always been two ways the experience would play out. Either he would maintain control over the situation, or he would disassociate as his various partners had their way and used him to their satisfaction.     

But this. This was new. And while it wasn’t unwelcome, the fact that she’d worked him into this position so easily was setting off alarm bells in the back of his mind. He felt exposed. Vulnerable. He hadn’t realized how freely he’d given of himself these past few weeks, how far he’d let her explore and how attentively she’d done so.

How known he truly was.

And then she was letting go of his hand while her lips returned to his own, pressing soft and affectionate kisses into them. She carded a hand into his hair, careful to avoid his ear which was still tingling and overstimulated. He felt a shudder of both relief and disappointment roll through his body as the high passed, missing the sensuality and hunger of it all while relaxing into a more settled state of mind.

Astarion’s eyes were still closed, and the throbbing in his dick had not subsided. He felt her breath back at his ear, though not as close as it had been earlier.

“I just want to make you feel good,” he heard her whisper, sending sparks back through his veins. “Show me how.”

His eyes fluttered open to find hers gazing back at him, sweet and attentive. He felt her fingers twining through his hair and sighed contently, a small smile on his lips.

“You’ve been doing a magnificent job so far, darling,” he crooned before pulling her back down into another wanting kiss.

He smoothed his hands along her sides, repositioning her atop him until she was flush against him. He ran one hand down her spine, firm and slow, while the other gripped the back of her head, encouraging her to melt into him as their tongues explored each other’s mouths and their bodies squirmed, searching for friction. The hand at her back moved to squeeze her ass before he pressed her down against him, desperate for pressure against his groin.    

“My only critique so far is there are entirely too many clothes between us,” he breathed against her lips. The hand on her ass gripped tight as he pressed and rubbed his thick erection into her hips, driving the point home.

“Allow me to remedy that,” Eli said with a quick kiss.

And then she was gone, hiking his shirt up and licking warm and wet kisses down his belly towards his waistline. Her hands were undoing the fastenings of his trousers and his head was beginning to spin with the implication.

That wasn’t… She didn’t have to…

He felt Eli slip her hands beneath his smallclothes and tug, pulling both his trousers and underwear down until his erection was free. He sighed from the relief, feeling the fullness bob and twitch expectantly. Eli was dragging her tongue down from his bellybutton towards his aching cock and fuck…he couldn’t remember the last time someone had offered to do this for him.

His hand was in her hair, then, tugging gently for her to look up at him.

“That’s not what I was implying, my dear. You don’t have to…” Astarion’s protests trailed off when Eli’s eyes met his, full of lust and playful longing.

He’d sounded almost sheepish, even a bit apologetic, as a sting of guilt wormed its way into his gut. Astarion should be the one giving pleasure, that was how these things always went. That was what he was good at…what his master had made him for…

The thought struck out at him unbidden with a nasty sense of shock and disgust. Cazador had created him for the pleasure of others, taking every opportunity to viciously remind him that what he wanted and how he felt never mattered. It was a belief that had been bolted to his soul after decades of torment, and one it seemed he still carried, even when he wasn’t in his master’s grasp.

“Astarion,” Eli said, softly pulling him out of his spiraling.

He blinked and refocused on her as she pressed her lips gently against the taunt skin over his hip bone, drawing an eager hiss from between his teeth as his dick jerked. Images of her mouth around him, warm and so godsdamn wet and tight, were firing off in his brain and…fucking hells, when had he fallen so completely for her?

“Right now, in this moment, nothing would make me happier than to get you down my throat and thoroughly satisfy you.” Eli smirked at him, hands on his bare thighs and lips a mere breath away from his cock, red and full and beginning to leak.

Her eyes were glittering with a mischief that was intoxicating, but there was affection there, too, soothing and comforting. He shivered, furiously trying to shut his brain down as thoughts collided in explosions of need, guilt and desire.

He’d thought himself so smart, charming and seducing her into his bed. Laying a trap and then walking her into it with such confidence and glee, only for him to find himself just as ensnared. He’d used her, manipulated her, and then drowned himself in her and gods above, if he didn’t want to do it again and again.

“But if that’s not what you want…” He stiffened at Eli’s words, catching the undercurrent of concern in her voice as she shifted and began to move back up his body.

He stopped her, sliding his hand from out of her hair to cup her cheek while he brushed a few silvery strands from her eyes with the other. Now was decidedly not the time for him to have an internal crisis of feelings. Not in the middle of the night with his dick out, pants halfway down his legs and Eli saying such obscene and beautiful things to him. There’d be time for personal reflection later.

He wanted this. Wanted her.

“I want it.” He almost felt embarrassed at the raw desire that slipped through his voice, heavy and breathy. “Gods, you have no fucking idea how much…”

He stopped himself before he could elaborate more and completely mortify himself.

“It’s just been a long time since anyone offered,” he concluded. He wouldn’t admit he couldn’t remember the last time someone had pleasured him like that.

Eli considered him for a moment, expression thoughtful, and for a brief moment of panic Astarion wondered if she had changed her mind. About him and about all of this. But then her lips twitched up into a tender smile and he felt his soul shudder.

“Please.” Astarion breathed.

Eli ghosted a few featherlight kisses near the base of his cock before whispering, “Well, when you ask so sweetly…”

And then her mouth was on him and Astarion’s head rolled back as he made a noise he was entirely too obliterated to be ashamed of.

She took only the tip at first, sucking down onto the head as her lips slid back and forth over the swollen ridge. Her pace was slow, and it was both agonizing and exhilarating. His thighs clenched as a heavy pressure throbbed deep in his groin, sending shivers and tingles spasming out through his legs and up into his belly. His hand was back in her hair, grabbing and encouraging, careful to not be forceful, while his other hand fisted the bedroll.

He both heard and felt Eli laugh low in her throat, the vibrations of it tingling down his shaft and setting his nerves on fire. He’d managed to kick his trousers off, spreading his legs apart so she could nestle between them and absolutely destroy him.

Eli began sucking him down further, slowly sheathing himself into her mouth. He shut his eyes, growling as her warmth and spit enveloped him. He responded by hitching his hips up into her, wanting more, wanting her full of him. He felt her hands on his hips, directing him to rock up into her mouth at a languid pace. He fell into the rhythm, fucking into the suction. She flattened her tongue, applying pressure along his shaft every time he thrusted in before dragging her tongue tip along the sensitive skin when he pulled out.

The growl in his throat grew into a lewd moan that shamelessly filled the tent, leaving no one who was awake in camp to wonder about what was taking place. He could not have cared any less about who heard, and in fact he welcomed it. Let them all listen as Eli, savior of the Druid’s Grove, conqueror of Grymforge and scourge of the Absolute went down on him and fucked him senseless with her perfect fucking mouth. He was the only one she’d do this to, the only one she’d pleasure. No one else got to experience this, see her like this.

He was hers.

The thought set off a wave of arousal so potent that he felt his cock spasm in response, leaking precum that Eli’s tongue then swirled across his tip as he continued to rut into her. The pressure between his legs was mounting as a possessive and greedy emotion seized him.

“Darling…oh gods, darling, not yet…” Astarion wasn’t going to last like this, but he was not ready to be undone. Not yet.

He opened his lust-blown eyes and a feral groan tumbled out of him at the sight of Eli between his legs, sweaty and fervent and his. Leaning forward, he cupped her chin and encouraged her off his dick. Her eyes met his and the mixture of arousal and craving in her dilated pupils slammed into him so hard his chest hitched.

Nobody looked at him like that. Ever.

He needed more.  

Wordlessly, he pulled her up to him and their mouths crashed together in a wild and wanton kiss that was all tongues and teeth. He could taste himself on her, salty and pungent and it drove him mad.

They only separated for a moment as Astarion pulled Eli’s shirt up and over her head before removing his own. Then, they were tumbling back onto the bedroll, Astarion still pinned beneath Eli as their hands greedily explored one another.

He began fumbling with the buttons of Eli’s pants, the last barrier between them, and licked into her mouth as she moaned desperately into their bruising kiss. She was writhing on top of him, bent over him and straddling his bare torso as her hips rolled against him shamelessly. Undoing the buttons, he slipped his hand beneath her underwear and ran a teasing finger between the lips of her swollen clit.

Eli whined and gasped as his touch and Astarion laughed with wicked mirth, gliding his finger back and forth between her wet folds but never going deeper. She was soaked, worked up into a frenzy and it emboldened his ego to no end.

“I didn’t realize sucking on my cock could make you so wet,” he purred with no small amount of self-satisfaction.

His finger traced a circle along the rim of her pulsating clit, earning a high-pitched moan that shuddered out of her throat and went straight to his dick. She tried to reposition herself, needing his fingers in places they weren’t.

He grinned at her distress, earning a reproachful bite to his lower lip that did nothing to dissuade him.

“Less working your mouth and more working you – oh fuck!” Eli cried out as Astarion pushed two fingers up into her, burring them deep.

She bolted upright, arching her back as her mouth fell open and her head fell back, a slew of profane and needful curses tearing from her throat. He felt her clamp down on his fingers, hands pressing on his chest for balance as she brazenly rode his fingers.

He gazed up at her as his fingers stroked and hooked at her throbbing walls, causing little twitches and spasms to filter throughout her body. Her skin glistened in the foggy moonlight that seeped in through the walls of the tent, sweat-slicked breasts bouncing with each thrust of her hips as her head lolled, eyes shut reverently as she worked to satisfy herself. His dick bobbed against his belly with each roll of her hips, and he could feel a warm trail of precum rolling down the edge of his hip. His erection was so stiff it verged on painful, and when he felt her walls begin to flutter around his fingers, he knew he couldn’t wait any longer.

He pulled his hand back from within her core and the gasping whine that erupted from her lips nearly choked him.

“I’m sorry, my sweet,” he crooned, wrapping an arm around her back as he braced himself with the other and sat up. “Bear with me for just a moment. I dare not make you wait any longer.”

Astarion tipped her back and laid her down, yanking both her pants and underclothes off in a swift motion. He settled his hips between her legs, the head of his cock pressing agonizingly at her entrance.

He hovered above her for a moment, drinking her in. She was a gorgeous mess, eyes blown wide with craving and skin flushed hot and pink. Her chest was heaving as she gazed up at him with a look that would have stopped his heart if it weren’t already still. Adoration beamed back at him as she smiled and Astarion felt a twisting deep in his chest.

He knew then, with absolute certainty, that whatever was between them was so much more than anything he had planned for it to be. It terrified and amazed him. Welling up emotions within himself he wasn’t sure how to grasp or understand. He didn’t want to hide from it, though. He’d been hiding and skulking and manipulating for too long.

He wanted something more. Something real.

Astarion bent down, kissing Eli deep and longingly. Hoping that even just a shred of what he felt could be communicated through the embrace. She sighed into it, eyes closing and hands carding into his hair before they slid down to his back. He shivered as her fingers traced tenderly over the scars there, careful and deferential.

Breaking the kiss, he hooked an arm under her left leg and rested it up on his shoulder, pressing it forward and stretching her apart. Lining himself up to her warm core, he rested his forehead against her own and felt her squirm impatiently beneath him.

“Fuck, Astarion, please.”

That was all it took. He pushed inside of her, body shuddering at the enveloping and soft warmth. He felt his abdomen clench, waves of arousal rocketing down his legs and up his spine as he sank into her to the hilt. Astarion groaned, pulling back before he buried himself again, then again, then again. Eli gasped with each thrust, arching her back and angling her hips for a better position. The leg he’d pulled over his shoulder tensed and squeezed, pressing down on him as he snapped his hips up and into her. A low growl rose up, unbidden, from his throat. He was throbbing and needy and she felt so fucking good. Warm, wet and tight as he pressed into her walls and felt her contract around him. Their eyes were locked in and a rapturous shudder ran the length of his spine as Eli’s face contorted in ecstasy, her mouth opening in a silent and delirious cry.

He pulled back again. Her eyes were begging. Another thrust, making her back arch up as she bucked her hips into him, needing him deeper.

He was entranced with her face and the raw longing he saw there. He plunged in again, drawing a high squeal from her that turned into a breathy rasp as she closed around him and shook against his body. Her eyes never left his, and he drank in every mewl and cry as she looked at him with so much affection and craving that Astarion was tempted to duck his head and hide from the level of vulnerability she was giving him.

But he didn’t. Couldn’t. No one else got to see this. No one else would see Eli – hero, warrior, leader, fledgling legend that she was – shivering and squirming underneath him as he pumped into her. This was all for him, and him alone.

She was falling apart, losing herself in the thrill and the ecstasy, every sob for more spurring him on as he stared into her enthralled eyes. Her hands were everywhere, desperately running up and down and all over, clutching and pulling him closer while she pushed at the small of his back, directing his thrusting pace into one she could match with euphoria-inducing turns and twists of her hips.

The wild and undone look in her eyes coupled with the unrelenting throbbing of his cock was near enough to drive him mad. Electric jolts shot down his legs from his groin with every plunge, and his muscles felt as if they would seize at any second. It felt amazing. She felt amazing, and gods she was looking at him like he was the gravitational pull of the universe. It tore at his seams and pulled a centuries-old ache from his dead heart.

He wanted to be someone to her. Someone important. Someone she needed.

It was agonizing and frightening, that feeling. The last time he’d even remotely felt anything near to it, he’d been locked away and isolated in a coffin for over a year. Punishment for such sentimental wretchedness.

Astarion grit his teeth, clawing his way back from the memory and pushing it all down. Those were things left for later. Not now. Not when Eli was crying out and babbling about how incredible he felt, wrapping her arms around his neck to pull him down for a kiss that he swore was going to set him on fire.

The pressure was building between his legs again as every muscle below his chest began to tense. His mind fixated on the lewd and wetly rhythmic sounds coming from between them and he could feel her slick arousal all over his groin and lower torso. His mind began fuzzing, triggered by all the erotic sounds and the building stimulation threatening to explode in his core.

He wanted this. He wanted to feel her cum beneath him. He wanted to feel himself truly and completely let go for the first time in centuries.

He pulled back from their kiss, the hair on his neck pricking in response to the small whine that left Eli’s throat as he did so.

He continued to pound into her, hard and measured, dick pulsating inside of her as the buildup became nearly unbearable. Beyond the pounding of blood in his ears he could hear himself grunting with each thrust, deep and animalistic and so fucking needy as the delirium mounted all around them.

Astarion leveled his eyes with Eli’s, face hovering above hers, and smiled at the unabated and desperate look she was giving him.

“Do you really want me that badly, darling?” he asked, panting and nearly out of his mind with wonder at the sheer amount of desire coursing between them.

There was no teasing in his question, no flirtatious overtones or hidden meanings. He needed to know.

“Yes,” she breathed, and the world narrowed.

“Gods, Astarion, I want all of you,” Eli nearly cried, arms tightening around him as she came near to climax. “Not just this,” she moaned, pressing her face into his neck as her back arched off the ground. She was shaking she was so close.

“I want you with me,” she whined into his ear and the desperation in her words was intoxicating. “In all the ways that matter,” she continued, her voice raw and teetering on the edge of bliss. “…with me. Please!”

Astarion clung to her like a man drowning, eyes closed and face pressed into her hair. The scent of her was everywhere and he reveled in the frantic intimacy of the moment, blindly grabbing at her upturned hips and bottoming out into her with a force that sent lightning zipping through his veins and stars bursting behind his eyelids.

The pressure between his legs released and Astarion came with all the subtlety of a smokepowder barrel blowing alight, all the muscles in his legs and lower torso seizing and relaxing in bursts.

“Gods, Eli. Fuck!” he cried out against her, swept up in the climax as the world fell away.

Eli followed, her inner walls contracting around him, bolstering his orgasm as she shuddered and cried out for him. She wrapped her legs around his waist and squeezed tight, wanting him full and solid as she came with him inside.

Astarion moved his hips in a circular motion, gentle and sensual, letting Eli ride out the last of her orgasm as the both of them came down. They were a tangle of arms, legs, sweat and ragged breath, neither willing to let go of the other as a hush fell over the tent. They rested in the quiet, laying in each other’s arms, content in the intimate sense of togetherness. He could feel her racing heart beat beneath her skin as he rested his head under her chin, her pulse lulling him into a comfortable daze. The scent of the blood in her veins was hot and sweet and he reveled in the thrum of life that surrounded her. A life he was growing more and more attached to…

Suddenly, Eli snorted and Astarion’s eyes snapped open curiously. He lifted his head and quirked a brow down at her as she tried and failed to suppress a fit of giggling. He tensed, unsure and more than a little confused by her bizarre response to what he thought had been a rather exhilarating experience.

She squeezed his bicep reassuringly, a delighted grin settling on her face.

“Sorry,” she laughed quietly. “I was just thinking, there’s no way anyone in this camp is still sleeping. We’re going to have to apologize in the morning.”

Astarion’s eyes softened as the corner of his mouth twitched up fondly. He then made a show of rolling his eyes before he buried his face back into her neck.

“You are quite mad, aren’t you?” he mumbled, unable to keep a smile out of his words. “I’ll go to my second grave before I apologize for what we just did.”

_______________________________

The sounds of muffled shuffling outside the tent woke Astarion the next morning. He tracked the sound with his ears, unwilling to open his eyes and rouse himself from his sleepy haze.

Eli lay pressed up against him in his arms, her head nestled near his chest. He’d pulled a blanket over them at some point during the night in an effort to retain the warmth coming off her body. Considering his undead nature, he could only sap her body heat from her, rather than contribute to it, and that fact bothered him a bit more now than it had in the past.

He traced a finger lazily across her back, feeling the ridges and divots of multiple angry scars she had no memory of earning. Eli’s body was a war story, just as damaged as her broken mind with twisted scarring and gnarled blemishes that held their secrets close. They were the remnants of a brutality that was difficult to reconcile with the person he’d come to know Eli as, and it made her all the more beautiful for it.

He didn’t mind her brokenness, and he was comforted by her imperfection. He knew all to well what it was like to be torn open over and over…

The clang of a cookpot being hoisted over the camp’s fire caused him to flinch, and Eli stirred, yawning into his bare chest.

Astarion opened his eyes, blinking as they focused in the gloom. Early morning shadows crept along the walls of the tent and he could now hear Gale’s distinct and nervous muttering as the wizard went about his morning routine, preparing coffee and some manner of breakfast near the center campfire. There was another voice, too, hushed and careful, as if the speaker didn’t want to be overhead.

“Oh, would you two stop squawking like a pair of gossipy hens!” Karlach’s voice boomed out over the hushed muttering, both scolding and amused in tone. “You both are just jealous it wasn’t either of you causing that racket last night. Hells knows I am,” she bemoaned.

“Is that what Gale and Wyll are prattling on about?” Lae’zel’s voice barked from over near her tent. “Sex can provide excellent relief from the stresses of our chaotic situation. It is both a healthy and helpful activity, though I am assuming neither of you have much familiarity with its benefits considering how you chatter like scandalized adolescents.”  

Eli cut off a laugh in the back of her throat and Astarion smirked.

Gale and Wyll had begun to boisterously protest before Karlach interrupted, clearly directing her next statement in the direction of Eli’s tent.

“They might as well get out here so we can properly taunt them for not inviting any of us!”     

Eli rolled onto her back then sat up, shrugging the blanket off and arching her spine in a fluid stretch, arms raised. Wordlessly, she then bent down, kissing him with a tenderness that made his chest ache, before she leaned away and stood, beginning to dress.

“Sorry, Karlach, but I draw the line at superheated engine that could melt my face off and angry unstable bomb that could level a small city when considering who I sleep with.” Eli pulled her shirt over her head and turned to wink at him before she unfastened the tent flap and stepped out into camp.

Karlach’s boisterous laughter greeted her and Astarion frowned as the tent flap fell back into place, leaving him alone with thoughts he needed to sort through.

Denial wasn’t going to work any longer. And gods, was he in trouble.

[vmpssd]

imagining rn mango bill (i'm going to call him human bill here because i think i'll sound stupid i say mango bill to describe him haha) (also please forgive me if my english or grammar is shit, this is not my first language)

human bill! where the two of you go to a party, there's all types of things. human eyeball cocktails with silly straws, drugs made out of decayed planets and universes, a poker table made from many different organs shaped into poker chips.

human bill! where the two of you split up for a moment, you going to the food and drink section to see what's available to munch and bill going to catch up with old friends.

human bill! who talks with his old friends, rambling and communicating about what's been going on lately, what they've destroyed and what has been happening in their respective life.

human bill! who looks in your direction every few minutes, trying to spot you and see what you were doing/if you were alright, to see you having fun before relaxing himself and continuing with his own business.

human bill! where his conversation with his friends ends, so afterwards he goes in search to look for you, only to find you still at the same bar that you've been seated at since the beginning.

human bill! where he talks with you about how you feel about the party, how your night is going so far, is there anything you want to ask him? go ahead. who's shocked when you grab him by the collar and kiss him, allowing a shot of alcohol you took to go down his throat.

human bill! who groans into your lips at the taste of the burning alcohol and the intoxicating taste of your saliva mixed together, heat flowing throw him that burns hotter than a thousand suns.

human bill! who whispers for the two of you to go somewhere more private, quickly taking your hand and heading to one of the bathrooms.

human bill! who quickly shuts and locks the door behind you, lights flickering above the two of you, neon fluorescents barely lighting the dingy bathroom.

human bill! who pins you against the door, kissing you again but harsher this time, hands rapidly pulling your pants down, fingers tightening and practically ripping your underwear apart.

human bill! who turns you so you're facing the door and his chest pressed tightly against your back so you can't move, his hand slipping between your thighs so he can finger you with as much energy as his hands will allow.

human bill! who mumbles how well you're taking his fingers against your throat, pressing kisses into the space where your shoulder and start of your neck meet, muttering something else in your throat that you don't seem to catch.

human bill! who spins you back around after finishing fingering you, licking the remains of your slick off of them. before pulling his own pants down, his cock already smeared in his own pre-cum.

human bill! who holds you against the door, lifting your legs and wrapping them around his waist and hips, not long before sinking you onto his cock, fully.

human bill! who fucks you against that same door, hands wrapped so tightly around your hips that you're definitely sure that there will be bruises and marks tomorrow.

human bill! who marks you, sucking his name into various parts of your skin, writing naughty (illuminaughty) things into your body with his own language branded by his teeth, scratches and nail marks over your body so you have something to admire the next morning.

human bill! who pants and growls into your neck, raking his hands down your back when you sob out his name, his eyes glazing over every time you clench around him which makes him speed up so he can feel it again and so he can hear your choked cries.

human bill! who finishes inside of you right after you, drooling onto your chest from the aftershocks, kissing away the noises that seep out of your mouth into the open air so no one can hear you.

human bill! who regains his stamina and refreshes his libido in an instant, before going at it again, and again, and again... not stopping for anything, even when your legs are trembling against his own and your voice is on the verge of losing it.

human bill! who relishes in the sound of your moans, your sweat and drool coated skin and flesh, the cum, his cum and yours coating the inside of your sticky thighs where your insides are stuffed full of it too.

human bill! who can't get enough of you, who goes at it like a rabbit the very next morning just to remind you how much he loves you (and that body of yours too).

<3

ANON PLEASE TAKE MY LIFE I ALMOST TEARED UPPPPP I WANT MANGO BILL SO BAD

YOU WOULDN'T SOUND SILLT DON'T YOU WORRY, YOUR GRAMMAR IS FINE! ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST EITHER NO JUDGEMENT HERE

OH OHH JUST BEING WITH HIM IN A PARTY WOULD GET ME DIZZY, HEAD OVER HEELS FOR THIS SMUG MF I WOULD PROBABLY DO ALL THAT MDMDNSMDM NOT MYSELF WHEN THE ALCOHOL HITS

me when sex on public places me when when me wh

FOAMING AT THE MOUTH GHHHHHGGHH HIS FINGERS WOULD FEEL SOOOO GOOD AND BEING PINNED AGAINST THAT DOOR? 🥴🥴

ILLUMINAUGHTY HELP THE BOOK REFERENCEMSMSDNSMMS

now let me tell you anon, if he marked my body with things wrote on it, it's peaky for me. better than hickeys. i remember that one fic where bill 'marks' reader, calling them his slut or whore and mmhmm m goosebumps

HE WOULD HAVE STAMINA AND I DON'T MIND GOING FOR HOURS LIKE HEY? PLEASE FUCK ME LIKE YOU MEAN IT

drooling and being pounded dumb by him god how i wanted that, your writing is SOOO OH MY GOD

possessive billmmmhhh WOULDN'T MIND BEING TAKEN ON THE MORNING I LOVE HIM THANK YOU FOR MAKING THIS BILL JUSTICE ANON

[frightenedcricket]

Decay Part 1: The fall.

Noah Sebastian x OC. Angst.

Summary: Noah and Abby's friendship starts trembling when Abby develops unhealthy habits. No one knows why, no one dares to ask, but everyone is scared.

Notes: this is fiction. It's long af so I will make it a multi part thing

Warnings: themes like alcoholism, alussions to S. A. (it doesn't happen), self-destructive behaviors are touched in this fic. Read at your own discretion.

He didn't know where or when it started. But he was alert whenever she was around. They all had seen her decay in the past weeks and it was obviously taking a toll in them. But it was Noah the one worrying the most.

Abby wasn't one to tell anyone her problems. Not even Noah. She didn't want to be a weight on anyone's shoulders. She had told them when she had broken up with her partner. They knew about the impact it had on her and how she needed to stop touring for a few weeks. But that was it. That was the further they knew about her fears and personal life. They didn't know how recently her mind had been plagued by those thoughts... She was hurting herself, her own mind playing games, and no one truly know. They didn't see more than they joyful friend getting wasted night after night.

They were in a random gas station. The bus needed to stop and they had just left the city. It was past 3 am and they were all tired.

Noah left the public restroom he had just washed his teeth in and looked around. It was dark and kind of misty. The bus was only a few meters away. He could see the lights and also some of the guys moving inside. But as soon as he started to walk in that direction, he heard a group of three men talk.

"Yeah, there's a chick in there." He stopped walking and turned in the most discreet way he could. They were next to a truck smoking. "And she was pissed drunk"

Noah felt cold. They were talking about her. Abby had drunk too much. It was kind of a habit right now, that was what had them worried.

"I'm sure she is easy to convince" Another one said.

"My house is right down the road"

"No way we are taking her to your house, dude! I'll drive down there and then we can bring her-"

The door opened and Noah tensed. The three men turned to her, they hadn't seen Noah standing there or didn't care about him. One of them started to walk, but Noah moved faster.

"Babe! Here you are. I though you were already in the bus"

Noah took long steps to her and pulled her closer to his body. The three men froze.

"Let's go" He muttered when she clinged into his waist.

"Yeah... I'm a bit dizzy" She muttered. "You called me babe"

Noah's heart wanted to come out of his chest. Yeah, he could fight, he was big and well trained. But those men were three and he didn't know if they were armed. Plus by how they spoke... If he had walked to the bus... He pulled her closer and kissed her head.

"Hey, what took you so long?" Folio was smoking outside the bus.

"Hey, Folio. Do you have some..."

"No, he doesn't"

Noah and Nick shared a look.

"Let's go inside and you can go to sleep" At least she had her sweats and hoodie on. They wouldn't need to get her out of her work clothes.

"Oh C'mon. I'm fine"

Noah had to help her to get on the bus. With a loud sigh, she let herself fall on the sofa. "I will sleep here, okay?"

"Abby..."

"I get dizzy in the bus"

"You wouldn't if you didn't drink like that" Matt groaned.

"Matt" Noah didn't need to say more. His stern gaze made everyone shut up.

Noah ended up sitting with her because once the bus started moving she got worse.

The next day, she was still sleeping there when the others came back from having breakfast. Luckily, tonight they had hotel rooms.

"Abby?"

"Mhm... My head..."

"Yeah, I brought you painkillers."

"You are an angel"

Noah sighed and moved her hair out of her face. Abby stared into his eyes for long seconds. She loved them. So dark but so sweet and warm. She wished for that pain in them to wash away.

"You stayed last night?"

Noah shook his head. After a while his neck had started hurting and he moved to his bunk. He wanted to take care of her, but it was starting to consume him.

"Oh" She wouldn't admit she wanted him to stay. That was the last thing she wanted to do because it would only make it worse.

"Get ready, okay? We have the soundcheck in an hour and Dierkes is not happy"

She nodded.

The thing was that, with all her problems, she still showed up everyday at work, on time and gave the most of her. It was on her free time when she did all the damage.

During the day, Abby was her usual loving shelf. She was there for everyone, she seemed happy.

Soundcheck was smooth. They didn't have mayor problems.

"Movie night?" Noah said during lunch.

"Oh yes! There is this new one... Fuck. I don't remember the name" Folio started talking about the film, but Noah's eyes moved over to where Abby sat. She was on her phone, not paying much attention. He felt something on his chest. She used to love movie nights.

She didn't make it to watch the movie.

"And Abby?" Noah cautiously asked when the last one of the guys arrived.

"Uh..." Nicholas cleared his throat. He had been there for a while already, but didn't have the guts so say it. "She has a date"

Noah frowned.

"A date? We got here yesterday"

"Tinder" The bassist muttered.

Noah's humor switched completely. He tensed and his expression turned icy.

"Noah" Bryan grabbed his shoulder, but he moved away.

"It's fine. Turn that film on"

The next morning, when Jolly was leaving his room for breakfast when Abby stumbled out of the elevator. The man groaned and quickly moved to her.

"Hey"

"Where were you?" Jolly was cold, probably too much because she flinched a bit.

"With a friend" Abby muttered. Her mind kept running around the things that had happened. She wanted to shower.

Jolly didn't tell Noah about the encounter, but he told everyone Abby was already on her room. They sighed in relief. Noah felt the tension leaving his shoulders. At least she was back. The men from the gas station hadn't left his mind for a second.

It was the first time she was late for work. But again, she did everything good. She was only a bit slower than other days.

"Are you okay?" Noah asked. She had lifted a box and had groaned.

"Yeah... I didn't expect it to be this heavy"

Noah nodded. There were dark circles under her eyes and her skin was pale. She had tried to hide it with make up but it didn't work.

"Uh... Sorry for not going last night" I'm the bottom, Abby was fully conscious of her actions. She knew what she was doing, she knew that it was hurting Noah. But in those moments, fear and anxiety washed over her and she simply couldn't stand being there.

The signer shook his head.

"It's okay. It was awful anyway" He didn't want to give her a excuse, a reason... But he didn't want to admit that he hated her last night, that he hated she was there with some random dude and had skipped movie night for sex. He didn't want to be that person. He didn't want to be jealous.

"Folio, right?"

Noah nodded and she laughed softly. That was like a present on Christmas.

But Noah's mind keep turning over the same spot. He needed to keep her close. To keep an eye on her. But he didn't know how. He felt this urge to protect her from the world.

"Man..." Matt sat next to him after the show. They had gone to have a couple of drinks in a bar and Abby already had her first beer. "It's not healthy"

"I know, I just don't know how to tell her-"

"I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about you. We all know that whatever she is doing it's not healthy"

"About me?"

Noah frowned. The manager nodded slowly. "You are not yourself."

"Well, I'm worried. You know why" He had tried to be subtle about it and keep it a secret. But he had already told more people than he could count with his hand. He was head over heels for her. He was for a long time.

"Noah... You don't have to save her"

Noah looked away. It was like cold water. Something he already knew but didn't want to be told.

"I have been in bad places too, Matt. I want to help her, she can't do it alone"

"But it's not your responsibility, okay? She is our friend. We can help her, but we... You can't do it for her"

Noah ran his hands over his hair and looked for her. The groan was loud.

Abby was standing there with a man and his hands were dangerously low. She took a shot and the man grabbed his cheeks harshly. Noah couldn't tear his eyes off them. He kissed her and Noah felt nauseous.

"Noah"

"Yeah" Finally, he leaned back against the chair and look at Matt. "It's hurting me"

Well, his therapist would be proud.

Nicholas found them on the table and sat, instantly feeling the tension.

"Is this about..."

"Yeah"

Nicholas, being the best friend, flesh and bone, the guy who had been there for so long, leaned forward on the table.

"I know you are in love with her. It's not easy for me to see her doing this, I can't imagine for you... But it's not healthy... Are you even happy?"

Noah looked down at his hands. Suddenly, the tattoos that covered them for years were the most interesting thing in the world.

"No..." He was happy touring, with the band, his job. All of that was everything that he ever wanted. But now there was a dark cloud that would let him see all of those good things he had.

Unconsciously, his eyes moved to her but she wasn't there. The anxiety grew on his chest as he got up.

"She was with- I have to go"

"Noah, no"

They couldn't stop him. When he stepped outside, the air was way colder and humid than when they arrived. He heard her laugh and looked to the right. She was with that man next to a car. He took mental notes of everything he could, and last but not lest important, wrote the plate number on his phone. Then, he knew he shouldn't, but he did it any way.

"Abby!"

Her face turned to him and she smiled. His heart broke even more.

"Hey! Noah!"

He causally walked to them, making eye contact with the man.

"Where are you going?"

"Uh... With Harry" She couldn't stand looking into his eyes. There was somthing turning on her stomach.

"We leave early tomorrow"

"Uh"

"Who is this, flower?"

"This is Noah" She said while looking at him. There was something on her eyes he couldn't read. "A friend"

Noah felt his heart clench. He wasn't just a friend.

"W-we leave early tomorrow"

Abby seemed to think about it. They would leave at 8.30 am.

"Yeah, I... Uh... I'll try to make it."

"No, you have to be there"

Abby bit her lip and Harry scoffed.

"Dude..."

Noah shot him a look and he rolled his eyes.

"Listen. If I'm not there at 8... I'll send you my location as soon as we arrive at his. Just come and pick me. He lives down the road."

Noah felt a sour taste on his mouth. He didn't want to let her go. He didn't want her to be alone.

"Okay" He said defeated.

He watched them leave, feeling how he was loosing her more and more each night that passed.

When he came back, they were all in the table.

"She left."

"Dude, we leave early tomorrow. Why did you let he-" obviously, Matt didn't like the idea of a crew member spending the night out when they had an early morning. But Noah didn't want to hear any of that.

"Stop with that bullshit" He cut him while he sat. "You can't tell me it's not my responsibility but then give me shit for her leaving"

Matt went quiet.

"Noah, you can talk to us."

And Noah let himself go. He spoke for minutes.

"And... The other night at the night station... There were these men... They wanted to hurt her. They were talking about taking her somewhere and... How drunk she was..."

Everyone in the table felt guilty. Abby was their friend, but even when Noah and her had a different bond, they were all together in this. They had left Noah carrying with her and her problems for too long.

"Noah..."

"I feel... I'm scared because she gets pissed drunk every night and leaves with someone else... And I'm scared something happens to her and I'm not there like I was in the gas station. If I had left the restroom a minute earlier I wouldn't have heard them and... "

"Hey, no. But you were there" Nicholas said.

"I'm not there now"

They all went quiet.

"Maybe it's time to talk to her" Folio muttered. "I miss her"

Everyone looked at the drummer.

Those words sounded on everyone's minds for the whole night. Eventually, they went back to the bus and to sleep. But with every little sound, Noah would wake up thinking she was already there. She was back. But she wasn't. The morning came and her bunk was empty. 7.30 am.

Noah was sitting outside with Nicholas and Bryan. The morning was fresh but nice. It was sunny and it warmed their cold cheeks. They were quiet, all of them thinking the same.

"Hey" Bryan muttered.

Away and walking slow, a figure was getting closer. Noah straightened his back and fisted his hands.

"She doesn't seem drunk" Bryan muttered.

Matt walked down the bus too.

As soon as was close enough to see her properly, Noah got up.

"Abby"

There was make up under her eyes and her hair was tied in a messy bun. He wondered if she had seen herself, if she had even checked a mirror.

On the side of her neck, there were various purple marks. But it didn't worry Noah. What worried him was pink shade of her cheek and marks over her throat. Those were definitely not love bites.

"Abby, what happened to you?"

Everyone else was frozen.

"Nothing" She wasn't drunk this time. But she couldn't look at him. "What are you talking about?"

Abby wanted to go inside and wash herself. Then, she would just hide in her bunk until they arrive to the next city.

"Abby, have you seen yourself?"

Noah tried to reach to her but for the first time ever, she moved away. Noah felt lost. That was it, right? The end.

"Noah, I'm perfectly fine. Mind your own business"

Nicholas stood up ready to cut that as soon as needed.

Noah's blood was boiling. He was so done.

"Perfectly fine?" He grabbed her jaw and arm and she closed her eyes. But it didn't feel like last night. Noah was careful. He was furious but still grabbed her with so much care. "Has someone hit you? Abby, this is serious. This are finger marks..." His thumb moved over the marks on her throat.

She was on the verge of tears, but she wouldn't give him that. She wouldn't give them the pleasure. She didn't want an I told you so. So she did what her mind told her it was the best. What she had been doing recently. She pushed things a bit more. She pushed them closer to ruin.

"What? Haven't to heard about hard sex before? Haven't you ever slapped a girl with your cock in her mouth? Didn't think of you as the vanilla guy, Noah"

The smile on her face made him want to vomit. This wasn't his Abby.

"Go inside, Abby" Nicholas put some distance between them. He was done with these bullshit. "Wash yourself. We leave soon"

Noah's hands fell to his sides. He was tired. He wanted to sleep for hours. He wanted to scream and hit something. He was exhausted but full of energy. There was a hurricane of thoughts in his mind. These marks, her smile, her hurtful words... They way she didn't seem to care about anything. He was tired of it all. He was getting tired of her.

Abby closed the door in that small cubicle they called toilet. With a look in the mirror she started crying. She felt awful, tired, dirty; she hated her guts, she was full of rage; she was purposefully destroying the best thing she had only because she was feeling things she couldn't deal with. It was overwhelming.

Maybe what Noah and Abby had was just a friendship. But years of touring together had developed a bond like no one else's in the whole crew. Noah only had eyes for Abby and Abby couldn't go through the day without Noah.

"Abbs" Folio's sweet voice made her stop crying.

"Yeah"

"Are you-"

"Yeah. I'm fine. Don't worry".

Folio leaned against the door. "We are all here for you"

She covered her mouth and silenced a sob.

"Just... Take your time. We'll be outside, okay?"

As soon as Folio left, she was her face and hid on her bunk. She wasn't brave enough to face anyone - specially Noah -, so she chose to leave that for Future Abby.

The pre-show was tense until Abby left the green room to go to her designated place. Then Noah seemed to relax a bit without her presence around.

They hadn't even look at each other in the whole day. Which everyone understood. They didn't want to pick sides, but everyone admited to be more on Noah's.

The show was good, apart from the signer forgetting the lyrics a couple of times. It had nothing to do with his eyes meeting Abby's. Nothing.

There was not a post show. They decided to crash on the bus.

But it was suffocating. Noah wouldn't look at her. Matt was cold. Nicholas was tense around her... She could list every single one of them. She had been sitting in silence for an hour. Noah was also there, but across the room. He was busy playing some cards and seemed relaxed - he was just good pretending he was fine. The air was warm and getting dense even though they had a couple of windows open. It was raining outside.

There was that thing on the back of her mind again. Scape. So she grabbed her phone and open that damn app. Five minutes later she already had a guy to busy her night. Without saying a word, she got up and disappeared in the toilet.

Everyone thought she just needed to use it. But then the door opened and she had changed her clothes and put some make up on. The bit marks had faded during the day, but not the finger marks. Her face wasn't really swollen or red anymore but she had put effort on covering it anyway.

Noah's response was automatic.

"Where are you going?"

Abby froze for long seconds. There were so many eyes on her.

"Out. I'm bored" She put that mask on again. She didn't care. She wanted to have fun. She wanted to enjoy herself. It had nothing to do with hiding those scary feelings. It wasn't a way to protect herself by just getting damaged.

"It's raining and we are in the middle of nowhere" Noah added.

"I called an Uber. It's almost here."

Noah got up and she felt small, like a little mouse in front of an enormous black cat.

"You can't go"

"I definitely can. Not your business." She moved to the door but Noah was faster.

He stood in the stairs blocking the door. Being some steps lower he had her on eye level.

"Noah, move"

"No"

The guys stayed in silence, there was a place to speak in there. It was just Noah and Abby.

"Noah" She groaned. She got a notification in her phone. "My Uber is here. I have to meet a guy in twenty minutes. Move"

"I'm not moving."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because I care about you" He simply said.

He was calm. Way too calm. They had barely see him like this. It was disturbing.

"No, you don't. If you did you let me go"

That truly was the last drop. The air turned even thicker and Noah finally snapped.

"Don't dare to say shit like that again. Because I care. I care so damn much" He pointed a finger at her and Abby hugged herself.

She had fucked up, finally.

"If I didn't care about you I wouldn't have spent so many nights away thinking o where you were or wondering if you are okay. Because you keep getting drunk until you can't stand and then dissappear with the first person that answers your phone. And I have to stay here. I stay here and wait for you to come back every single night. And I wonder if you will. Because... Fuck. You leave and you don't tell us where you are going, alone, in an unknown city. God knows with who... And I don't know what they are capable of..." The gas station men popped back in his mind. "Well, I do. That's what scares me the most. You leave and then you come back covered in marks and with a swollen cheek and you say it's fine. But it's clearly not. Because you keep doing this to yourself. You are hurting yourself. You gent wasted every night, disappear, then come back the next morning stumbling through that damn door, you sleep for the whole day, work for a bit and then all over again. And I want to help you but I don't know how. Because I don't know how it started or when. I just know that this Abby who is destroying herlsef doesn't feel like my friend Abby."

Abby had starred crying at some point. She couldn't look at him in the eye because it was so scary to face the truth.

"It's obvious you are hurting and I wish I knew why. I have been this low too and I know how hard it is. I'm terrified something happened to you that lead you to this and I missed it." Noah stopped and took a deep breath. "I want to help you but I don't know how"

The guys were in silence. Noah's words fell over them like cold water. Folio even had to brush a tear away.

"And I really don't care with who you have sex. I just want you to be safe." Noah took a deep breath. "That's why you are not leaving tonight. I'm not letting you leave. And I don't care if I have to tie you to the chair. You are staying here tonight."

Abby was shaking and feeling to weak to stand on her own. That was it. There wasn't nothing to say. He was right. She wasn't fine, it wasn't okay, she had put herself in situations she wished she hadn't. Only because she had been so scared to acknowledge her feelings.

"Okay" She muttered.

Everyone sighed in relief. Nicholas let his head fall on the table, Matt on his hands. Jolly patted Folio, who had dropped a couple of tears again. Bryan had to look away, he wasn't used to see the drummer like this.

"Yeah?" Noah asked softly, his eyes full of hope.

"Yes"

The singer opened his arms for her and she didn't doubt. They hugged tight, Noah supporting almost her whole weight. Abby cried and cried, her shaky and weak body not being able to restrain the sobs anymore. Minutes passed and they eventually moved to the sofa.

Sweet Folio was quick, he went and covered her with a blanket.

"You must be cold"

"Thank you" She whispered. She felt awful in her clothes now. Clothes she had chosen only to be more attractive for a man she didn't know. But now the blanket and Noah's arms covered her. And he held her with so much care.

At some point she stopped sobbing and the room felt light enough that the guys resumed their cards game. There was music on the background and everyone was way more relaxed. Things wouldn't be easy, but for now they could only rest and forget about all for a second.

Noah kept repeating his words over and over again, beating himself for having been, maybe, too harsh.

"Noah" She whispered.

He looked down and cupped her cheek gently, brushing some tears again and fixing her hair.

"Mhm"

"I'm going to change, okay?"

"Of course, do you want to go to bed?"

She shrugged.

"I don't think I can sleep"

"That's fine. Just come back when you finish"

Abby nodded. When she sat, she looked at him and sighed. It was time to face reality. But for now she would rest. There was a long day tomorrow. She leaned and kissed his cheek.

Noah was blushing. He was blushing so hard when she left and closed the curtains that decided the bus.

He turned to look at the guys and then moved to sit next to them.

"You good?" Jolly asked.

Noah nodded. "I am. I feel better."

"Yeah, she is here" Folio added. They didn't see Abby in the same way, but she was too precious for them.

"Yeah"

"Will you tell her about..." Nicholas started.

"I will. Just... Not now" Noah pinched his hand. "But I will. It's worth it"

Nicholas smiled at his friend. When Abby was fine, months ago, he kept telling Noah about it. He wouldn't shut up. But Abby made his best friend happy and Nicholas only wanted the best for him.

They, being themselfs, didn't pay attention and never thought that the brown curtain didn't stop sound. And Abby was on the other side wondering what it all was about.

She reappeared a few minutes later on her pijamas and sat with them, finding a spot next to Noah and quickly asking if she could play.

"It's nice to have you back" Folio said after a while, making everyone smile.

The next morning came fast and she found herself following Noah to a coffee shop. They had stay awake with thst game for too long and everyone was in high need of caffeine.

Abby didn't leave his side for a minute.

"Abbs" He called her after finding a table. "Do you wanna sit for a bit?"

"The others..."

"They can wait"

Abby nodded, there was a conversation hanging in the air and it was the moment.

She sat in front of him and Noah grabbed his hands.

"I have been thinking and... I don't want to pressure you to tell me anything if you are not ready." He stated. "I was a bit harsh last night. And I'm sorry if anything I said hurt you"

"It's okay" She muttered. "Believe me it is. I was waiting for it to happen"

Noah frowned a bit.

"Noah... I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything."

"Abby, you did not... You don't have to..."

"I did it on purpose. I was feeling things and it got out of control so I... I became a bitch"

Noah closed his eyes for a second and grabbed her hands harder.

"Abby... I know you don't feel it like that but... This is a much bigger problem. This is something we need help with. For now... I'm just happy to have you back and to help you the best I can."

He didn't want her to blame herself because he knew how dark one's mind could get.

Abby blinked the tears away.

"Okay?"

She nodded and dried the tears.

"Noah... I..."

"Okay, breathe"

She took a deep breath and before speaking, she kissed his knuckles.

"I have to tell you something. Because I think it is what has led me to this"

Noah nodded. In the end, this was what he needed to know the most. He wanted to understand.

"I think I have feelings for you. But I don't want you to... I don't know. It's so confusing. I don't want yo to feel you have to do something or say something. But it's very scary because the last times I loved someone it ended in the worst way. And I am scared of going through this with you. Because you are so precious and important to me. You are not just some random guy. I know it's not a justification, but I wanted you to know"

Noah was speechless. He wanted to ask why she hadn't said anything, but he wasn't in a place to speak either.

"Abby... I'm sorry"

She closed her eyes. There it was, rejection.

"I'm sorry you felt like this. And I can't promise it won't end horribly. But I can promise you I will give everything I have to keep you close"

Abby took a deep breath, his words sinking slowly.

"Noah... What do you..."

"It's not time, I think we need you to get better first. But I have feelings for you too. I wish I had told you sooner, though"

A tear fell down her cheek and Noah leaned to brush it. His thumb nested on her cheek.

"Look at me"

She did. She couldn't look away even if she wanted to.

"We'll get through this. You have me and the guys. We are all here for you"

She thought of Folio's words and smiled. She turned her face and kissed his palm.

"Thank you" Her voice was weak, but Noah heard her perfectly.

"We all love you, okay? I love you"

She nodded. "I love you too, I wish it wasn't that scary"

"That's fine. It won't be soon"

She nodded.

"I can't have you right now, Noah. But I will get better"

"That's fine for me. I'll be here"

The bartender called his name and snapped their bubble. "Time to go, ready?"

"Yeah, I'll go to the toilet real quit"

Noah nodded and waited for her outside, it was sunny and he felt warm, but it was because of her. It hurt to hear her say this all had happen because of him - in some way-. But it had also given him hope. Hope because she wanted to get better.

"Hey Noah" She appeared with a shy smile. "I know what I said about waiting... But..."

He smiled at her awkwardness. "I'm waiting miss"

"A kiss? Maybe... If you want to, of course. I'm just... It's dramatic. But I'm dying for it"

Noah laughed and stepped closer to her, his hands were occupied with the coffee so he couldn't touch her. But he leaned and Abby found him halfway. Their lips touched for them first time and Abby felt herself blush. He was so soft when kissing. It didn't last much but they both pulled back smiling.

"Okay... That was really nice"

Noah chuckled. "I think I can give a few of those once in a while"

She nodded. "I'll be happy" she didn't let go of his face for a moment, forcing him to look at her.

"Sorry for hurting you. And for being mean"

Noah nodded. "I forgive you"

"Thank you"

Noah kissed her forehead.

"Ready to go?"

"Yeah, Matt texted me begging for the coffee."

Noah chuckled and started walking with her by his side. There was a scary walk in front of them, but for now this was more than enough to make him smile.

This one ended up being reaaally long for my liking so I had to part it. I'll be writing and posting the following parts soon. It won't be too long, probably 2-3 parts.

I hope you like it!!!

Part 2. Bring back the pieces.