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humanpurposes · 4 months ago

Text

August

Part 2: Tell Me What You Want

You and Aemond are getting closer. Things aren't so hostile but there's a new kind of tension between you and it's starting to get unbearable.

Aemond Targaryen x Reader // Modern AU

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Read on AO3

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected p in v sex, sexual tension, competitive siblings

Words: 8k

A/n: thank u for waiting everyone, I had a rough few weeks of character building 😙 This is a three part series so one part to go

Nights like these come straight from a song, a music video from your favourite band, a moment in a book that stays with you for weeks, months. Crackles and pops come from the fire, smoke and embers rise into an inky sky dotted with stars. In a few months you’ll be looking back on the memory, wishing you could have bottled this feeling, or let it drag its feet so it would never have to end.

The wine has gone to your head. You’re blissfully fuzzy, your mouth slightly numb, a sickly sweet taste lingering on your tongue. Helaena and Aegon are in hysterics over something Daeron has said, a joke from years ago that the siblings had all forgotten until now. Even Aemond cracks a rare smile. You’re sat beside him tonight, leaning against his arm. His hand sneaks its way onto your thigh underneath a blanket, tracing patterns on your bare skin, dangerously close to the hem of your shorts.

The light from the fire looms over his face and you watch him like you did on the beach below Dragonstone. His smile is less refined than the rest of him. You’re not sure what makes you think this. Maybe it’s because he tries to hide it and shrink into himself. Maybe it’s because his mouth is a little crooked and you’re not used to seeing his teeth.

He turns his head to look down at you. Your heart is frantic in your chest; his nose is so close to yours. You could tilt your head a little further and capture your lips with his, but you won’t, not in front of Helaena and the others.

His eye glances across the fire at his siblings. “Ah,” he mutters under his breath, understanding your hesitation.

You allow your head to settle against his shoulder, adjusting your body, letting yourself mould into the shape of him. “This is nice,” you say with a sigh, just loud enough that only he will hear.

“Hmm,” Aemond says, the sound of his voice and the steady beat of his pulse humming through your chest and limbs. You wonder what he’s thinking about, what’s happening behind that beautiful eye.

Settled against Aemond, a different sort of tipsy ensnares you. Your eyelids are heavy, your body feels at ease. You start to worry if you don’t get to bed soon you won’t make it at all.

Aemond nudges you softly. “You’re falling asleep there, darling.”

Darling.

“I think I should go upstairs,” you mumble.

“Come on,” he says, whisking away the blanket so the mild air jabs at your skin. His body is gone, his warmth is gone, but he’s standing above the bench, holding out his hand for you to take.

When you stand you stumble a little. Aemond’s hand clasps around your wrist to steady you. Your eyes meet his and you giggle to stifle your nerves.

“Lightweight” Aegon calls.

“Piss off,” you return with a grin as Aemond walks you towards the patio doors.

Somehow your arm finds its way to become intertwined with Aemond’s. He leads the way through the gold accents, tall windows and mirrors of the west gallery, but with the light gone it takes on a gloomier, eerier air, darkness reflected into darkness, broken by the chandeliers overhead. You gaze up at the soft light and sparkling crystals. In the morning you’ll probably have an awful hangover, but for now everything around you takes on a fascinating sort of beauty. You hardly realise you’re losing your balance and falling into Aemond.

He holds your hand as he guides you up the stairs, along the route towards the east wing. When you come to the corridor where your room is, Aemond’s arm snakes around your waist. His fingertips linger softly against your skin, above your shorts where your top has ridden up a little. You don’t mind– gods, he could do anything to you and you wouldn’t mind.

With this thought, you look at him. Your legs move slowly but synchronised, one slow step after another. You lift a finger and trace it along the length of his nose, down to the little cleft at the tip.

He huffs a laugh. “What?”

“I like your nose,” you say.

“Thank you.”

“I’m just being honest.”

“I like you being honest.”

You both come to a halt when you reach the end of the corridor and the door to your bedroom. Aemond’s hand slips from your waist but he lingers, watching you, his eye roaming over your face. You don’t quite reach for the door handle yet.

“You didn’t have to walk me,” you say. It’s not dreadfully far to get from the garden to the moat room, and besides, you know your way around Dragonstone now.

“I didn’t have to.” Aemond takes a step into you, placing a wide palm at your side and guiding your back against the wall. He sighs slightly as he exhales and excitement floods in your gut. “Maybe I just wanted to get you alone.”

What can you possibly say to that? The lowness of his voice has rendered your mind useless. But you’ve been wondering if that’s what he thinks when he looks at you. It’s hard to tell with Aemond. His pupil is blown wide, wine, darkness, wanting. His lips are parted and each breath he takes is a gentle stroke of air on your skin.

“You could have just said,” you utter.

His hand tightens at your waist. “Now where would be the fun in that?”

His lips are curled at the corners and it’s just too inviting. He inches closer into you and like a jolt of electricity has sparked in your bloodstream, you surge into him. You melt into one another so effortlessly, lips and tongues, his hands on your sides pulling you into him, your arms around his neck and your fingertips teasing his hair.

It’s been inevitable, hasn’t it? All his smug glances, the way he catches your eye in a crowded room or across the garden. It’s pure energy, hot and visceral, every part of you overwhelmed and yet craving more.

He pauses for a breath and kisses you again, then pauses again. He makes a humming sound in his throat and squeezes your body in some kind of finality before he steps away.

You don’t understand it. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no, of course you haven’t,” he says quickly. He takes a breath and runs his hand through his hair, his gorgeous, gorgeous hand. “I just… it wouldn’t be fair on you right now.”

You frown. You know you’ve pushed past your usual limit of drinking, and Aemond seems at ease, not in a state where he should be questioning his decisions. But then that probably makes him the sensible one and you haven’t realised how far gone you are.

“No, you’re right,” you say, unable to look away from his eye.

Aemond swallows thickly. “I want to, I really want to.”

“Me too,” you say, heart starting to sink, or is that just the wine?

“Gods, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you’re reaching for the collar of his t-shirt, pressing your fingertips into the fabric and the hard points of his collarbone underneath, “we can be grown ups about this.”

He curls his hand around your wrist. “We get on, don’t we?”

You shrug, hoping he’ll think you’re not that bothered. “I think so.”

“And I think we could have some fun together.”

“Fun?”

“When we’re both in the right mind.” He lifts your hand away from his chest and brings it to his lips, pressing a delicate kiss against your knuckles. His eye stays fixed on your face, bright blue and hypnotising. You watch his lips, savouring the feeling of them against your skin. You could pull him into you, beg him to kiss you until you can’t breathe…

“Because you’re cute,” he says with a soft click of his tongue.

“Cute,” you repeat.

He leans in to peck your lips. It’s quick, nice, cute.

“Sleep well,” he says and turns away, wandering idly along the corridor.

“You too,” you say after him, finding your voice feeble and quiet. Before he disappears from your sight you throw open the door to your bedroom and hide yourself away inside.

Back against the closed door, you breathe and clasp your fingers over your mouth to hide your smile from the empty room.

The next day you skip breakfast, needing a lie-in, some painkillers and a large glass of water, provided by Helaena knocking on your door long after you’re usually awake.

“I didn’t think you were that bad last night,” she says, opening one of the windows.

“I’m not usually a wine drinker, maybe that’s what killed me off,” you grumble, wincing at the light she lets in. Maybe it’s the wine, maybe you just need the sleep, maybe it’s the image you’ve been replaying of Aemond’s body pressing into yours and his vague promise floating around in your head. “I think we could have some fun together…”

You snap yourself out of that pretty quickly considering his sister is perched on the edge of your bed.

“And Aemond walked you up, that was nice of him.”

Apparently there’s no escaping it. “Yeah, it was.”

“So… he was all over you in the garden last night.” When you drag yourself to sit up Helaena is looking eagerly at you.

You blurt out without even thinking, “nothing happened.” You need to get it off your chest, but saying it out loud you don’t feel especially relieved, more embarrassed.

“No of course not,” Helaena says with a mischievous grin. “But you’ve been rather friendly with each other since your little misunderstanding.”

Enough for his siblings to notice at the very least. “It’s not weird, is it?”

“Is what weird?”

You tilt your head with a pleading look.

“Oh babe,” she says. “No, not weird at all. If anything it’s a little obvious, Aegon’s been waiting for the penny to drop for weeks.”

You cover your head with your hands and groan. For you, attraction, liking someone, has always come with a sense of humiliation. Your friends don’t get your type, and while Aemond is a little unconventional for you he fits the bill well enough, tall, smart, not too boisterous. He also just happens to be pretentious but subtle and perhaps even sweet… the more you think about him the deeper you’re digging yourself into this hole.

Healena is clearly in hysterics but is trying not to laugh too much to spare you. “It’s cute actually, Aemond’s been a bit… well it’s nice to see him being excited about something for once.”

Once you’ve regained a bit of composure and gotten over the fluttering feeling in your chest, you say, “he kissed me last night.”

“Liar! What happened to ‘nothing happened’?”

“I thought maybe he was a bit drunk.”

“Are you joking? He looks at you like a lost puppy.”

“Please don’t tell me that.”

“No look, here’s what you do. You and him are living under the same roof for another, what, two weeks? What have you got to lose? Live a little, flirt with him, and don’t overthink it.”

If only ‘don’t overthink it’ was a sentence that could actually compute in your brain.

You’re lying in a lounger by the pool in one of your bikinis, having moved on from Crime and Punishment to Frankenstien. Your body is lathered with suncream, the scent of artificial coconut clinging to your skin. The sun makes you sweat, but you’re enjoying the position you’re in.

Then you take a breath and you smell the cigarette smoke.

You don’t move your head too obviously, your sunglasses hiding where your eyes are looking, but you see Aemond at the edge of the patio, as close as he can get to you without stepping onto the grass. He’s dressed in a black t-shirt and shorts, sunglasses perched on his nose as he watches you. Even from a distance his gaze burns into your skin, you can feel it writhing there.

You wish you could be closer, so you could hear his inhales and exhales, see the flexes of his hands as he lifts the cigarette to his lips, the pout as he blows smoke into the air. It’s intoxicating. It’s infuriating.

He disappears into the house before you’ve reached the end of your chapter. You tut to yourself, furious you hadn’t read the lines fast enough so you could accidentally run into him on your way inside. You swing your legs round and slip on your pair of sandals. “Don’t overthink it,” you whisper to yourself. So what if he looks but never comes over? So what if he left whatever this is between you as a wine-fuelled kiss outside your bedroom? When all he had to do was open the door, lay you down on the bed. You would have said yes, sober or not. Would he?

Don’t overthink it. Whatever happens happens.

You leave your towel and book by the pool, but you need a drink to fight off the dry feeling in your mouth. Or maybe you’re just restless. Maybe you need something else to do than sit around and wait.

You go into the kitchen, thankful to see there isn’t anyone around. No Criston sitting at his laptop, no Alicent leaning on his shoulder. There’s noise coming from the staff kitchen, tonight’s dinner prep, which won’t be served for a good few hours.

In the fridge you find an array of drinks, all sorts of iced teas and flavours of lemonade all in glass bottles. You pick the first thing you see, something pink and labelled as raspberry flavoured. As you’re digging through a drawer trying to find a bottle opener, you hear a few soft footsteps against the tiled floor. There’s a faint scent of cigarettes and aftershave.

“Want some help?” Aemond says.

Conveniently, you close your fingers around the bottle opener. “No, actually, I’m all good,” you say, turning around to flick off the metal cap.

His eye follows your hand as you place the cap and the opener down on the counter, as you bring the bottle to your lips and take a small sip so that the drink doesn’t fizz.

He’s a friendly distance from you, not close to touching you, but every muscle in your body tenses. You’re so aware of everything he does, the subtle change in his gaze, how his eye darkens as he tilts his head down to look at you, how he holds his mouth, how his nose twitches ever so slightly when he breathes.

And you’re painfully aware of how indecently dressed you are, how good you thought you looked when you last checked your reflection, a bead of sweat trailing down the side of your neck. Can he see it? Does the heat drive him to restlessness too?

“This is nice,” he says, looking over the bikini, a shade of blue that compliments your complexion perfectly. You see his hand twitch at his side.

Is he thinking about touching you? Is he desperate to pull you in like he did the other night?

“Do you think so?” you say, leaning back on one hand against the counter, waiting for his eye to come back to yours. “You’ve never complimented any of my outfits before, Aemond.”

His eye seems to light up when you say his name. “Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate them.”

You take another casual sip from the bottle, watching how his throat bobs when he swallows.

He takes another step forward. He’s testing the waters, you realise, seeing how close he can come before you squirm. You take your weight off your hand on the counter, closing the distance by just another fraction.

“Did you think about me last night?” he mutters. You’re close enough that you can hear him, even when he speaks under his breath.

“After you left me standing outside my bedroom door?”

He raises a brow.

“Maybe I did.”

“I thought about you,” he says.

“But you didn’t do anything about it.”

With one more step he’s pressed against you, the counter digging into your lower back. Aemond puts his hand at your waist, his thumb resting on your front, not firmly, but noticeable. Your breath hitches.

Aemond smiles to himself. “I said we should both be in the right mind, and you agreed, didn’t you?” His hand trails, moving down to the waist of your bikini bottom. He slips two fingers under the fabric, sliding them up, along the conjuncture of your thigh and your hip.

You dig your teeth into your lower lip for a moment, determined to keep your composure, desperate to deny him the satisfaction even though it’s already written all over his face. He can see you’re breathless, that your heart is racing in your chest.

The pull to him is like gravity, something that binds the world together, crushing and impossible to deny.

He leans over your, his lips hovering by your ear, circling an arm around your middle. You can smell the beads of sweat on his neck, the scent of his shampoo, something naturally him that you think will linger in your mind for a while. “So why don’t we stop tip-toeing around each other and enjoy the rest of the summer?”

Why shouldn’t you? Really, why? It’s been so long since you felt a draw like this, since you felt wanted. He’s grovelled enough surely and something about his mask of perfection slipping to reveal something primal and reckless, excites you. Proud Aemond Targaryen, digging his hands into your flesh, grazing his lips over your ear, your jaw–

Your eyes flicker to the door. Daeron’s standing in the doorway in his tennis gear, face pink and sweat dripping from his silver hair.

Aemond notices you’ve frozen. He slowly pulls away and glances over his shoulder. His posture instantly shifts.

“Alright, kids?” Daeron says, shoulders swaying as he walks into the kitchen.

Aemond’s standing in front of you, nudging you with his hand to keep your body concealed behind his. From over his shoulder you watch Daeron take a bottle of iced tea from the fridge. He opens the cap on the side of the counter.

“Don’t stop on my account. I’m not even here.” Daeron chugs from the glass bottle, making a smacking sound with his lips and taking a breath with a smug “ah!” when he pulls it away from his mouth.

Aemond turns to face you. “Thinks he’s so fucking funny.”

Daeron shoots you a wink. With the moment firmly crushed under his younger brother’s Asics tennis shoes and Adidas socks, you slip from Aemond’s grip.

“I’m gonna get my book,” you say.

Aemond angles his brows like he’s begging you to stay, but he lets you go out to the garden without much more of a fight.

His lingering stares and double takes are becoming more brazen now.

You sit with your parents that night at dinner. Your father tells you about the golf club on the neighbouring island of Driftmark, which Corlys Velaryon is insisting the men should all go to visit sometime this week. It’s not far, a quick journey on one of the yachts. Your mother had gone into the town today with Alicent and shows you the photos she took of some adorable clay figures of animals and seashells in a local craft shop.

This doesn’t seem to deter Aemond at all. He’s where he usually is, at the head of the table, looking over at you every so often while Helaena speaks at length to him. You catch snippets of this one-sided conversation, sea birds and prey, wingspans and something about dinosaurs?

The distance between you is starting to feel unbearable.

After dinner Aegon leads you and the others to the library where he rummages through a floor to ceiling shelf of DVDs.

You and Aemond find yourselves sat together on the same sofa, with space for an extra person between you. Helaena is elated when she finds Dreamfyre the cat curled up on one of the arm chairs, scooping her up into her arms and hugging her close to her chest like a teddy.

Daeron takes the other arm chair, his arms full of snacks. He throws a packet of salted popcorn at Aemond and it hits him on the blind side of his face. “Fuck, sorry.”

Aemond turns his head to you and gives you a pointed look.

You tilt your head. Ignore him, you think, then realise the absolute insanity of thinking that Aemond can hear what you’re saying in your head. You huff through your nose, a smile on your face, and shuffle closer to Aemond so you can claim the popcorn. The fact that you’re sidled up to him and his arm has found its way around you to get more comfortable is a happy coincidence.

“A-ha!” Aegon presents his finding like it’s an ancient heirloom; a copy of American Psycho.

Helaena groans.

“It’s a masterpiece,” Aegon insists.

“Yeah, I so want to spend my evening watching some self absorbed investment banker brutally murder women.”

“Even if he’s played by Christian Bale?”

Helaena does a double take of the DVD cover. “Put that shit on right now.”

As Patrick Bateman goes through his psychotically perfect skincare routine, does crunches to the sounds of screaming women and lodges an axe in Jared Leto’s face to ‘Hip To Be Square’, you and Aemond melt into one another. It hits you how settled you feel lying against Aemond’s chest, your ear against his ribcage so you can feel his heartbeat, your head rising and falling with his breathing. His fingers start to trace over your arm, up and down, lulling your mind until you’ve forgotten to be nervous about being so close to him, so self conscious that you might be in the wrong position, how your cheek might look slightly squashed against him.

It’s not very ‘Letterboxd enthusiast’ of you to be thinking less about the film, instead wondering if Aemond will walk you to your room tonight, if he’ll kiss you again, if he’ll ask to come into your room and shed the simple layers of your t-shirt and jeans.

You press your lips together. You haven’t touched any wine tonight, and neither has he.

Once the credits have started rolling you sit up, noticing how stiff your body is having been in the same position for the entire length of the film. You stretch your arms out and catch Aemond looking at you, trying to hide a smile.

Aegon, Helaena and Daeron are arguing about the next film.

“Scream.”

“Aegon, please, no more horror.”

“But Matthew Lillard!”

“What?” You say, meeting Aemond’s eye.

He makes that cryptic humming sound again. “Feel like going to bed?” He says quietly.

Your stomach drops, but you want to play this cool. Don’t overthink it. Don’t overthink it. “Whose?”

Aemond half smiles. “Mine.”

You make your excuses. Aemond makes his. As soon as he shuts the door to the library the boys start howling like dogs.

Your heart is racing. Every part of you is screaming at you, begging for more contact, to have that beautiful eye on you again.

“Sorry about my family,” Aemond says, running his hand through his hair. You’re trying to pinpoint the notes of his aftershave, sweet and dark, like black coffee and honey. “As you can see they’re all very good at minding their own business–”

Your hands are on the sides of his jaw, against the gentle sharpness of his silver stubble, pulling his lips into yours.

Aemond immediately offers you his hunger. It takes you off-guard for a moment, how he grabs at your waist, pushing his body against yours so he can devour you how he wants to. His mouth moves down to your neck and you sigh without meaning to.

“Moaning for me already?” he teases, dragging his teeth over your skin.

“You fucking wish,” you say but your voice sounds utterly pathetic at the feeling of his hands on you, your hips, the backs of your thighs, cupping between your legs. “Aemond…”

“Sorry, I’m getting carried away,” he says, kissing up along your cheek and your temple. He pulls away from you, pupil blown wide in the darkened corridor, roaming your not quite flattering David Bowie t-shirt. He reaches for your hand and presses a peck against your knuckles.

You let him lead you towards the east wing, to the corridor where you’d usually part ways if you were going to your own bedrooms. Once you’ve gone past the door that would lead you back to the moat room, you start to feel lightheaded, disorientated. Somehow it feels nice.

Your heart beats more furiously with every door you pass. You don’t know which one will lead to his room, but there’s one at the very end, which he seems to be eyeing.

“Aemond?” You’ve stopped walking.

He grips your hand tighter. “Yes?”

“I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

“Oh. No, that’s fine.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t– don’t say sorry. Fuck, I should be the one apologising, I didn’t– I thought you wanted to?”

Seven hells, I’ve made it awkward. He hasn’t misread you, you’ve played into everything he’s given you, but something’s still holding you back. His grip on your hand is getting loose, his gaze is dropping. The moment is slipping and you can’t let it happen.

“Wait,” you say, reaching for him. Your fingers close around his forearm, slim but strong. “I don’t know, I’m not great at asking for what I want.”

His eye comes to yours, determined, more intense than you think you’ve seen before. “That’s alright. You can tell me, what do you want to do?”

You take a moment to consider, your eyes tracing the curve of his lips, the shape of his nose. You hold your breath so you can listen to his. You want this. You want this. You want him. “I want to kiss you more.”

He takes your hands in his, circling his thumb over the delicate skin of the inside of your wrists. “Yeah?”

“And, I want to be near you.”

He lifts your right hand and replaces his thumb with his lips. A surge of wanting shudders through your limbs. “And?”

You close your eyes and whisper. “And I want you to make me come.”

He smiles against your skin. “How do you want me to do that?”

“With your mouth,” you say. You feel his fingertips at the pulsepoint of your left wrist. You love watching his hands, you can picture them perfectly in your head. “And your fingers.”

“There’s a good girl,” he says.

Aemond steps away from you, opening the door and inviting you inside. You weren’t sure what you were expecting from his room but this seems about right, dark wood panelled walls like the rest of the rooms in the house. The curtains are wide open, overlooking the front of the house and you’re high up enough that you can see the sea, or you would in the daylight. He has bookshelves, mostly full of fantasy novels, children’s books. He explains most of these are from his summers spent here as a kid, plus a few text books, Comparative Politics, The History of Philosophy…

“The impressive collection of classics is at my place in King’s Landing.”

“I’m sure it is impressive,” you say. You wonder if you’ll ever get to see it.

He has a vanity, a hairbrush, a few bottles of aftershave, face serums and deodorant all placed neatly underneath a mirror. He has posters on the walls, all in black frames and hung in an orderly fashion, of sci-fi shows and movies and bands that were popular ten years ago. There’s another stack of shelves by the wardrobe with trophies, plaques, medals, photographs of Alicent with four silver-haired children, a certain little boy with a tennis racket in his hands, another with a fencing mask under his arm.

“I haven’t changed the room much,” he mutters.

“It’s adorable,” you say.

His arms circle around your middle, pulling you in close so he can kiss your neck again. “You’re moaning again,” he says when you let out a heavy breath.

“No I’m not, I’m just breathing.”

“Liar,” he teases. One of his hands slides along your body to your rear and he squeezes you through your jeans.

When you catch a glimpse of a silver chain under his collar you’re suddenly insatiable. Your hands are clawing at his t-shirt and he wastes no time in pulling it off, coming back to kiss you like he cannot bear to be parted from you, and kissing him feels as perfect as it did that night when you both tasted like wine.

You don’t care where your clothes fall, which pile of fabric is his, which is yours. He lays you down on the bed with a gentle but commanding grip on your neck. He kisses you over and over again, grinding a growing hardness between your legs against the fabric of your panties. He smothers you, his bare body sinking against yours, your lips grazing against his skin, your legs parting to make room for him, desperate for the friction.

He works his way down, trailing his tongue along your throat, kissing your bare chest, teasing your nipples with his lips, tongue and teeth. Maybe you are moaning. The thrill of it echoes through your body and serves to stir the wanting in your belly, the tightness that’s going to drive you insane.

He keeps kissing down, pausing when he comes to your panties. He looks up at you, lips parted, your fingers starting to slip into his hair. “Look at you,” he says. “You’re so hot when you’re needy.”

He’s barely touching you and you can’t take the teasing.

He doesn’t keep you like this forever. He kisses around it, the soft skin of your inner thighs before he finally, finally pulls your underwear down your legs. He starts slowly, gently, each swipe of his tongue tortuous and divine.

And usually your mind would wander. You’d try so hard to focus on the pleasure, think of some depraved scenario so you could actually come. Aemond commands your attention and you can’t bring yourself to look at anything other than the sight of his mouth working against your cunt, the obscene sounds he makes, the roughness of his voice when he stops to remark how wet you are, how good you’re doing for him.

Your grip of his hair tightens. You don’t worry if it will hurt him, not with the way he whines when you do, how his body jerks as he tries to grind his hips into the mattress.

It’s too much and it’s perfect. It builds and builds until it bursts and the pleasure tears through your body. Aemond holds your legs apart to see you through it, until you’re shaking and begging him to stop.

When he lifts his head he’s as breathless as you are, his brow dewy with sweat. “How was that?”

“Good,” you say, then decide that isn’t quite enough. “Really fucking good.”

Aemond smirks. His eye stays on your face as the tip of his middle finger rests at your entrance. As soon as he slips inside, your body is weightless. You could almost laugh to yourself, all those times you’ve looked at his hands and now you know you were right. He feels good, thicker, longer than your own digits, reaching deeper than you ever could.

He makes a game out of this, seeing how he can make you react, praising every movement of your hips, every noise you make, how many times he can get you to come.

When it’s done and you can’t take any more, he lies beside you, putting his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest. You let your hand settle on his stomach, on the patch of hairs that trails down to the waist of his boxers.

“You don’t have to…” he says, as you start to feel over his skin with your fingertips.

“Do you mind if I return the favour?” you ask, sitting up and leaning on your palm, looking down at him.

Aemond stares at your face. “Of course, as long as you want to.”

“I do,” you say, enjoying the way his expression lightens.

You position yourself along his body and rid him of the boxers. His cock is an impressive size, a little intimidating, but you’re already craving the feeling of him in your mouth, hard and needy, especially after he’s watched you come undone so many times.

You trail your tongue along his length, teasing over the tip and savouring the taste of him. You work him with your mouth and your hand where you can’t take him. You love the sounds he makes, his sighs and moans.

“Good girl,” he coos, “can that pretty mouth take more?”

You want to, you want him to feel good. You look up to him, trying to take more every time your mouth moves down.

Aemond watches you in wonder. He gathers your hair in one hand. “Tap my leg if it gets too much.”

You hum in agreement.

He pushes your head down. “Relax,” he utters, “fuck, just relax, you’re doing so good.”

You hardly understand how it makes you want more, the weight of him, the discomfort in your jaw, but you like it. You feel your stomach starting to tighten again.

Aemond pulls your head up and you catch your breath, quickly working your hand over his cock. He’s squirming now, pleading for release. You move your mouth to his balls and he doesn’t last long after that.

He pulls you by your hair again, prodding the tip at your lips. “Swallow it,” he growls as he slips into your mouth once more. You feel the warmth over your tongue and he comes, wincing slightly at the taste, letting it dribble from the corner of your mouth.

You must look like a fucking mess, his cum dripping from your mouth, your hair ruffled from his grip, trying to catch your breath as his cock softens.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he utters.

You fall asleep in his bed, your head against his chest and his arms around you. As you drift off you try not to think about the summer’s impending end, that the days are already getting shorter.

Don’t overthink it.

You think you could allow yourself to enjoy this, the light feeling in your body, the relief of being held by someone else, the sound of Aemond’s fluttering breath soothing you to a deep, dreamless sleep.

When Helaena suggested that you join her and the boys for tennis, you thought it meant you might actually get a chance to play. You and Aemond could have played a doubles match. He could have given you some pointers on your technique, and if you won he could have looked at you with that smug look of his. Or you could have gone head to head. He would have won, inevitably, but he’d be looking at you with a competitive intensity which could easily be switched into a different kind of eagerness.

You’ve not got a terrible view. Aemond’s face is dark with determination, every part of him drenched with sweat and his hands gripping the racket like it’ll purposefully try to jump out of his grasp. He grunts every time he hits the ball, and he does it with a terrifying amount of power.

“Match point!” Aegon’s made himself comfortable in a plastic chair at the side of the court, sipping bottles of beer from a cooler box he made Daeron carry over.

At first you were worried you might have to watch Aemond lose this. Daeron started off strong. He’s young, slim, quick, but he’s running out of stamina. This is where the match turned in Aemond’s favour. He hasn’t tired out so easily.

Daeron serves. Aemond sends the ball flying back. Daeron has to run for it but he just manages to hit it into Aemond’s court. And while Daeron’s far over on the left, Aemond hits it to the right. There’s no chance that Daeron will get it and he knows it, not even running for it. But Aemond’s hit it hard, if it’s out of the court then Daeron has another chance to win.

You all freeze. Aegon leans forward, eyes on the line and…

“In!”

“Fuck!” Daeron cries.

You and Helaena break into cheers. Aegon wipes his brow as if he’s the exhausted athlete and helps himself to another beer.

Aemond looks at you, trying not to smile. He offers his hand to Daeron but he’s having none of it.

He comes straight to you, lifting you into a spin like you’re in a rom-com.

“Why do I feel like you’ve just won Wimbledon?” you say as he sets you down.

“Please, this is more competitive than Wimbledon,” Helaena says, evidenced by the fact that Daeron has grabbed his racket and is already walking back towards the house.

“It’s a valuable lesson to learn how to lose gracefully,” Aemond insists.

On the walk through the gardens, Aemond keeps his arm around you, even when you protest that he’s literally wet with sweat. Not that you mind, you’re in a t-shirt and some sports shorts you’ve borrowed from Helaena. It’s all very sweet, very intimate all of a sudden, after you’ve spent the last few weeks acting like you dislike each other.

It’s early evening and the sun is inching closer to the horizon. The crashing of waves surrounds Dragonstone, no matter where you stand, the tennis court, the gardens, the front drive. Helaena and Aegon announce they’re going to have a few more drinks on the patio. And Aemond leads you upstairs to his room.

The moment the door is shut his lips are on yours, hands lightly touching your jaw. Is he afraid he’ll douse you with sweat, that his hands will feel too rough on your skin, that he’ll break you somehow?

There’s a nagging feeling in your heart and in the back of your head, the overwhelming urge to be close to him, to feel him. You stumble over yourselves and you drag him towards the bed by the collar of his tank top.

He’s on top of you, palms on either side of your head, his hair falling over your forehead, keeping you flat on the mattress with his body. “Don’t get me all worked up, darling, I need to shower–”

You interrupt him with quick, needy kisses. You can’t get enough of him, the softness of his mouth, his heat, the taste of him on your tongue.

He has to drag himself away, grinning, stroking his jaw with the backs of his fingers. “You’re tempting,” he muses.

“Not tempting enough,” you say with a playful pout.

“Give me two minutes.”

“I’ll be counting.”

He huffs a laugh. “That’s a good girl.”

Your brain short circuits. In that moment you’d wait for hours if he asked you to.

He strips off in front of you, his trainers, his top, the shorts and the pair of boxers. You sit on the edge of the bed, hypnotised as you watch his muscles and tendons flex under his skin, all his sharp edges, the contented look on his face.

He leans over you once more, kissing you lightly on your head before he disappears into his ensuite. You listen to the rush of water, the sound of his footsteps when you can catch them. You imagine him there, water running over his body, hands working some shower gel into a lather and rubbing it into his skin.

You take shallow, steady breaths, telling yourself you’re not trying to commit the smell of his sheets to memory. But you feel comfortable here, in his bed, in his room, in this small fraction of his world. There’s only so much you know of him, the books he likes, how quiet and commanding he can be, how his mouth feels and how his brow scrunches when you make him feel good. You’re sitting amongst fragments of him now, the sports trophies, the old photos, the text books, trying to piece it all together into the man you fell asleep with last night.

What’s his place like in King’s Landing? You bet it’s in some expensive neighbourhood, Visenya’s Hill or one of those squares by Regent’s Park. You picture marble surfaces, vintage furniture, rows and rows of books, dark wood floors, deep shades of blue and green, tall windows, maybe a bed for Vhagar.

There’s so much you want to know about him, so many questions you could ask.

The shower stops. You try to act as casually as you can and like you haven’t been restless on his bed waiting for him to come back to you.

When the door opens a cloud of steam wafts into the bedroom. Aemond has dried himself off mostly, ruffling the towel in his hair. You can taste the sweetness of the water on your tongue, and breathe in the scent of his shampoo. His eye is on you as he tosses the towel aside and approaches the bed.

He kisses you tenderly, slowly tugging away your t-shirt, then the shorts. Once you’re naked his demeanour shifts. His hands are firm on your thighs, spreading your legs apart, holding you down as he drags your panties to one side and devours you.

You can’t stop moving but it doesn’t matter, Aemond keeps you right where he wants you, circling and pressing with his tongue where you need him. Has he remembered from last night? Has he thought about this since?

When you come undone Aemond hums lowly in his chest, pleased, satisfied, to a point. He grinds his hardened length against your bare cunt, effortless with the aftermath of your orgasm. Each push of his head against your clit sends a shockwave through your spine. He’s teasing you, you can see it on his face.

You let out a quiet noise from your throat.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Aemond says sweetly.

You try to angle your hips and rock against him, but he knows what your game is and keeps his tortuous movements steady.

“That’s not good enough, tell me what you want.”

“I want you to fuck me,” you mutter, looking away from his face.

He’s having none of that. There’s a weight on your neck, his hand, forcing your gaze back to him. “Say that again.”

He’s slowed down, any hint of pleasure is fading quickly. You can’t let it happen, you need more. “I want you to fuck me,” you say again.

Aemond leans into you, forehead against yours, breath hot against your open mouth. “Beg me for it.”

“Please,” you whisper, lips grazing over his, “please fuck me, Aemond.”

The tip of his cock slips down to your entrance. He whispers in your ear, “is no condom okay?”

You nod. “I’m on the pill.”

Without any more preamble he slowly starts to rock his hips again, inching inside. You gasp at the stretch, clinging onto his shoulders as he works himself into you. You let your forehead rest against his chin, focusing on him, the little grunts he makes as he fills you.

“So fucking tight,” he whispers. Maybe he’s just as desperate and needy as you are.

His thrusts are shallow at first, but he presses in deeper. He keeps it slow, thorough, propping himself up on his hands, letting his pelvis grind into your clit. Your legs curl around his hips to keep him close, to keep yourself open for him.

He’s reaching so deep, then he ups his pace, fucking into you quick and hard, and you can do nothing but cling to him and take it.

You feel yourself clench around him, letting out a strangled sort of cry.

“That’s it,” Aemond rasps in your ear, “that feels good doesn’t it?”

You utter a mindless “yeah,”

“Are you going to come for me?”

“I…” you think so, something’s tightening inside you. You can’t speak or help the moans that slip from your mouth.

“I wanna feel you come around my cock,” Aemond says, “please, sweetheart, please,”

The pleasure snaps and your whole body lurches, back arching, your nails digging into Aemond’s skin. He fucks you through it, panting and sighing until he stills. With a few more gentle thrusts you feel a warmth blooming inside of you. He pulls out slowly, leaning back on his haunches to admire his work.

There’s a quiet moment, when you’re both catching your breath. Your eyes meet and you smile at him. He’s sweating again.

You go back to your room to shower and dress for dinner. Helaena knocks on your door before you head down together, a pleasant ache between your legs that feels like a shameful secret.

“Aemond seemed happy about the tennis,” she says.

“Mm hmm,” you offer.

“So did you…”

“Seven hells, he’s your brother,” you whisper, feeling blood flush in your cheeks.

“Well obviously I don’t want details about him, but as your friend I want you to be happy and have good sex.”

You wish you could shrink into your shoulders. “Yes, it was good.”

She squeals with laughter and tickles under your chin like you’re a child. “I’m so proud of both of you,” she says.

You and Helaena sit together around the table, this time you’re next to Aemond. Daeron is opposite you, Aegon to his right, opposite Helaena.

Alicent is keen to hear about the result of the tennis match.

“It was a tough call,” Aegon says like a sports commentator, “going in, expectations were high for Mr Targaryen, and equally Mr Targaryen is a promising young player, as we all know well–”

Otto chuckles from the other side of the table. The rest of the table starts to become engrossed in Aegon’s retelling of events, even Viserys.

“But ultimately the younger player was worn down, and it was in fact Mr Targaryen who prevailed!”

“But, who actually won?” Alicent asks, completely lost until she sees the scowl on Daeron’s face.

“Who knew Aemond still had it in him?” Aegon says, raising a piece of steak on a fork to him like a toast, “after all those office hours, I thought you were officially a boring bastard.”

“You know Aemond,” Daeron says, “he’s full of surprises.”

You frown with a flicker of confusion. Aemond’s glaring at his younger brother. Aegon raises his brow, taking a deep drink from his wine.

“A man of many talents,” Helaena adds lightheartedly.

“Take this development for example,” Daeron says, nodding to you.

“Daeron,” his mother warns.

Anger rushes through you like a fist around your heart. “What’s so interesting about it?” you ask.

Daeron shrugs. “It’s just that Aemond’s usually into older women–”

There’s a scraping sound as Aemond rises from his chair. He doesn’t shout, or glare, or slam his fist on the table. He simply leaves.

Daeron’s smirking. Everyone else is looking at you, Aegon, Alicent, your own parents.

“You’re a fucking arse,” Helaena hisses across.

You’ve had dreams before, when something’s chasing you and you can’t run, like your legs are made of ice and you can’t convince them to move, to keep out of the reach of danger. That’s exactly how you feel now, like you’re living in a nightmare, pulse pounding in your chest, no way to escape.

You don’t wait to consider what Daeron might have meant. You get up from your chair and follow Aemond from the dining hall.

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tacobacoyeet · 24 days ago

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Hello! Can I request a harry potter x slytherin reader story where they are in fifth year and the reader has the biggest crush on harry but he likes cho, but one day the reader didn't want to go to any of the D.A meetings anymore because seeing cho and harry broke her heart. But time has passed and Umbringe finds out about the club and like we see it in the movie she makes them writes stuff with that horrible quill and even though the reader didn't go to the meetings anymore she finds herself doing those detention and after one of them harry takes her to the Gryffondor common room and try to heal her hand but she decide to go because having all those contact with him makes her just fall more in love and she doesn't want to because she knows that he likes cho and not her. But after that whole valentines thing (idk if you have read the books) cho and harry do not talk anymore and some weeks after he starts to realise that he actually do not like cho but the reader so he goes talk to her (maybe in the astronomy tower) and tell her about his feelings and they kiss!!

(also like they are best friends and harry is very worried that he did or say something wrong at first or because Ron said stuff like "those slytherin's are just stupid to love that umbringe" so he was probably thinking it was because of that that she don't talk to him any more)

not too late | h.p.

a/n: i can never resist writing for harry. there's not enough love for him on this website.

warnings: harry james potter being just the best as always, a touch angsty, tooth-rottingly fluffy, NOT PROOFREAD!

fifth year at hogwarts had been a whirlwind of chaos, change, and confusion. for you, a slytherin caught in the crossfire of house rivalries and divided loyalties, it was even more complicated. but nothing—nothing—was more consuming than the way your heart clenched every time harry potter smiled.

you didn’t know when the feelings had started. maybe it was in third year when he had smiled at you after you had helped him find a misplaced defense against the dark arts book. or perhaps it was when you partnered together during a potions class last year, and his determination to brew a perfect draught of peace had lit a spark of admiration in your chest.

but this year, that admiration had bloomed into a painful, unreciprocated crush. every glance at him made your stomach flip, and every moment spent together in the d.a. meetings made your heart ache. especially now that cho chang was in the picture.

watching harry laugh with cho, the way he looked at her as if she hung the stars, was unbearable. it felt like a knife twisting deeper each time you saw them together. so one day, you made a decision: you wouldn’t go to the d.a. meetings anymore. you told yourself it was to protect yourself from umbridge’s wrath if the group got caught. but deep down, you knew the real reason.

weeks passed, and you buried yourself in your studies. harry had asked about your absence at first, his emerald eyes filled with concern. “is everything okay? did something happen?” he’d asked after charms one day, his voice tinged with worry.

you had plastered on a smile and waved him off. “just busy with homework. you know how snape is.” he hadn’t pressed further, though you noticed the slight frown that tugged at his lips as you walked away.

but now, you were regretting your decision to distance yourself. despite avoiding the meetings, you weren’t spared from umbridge’s wrath. the moment she got wind of the d.a., she dragged every name associated with it into her office—including yours.

“you may not have attended every meeting,” she had said in her sickly sweet voice, “but you’re still guilty by association.”

that was how you found yourself seated in her dimly lit office, gripping a cursed quill as it carved i must not tell lies into the back of your hand. tears blurred your vision, but you refused to let them fall. you wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

when the session was over, you stumbled out of the office, cradling your bleeding hand. harry was waiting for you outside, leaning against the wall with a stormy expression on his face.

“let me see,” he demanded, his voice tight with anger.

“i’m fine,” you lied, hiding your hand behind your back.

“no, you’re not.” his hand shot out, gently but firmly grabbing your wrist and pulling your hand into view. his face darkened as he took in the angry red cuts spelling out the words. without another word, he took your uninjured hand and started leading you toward gryffindor tower.

“harry, what are you doing?” you protested, though you didn’t pull away.

“i’m helping you,” he said simply, his tone brooking no argument.

in the gryffindor common room, he sat you down near the fire, fetched a first aid kit from his dorm, and knelt in front of you. his touch was gentle as he cleaned and bandaged your hand, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“you shouldn’t have been in there,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “this is my fault. i should’ve stopped her before it got this bad.”

“don’t blame yourself,” you said softly, your heart aching at the guilt in his voice. “it’s not your fault.”

he looked up at you then, his green eyes filled with something unreadable. the closeness made your breath hitch. you wanted to reach out, to brush a lock of his hair away from his face, but you didn’t trust yourself. not when every moment with him made you fall even harder.

“i should go,” you said abruptly, standing up.

harry blinked, startled. “what? why?”

you forced a weak smile. “i just… need some air.”

before he could protest, you slipped out of the common room, your heart pounding in your chest.

weeks passed after that night. you avoided harry as much as you could, though it hurt to see the confusion and hurt on his face whenever you brushed him off. valentine’s day came and went, and you heard whispers of harry and cho’s disastrous date. you couldn’t bring yourself to ask him about it, though the rumors suggested they weren’t speaking anymore.

then one evening, as you stood alone in the astronomy tower, gazing out at the stars, you heard footsteps behind you.

“i thought i’d find you here,” harry’s voice said softly.

you turned to see him standing in the doorway, his hands shoved into his pockets. his expression was uncertain, almost nervous.

“harry—” you began, but he cut you off.

“why have you been avoiding me?” he asked, stepping closer. “did i do something wrong? if it’s about the d.a. or ron—he didn’t mean what he said about slytherins—”

“it’s not that,” you interrupted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“then what is it?” his voice cracked slightly, and the vulnerability in it broke your resolve.

tears pricked at your eyes as you turned away. “because it hurts, harry,” you admitted. “being around you hurts. you like cho, and every time i see you with her, it’s like a reminder that i’ll never—”

“stop,” he said, his voice firm but gentle.

you felt him step closer until he was right behind you. slowly, you turned to face him, and the look in his eyes stole your breath.

“i thought i liked cho,” he said, his voice low, “but i was wrong. it’s you. it’s always been you.”

your heart stopped. “what?”

“i didn’t realize it at first,” he admitted, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “but these past few weeks, when you weren’t there… i missed you. i wanted to see you, talk to you, make you laugh. i couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

his words left you speechless, your mind racing. before you could respond, he reached out, his fingers brushing your cheek.

“is it too late?” he asked quietly.

instead of answering, you closed the distance between you, pressing your lips to his. the kiss was soft and hesitant at first, but it quickly deepened as you poured all your bottled-up emotions into it.

when you finally pulled away, harry rested his forehead against yours, a small, breathless smile on his lips.

“it’s not too late,” you whispered.

for the first time in what felt like forever, your heart felt whole again.

#a writes #harry potter #hogwarts #harry potter imagine #harry potter x reader #harry potter fluff #harry potter angst #harry james potter #harry james potter fluff #harry james potter x reader #harry james potter angst #cho chang

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hunnylagoon · 1 year ago

Text

Right Where You Left Me

Pt1: Coming Down With Me

Ellie Williams x reader

I once met a girl with skin like kiwi. Even the butterflies were drawn to her, landing on the top of her nose, the dip in her palm. But the kiwi stung my tongue, scarred my lips and made me bleed. I do not care. Cover me in your kiwi kisses, burn my mouth and scar my flesh. Bleach my eyes and dip my heart in lemon juice. Sing your sickly sweet words until my ears bleed.

Premise: You and Ellie were childhood best friends until you grew up. Funny thing about soulmates is that they tend to find their way back to each other.

Warnings: Angst / reader has religious issues / people are mean lol / best friends to enemies to lovers / roommate! Ellie

Part two here!

Part three here!

Part four here!

I know everything about you,

You know everything about me.

I had always been bound to the earth while Ellie danced with the stars in the night sky among delusion and dreams. Though, more so than anything, we were bound to one another.

Our parents were friends, even before we were born. They met at summer camp when they were teenagers, the same camp that Ellie and I were eventually shipped off to every summer. Of course, I have no recollection of when I was an infant, only stories that my parents shared with me; My dad told me that I learned to crawl backwards before I learned to crawl forwards. Joel kept a photo album of his girl.

I can't remember days of crawling around and babbling incoherently, but I can tell you what I remember.

Five years old- Kindergarten

Despite the air being unbearable hot, it was infused with excitement as Ellie and me set foot in the petting zoo. I had never seen so many animals in one place, my little brain was going nuts. Accompanied by the gentle hum of content animals, the aroma of straw, and the distant melody of joyful chatter, the petting zoo rang true to its rustic charm.

Ellie, with her auburn curls bouncing in the breeze, led the way, her eyes widened at the sight of a fluffy alpaca lazily grazing in the sunshine. I giggled as we approached a pen filled with adorable piglets, their tiny snouts sniffing the pure air far away from the dirty stench of the city.

Our parents, watching with affectionate smiles, guided us to the lamb enclosure where soft, woolly creatures nuzzled against tiny palms. Ellie's fingers gently traced the contours of a lamb's ear, and she couldn't resist a delighted squeal as she felt the velvety nose of a goat.

As the afternoon sun cast a warm glow on the scene, the families strolled through the meandering paths, passing by a pond where ducks quacked merrily. Ellie and I, hand in loveable hand, marvelled at the wonders of the animal kingdom, our hearts brimming with the pure joy of discovery and a blooming friendship.

Seven years old- Grade Two

On this particular day, Ellie and I had been messing around in her backyard; that's all we did on the weekends at that age, you couldn't get us to go inside. We spent the morning entwined in daffodils and hyacinth that Joel has so tenderly nurtured, careful not to crush the dainty flowers beneath our wild flailing bodies.

We had the brilliant idea to paint rocks so we had been searching her yard for the perfect flat stones we had in mind. Ellie picked up a rock and immediately threw it back down, jumping away with a shriek.

This had piqued my curiosity (As well as Joels who sat on the back porch, watching us), I went over to where she stood petrified and found nothing more than a little snake staring up at her. I dropped the stones I had been carrying and bent over to get a better look at it, it was brown and had a few white vertical stripes cascading up its thin body.

I slowly moved my hand outwards to touch but was swiftly interrupted by Joel scooping me up "That's enough of that kiddo."

Nine years old- Grade Four

Joel's house garnered an expansive backyard and just past the old fence that Ellie and I had thrown one too many softballs at was a lush forest. I would always clamour up the wood fence and poke my little head over it to try and gather a glimpse of wildlife, Ellie usually had to give me a little boost. "Hold still!" She hissed with her arms wrapped around my torso to help lift me, my scrawny arms shook as I tried to pull myself up even further.

The wood rot of the ancient fence finally set in and with the both of us pressing our mighty weight against it collapsed with the fence. We heard the splitting of wood, I got the worst end of the stick, toppling over and putting my hands out to protect myself. I could've sworn that I heard my wrist break like a crunch.

While I did what felt like a three-sixty frontflip over the fence just for my small head to come down on the end of it with a solid smack, Ellie had just flopped on top of it, green eyes widening in shock when she saw my once straight arm now had an abnormal bump coming out from my wrist. "What's wrong with your hand?"

"I don't know I'm probably dying!" I screamed as loud as my voice could carry, that was the first time I had felt adrenaline run through my veins. "You killed me!"

"No, I didn't!" She retorted, scrambling off the fence and back up to her feet. She was clad in a Jurassic Park T-shirt that she practically was swimming in and those pink and orange plaid Bermuda shorts that any kid in the 2000s owned. "Dad!" Ellie yelled, calling for Joel.

I felt the tears welling up in my eyes and finally, I released the sob that had been building up in my throat. She was almost dumbstruck and just ended up kneeling and wrapping her arms around me in a hug.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." She muttered.

10 years old- Grade Five

Ellie had been practicing guitar the entire time I was at her house, Joel had gifted her his old guitar and she was so set on perfecting every cord, every half-hour she would ask for a song recommendation and then flip through the songbook she got to find it.

I was curled up in her bed reading The Hunger Games over again "Els, are you team Peeta or Gale?" I was always at Ellie's house, mine was too busy all the time; I had three siblings, Naomi and Aaron who were twins and two years younger than me and my brother Elijah who was three years older than me. I loved going to her house on Saturdays so I could sleep in and wriggle my way out of going to church. Even though her house was right across the street from mine and my parents would bang on Joel's door, he always covered for me.

"Uh," She was distracted by something in her songbook "Team Katniss?"

I nod in approval to myself as she isn't paying attention "You know who Gale reminds me of?" I ask and without Ellie giving me a response I answer anyway "Luke, I think I kind of like him."

Those are the words that get her to look at me "Ew, he's so weird."

"He's nice to me."

She wrinkles her nose in distaste then shrugs, returning to her guitar which sits awardly in her scrawny frame.

12 years old- Grade Seven

"Fuck!" I yell, kicking the grimy green dumpster in the graffiti-covered ally out of anger, though I kicked it a little too hard now my foot hurts I refuse to admit it "Fuck I hate them!"

Ellie leans against the brick wall on the opposite side of the alley, our bikes discarded on the ground while I hopelessly rant to my friend about my parents. She doesn't say much, just little nods of agreement. My parents had caught me skipping church and they laid into me, saying that I had no respect for them or god and whether that was true or not didn't matter, I was full of pre-teen angst and needed to call my friend to go for a bike ride around town.

"She fucking tore my room apart, I never see them get mad at Aaron or Naomi!" I drag my hands down my face before I look back at the dumpster and kick it again "Ow, cunt!" I'm now hopping on one foot while my knee bends my other leg and I hold my beaten red Converse, covered in doodles, to soothe the pain of my poor toes. It's moments like this that remind me why I love Ellie, because as stupid as I look hobbling around and cussing, she doesn't laugh at me even though I know she wants to.

After a little bit of me aimlessly yelling I finally wind down. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to remember those breathing exercises that we were taught at school assemblies. "Thanks for listening to me talk shit, I'm sorry."

"Don't be," She shrugs "I've seen you do worse."

This cracks a smile on my face, I turn my head and am met with the Jackson skyline, a beautiful pink sunset on the horizon "Sun's setting," I say.

"Sleepover?" Ellie asks.

"Sleepover," I confirm.

13 years old- Grade Eight

We were thirteen when our parents shoved cash into our hands and dropped us at the mall to go back to school shopping by ourselves for the first time. Every parent's nightmare was a busy mall so when they figured us old enough to venture into the dreaded foodcourt on our own, believed they were taking that opportunity.

Ellie had bought a couple of T-shirts and hoodies here and there, not too particular about what she was buying, though I was very nit-picky over what I wore so I forced Ellie to judge every single outfit that I wore and rate it, she gave the same answer every single time "It looks fine."

"Cool but I don't wanna look fine, I wanna look pretty," I say in frustration, walking back into the dressing room to try on another outfit. Ellie is sitting in the fitting room on a pink velvet couch, arms crossed and waiting for me to finish. "How's this?" I ask, walking out of the changing stall and giving her a little twirl.

"It looks fine- I mean good, everything looks good on you." She sounds almost exasperated. Ellie's hair was still that vibrant auburn colour that my mother was obsessed with, it had yet to fade out into a duller brown with age.

"Really?" I perk up just the slightest.

"Yeah, you look really pretty." She gives me a little nod of confirmation. I know that she's only saying that because she wants to go to the food court and get a cinnamon bun but I believe her anyway.

14 years old- Grade Nine

We were just nearing the end of the second half of our soccer game. It was the tournament and we were only a point away from placing first in the league, the thought of it had kept me up all week I was running off of Subway sandwiches and Gatorade.

Riley (the midfielder) swiftly passed the ball to me before she was surrounded by the other team's defence, I looked up to the clock and there were only seconds left in the match. I let my instincts take over, my parents forcing me into soccer since elementary school was not going to wind up useless. My footwork took me up the right wing just before the penalty box.

I wasn't paying enough attention to notice the tall blonde girl in a slick back ponytail closing in on me. I hear Ellie shout my name and that's all I need to make this last pass, I barely even looked up before power-driving the ball to Ellie who was merely six metres away from me. I slipped onto the muddied field with that kick, watching Ellie waste no time to score our final goal the second her cleat touched the ball.

The clock deadlocks and I drag myself off the ground running towards my best friend, I jump on her almost taking her down with me though she manages to steady herself. "I fucking love you!" I scream hugging her with all of the force I can muster. She hugs me in return, unable to get any words out between her laughs. The team is quick to swarm us, everyone is shouting about our well-deserved victory but not one person is louder than Joel in the stands.

15 years old- Grade Ten

Snow was falling as I stood in the foyer of the high school, still waiting for my date for the winter formal to arrive. Conner had asked me out weeks ago, we hadn't talked much since though I just figured that was because he was shy. I even left school early to get ready and spent hours meticulously pinning every hair into place and adjusting my navy blue satin dress so it would drape across my body in just the right way.

My sister, Naomi was an aspiring makeup artist so I let her dust my eyelids in silver glitter, I forced Warren to drive me. All of that was just for me to get stood up. Conner hadn't texted me all day, I knew he wasn't coming that didn't stop me from forcing denial on myself. "Hey," I heard a soft voice sound behind me, I wasn't surprised to see Ellie. Even though our parents were no longer friends, we were close as ever.

"Hi," My voice was hushed and feeble.

"The dance started an hour ago," She said, that night she had been wearing a white button-up with a pair of jeans and her hair half up. It was clear the dance wasn't as big a deal to her as it was to me. All she had done was ask Riley to go with her and call it a day. Despite her lack of effort, she looks beautiful as ever "I don't think he's coming," She said bluntly.

That's the exact moment I felt myself crack, tears welled up in my eyes and I lurched forward to hug her, flailing my arms helplessly to search for comfort "Then why did he ask me to go with him?" My sobs were drowned out by the sound of Kesha blasting in the overcrowded gym.

"I don't know, but he's an idiot for standing you up," Ellie holds me close and I never want her to let go "I wouldn't have ever done that to you."

16 years old- Grade Eleven

This is where things begin to fall apart. I found Ellie on the back porch of some random guy's house at a party. "I figured I would find you out here," I say, taking a seat next to her on the wooden steps, I hug my knees close to my chest.

"What's up?" Beside me, Ellie is unnervingly calm, she nurses a joint, taking a long hit and letting the smoke turn to clouds.

"Conner kissed me," I say cutting to the chase

I can tell she doesn't like the thought, she hated Conner, ever since he stood me up at the winter formal but she bites her tongue "You guys gonna date?"

"I think so."

"Good for you."

"I don't know if I liked it," My eyebrows are furrowed, and I pull my knees in even further, inhaling the crisp autumn air and the smell of Ellie, she smells like cannabis, firewood and bar soap.

"What do you mean?" Ellie puts out the end of her joint and tucks what remains of it into an empty Altoids container.

"Nothing," I dismiss it, "It doesn't matter, I just wanted to talk to you," Ellie had softened every burden for me since we were girls. "Um, so, my parents are sending me to boarding school next year."

"No, they're not-

"They are."

Ellie doesn't seem so calm anymore, she adjusts her body to face mine and she's so close I swear to god I could've counted every freckle on her face. "Why, what did you do?" The way she looks at me makes me wish that she was a boy.

"Nothing!" I retort "They think I'm straying from god, it's a Christian school." That was my code for 'they think I have a crush on you and I rather not get disowned by my super religious parents!'

"come stay with me and Joel-

"Ellie, please," I place a hand on her thigh "I don't think I can get away from this one."

That was at the end of September, it only got worse from there. I partially wished that I didn't tell Ellie that I had to leave, every time we hung out it just felt like words were hanging between us like birds on a wire and neither of us could say what we wanted. I forced myself to distance myself from her, I didn't know how else to handle my feelings.

She would blow up my phone and come by my house even visit my work but I just told her that I was busy. I could tell that she didn't believe my excuses for a second, she had English with my new boyfriend, Conner and would get him to relay messages and notes to me.

It didn't get easier to ignore her, my family prying about where she had been. I never told my parents that Ellie was gay, though I know they had always had a suspicion and that's why they could never love her all the way completely, the way Joel loved me and looked out for me. My mom and dad liked that I swapped out Ellie for Conner, by February, my dad even started to call him son.

In March Ellie and I had stopped talking completely, she gave up on texting me and coming by my house just for my siblings to lie about my whereabouts. It hurt to see the resentment gleam in her eye every time she passed me in the hallway.

She didn't speak a word to me until the start of the summer bonfire which was custom in our town. If I had known she would be there I never even would have thought about going. I rather not rehash this awful night, not right now just know that it ended with some alcohol, a bit of blood in the sand and me telling Ellie 'I would pick him over you every single time.' Yikes, that's not a good look for me. I spent the rest of my summer burying her in the back of my mind until boarding school finally came upon me and I graduated with friends I didn't like in a place that didn't feel like home.

I was sixteen then now I'm nineteen, no longer a girl but not yet a woman. Those were some key moments of our friendship. I'm not so sure why I felt so mature at the age of sixteen. I had taken a gap year and loved every minute of it, I backpacked in Australia, worked as a camp counsellor in the summer then left to work at a turtle conservatory in Bali, I was making pennies but the experience was worth it.

I arrived at my new home sunkissed with Ellie far in the back of my mind. I didn't know much about who I would be rooming with, I had only spoken to Dina over a Zoom call who was a friendly girl with warm eyes and ink-black hair spilling over her shoulders. I just prayed that none of them were Craigslist killers.

It took me entirely too long to find parking, when I finally did, I grabbed two of my suitcases, unable to hold anything else, the rest of the boxes jammed into my car would have to wait. I read over the text that Dina sent me what seemed to be a million times to make sure I had the right address. It was a small-ish one-story flat with brown walls that had white accents along corners and the doorway with a wood-panelled gable roof. As far as college housing went, I was happy. It looked like something I would've made in the Sims when I was a teenager.

I walk to the front door, the entrance is framed by intricately carved moulding, its details telling a story of craftsmanship and tradition. The wood, polished to a warm, inviting glow, exudes a sense of richness and history. I knocked on the door and heard a voice shouting that she would get it.

The door swings open and I'm met face to face with Dina "Hey!" She smiled "It's nice to meet you, I think you'll like it here," She held the door wide open, motioning for me to go in, and I obliged. "Let me give you a tour." Dina is clad in sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt and her hair has been pulled back into a messy ponytail.

The layout of the house seemed somewhat odd to me, there was a corridor straight ahead when you walked in, the first room was the laundry room and contained the washer and dryer with some hampers and shelves of detergent and laundry freshener. "This is the laundry room, we have a wash schedule along with a chore schedule so we will put you on that tonight," Dina told me, I just nodded politely in response feeling a little too awkward and out of place to say anything.

"Alright so this is the kitchen, there's a half bathroom beside it," She says, swinging her arms wide open for exaggeration I can see the chore chart hanging on the walls, it's written in chalk, and it is the laundry schedule. There are little laminated tags with each person's name on them, though I can't quite make out the names from where I am standing. The fridge is covered in postcards, magazine cutouts, polaroids, and bright magnets of papayas and flowers, I automatically assumed this was Dina despite not knowing the other roommates. The kitchen is open with no walls to hide it, the oven and dishwasher are built into counters against the walls as well as the sink which i spotless at the moment, there isn't a dining table but a kitchen island with stools. Past the island you can see the living room, there are two grey couches with decorative pillows and fuzzy throw blankets, a coffee table that looked handcrafted with care and of course a TV.

Have I mentioned there are plants everywhere? Like everywhere. "Okay, so," Dina keeps on moving and I trail behind with my suitcases, over there is my room and Cat's and Abby's," She points to the left of the living room where there is a short hallway with three doors, one on each wall of it. "There's Cat now," She waves at her roommate.

Cat is relatively tall, she has black hair that's tied into a bun, and she's wearing plaid pyjama pants and a black tank top, I can see her abundance of tattoos. She has one sleeve of laurel cascading up her arm and the other is patchwork done right, each separate piece blends almost seamlessly into the next. "I like your tattoos," I say, not wanting to sit in any more silence.

She grins at me "Thanks, love," I nod in response to her, Cat looks down at the suitcases that I'm lugging around "Dina, take this poor girl to her room already."

"I was just getting there," Dina teases and motions for me to follow her "So over here is the bathroom and of course your room, I left your copy of the house key on your mattress," She opens it up. The bedroom is completely blank aside from the boxed bedframe, shelf, vanity and mattress that I had to send over prior. There's a built-in closet in the wall.

I put my suitcases on the ground "I'm gonna grab the rest of my stuff from my car," I offer up a tight-lipped smile.

"Wait a second," She takes my hand and then knocks on the bedroom door parallel to mine. "I'm coming in!" Dina announces pushing the door open, there's a brunette girl hunched over her desk. My breath hitches in my throat when she turns around "This is Ellie."

I can see the panic that momentarily takes over Ellie when she spots me before it's replaced by a false coolness, "Hey," She says before turning back to her laptop and putting her headphones back on. It felt like my heart had shut down, why the fuck did I sign the lease?

"Sorry," Dina shuts Ellie's door "She's not the friendliest of the bunch but she'll warm up to you eventually," Dina walks to the front door with you Abby should be around here somewhere."

I had gotten so frustrated trying to set up my bed frame that I sheepishly left my room and asked for help, god bless Abby. She was putting everything together so easily, I watched her in awe as she finished adding the final screw to my bedframe. "Want help setting up the mattress?"

"Yes, please," I say, I grab one end of the mattress while Abby gets the other, she tells me to lift on three and I listen, she carries the majority of the weight but it still feels like an accomplishment on my part. "So does everyone here go to Northridge?"

"Yeah, except for Cat, she's a tattoo apprentice."

"Cool, cool," I search for words, "What are you majoring in?"

"Kinesiology," It makes sense, I could've called that by looking at the fit gym rat who was now sitting on my bed. "You?"

"Wildlife biology,"

"So you like animals and conservation and stuff?"

"Mhm," I nod "It's honestly kind of hard to not have any animals in my life." I was missing all my pets back home, when I wasn't with them I was working at a conservatory or at a summer camp where I took care of all of the horses, and Ellie's dog, Achilles.

"You'll get used to it, living with Dina is the same thing as living with an animal," She smiles and for the first time, I feel comfortable. Abby watching me with her blue eyes as I begin to unpack my abundance of boxes, I kind of just dump everything onto the ground because I can't remember which box has what, the first thing I search for are my coat hangers. I dump out a box with a bible, wall cross, and rosery and golden cross necklace from a box of random knickknacks. "You religious?"

"Kind of?" I question it myself "Not really, it's just my family, I packed that stuff to make my mom happy."

Abby nods "I get it."

"You do?"

She backtracks "No, but I can try to."

I shake my head, "I wouldn't try if I were you, I spent nineteen years trying to get away from it." I was sure other Christian homes were healthy but mine wasn't one of them, the way my parents obsessed over Jesus was honestly frightening.

"Hey, do you wanna come watch a movie when your done unpacking?" Abby asked, "Get to know your new roommates a little better."

I don't entirely want to, I wasn't ready to talk to Ellie. I still hadn't wrapped my head around the fact that I was living with her and that she was pretending she didn't know me, despite this, my words betrayed me "For sure."

I sat on one of the couches beside Abby, I made myself as small as I could, thinking that maybe I could make myself disappear. Cat and Ellie crammed themselves on the other while Dina took the plush armchair. I felt so out of place everyone here had relationships, I had one with Ellie before I severed it 'Grown Ups' was playing on the flatscreen though it seemed I was the only one paying attention.

The four girls all laughed and talked their way through the movie, Abby, Cat, and Dina would ask me a question here and there but I didn't know them well enough to pitch in. I kept telling myself that I needed to push through, if Spiderman could do it, so could I.

I didn't even finish the movie, halfway through I excused myself saying I was tired which wasn't necessarily a lie. It was difficult to fathom how well Ellie was playing it off, acting like she never met me. I walk into the bathroom, clean towel in hand, ready to scrub off the stress of today. Beside the mirror, I see a cardstock poster decorated with bright markers and doodles.

HOUSE RULES

#1 No underwear left in the bathroom

#2 Wash your dishes

#3 Break it? Tell Abby

#4 No smoking inside

#5 Privates are private!

#6 Pls don't drink and drive (We have a couch)

#7 Give your beloved roommates a heads up before having someone over

#8 This is a residence of women so the seat goes down!!!

#9 Respect the bedrooms

#10 Having sex? Keep it quiet

#11 NO DRAMA!!!!!!!!

#12 Follow chore and wash chart

#13 Don't eat what's not yours! (Without asking)

I finish reading the last bit and mutter to myself "Wasn't planning on it." I run the water so hot that it feels cold and I'm quick to not use all of the hot water and have my roommates hate me on my first night here. Everyone has their little drawers in the bathroom, mine is empty aside from some floss and cotton pads that the girl before me left behind. I make a mental note to make use of my bathroom drawer tomorrow and fill it with makeup remover or conditioner, or something like that.

Brushing my teeth and wrapping myself in a strawberry towel that I had purchased at a craft fair, I open the bathroom door, I can see the light of the TV and the sound of chatter from the living room. However, I ignore it and make a B-line to my bedroom. Even though I had spent hours unpacking and pinning up posters it still didn't seem homey.

I slip into shorts and a t-shirt, leaving my hair as is and throw myself onto my bed. My towel is discarded onto my bathroom floor. When I turn on my phone I am bombarded my messages from my parents, my mother has probably sent me twelve Google pins to the closest churches, I answer her with a thumb-up emoji and settle into my bed to scroll through social media and see how much fun all of my friends are having.

Fucking Ellie. She's plaguing my thoughts, I think of what I said to her and it makes me cringe, I want to smother myself with my satin pillow. I don't even have food to eat, grocery shopping wasn't something that I put on my priority list and right about now I was but Ellie, god, why was I such a dick? Because I didn't know what else to do- whatever, I was a scared teenager. What would you have done? Probably kiss her you lesbo.

Lord, it makes me sick to think about what could've been.

15 years old- Grade Ten

Ellie and I were sitting at a fire pit at her uncle Tommy's lake house. It was a Fourth of July party except we were the only teenagers there; everyone else was friends of Tommy and Maria or some distant relatives of Ellie's or children of said people.

After five years of practicing day and night, Ellie had just about mastered the acoustic guitar, she played and I sang, wrapped up in her flannel, I was tucked close next to her.

She struck every cord perfectly and I began to sing absentmindedly, the song that had been carved into my brain. Ellie looked so insanely beautiful illuminated only by fire and the stars that hung in the sky, if it hadn't been a sin I would've kissed her.

Talking to her felt as holy as praying to god but I knew it was as sinful as worshipping the devil.

If it was so wrong why was I born in God's image?

Her gentle hand strummed on the chords of the guitar, the same calloused hand that had once turned water into wine. Her laughter was the sound of a church choir

I wish I told her how much I liked her but what would've happened if I did? What would my parents think, they would kill me.

Part of me didn't care how my parents would react, if I spoke up, I could say goodbye to my inheritance and having college paid for. Maybe that was an unfair assumption to make on my part. Ugh. FUCK, I don't know, let's get to the next part of the story.

I couldn't sleep that night, I thought maybe a glass of water would soothe me, well I didn't really think that but I was hungry and thirsty and water was the only thing in that house I had the right to ingest. I figured that I could fill myself with water and zip to Denny's in the morning then grab some groceries.

Poking my head out of my door, I checked to see if anyone was still awake before gingerly taking hushed steps towards the kitchen, I was trying to be as light as Thumbelina. I hadn't noticed Ellie bumming on the couch, scrolling through her phone.

"You cooking all of that non-existent food you brought?" She jeered. Oh, now she wanted to talk to me.

"I was gonna have some warm water soup for dinner and chew on pistachio shells from the cup holder in my car for dessert," I answer "I'm treating myself tonight." She didn't think it was funny at all, a few years ago she would've been cackling at my subpar joke, but now she just seemed unamused. "Sheesh, tough crowd."

She stays silent.

"You used to think I was funny," I say.

"I also used to think the tooth fairy was real."

"Harsh," I mutter. Turning the tap on and sticking a finger underneath it to test the temperature. I put my hummingbird mug underneath it and let it fill. "Hey, Ellie," She doesn't answer "Have you told them any bad things about me?"

She nearly scoffs "No, believe it or not, I don't talk about you, I don't even think about you," There's venom in her voice "You haven't crossed my mind since you walked through that door."

"Why are you pretending you don't know me-

"Because I don't fucking like you," She says it like it's so obvious and it honestly is in this moment "Just because you're pretty and you act like a sweet little Christain girl, that doesn't mean shit."

"I'm not trying to act like anything-

"Yeah, well it seems pretty insincere to me," Ellie seethed and I could feel a sting in my heart, I would do some pretty horrendous things for a time machine right about now. I can tell that there won't be any salvaging for this, she hates me to death and rightfully so.

This is where I give up "Okay, sorry," I grab my hummingbird mug and retreat to my room.

I endured four months of that.

Ellie was pushed to the back of my mind while I ran through classes and got a job as a waitress at a stake house. I did everything in my power to keep myself busy, to keep her out of my head but she was always there, she hung around like a song I can't shake, like I'm haunted by the melody.

Some nights when the city decides to quiet down I can hear her play guitar, and I'll quietly hum along to it. Songs she used to sing for me, she now sings for another woman, another soul. I knew that she had girls over, but I never got to meet them as Ellie did everything in her power to pretend I didn't exist.

The only communication I got with her was in the roommate's group chat, and it was always brief.

Ellie: Having a friend over tomorrow night

D-manz: Friend? With benefits??????????

Kit-Cat: Nah they're hardly even friends, just benefits

Abs: Don't get her pregnant

Me: 👍

As long as I was with the girls, Ellie was not. She avoided me like the plague, it was like she despised my existence. If we go clubbing, she takes a separate taxi, petty if you ask me. The girls knew something happened between us but they couldn't pinpoint what it was. It was Dina's conspiracy that Ellie used to date one of my friends and broke her heart. While I bonded with Cat, Dina, and Abby, Ellie would pretend to like me. She would occasionally laugh at my jokes or ask how my shift was when Dina was in the room.

Trust me when I say I would rather forget than dwell on it but it was impossible. I know that I'm nothing more than an obstacle to her, a stain on her bedsheets, a sore in her mouth, but she was still my diamond in the rough. I will willingly ignore all of her cutthroat words and her jagged edges.

Because I know everything about us.

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howlsofbloodhounds · 2 months ago

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Hello Howl how're you doing. I just wondering what's your opinions on Killers excessive determination? Does it effect on his physical body much like geno? (Ik Geno kinda stero injects DM into his soul)

but like, is his excessive determination slowly melting away him like Geno? and what we saw he coughing up black goos, are some part of them are his marrow that just seeping out of his bone, or is it something that is manifest?

Anyways have a great day!

(Omg first interaction)

I personally like to think that the black goo is a mixture of DT and his own melting insides—blood/bone marrow, or more like, the dt gives his melting insides an acidic like properties. And the DT gives it this black goopy appearance, and I personally like to think it smells either really bad or sickly sweet—and has a bubbling like appearance as if it’s boiling.

Now, as for side effects, there’s the canon ones we see. Which is the constant leaking, the choking and difficulty breathing hazard, the frequent coughing and spitting, and eye sight problems that likely lead to extremely blurred vision that could also cause visual or auditory hallucinations—images from the past, voices that aren’t there, etc.

And the constant, overwhelming, physical pain that seems to just be everywhere. In Stage 1, where he’s unable to ignore his physical pains, he seems to shake and curl in on himself a lot.

@signanothername also frequently draws their killer with black stained bones, which I honestly really like. Makes sense to me.

On top of that, I also think that Killer’s ichor also seeps within his joints and bones—even from any broken bones, fractures, and injuries he gains—and if he doesn’t frequently clean between these areas, not only will it hurt more, but the blood can dry and crust up; causing limited mobility and movement. It may also cause intense numbness or partial paralysis in limbs.

I’ve also seen a HC around that if Killer lays on or sleeps on his back, his skull will eventually fill up with goop and he’ll wake up with what feels like a “bloated” skull. And as result, he keeps like a bucket or a trashcan beside his bed, so he can lean over and dump out his skull in the mornings. Or you know, to throw up and cough and spit in it.

I do think that as it worsens, Killer will start experiencing intense physical weakness—if he doesn’t already, because of the immense energy used to both keep his body intact and ensure that his SOUL remains outside of his body—which in turn can cause sudden and extreme energy plummets that he blacks out.

This can result in feeling like his bones are brittle, and he could even start experiencing partial fractures and spontaneous bone splinting from internal pressure.

And although he may not have typical nerves, he could experience something like nerve pain—stabbing, intense sensations where blood leaks. It could be constant, sometimes escalating into something so unbearable he convulses or loses control of his limbs.

He may experience something like rapid dehydration with all constant leaking substances and potential blood lost, making his bones appear cracked or flaked as if he’s slowly drying up because his body has to compensate for all the lost energy.

His body may even be extremely sensitive to temperature; causing him to swing between hot and cold, potentially causing fractures from the sudden expansion and contraction of his bones—potentially even causing steam and/or frost to emit from his body at random.

As the DT continues to cause his body to corrode from the inside out, his motor functions could suffer; leading to tremors, stumbling, or jerky movements.

He could feel an intense internal pressure from within, an ache behind his ribs, as if something wants to burst out; the goop leaking more aggressively from the cracks.

Over time, he could even begin developing what appears to be patches of rot on his body where the goop accumulates heavily; like eye sockets, jaw, ribs, etc.

If ya wanna lean more into the DT aspect of the goopage, it could start becoming acidic to surfaces he touches or anyone who touches him; leaving stains and burn marks wherever he goes.

Over time, his bones could disintegrate and erode; leaving certain segments and joints vulnerable to snapping and detaching all together; line a toe, a finger, an entire limb.

It can all lead to his physical form deforming, becoming something unrecognizable as even skeletal—especially if his DT also attempts to regenerate but causes malformed or mutated growth.

Alexa play the sharpest lives jinx edit.

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yandere-daydreams · 1 year ago

Text

Title: Predatory Flora.

A Grab Bag Commission For A Very Lovely Anonymous Commissioner.

Summary: A lost little adventure meets a particularly sweet plant.

Word Count: 1.0k.

TW: Non//Con, AFAB!Reader, Tentacles, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Bondage, and Implied Mind-Break.

It tasted like honey.

Thick, viscous, painfully sweet, clinging to your lips and your throat as you struggled to choke it down. You thought it might’ve been nectar – some kind of natural by-product yet to be recorded in any of the logs you’d skimmed through in preparation for your journey. If you had heard about this, you were sure you would’ve remembered it, would’ve made a mental note to keep an eye out for plants with thrashing vines and bright pink petals that latched onto your lower face and forced their dripping pistils down your throat, for plants whose saccharine scent made your thoughts crowded and your body lag. You wouldn’t have taken a wrong step, wouldn’t have found yourself in a pit of squirming vines and blooming flowers. You would’ve avoided this, if you’d known what to look for.

You’d be trying harder to escape, if you had proof that anyone had ever encountered this thing and lived.

Slowly, jerkily, you managed to lift your hand and take the flower by its stem, but as soon as you made contact with its pulsing, dewy flesh, another tendril lashed out and wrapped around your wrist – this one a dark green, sticky to the touch and covered in long, tapered red hairs that seemed to squirm and batter against your skin. Oh god, your skin – you felt like you were burning, simultaneously buzzing with a numbing sort of static and overwhelmed with the aching need for something to press against you and stay there. It was almost a relief when another tendril rose from the creature’s main body, tangling around your unoccupied hand and dragging it downward, when another pair curled around your legs and dragged you off your feet completely. You twisted weakly in its hold, but your body relished the pressure, the stimulation. You could feel something dripping down the inside of your thighs, but where there should’ve been embarrassment, utter humiliation, you could only bring yourself to feel a sense of thrashing, twisting anticipation.

Anticipation that only grew more unbearable as the ground shifted underneath you, a mass of leaves and tangled roots coming to rest underneath your back. Or, no, wait, you were the one moving, the vines curled around your limbs maneuvering you deeper into the pit, closer to the base of this thing’s body, onto a bed of thick emerald leaves and coiled vines. The flower latched onto your face pumped one more mass of sickly sweet agony down your throat before recoiling, falling around your neck and letting its nectar ooze down your tunic, your chest. You mourned its loss, but the misery of separation was short-lived. Those red hairs were swarming you in a moment, forcing their way under your clothes, your armor. Your pack fell away first, then the sword at your waist – the only weapon you’d thought to bring on what should’ve been a routine expedition. Your leather armor was pulled over your head carelessly, and what remained of your clothes weren’t even given that much respect, torn and ripped until little more than tattered shreds remained.

Somehow, seeing the planes of your own exposed skin helped to clear your scattered mind, to jolt just enough sense into your lust-addled brain to remind you that you were in the mouth of a creature you couldn’t name, at the mercy of whatever it’d forced you to swallow. You made a half-hearted effort to kick out, to pull your arms out of its hold, but the creature only strengthened your restraints by way of response, its tendrils winding tighter around your limbs. You grit your teeth, dug your blunt nails into its vines, but for everything you ripped away, two more would emerge from the main body to take its place. Your legs were spread far enough for a tight throbbing to form in your thighs, your arms hitched upward and bound together above your head. Another flower found its way to your face, but you bit at its petals, staving it off with gnashing teeth and harsh thrashing. You held your breath, attempting to clear your thoughts, to put together something close to a plan and—

"Don't fight." Its voice seemed to come from everywhere, from everything. Your eyes darted from vine to vine wildly, but you only found its source when two hands descended from nowhere; long, tapered fingers coming to cup your face and tilt your head back. A poor imitation for something human hovered above you, its skin that same dark green, its eyes that terrible pink. It was smiling - or, it was supposed to be, at least. "It's so much more fun when you give in quickly."

You felt something push into you, a blunt head forcing its way into your dripping cunt. In tandem, a tendril with a flattened tip latched onto your clit, lapping over the hyper-sensitive bundle of nerves – the sensation not unlike that of a tongue. Instantly, your mind went blank. If your body had been burning before, it was on fire now, something vital and vulnerable inside of you melting as the blunt tendril lazily thrusted into you, only occasionally pausing to curl or coil. You could make out more of that awful nectar leaking out of your cunt, coating the tendril with a thin sheen of its own aphrodisiac. You could feel the creature’s body reverberate underneath you, letting out a resounding purr as it forced its way deeper into you. You could see it grinning above you, golden nectar dripping over its bottom lip.

A matching smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. Absent-mindedly, you spread your legs, letting yourself go completely slack. The creature took over, latching onto your chest and wrapping around your waist, pulling you further into its embrace. Pleasure rolled over you in thick waves, suffocating what few useless worries you still had until you couldn’t bring yourself to think about anything at all. You bucked your hips towards the tendril inside of you, savoring the slow shudder of arousal that crept down your spine as a reward. You couldn’t get away, but that was fine. You’d be here forever, but you didn’t care.

It wasn’t like you could ever want to leave.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yanderecore #yancore

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featherlight-touches · 1 month ago

Text

Important Question

Vanitas/Noé/Roland

a/n: I've recently gotten into the Vanitas no Carte series and I had to write this small one shot idea that was in my mind. I hope you enjoy!

★・・・★・・・★・・・★

“Vanitas?”

“Shh!”

“But Vanitas-”

“I said shush! We need to be silent.”

“I get that, but why are we hiding in the closet to begin with?”

Vanitas groaned at Noé’s persistence as they crouched unbearably close together in the cramped space.

“Because that imbecile Chasseur has been chasing me all afternoon and this seemed like the best place to escape his advances.”

“I see.”

There was a blissful silence between them which unfortunately for Vanitas, did not last long.

“Why is he chasing you?”

“Noé!”

“I’m just curious! And besides, you dragged me in here as well so- mmph!”

Vanitas was quick to cover Noé’s mouth as soon as muffled footsteps outside of the closet were heard. He held his gloved index finger to his own lips, an extra precaution for Noé to remain silent, even with his mouth covered.

“Oh, Vanitaaaas?”

The unmistakeable voice of Roland sang not far from the closet door where they hid. Noé could almost feel Vanitas cringing at the sing song way his named was called.

“You’re not hiding from me, are you? Oh, come now, it was just a simple question! There’s no need to hide,” Roland’s voice sounded sickly sweet, the same way that always gets Vanitas’ skin crawling. “Come out, come out, wherever you are~”

As soon as it sounded like his footsteps were getting further away, Noé decided to take a chance to speak up.

“I don’t understand. What was the question and why are you hiding away from it?”

“It’s none of your business,” Vanitas hissed.

“Well actually, I think it is my business. As I said, you dragged me here with you, so now I’m involved. I have a right to know what’s going on.”

“Keep your voice down, will you?! He might still come-”

The closet doors flung opened with a sudden violent motion, light flooding the small space and nearly blinding Vanitas and Noé as they blinked up at Roland's imposing figure looming over them with a triumphant smile.

“-back.”

“Ah, there you are!” Roland cheered, his bright smile almost as blinding as the light that lit the closet space. “What on earth could you be doing in here, hm?”

“We were just discussing our next curse bearer case, weren’t we, Noé?” Vanitas addressed; his nervous demeanour not very concealed at all. His expression begged Noé to play along.

“Oh… yes.”

“In the closet, of all places? My, you both are full of surprises. Though Vanitas, I still haven’t received your answer to my question!” Roland pressed, causing Vanitas to visibly flinch.

“Roland,” Noé managed to talk first, gaining the attention to both males. “What was the question you asked Vanitas?”

“Nothing!”

“Why, I asked him if he was ticklish.”

There was a moment of awkward silence at the reveal before Noé cast an unamused expression towards Vanitas, who only scowled back.

“That’s the reason we’re hiding away in this dark, cramped closet? Because he asked you such a simple question as that?” Noé raised his voice.

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t do the exact same thing!” Vanitas yelled back, using his foot to push Noé out of his hiding spot, despite it already being compromised. “You know how overly touchy he gets, there’s no way I would have come away from a question like that unscathed!”

“You could have just said no!” the white-haired vamp argued.

“No one ever just accepts no!”

“So, Vanitas,” Roland’s decided to interrupt the duo’s bickering. “Am I correct in assuming that means the answer is yes?”

Vanitas cringed at the mischievous look in Roland’s eyes, knowing that this meant trouble for him, especially since he was backed into a corner.

“Is it a yes?” Noé also asked, much to Vanitas’s pain. It would appear that he was also curious to know the real answer to the question at hand.

“I refuse to answer your ridiculous questioning,” the raven folded his arms across his chest. “We’re all adults here, so let’s try and act like it, shall we?”

“Oh, Vanitas,” Roland chuckled, already way too close to his side, uncomfortably so that it even startles him. “There’s nothing wrong with a little fun, now is there?”

Before Vanitas could protest, or even create space between them, Roland’s fingers were pressing into his sides, forcing a startled yelp from the doctor.

“ARE YOU INSANE?” Vanitas shrieked, trying to pull away only to be pulled back into Roland’s annoyingly strong embrace. “Let go of me!”

“Not yet, I want to hear you laugh!” Roland showed no mercy as he let his hands tickle up and down Vanitas’s sides, forcing cackles out of the younger male.

Noé couldn’t help but become entranced at the sight.

“Noé! Don’t – just stand there!” Vanitas then howled with laughter when Roland moved up to his ribs. “HELP ME!”

“Wow, you really are ticklish here, aren’t you?” Roland teased, that beaming smile still in place. Vanitas kicked and bucked in Roland’s hold, but the tickling had rendered him weak.

Noé whined, conflicted on what he must do, but was overcome by the desire to try out this new discovery for himself. He wanted to be the one to make Vanitas laugh in such a way. Without a moment’s hesitation he dove into the mix, placing his hands at Vanitas’s sides.

“Noé?!” Vanitas squealed, hearing the vampire chuckle softly over his laughter as he took advantage of the situation. “Ahaha! – stop! I’ll kill both of you!”

The small, flustered blush upon his face, the laughter and the tears of mirth appearing in his eyes, they were simply beautiful to Noé. This was a side of Vanitas that he didn’t know he needed to see.

Vanitas on the other hand, felt like he was in Hell, being tormented by the tickling fingers that dug into his tickle spots. If he was honest with himself, he wasn’t even aware just how ticklish he was, but now thanks to these two idiots, something told him he would not forget any time soon.

#Vanitas no Carte tickling #lee!Vanitas #ler!Roland #ler!Noé #Vanitas #noé archiviste #roland fortis #vanitas no carte

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fel-09 · 2 months ago

Text

When I get you out of my mind

Chapte 1

Warning: Yandere, ambiguous protagonist

Pairing: Carlisle Cullen x fem!reader

Special note: if there are any mistakes, sorry, English is not my native language

________________________________________________________________________

Spring 1745 , France

there was a heavy smell of flowers in the air, which had already bloomed, and their petals fluttered in the wind like snow, the atmosphere was ramontic, sickly sweet, this time of year was the best time if you had to admit to your other half about the feelings, the big bell on top of the church rang non-stop, your heart was pounding painfully with it in rythm swallowing a lump in grief, and clenching your gloved hands while looking at the scene unfolding in front of your eyes, it was not only difficult to breathe because of the unbearable smell of flowers, which you could even taste if you closed your mouth, but also the sight of your lover who cordially handed flowers to another woman, It hurts and is not pleasant so much that you wanted to rot on the ground with these flower petals , taking your last breath away , But to spite you, this world unfolded a monstrous picture before you , closing your mouth so as not to make an unnecessary sound.

You and Carlisle met at one of the balls of the aristocracy , the man kindly extended a helping hand to you when you are in you desperately needed it , namely when your father died , at that moment you were so overwhelmed with grief that you could no longer get up and leave his coffin , but he helped you by grabbing your arms and calmed you down , forcing you to find a new meaning in life in the form of him, the way he touched you so tenderly and carefully remained in your creation, entrenched, you wanted to be in his arms again, desperately in need, he became your breath, Every time you came to the ball first, what you did was looking for him with your eyes, and when you noticed you went straight to him, hoping to dance with him to feel his touch on your body once more, but as much as you would like to dance with Carlisle forever, you had to move away after the first dance.

Little by little, you began to get closer because of your brother, who decided to finance the doctor, Carlisle often came to your House, for dinner or just on business , attempts to talk at these moments were successful , you were drawn to listen to his voice the way he gesticulated, your eyes caught his every wave of his hand , and God, oh not your thoughts at that moment were not the purest, you wanted to punish yourself for this, which is why regular church attendance began to become a habit

when you stood and saw Carlisle give the flowers to Esme, in this place you prayed that the Lord would forgive you, probably this is your punishment for unholy thoughts in front of the Lord God himself.After Carlisle got closer to you, he confessed...that to love someone, it gave you hope and there was also a feeling of fear, because maybe it wasn't you but someone else, the doubts were true, it turned out to be a girl from family of merchants who bought the title with money, One day she was invited to one of the parties, where he meet her and Esme fell into his soul, it hurt the most to hear these words from the first mouth (Carlisle), Now, when he gave these flowers to Esme, which she refused with the words that she already has a future husband, it still hurt you... After all, Carlisle was the kind of man who could be said to be Monogamous..And even though you were friends, it wasn't enough for you...

Your legs were shaking at that moment, and your heart was squeezed in despair, the disgusting smell of flowers was carried into your skin , and those blue flowers that were abandoned became your non-genuine flowers , locked up after this in house, you did not go out, you did not eat anything, it was always more difficult to get out of bed After this day , there were many rumors in your circles about you , and the reasons for your fatherhood, your brother who took care of you tried to feed you at least porridge was in despair, Carlisle, in turn, tried to talk to you, but every time he was rejected by your brother, your brother was afraid that if you found out that he came, he would bring you even more pain.

________________________________________________________________________

There won't be a second part because I didn't really like the fanfic.

#carlisle cullen #carlisle cullen x reader #carlisle x reader #twilight #twilight x reader #x reader #fem reader #twilight saga

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wojcheks · 8 months ago

Text

High On You — Murdoc x Reader

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: SFW, established relationship, murdoc being so sickly sweet it will rot your teeth (by his standards), suggestiveness, kissing, reader pronouns not mentioned. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.8k 𝐀/𝐍: part 1? this was supposed to be a longer story with reader and murdoc going on vacation where shenanigans ensue. it may yet happen!! special thanks to @jackdelroys for tormenting me with their murdoc analysis, it makes me deeply unwell and they're extremely talented.

There's an unpleasant churning in your stomach, your nerves, the altitude, or lack of breakfast being the possible cause. Sitting there makes you dizzy, unbearably so, the world spinning like a mockery of a kaleidoscope. You lean your forehead on the seat in front, taking deep breaths in an attempt to alleviate some of the discomfort.

The sensation of sticky sweat clinging to your skin grows more intense, heat seemingly rising within the plane. It’s not often you travel this way, monetary constraints making it unviable, the discomfort caused by being that high up in the air a secondary concern.

Usually, that is. Right now, that part of it feels pretty damn pressing.

Within peripheral vision, you notice passing clouds, white on blue, wisps and blurry shapes moving behind thick glass. They're so close, and yet so far, and you're curious what running a finger through them would feel like.

Probably nothing at all, not even pressure to make known you've hit the target.

A small touch on your wrist snaps your attention back to the present, making you acutely aware of every feeling the sensation brings forward, shattering any thought that isn't Murdoc.

It’s not often that the man next to you approaches anything near hesitant, the way he is now, an interesting mixture of tentativeness and eagerness blending in his expression. The very concept seems very far removed as confidence bows endlessly at his command, the man wielding words akin to a blade, with a sea of self-assurance in tow.

There are many uses for such a thing, and he's proven it times before. On countless occasions, he’d caught you off-guard stating unfiltered thoughts with no holds barred and not batting an eyelid, a toothy grin firmly in place as he described what he’d do to make you squirm.

Even now, simply turning your head to give him attention causes nervous jitters and a growing warmth at the very sight of him, pulling your lips into an intuitive smile. It’s ridiculous how much of an effect a simple glance has, making the world around you grow quieter and sharpening it in certain spots, your focus entirely on Murdoc.

Who is of course already staring.

Unyielding, steadfast, and so fucking intense, sometimes you want to turn away from the scrutiny, feeling pinned under his gaze. But you would never actually leave when he’s holding you there, a feeling soul-deep and impossible to describe making it an unthinkable idea.

He sees you, cuts right through you like it's no hardship at all, peers to the very bottom of your being with ease, and his eyes feel like a hot red knife slashing at your most hidden corners.

It's sunrays disturbing the comfortable darkness in which all your flaws and very worst thoughts hide, illuminating the least worthy part of you and covering it in twin blackness. A reflection of what you wish could die being embraced by someone most important to you with no real judgement attached, only the comfort of understanding.

You think he might feel the same when he looks away after you call him caring, twitches when his words cause laughter to bubble out of you, when you look at him in interest as he tells a story, don’t react with disgust when he says something that would unsettle anyone else.

You know he feels the same when you press a kiss to the bottom of his jaw and he closes his eyes, looking for all the world like he’s having a revelation.

Murdoc lets his guard down around you, allows you to see the things he’s not shown a breathing soul before, bared before you in all that he is, and you look right at him and say it's all alright, it's okay, I understand.

Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes it's too much. Sometimes you grimace and it's not alright, but for him, just for him, it will have to be.

The aftermath makes it all worth living for.

You could never give it up.

Oh, and now his face shifts into something knowing, as if you’re being obvious, blatant in all your endless sentiment, and he tilts his head just so, displacing a strand of hair. It no doubt tickles him, but he doesn't show it, he never does, stone-faced bastard when he wants to be.

And you’d call his current expression smug except there’s a layer of fondness swimming in his eyes, this gentle, affectionate embrace he has you in, without ever having to move his arms.

“What are you thinking about, darling?"

It’s not obvious, the singular way he looks at you, not for everybody else to see. But you're aware of it when his body moves closer, unconsciously drifting into your space, being pulled into orbit by your gravitational pull. Aware of how deliberate he is in keeping an eye out, keeping you safe and under his protection.

You thought it would feel uncomfortable, that kind of care, his hand on the small of your back, gloves brushing over your cheek, over your wrist, over your pulse point with the practiced ease of a man trained to kill. You thought it would feel like too much, to be treated like something remarkable, something he could never replace.

But when he quietly admits, the two of you pressed together beneath satin sheets, the comforting cover of darkness making words come easier, how his hands shook when he realized he never wants to let you go, you understand it was never the enormousness of his devotion that made you terrified. It was the possibility of it ending.

You used to wonder, every time he'd leave for a job, if it'll be the last time you ever see him.

His silhouette disappearing behind a corner; doors closing with a click; the sound of a car engine growing fainter until all you could hear was the sound of your breathing. The deep breaths you took to stave off the panic.

There was no way for you to see his hands gripping the steering wheel harder as he fought the urge to turn the car around, the frown lines growing deeper whenever he left you behind.

Murdoc, heart on a shattered platter.

It's strange how easy it is to care about him now.

“Feeling alright there?” he asks, the tone of his voice underlined with a melodic quality.

He sounds relaxed, and the effect gets amplified by the more casual attire he has on, a well-fitting black turtleneck splayed over his chest, dark jeans in place of the usual leather pants.

You are back there with him, aching thoughts forgotten, and realize you never answered his previous question. Heaving a sigh, you go with honesty. “No, not really. I'm panicking already and it will only get worse–...”

The sentence trails off as his hand moves lower on your arm, warm leather tracing a tendon, then your veins, then the tender skin of your palm, until it gets to trembling fingers.

He wraps his hand around them, putting gentle pressure at first and then a little bit more, a testing sort of strain, as if he’s checking just how long it takes until you flinch. There's nothing violent about it, and you let him, dark eyes taking your face in greedily, not looking away for even a moment.

You know that he isn't trying to hurt you.

You steel your face however, knowing he's looking for a reaction and unwilling to give it.

A few more seconds pass until it’s enough for him, grip relaxing, stare drifting down as his fingers loosely envelop yours once more. He caresses the redness on your knuckles slowly, methodically, watching it disappear with a small satisfied grin at having made it appear in the first place.

A small mumble of “pretty…” escapes his lips, so quiet it seems unintentional, as though thoughts are compacted in his brain so tightly one falls through unbidden.

You’re distracted now, anxiety forgotten; you observe the way he relaxes into the seat, running his forefinger over your knuckles the entire time, rhythmically, almost like he can feel the heat of your skin even through the barrier of leather and is looking for more of it. You’re comforted by the sensation, used to it by now, seeking out his touch where you can get it.

Murdoc’s eyes are stuck on your entwined hands, watching in avid interest bordering on fascination, as if touching you is the most important thing he could be doing at that moment.

It makes your heart ache, how enraptured he is with you, entirely taken with the smallest of things, even when all you're doing is simply existing.

You have to let him know just how deeply you care about him.

“I... really hate you,” is what comes out.

Your fingers tighten around his, pressing your love into his body wordlessly. Murdoc's eyes light up in amusement, not letting your hand go.

"I don’t hate you, sweetheart.”

The way his voice deepens makes you want to drag him into the nearest bathroom and lock the door. Not sure the other passengers would appreciate that, but you’re also not sure you give a shit.

"Maybe you should," you jokingly add instead, trying to keep the yearning out of your voice.

“Oh, sweets, I could never," his smile grows wider as he speaks, shooting right through your attempt at humor. "What did my favorite person ever do to deserve it?"

You kick your leg out into the seat in front of you before realizing someone probably felt that. Murdoc’s fault.

"Mh, well, I can always hope," you grumble under your nose, then lean over the armrest, twisting your torso uncomfortably to make room for unwieldy elbows.

Murdoc watches with a raised eyebrow until you reach out, pressing your hand to the side of his face. It's a miniscule difference, but he stiffens, even the smallest of microexpressions freezing for a moment.

Then, within the space of a breath, whatever tension remained in his body dissipates, relaxing into it.

He hums thoughtfully, pretending to ponder your words, a sense of dulled awareness making his thoughts more sluggish, the rare sense of solace he gets around you a shock to his senses.

"Keep touching me and I might consider it," he murmurs at last, eyes half-closed. His chest rises steadily with every breath and you long to splay your fingers over the center of it, to feel the warm skin and flowing blood beneath it, every movement of his beating heart.

"Well, I think you're bluffing so I won't pull my hand away," you answer with an embarrassingly sappy smile, entirely too wrapped up in him to school your expression.

Murdoc makes an offended noise, all the while leaning closer toward you in the seat. His hand lands on your knee as he does, grasping at the material possessively, the silent ask contradicting his next words.

"When have I ever asked for affection?" His nose wrinkles unhappily. “Unthinkable.”

Examples come flooding into your mind, starting with the particularly embarrassing instance of Murdoc stumbling into your room unannounced. He's clearly delirious with exhaustion after days of travel, crusted blood in the corner of his mouth and matted down the front of his neck, every step he takes a struggle, and he collapses into bed, demanding to be held.

“Let’s say… how about that time you were practically begging me for a hug?”

Murdoc flinches at the first few words, already knowing what you're about to say.

"And I recall you even said "pretty please", weren't you just so nice, bab—"

He presses his palm over your mouth, effectively shutting you up. "I think you have the wrong guy, sweetie. Doesn't sound like me you’re talking about, nuh-uh."

You know the teasing is getting to him by the way his fingers twitch against your cheek, an involuntary reaction to bouts of heightened emotion. They rest on flushed skin, manicured nails lightly pressing down, leaving small moon-shaped imprints behind.

For a few seconds, you glare at him, met only with a relentless pressure, and any attempts at shaking him off end in failure to the man’s visible amusement. Finally, you grumble unhappily, rolling your eyes so hard they hurt, and relax into his grip.

Some slyness returns to Murdoc’s features when you accept your fate, eyes darkening as he leans another inch closer. "Well, isn't this just way nicer, dear? Cozy, quiet, how very pleasant for me—"

Keeping deliberate eye-contact, you bite down on his middle finger, just hard enough so he feels it. He lets out a startled breath, interrupting the taunt as it was being said. There’s satisfaction in seeing him caught off-guard, no matter how little it actually affected him. You were not above admitting delight at the way his eyes widen whenever you surprise him.

“If you wanted me to let go, you could have just said so," he answers finally, the big liar that he is, moving his hand away.

Cutting the banter off, you close the gap between you, pressing a kiss into his lips.

They part immediately and move against you, softness in the motions, but with an intensity that accompanies everything Murdoc does. He shudders, clear enjoyment at having you so close and all his. His hand goes to the back of your head, long fingers grasping and caressing it, unsatisfied with only one point of contact.

He shuts his eyes tight, mind quieting into low background noise, taking in your presence, your smell, something fresh, like crisp laundry, a familiar undertone that he's grown used to. Whenever he holds you he finds it’s easy to just be and enjoy the way you move, your hand on his shoulder, your mouth chasing after him, tangible proof of how much you want him.

You squirm slightly when he bites down on your lower lip, not breaking skin, only gently teasing the flesh.

He pulls away with a chuckle and you slap his shoulder with a disgruntled expression, stomach fluttering from the way he’s looking at you, eyes alight and eager.

Looking away to take a breath, you can’t stop a giggle. “Would you please just stop teasing?”

"Do you really want me to do that?" The tone is flat, but his eyes betray just how serious he is.

You hesitate, possibilities of wandering hands and heated kisses running through your head at a rapid pace. You can almost feel it, Murdoc's touch just where you want it.

You're in a plane, you're in a plane, you're in a plane. With a short shake of your head, you pull away.

Murdoc presses a hand to his chest and sighs loudly. “So you dish it out but can’t take it, huh? No no, I get it, I’m a lot to handle. Would you rather I shut up completely? I can shut up.”

Your silence is answer enough and he huffs out a breath, “Okay, fine, that’s not true. But why would I ever want to stop talking to my darling flower?”

“Maybe so I could have some peace?” You offer up, but he knows that’s a lie, knows how much you love to hear him speak.

“Noooo, I don’t think that’s right,” his smile grows even wider, eyes crinkling in the corners and around his mouth, small wrinkles spattering the planes of fair skin.

It makes him look older, more his age, youthfulness of being contrasted with the marks of time.

A mosaic of miniscule scars peppers his skin, only a few standing out harshly under the overhead light, most of them faded and translucent looking. It's a map that you know the layout of intimately, vast layers upon layers of history written into his skin by means of violence.

You know what they feel like under your fingertips, having traced them again and again, your head on his shoulder after a long day at work, barely audible whispers filling the space between you two.

Then there's patching up myriads of cuts after a mission gone wrong, closing the more gaping wounds and tending to smaller abrasions with salve; afterwards it's checking his temperature when a fever wracks his body, hand pressed to burning flesh, worry shooting through you alarmingly at how bad it's gotten, not calmed down in the slightest by the man's assurances that he's peachy and ready to shoot the fucker who did this; in the end it's lips moving over them as he gasps your name out, pressing kiss after kiss into the crevices of old battle marks, giggling when you manage to tickle him.

Murdoc grins, "I think you're happy to have me."

He looks so pretty you turn away.

The truth in his words rings loud and clear, and you're defeated, entirely unwilling to argue further. Denying doesn't even feel right when all you want is to be with him.

Enveloping his hand again, you close your eyes, waiting for the plane to land.

He holds it there for the rest of the flight, not letting go even when you give into exhaustion, a small smile dancing on his lips the entire time, watching you fondly, his favourite.

You find that with him right there, you could want nothing more.

#murdoc x reader #david dastmalchian #dennis murdoc #murdocposting #macgyver 2016 #no plot just reader and murdoc being so deeply in love it makes them act stupid

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bumblesimagines · 1 year ago

Text

Our Flickering Light

Request: Yes or No

Content Warnings: Violence, Death, Big Age Gap (about 27 years apart but y/n is well into his adulthood), ANGST, mentions of terminal illnesses, mention/implied loss of pregnancy later on, parental and child death

~~~

There was an eery quietness to the atmosphere in the house. It'd been startling to wake up to silence and stale air instead of music, chatter, or the mouth-watering aroma of breakfast being cooked. (Y/N) remained in bed longer than usual, gazing up at the tall ceiling of his bedroom with an emptiness that burnt a hole in his chest. He felt unusually numb, unusually cold. The tears had long dried on his pillowcase during the night and no matter how much his whole being ached, his eyes refused to water. He knew the feeling all too well. An experience he'd live over and over again until he died.

He needed to get up. He needed to tend to them, to ensure they'd be buried. To ensure the house would only hold the sweet memories filled with laughter and joy rather than the stench of death and the salt of tears.

He forced himself into a sitting position and swung his heavy legs over the side of the bed, tossing aside the comforter and blankets. His feet met the cold floor and it reminded him he was still alive and breathing. They wouldn't want him to mope and weep over them, not while he was still young and well. His head reeled and he released a heavy sigh, raising his bowed head to gaze out the window. He could see the spot where they first encountered the secured town. Where they found sanctuary and family.

His mother claimed it was 2007 and likely October or November. The once scorching heat had been long replaced by cool air that gently pinched at his cheeks. The formally green leaves had turned into pretty shades of auburn and vibrant red and some had already begun to fall from branches. Soon, it'd be a snowy December and he'd be a year older. The infected would be momentarily slowed down, weighed by the snow and cold. They'd be safe, just for a few months, until summer returned with its unbearable heat.

Despite the pretty colors, the leaves were dangerous. They covered the forest floor and the pleasing crunch they provided enticed one into stepping on them. They blocked the ground from view and left one oblivious to what lurked beneath. The fungus grew rapidly in nature, and a single root being disturbed could alert a whole pack of infected. (Y/N) remembered the story Frank told them once vividly. He'd been with a group searching for a zone to take them in early into the outbreak when one man unknowingly stepped on a root. In mere minutes, a small pack of infected descended upon them like sharks. Frank recalled the story with a grimace and a saddened gleam in his eyes.

It was why, as they trekked through the unfamiliar forest, Frank remained ahead of them with a long stick in hand to delicately brush the leaves out of their path. Frank was a lanky older man with soft wrinkles beginning to form under his eyes. His mother teased it was because of all the smiling Frank did, and it was true. Frank always seemed to have a smile on his face. During the hardships of their zone when Rose would be refused the medicine she needed because she lacked the rations necessary, Frank would smile and offer her his, even if he'd worked tirelessly for them. When the infected invaded and the zone crumbled, Frank stood by them and demanded the group of survivors escaping to let them go with them, even with a sickly woman and a child. In the end, only the three of them had managed to make it even remotely close to a new zone.

"Excited for Boston?" Frank asked, the smile ever present on his face when he glanced back at them.

"It'll be same old same old," Rose muttered in response, her frail hand grasping her son's in the tightest grip she could in her weakened state. (Y/N) shrugged loosely and twisted his lips. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in a bed, even if the mattress was thin enough he could feel it in his back. He crinkled his nose. The FEDRA schools never seemed to care for the comfort of their students, but then again, they never seemed to care for anyone at all.

A soft gasp from Frank drew his attention and he craned his head around his body, noticing the trees had finally come to a stop. Peering past the treeline, he spotted buildings guarded by a tall wire fence that looked brand new. No dirt, dried blood, or graffiti covered the walls and it made his heart leap. Frank moved forward and crouched down by thick brush, motioning for them to do the same. Rose curled her arm around (Y/N)'s shoulders and pulled him close to her side.

"It- It looks untouched. Almost feels right out of an old magazine." Frank whispered in a shakey voice. "I can't see a single infected-"

"There's nobody around, Frank. What if it's a trap? A lure? You know how vicious raiders have become these past years."

"I know, Rose. I know. But we've been without food or water for days. We'll never make it to Boston if we starve first." Frank rebutted gently and gazed at them warmly, stretching an arm out and placing his hand over Rose's shoulder. Rose frowned and exhaled heavily through her nose.

"What are we gonna do?" (Y/N) asked tentatively and glanced at his grimacing mother with furrowed brows.

"I'll go on first. I'll see if there are people and if it's safe, I'll come back for you two. If Sammy's map was right-" (Y/N) cringed at the mention of Sammy, the self-proclaimed leader of their short-lived group. He'd been the first to go, and the sight of his disfigured face appeared in (Y/N)'s nightmares sometimes. "-this should be the town called Lincoln. Boston is just west of here. If there's any sign of danger-"

"We're not leaving you." (Y/N) interrupted fiercely and drew a chuckle from Frank. He offered the preteen a sad smile and stood up, hand leaving Rose's shoulder to briefly rest on (Y/N)'s head before he walked through the brush and began cautiously making his way toward the fence. He kept his head on a swivel and (Y/N) held his breath, teeth digging into his bottom lip as anxiety crept up the nape of his neck. Frank continued until suddenly, he plummeted into the ground with a shriek and the two hiding in the brush stiffened.

For a moment, there was nothing. Until a burly, thick-bearded man rounded the corner with a shotgun in hand.

"Mom?" (Y/N) turned to Rose with wide, fearful eyes. The gate beeped and the man stepped out onto the strip of land between the fence and the forest, taking long strides as he approached the trap Frank had fallen into.

"It's alright, sweets. Frank... Frank can take care of himself. He- He knows how to talk himself out of things." The uncertainty in Rose's voice made his stomach flip and he helplessly looked back at the stranger. (Y/N) watched him closely, his throat tightening when the man went rigid and abruptly lifted his shotgun toward the treeline. The young boy couldn't make out the words being exchanged, only seeing the movement of the man's mouth and his hardened features. The man tilted his head upward and squinted through the sunlight.

"Come on out, Rose and (Y/N)! Nice and slowly!" He shouted out and (Y/N) looked back at his mother. She rolled her lips into her mouth and tightened her hold on (Y/N), eyes briefly squeezing shut. Her fingers trembled against (Y/N)'s arm and she slowly rose up, pulling her son along with her and taking hold of his hand again as she stepped through the brush and out into the open. (Y/N) followed her movements and grasped her wrist with his other hand, half hiding behind her body and staring forward at the stranger.

"S-See! It's just us three!" Frank's echoey voice came from the large gaping hole in the ground. The man's gaze softened for a moment and he grunted, cautiously lowering his shotgun but keeping a tight and steady grip on it. He took a step back and then another, keeping a keen eye on the two until he ultimately decided they weren't a big enough threat and turned around. (Y/N) blinked, a sense of surprise and relief grappling him when the man retrieved a ladder and pushed it down into the hole for Frank. Rose softly sighed, the ladder creaking with each step Frank took. The man neared Frank and slipped out a thick device from his belt, pressed the end of it to Frank's neck.

"Your friend here claims you're ill." The man said and pressed the device to Rose's neck. "With what exactly?"

"Cancer. I... I thought it was gone, but..."

"Sorry to hear." He murmured and pressed it to (Y/N) next, the slight prick making the boy flinch. The man's lips curled up in amusement for a split second, only to be replaced with the previous stoic yet suspicious expression. "Boston is that way-"

"Please, we're really hungry. Rose needs food. She needs a proper place to rest. If... if you prefer, I-I can stay out here and wait for them to at least get a little bit of food and water. They need it. Please..." Frank interrupted lightly, voice bordering on desperate and the man's eyes flickered between the three of them.

"If I feed you then every bum you talk to about it is gonna show up here looking for a free lunch, and this is not an Arby's."

Frank's brows knitted. "Arby's didn't have free lunch. It was a restaurant."

"Frank."

"Sorry. We promise we won't talk about it to any bums, hobos, or vagabonds. Just- just please, feed them. The boy is only thirteen and Rose deserves at least a minute of rest. We'll take the smallest portion of food you can offer and we'll be on our way." Frank pleaded again. (Y/N) dropped his gaze onto the pale grass beneath his worn boots and waited to hear the incoming rejection. The man remained silent for a little while longer.

"Fine. Come with me."

The stairs groaned and squeaked when he descended them, a sound that'd grown familiar over the years. His eyes jumped into the room beside the stairs and he paused for a beat to gaze at the lonesome piano. Faintly, in his memories, he could hear it being played. Frank loved playing it, drumming his fingers along the keys, even if the sound that emitted from the old wooden instrument and his singing voice sounded terrible. Bill always shook his head at him and corrected him, hands hovering over Frank's and unaware of the warm smile that graced Frank's face. He played horribly, but only for Bill.

Dragging his attention away from the room, he made a sharp turn into the hallway and entered the equally empty kitchen. He still remembered the way Bill would always be standing at the stove, cooking whatever the garden and farm animals had provided for them in the early morning. He cooked eggs frequently. Baked, fried, in an omelet, sunny-side up. No matter which way he made them or what he added alongside them, they always tasted as delicious as the first time. Everything Bill cooked tasted delicious. (Y/N) often found him by the stove during the day, whether making one of the three meals or simply creating a snack. (Y/N) bit the inside of his cheek and popped open the fridge.

Last night's leftovers would have to suffice.

He heated the meal and sat at the desolate dining table in his usual spot. Always next to Frank's chair at the left end. He ate quietly and savored the last meal Bill ever provided them with before their timely deaths. He chewed slowly and his gaze lingered on the wine cup, lips pulling into a small smile. He had his first-ever taste of wine at sixteen when Bill deemed him old enough to have a taste. Back when times felt simpler. They'd gone so long living a normal life, only ever having to worry about the infected once or twice throughout a month. Most days it felt as if the world hadn't ended, and it was all thanks to Frank and Bill for trying to make his childhood as normal as possible. His head turned toward the window facing out into the street, almost being able to hear the distinct sound of Bill's truck.

"Remember, you always have to keep your eyes on the road and your hands on the wheel." (Y/N) felt nerves bubbling in his stomach as he stared at the empty road ahead. Frank stood on the sidewalk in front of the house with a wide smile on his face and hands lifted into a thumbs up for him. (Y/N) swallowed and glanced down at the pedals by his feet.

"Eyes on the road, hands on the wheel." (Y/N) repeated quietly under his breath and looked back at the road. Bill nodded approvingly and grasped the assist handle, adam's apple bobbing nervously.

"Good. Now, slowly, step on the gas-" The truck lurched forward and halted in a loud screech. Bill's grip on the handle tightened significantly and (Y/N)'s cheeks burned with embarrassment. "Slowly, (Y/N). Ease into it."

"Sorry." The teen murmured, eyes flickering back down toward the pedals. He slowly applied pressure to the gas pedal and took in a deep breath, holding it as the truck began rolling forward and down the street. Frank hollered and whooped, clapping his hands with a bright smile. Once the truck had driven forward and made some good distance, (Y/N) pulled back his foot and eased his other one on the brake, allowing the truck to go into an equally slow stop. He released his breath and smiled. Progress was progress.

"Good, good. Now, let's reverse. What should you do first?"

"Check the mirrors?" When Bill nodded, (Y/N) straightened up in the seat and checked the side mirrors before moving onto the rearview mirror. When he was done, he grasped the gear shifter and pushed until it switched from drive to reverse. The anxious nerves that'd been swimming through his veins began fizzling out and allowed him to gain more confidence as he mimicked his previous movements and kept an eye on the back windshield.

"There we go, that's good." Bill smiled. "You're a natural, kid."

He took his time cleaning his dish. He took his time heading back up the stairs. The hallway felt as if it stretched on forever, once welcoming and comforting now cold and suffocating. (Y/N) changed out of his clothes into something more comfortable for the Massachusetts weather outside and took a deep breath to ground himself. He couldn't see them just yet. He couldn't.

In the garage, he collected the shovel still speckled with dirt from a recent trap Bill had set up within the forest and the wooden grave mark he'd made for Frank sometime prior before heading out into town. The sunlight bore down on him, bright and obnoxious, but the cold air prevented him from feeling too much of the heat. The town remained as lively as Frank had left it after demanding Bill help him spruce things up. The town felt fresh and welcoming, despite the wired fence that'd soon crumble. Years and raiders had taken its toll on the once high and sturdy fence. (Y/N) would have to ask Joel and Tess for some help next time they visited.

In the distance and resting on a small expanse of untouched soil and grass stood a white oak. Its long, thick branches swayed with the wind, almost as if waving at him as he approached. At the base of the tree and nearly embraced by thick roots sat a marked grave. Rose (L/N) had been carved into the wood. (Y/N) smiled. At least someone had been waiting for them in the afterlife. The thought of his mother being reunited with the men who made her last years of life pleasant warmed his heart. He brought two fingers to his lips and pressed them against the wood over her name, muttering a soft greeting. "At least you won't be alone anymore, Mom."

Making some distance from her grave, he struck the ground with the shovel and began the tiresome process of digging up a deep, big grave for his adoptive fathers. He couldn't separate them, not when Bill had made the grueling decision of following his husband in death. (Y/N) knew, deep in his heart, it was what they would've wanted. Even with tears beginning to gather at the back of his eyes, he continued shoveling the dirt out of the way until his arms burned and he felt satisfied with the depth. He dug the grave mark into the space just an inch above the grave itself and used his pocket knife to carve into it.

Now... he had to face them.

"Is there anything you can't do, (Y/N)?" Frank laughed gleefully, a pep in his step as he approached the young man. (Y/N) smiled widely in return and set the basket of freshly picked vegetables and fruits on the counter. Frank studied each and everyone, humming at their weight and grinning from ear to ear. A sense of pride blossomed in (Y/N)'s chest. He'd been entrusted with keeping the vegetation and animals alive, and he'd done just that.

"The strawberries are amazing." He told him and Frank quickly ran one under the sink water before biting into it, the pinkish juice rushing down his chin. Frank groaned lowly and leaned against the counter, slapping a dramatic hand over his chest and tilting his head back. Bill made no comment on it when he entered, only shaking his head and gently dabbing Frank's chin with a napkin.

"Oh, these are amazing. They're beautiful. God, I could eat all of them right now." Frank groaned again. "Bill, you need to try them!"

"Alright, alright." Bill forced a heavy sigh and took one of the plump strawberries from the basket, cleansing it and taking a small whiff of its smell before digging his teeth into it. He chewed slowly and his gaze jumped up to Frank's face. He pressed his lips tightly together and Frank's smugness grew into a knowing smirk. Unable to restrain himself any longer, Bill released a soft giggle and shoved the rest of the strawberry into his mouth, savoring the sweetness of it.

"I bet we can make some amazing desserts from them, huh, Dad?" (Y/N) grinned and turned his back to them, missing the way Bill and Frank's eyes flew open. He began running the vegetables under the water, rubbing away any dirt left on them and setting them aside. Bill's eyes flooded with unshed tears that he quickly wiped away with the back of his hand, clearing his throat and patting (Y/N)'s back.

"Yeah, kid. We sure can."

He stared at the familiar beige door in silence, his hands clenched and unclenching. He couldn't leave them to rot in their bedroom, but a certain fear curled around his heart. He'd seen plenty of corpses, infected and simply dead. But he couldn't bear the thought of seeing them dead. Seeing the lifeless color on their faces and knowing their eyes would never open again. Knowing he'd never hear their voices or feel their warm embrace engulf him again. His teeth dug further into his lip and he lifted a shakey hand to the doorknob, twisting it and pushing the door open. The room smelled the same, the sweet-smelling vanilla candle Frank enjoyed filled the room instead.

They looked alive, he noted when he stepped inside and looked over the bed. They'd gone to bed curled up in each other's arms, just as always, and headed into an eternal slumber together. Frank's wheelchair remained by the bed, folded up and leaning against the wall near the nightstand where a letter dedicated to Joel sat. (Y/N) took in a deep breath and loomed over the bed. Frank's head rested against Bill's unmoving chest, his dry lips pulled back into a smile. Bill's arms remained around Frank and his head had been tilted to bury his nose in his husband's hair. They looked comfortable and happy. A painless death in each other's arms. (Y/N) hoped he'd go out similarly.

Placing a delicate kiss on each of their foreheads, he sniffled. "I'll miss you." He breathed shakily and gently peeled back the comforter. He pulled away Bill's arms and slipped his own underneath Frank, picking him up into his arms with little to no effort. Frank had grown frail and weak over his last two years, being reduced to almost just skin and bones. It'd been devastating to watch his health decline, witnessing him go from a preppy energetic man to a shell of his former self. But he'd chosen his final day and spent it exactly as he wished, and it'd been enough for him to slip away with a smile on his face.

The walk to the burial site had been painful but the tears eventually dried once he got Bill and Frank in their grave. He ensured they were positioned exactly as he found them. In a peaceful and heartwarming embrace. He shoveled the dirt back into the hole, each dump of dirt feeling like a stab to his gut, to his already broken heart. The dirt eventually covered them like a natural blanket, freeing (Y/N) from having to look at their paling faces. He filled the hole to the brim and patted the dirt down into a smooth mound, using the sleeve of his jacket to wipe away at his damp cheeks.

He had to go on with life now, even if he himself couldn't figure out what that meant. He held the shovel in his hand tightly as he returned down the sidewalk with his head bowed. Bill had mentioned he could remain in Lincoln or see if the Boston QZ where Joel and Tess lived would take him in. A QZ would have people, new friends, and jobs for him to do. But he'd seen the injustice FEDRA committed toward the citizens they were meant to protect and it left a bitter taste in his mouth just thinking about joining one again. Besides, Joel only ever spoke poorly of it. He doubted the older man would be encouraging about it.

Entering the front yard and lifting his head, (Y/N) halted and blinked at the wide-open old wooden door. He had closed it before taking Bill's body to the grave, he was certain of it. His grip on the shovel tightened further and he took slow, cautious steps up onto the small porch and slipped into the house. He avoided the planks on the floor that creaked and peered into the dining room, only to find a short teenage girl standing by the table and staring at one of the paintings on the wall. His brows furrowed and he purposely stepped on the loudest clank to alert her of his presence.

"Shit!" She shrieked and whirled around, the ends of her hair smacking against her cheek as she staggered backward and pressed herself against the dining table. Joel emerged from the kitchen with his pistol held in the air and his finger on the trigger, only for his shoulders to relax considerably at the sight of the younger man. (Y/N) felt his own shoulders deflate and the shovel clattered to the floor.

"(Y/N), Jesus... Sorry about bargin' in like this. I wasn't sure if ya'll were-"

"They're gone. I, uhm... I just finished burying them, Joel. T-They're gone." Joel fell silent, his formally knitted brows relaxing on his face and his lips parting. (Y/N) rolled his bottom lip into his mouth and exhaled shakily, the words he uttered weighing heavy in the air. Even the girl, who he couldn't quite tell if she was the product of Tess and Joel, grimaced and bowed her head. Joel's solemn gaze dropped to the floor.

"Tess is gone, too."

"(Y/N)! Perfect timing. We were just about to eat lunch with our guests!" Frank's words made (Y/N)'s gaze snap up from the sidewalk, breath nearly hitching at the sight of two strangers in their front yard. A man and woman, just as Frank had said. Tess and... Jon? Jose? (Y/N) couldn't quite recall the man's name. Frank had been vague with details, only telling them the couple were from the Boston QZ and were willing to trade with them.

"Hello there." The woman smiled and extended her hand out toward him when he neared them. (Y/N) glanced at the frowning Bill sat at the table and took her hand. "I'm Tess Servopoulos, and this is Joel Miller. You must be (Y/N). Frank's told me so much about you."

"Nice to meet you, Tess." It felt so odd to see new faces. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd met someone new who wasn't a raider or an infected. Tess hummed softly, her hand leaving his to gently touch his arm in a sweet gesture before she took a seat at the table. Her eyes roamed the pistol Bill kept in his hand, keen eyes observing her and her partner. Tess appeared nice and polite. She was older than him but younger than his fathers' with long brown hair and some minor wrinkles. Her eyes, similar to Frank and Bill's, were a lighter color. Green like summer leaves.

"Come sit, Joel." Tess motioned for her partner and patted the empty chair beside her. Joel kept his eyes trained on Bill, a frown as grumpy as Bill's resting on his face, but he nevertheless moved at Tess's words. He craned his neck to look back at (Y/N) and offered him a stiff, curt nod in greeting. (Y/N) nearly giggled. He resembled Bill in far too many ways. Joel was also younger than his fathers' but significantly older than him. His brows seemed to be permanently fixed into a furrow, yet his hard brown eyes softened whenever he looked at Tess. (Y/N) could certainly get used to them.

Joel's eyes moved with the sentences as he read the letter Bill had left for him, his fingers holding onto the paper as if it were fragile glass. (Y/N) watched him, unable to decipher the look on his face. He could see an inkling of sadness swirling in his dark eyes but the rest of his face remained emotionless. Joel had been like that since (Y/N) met him. Hard to read, guarded, and withdrawn. Tess often apologized for him until she quietly revealed the truth behind Joel's icy exterior to (Y/N) one afternoon whilst they washed dishes. Frank had been outside with Billy and Joel, ensuring they wouldn't shoot each other as they practiced their aim on some makeshift targets. Tess, very softly and sadly, spoke about how Joel had lost his fourteen-year-old daughter the day of the outbreak, the day of his birthday.

"What brings you here, Joel?" He questioned gently and his gaze moved onto the girl standing beside Joel, her eyes following along with the words on the letter. Joel finally tore his attention away from the letter and carefully folded it back up, chest rising and falling with a heavy sigh. He set the letter down on the dining table and leaned against it, slipping his backpack off his shoulder and placing it on the floor with a soft thud.

"I was hired to take some cargo-"

"Ellie."

"-to Salt Lake City where a group of Fireflies are waitin'. They...." Joel trailed off and pressed his lips together tightly, another heavy sigh leaving him. He craned his neck toward Ellie and met her gaze, giving her a stiff nod and watching her cross the room to approach (Y/N). Hesitantly, she slowly pulled up her sleeve and lifted her arm so he could gaze upon it. (Y/N) sharply inhaled at the sight of her arm. Old scarred tissue from a bite mark. "She's immune. They think they can make a vaccine."

"You need supplies, then? And the truck?" He forced his eyes away from the scar and Ellie dropped her arm to her side, tugging the sleeve of her jacket back down with her brows furrowed. (Y/N) dug his hand into the pocket of his jacket and stepped around the teenager to offer the truck's key to Joel but the older man shook his head.

"You'll need the truck-"

"You need the truck. I have no use for it, Joel. Bill and I went to all the stores near here and whatever we didn't grab has probably been taken by raiders or normal survivors." (Y/N) took Joel's wrist, fingers gentle but firm as he held him and placed the key in the palm of his hand. "I'll get the bunker open. You can take whatever you need and, uhm... a shower would do both of you some good."

"A shower? You have running water here?" Ellie piped up from behind him and he shot a smile back at her.

"We've got warm water and fresh clothes. There's a bathroom down the hall to your left."

"Oh, yes, please!" Ellie rolled from her heel to her toes and a wide smile broke out on her face, practically vibrating with eagerness. She wasted no time in dropping her backpack and taking off into the hallway, her footsteps thundering against the wooden floor. Joel's fingers curled around the key and he dropped his arm, eyes studying (Y/N)'s face when the younger man looked back at him.

"What is it, Joel?"

"I made a promise to Bill. If anythin' were to happen to him, I was to take care of you and Frank." Joel revealed softly. "I can't leave you alone like this. I know you're a good shot and Ellie already seems to like you. Come with us."

It surprised (Y/N) when the answer came to him so easily. The quietness of the house had already become unbearable, and the couple had only passed the night before. The resounding yes but the smallest of smiles on Joel's face before he disappeared into the hall and up the stairs for his own shower. (Y/N) took the time alone to enter and look at each room, reliving the fond memories he had created over the years until the ache in his heart finally settled into peace. Frank and Bill were gone. Nothing on Earth would ever bring them back. But he could continue on in their names and share their story to those willing to listen.

So, as he helped Joel and Ellie pack the truck, he felt happy. Frank, Bill, Rose, and all the people who once loved him would've wanted this for him, he knew that well. (Y/N) sat in the passenger side and exchanged a smile with Ellie, the girl who accepted his presence without a second thought. He buckled his seatbelt with a click and looked at Joel, the man he knew would try his best to look out for him as he had once done with Tess. And when the truck drove out of Lincoln, his eyes remained on the side-view mirror, watching the white oak tree sway with the wind and wave goodbye.

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smiley-star · 3 months ago

Note

When you have the time, can you please write a fic of Lee!Mikey for one of the days of Tickletober?

-🎮🌙

ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE!! >:3

Day 3- Candy

Lee: Mikey🧡

Ler: Raph❤️

Mikey giggled to himself, running away with the jack o'lantern candy bucket in his hands. Raph hadn't even noticed him!

He grinned mischievously, reaching into the bucket and grabbing the candy once he was in the safety of his room.

This is payback for telling me candy ghosts would haunt me if I ate chocolate!

And payback was oh so sweet.

🧡🧡🧡🧡❤️❤️❤️🧡🧡🧡🧡

“Where's Raph's candy?” Raph called, voice echoing down the hallway. Mikey's eyes widened and he scrambled to hide the bucket beneath his hammock, throwing a blanket over top to cover it.

“I don't have it!” Leo's voice could be heard in the hallway.

“The majority of it is too sweet and disgusting.” Donnie called, “And Papa didn't take it- he's been asleep all night.”

“MIKEY!” Raph yelled, making Mikey jump and quickly grab his sketchbook to try and act normal.

The door to his room slammed open, banging against the tracks at the end as Raph marched in and slid it shut behind him.

“Mikey,” Raph said in his sickly sweet, I'm-pissed-but-giving-you-a-chance(™) voice, “Did you take Raph's candy?”

“No,” Mikey said, acting as if he was drawing, but nervousness kept him from it.

“Really? And it just smells sweet in here?”

“Yes?”

“And you're drawing nothing?” Raph asked, and Mikey cursed the fact that he was tall enough to see the blank page.

“Yeah. Uh. . .it wasn't me,” Mikey said hurriedly, “I'm pretty sure Shelldon took it!”

“Shelldon. The robot that can't eat?”

“Yes. . .?” Mikey squeaked nervously, bunching up a bit.

Raph sucked in a lot of air, and Mikey prepared himself for a long lecture, but he suddenly let it all out in a sigh, “Fine. C'mere, I'll just take some of yours.”

“Okay,” Mikey sighed, resigned and allowed Raph to pick him up and put him on his shoulders.

He jolted suddenly, giggling.

“Wahait-!” Mikey giggled, squirming a bit, and quickly leaning forward again when he nearly fell.

“Hmm?” Raph hummed, “What?”

“Rahahaph!” Mikey's giggles began getting more frantic, “EEE! Quit tihihihickling me!”

“What? I'm not,” Raph said innocently, but Mikey could literally see Raph's hand lightly spidering over his knee as the dots connected.

Oh shit. This was a trap.

“RahahaHAHAHAph!” Mikey squealed as Raph started pinching, “NoHOHOHO!”

“I'm not tickling you! Just like you didn't eat my candy!” Raph said cheerfully, and Mikey squealed as he felt Raph's other hand lightly squeezing his other leg's calf.

So he is teaching a lesson!

“EEHEE!” Mikey laughed, throwing his head back as he squirmed, “OHOHOKAY! IHIHIH GEHEHEHE- squeak!- GEHET IHIT!”

“What? Get what? Some candy? But where would you have got it from, hmm?” Raph said with a smirk, skittering his fingers over Mikey's knee and calf.

“AHAHA-!” Mikey squealed in laughter, loud squeaks heard in-between, “IHIHI STOHOHOLE IT FROHOM YOHOHOU!”

“So you did!” Raph said, mock-shock in his voice.

“YOHOHOU KNEHEHEW THAHAHAT!” Mikey howled with laughter, the light tickles all over his legs unbearable, “AHAHAH- OHOKAHAY! I'M SAHAHAHARRY!”

“And Raph can get your candy?”

“YAHAHA- squeak!- YEHEHEHES!” Mikey laughed, eyes screwed shut as happy tears formed in them.

Raph finally stopped, lightly rubbing his legs to get rid of the phantom tickles as Mikey giggled.

“Now was that so hard? Don't keep secrets from Big brothers! We always figure out the truth!” Raph teased with a grin.

“I'm gohohohonna steheheal your Christmas cahandy too!” Mikey giggled playfully, squeaking when Raph squeezed his knee threateningly.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

I'm opening requests for the rest of Tickletober too!!! :3⭐⭐💙💙

#rottmnt tickle #rottmnt tickles #lee!mikey #LeeMikey #lee mikey #ticklish!mikey #ticklish Mikey #ler!raph #ler raph #lerRaph #tickletober 2024 #sfw tickling community #sfw tickle fic

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snarryauctoberfest · 2 months ago

Text

The Week 1 roundup can be found here. The Week 2 roundup can be found here. The Week 3 roundup can be found here. The Week 4 roundup can be found here.

Week 5 is the concluding week for this fest. Thank you to all who joined us, as participants, enjoyers or both!

We accept works into the 2024 collection until May 2025, for anyone who wanted to participate but couldn't quite finish in time for the anonymous part of our fest.

Day 20

Title: Gwindr Creator: ??? Prompt: N/a Rating: Explicit Word Count: 11.9k Summary: After a couple of bad relationships, one abusive the other unsatisfying, Harry is desperate to find himself the perfect Dom. His friends are trying to help but their lack of understanding makes them more of a hindrance. Turning to the new wizarding dating app for men, Gwindr, he hopes to be able to find a diamond in the rough.

💚❤️ Read on AO3 💚❤️

Title: Fanart: You Are… Creator: ??? Prompt: 2024-199 - Snarry, but with dinosaurs Rating: General Audiences Word Count: Art Summary: What does Harry have to do to get Severus' attention?

💚❤️ View on AO3 💚❤️

Day 21

Title: sanguis nocte Creator: ??? Prompt: N/a Rating: Explicit Word Count: 17.7k Summary: When Harry is forcefully turned into a vampire, he turns to the only person he knows will be able to fix him.

💚❤️ Read on AO3 💚❤️

Day 22

Title: Don't You Wanna Mess With Me? Creator: ??? Prompt: 2024-106 - Harry runs his own successful bakery after the second wizarding war. His treacle tart is famous throughout the wizarding world, but the recipe remains a closely guarded secret. Severus runs a rival bakery, and tries to sneak into Harry's kitchen after hours to steal the recipe for himself. Harry is startled and manages to tip an entire batch worth of batter over Severus in his shock, triggering an epic food fight that rapidly devolves into a filthy fuck. Bonus points for a sickly sweet ending. Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3.3k Summary: Things get messy when rival bakery owner, Severus Snape, pays Harry a visit in his kitchen. 😘

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Title: After Spinner's End Creator: ??? Prompt: N/a Rating: Mature Word Count: 4.2k Summary: When Harry left his aunt and uncle's he hadn't meant to end up in Cokeworth. But he'd fallen asleep on the bus; it was late, and now he needed somewhere to stay until morning. While the crooked, empty house on the corner looked like it would do just fine in a pinch, had Harry bothered to ask, the locals would have told him the house at Spinner's End might look empty, but it wasn't. Something lived there; whatever it was, it was best left alone.

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Day 23

Title: Something Wounded Creator: ??? Prompt: 2024-132 - cyborg AU Rating: Explicit Word Count: 8.1k Summary: After surviving the galactic wars, Severus just wants to run his cyborg shop in peace. He lives on Ceplor, a distant, lonely planet. Then, one day, Harry fucking Potter walks into his shop. The infuriating young man traveled across the universe to find him. Why? Because Potter is a cyborg, too.

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Title: Illicit Goods Creator: ??? Prompt: 2024-231: That trope where a character is told to disarm themselves of all their weapons but they keep pulling more and more out, but it's Snape. Harry is unbearably turned on the more weapons show up. Rating: Mature Word Count: Art Summary: Harry is very interested in what is in Snape's pants… and his bag, and his coat, and…

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Day 24

Title: Rock Bottom Creator: ??? Prompt: Prompt #1: Wildcard Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Word Count: 10.1k Summary: Just when you think you've hit rock bottom, you want to fuck a student.

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2024 Snarry AUctoberfest Entries || HOS Tumblr || Discord

#2024 snarry auctoberfest entries #2024 snarry auctoberfest #snarry #pro snape #snarry fanfic #house of snarry #Harry x Severus #Severus x Harry #Week 5 #Auctoberfest 2024 roundup #Snarry fanart

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yourlocaldisneyvillain · 2 years ago

Text

violet soul

a smutty lucifer x reader fic for your enjoyment have fun <3 i feel embarrassed i was able to produce such filth :))))))

triggers warnings: dubious consent (the reader is not sober while giving consent! while they do believe they have given consent, they are not realising they're being manipulated into it!) and just like rough sex i guess haha but nothing requiring a specific trigger warning

hope you enjoy!!!

*slithers back into the void*

______________________________________________________________

You started having… dreams, recently. Very odd dreams. They feel real, way too real, and you wake covered in sweat, and the only thing you are able to think about is the dream, as if you’re still there. When you manage to fall asleep again, you simply continue where you left off.

The dreams consume your waking life. You think about them constantly. Images, smells and sounds remind you of them.

After a few weeks, you visit a therapist and complain about nightmares. She listens and nods sympathetically, and then she asks what the dreams are about. You open your mouth to tell her and find that you can’t.

“They aren’t about anything, really. They are just… vivid,” you say, feeling embarrassed because of course you know what they’re about. If only you could remember right now.

She looks at you with confusion in her eyes. “It’s okay, you can tell me,” she says gently.

You wish you could, but you don’t know. You spend the rest of the session talking about things that don’t matter.

Later, you leave her office with a feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach. You feel like a woman possessed.

The second you leave her office you remember the dreams again.

In your dreams, you wonder aimlessly through a very dark place. Nothing happens, really, but it’s scary. Everything is so vivid, so lifelike. You feel the cold stone underneath your feet, the unbearable heat in the air that makes it hard to breathe, the smell of something rotten, something burning. You can never find your way out. Sometimes, you catch glimpses of… creatures. You always make it a point to avoid them. They pay no attention to you anyhow, but they are disturbing to look at, their faces contorted, deformed, burned, melted. Some have teeth like wild animals, some have no faces at all. You couldn't describe them in detail, really, you never stare. You always feel like there is someone watching you, but when you turn, there is no one around.

The therapy session feels like a defeat and you call a friend to complain. They are sympathetic. You talk for a while, and you feel better — finally, someone understands you. Maybe you aren’t crazy after all.

Then she asks you what the dreams are about. You open your mouth and nothing comes out. Your voice is gone.

“Hello? Do you hear me?” your friend asks. You stare at your phone.

“I’m here,” you say, your voice miraculously returning. “My mom is calling me. I’ll call you later, okay?”

You hang up. You call your mom and another friend. You cannot tell any of them about the nightmares. Either your voice disappears, or you can’t remember a single thing about the dreams. The concern and disbelief in their voices make your stomach churn. You know they don’t believe you. You feel crazy.

It’s evening already and you are so tired. You have run out of people to call and you’re not sure you’d even want to call anyone anymore. You feel on edge, weeks of poor sleep making you paranoid. You start wondering whether all of this is another nightmare. You try pinching yourself to wake up. It doesn’t work. You curl up on the sofa and turn on the TV, turning the channel to something mindless.

You don’t notice when you fall asleep.

You are in that place again. A sickly sweet smell of something rotten is filling the air. The dark corridor you find yourself in is long and narrow, lit by torches that cast an orange glow onto the dark stone around you. There are doors all throughout it. You turn around. The corridor seems to be never-ending on both sides. You suppose there is no difference which direction you take, then. As soon as you start walking you see the door in front of you open and a black demon with no face steps onto the corridor. You scream and run in the opposite direction. You hear no footsteps behind you and you know it isn’t following you — they never do — but you can’t make yourself stop running. You run and you run and you run through the never-ending corridor. It’s hard to breathe, the air is so hot and it’s stuffy and you’re feeling dizzy and you hear your heartbeat in your ears, but you never stop.

You don’t know how long you’ve been running when you find yourself at the end of the corridor. There is a grand door in front of you. Without thinking you try to open it, and it’s so heavy you have to use your entire body weight to push it.

As you open the door, you find that the air is suddenly lighter. The rotten smell is no longer there, and instead it smells faintly of violets. Violets are your favourite flowers. You inhale deeply, relieved you can finally breathe.

The place you find yourself in is enormous, lit by torches. The ceiling is so high you aren’t sure you can see all the way up to it. You could look around for hours and still not be able to take it all in. As you observe the enormous hall, your eyes catch a glimpse a tall, dark figure standing a few feet away from you. It has huge, black wings. You wonder how you didn’t notice it immediately upon entering. The figure is looking at you.

You know that’s the Devil. For some reason, you aren’t surprised.

Somehow, you are now standing next to each other.

The Devil is beautiful, you think, with their cherubic face and bouncy white curls that seem so soft, almost angelic, and you have to fight the urge run your fingers through them.

The Devil is tall, so tall. Their stature is elegant, feminine. You admire their broad shoulders, the gentle curve of their breasts underneath their silken red robe, their imposing, black wings.

What really pulls you in are the eyes. It’s not that they’re a lovely cerulean blue, so deep you might get lost in them, it’s that they are looking at your very soul.

They are the first to speak.

“Finally, we meet officially, little lamb.”

Their voice sounds like the sweetest sin, silky and smooth and melodious. You find yourself enamoured with it.

“Are you behind my nightmares?” you ask.

“How pleasant your stay here is is entirely up to you,” they say and cock their head.

“What do you mean, my stay here? This is a dream. I am still at home, in my bed,” you say, confused.

“Not quite. You could be, if you so wished. But you wished to be here, didn’t you?” The corner of their lip curls slightly, as if they find all of this amusing.

“I haven’t slept in weeks, and you tell me that’s by my own volition? That I wished to be here?”

You can’t believe your ears.

“Think, little lamb,” they say, their voice sickly sweet. “You have called for me, don’t you remember? You said you were lonely.”

Dread fills you when you realise you do remember. It was a joke, a drunken escapade. You were out with your friends, drinking. You went into the woods. The moon was full. You were, as per usual, the clown of the group, making everyone laugh, complaining how you were the only one without a girlfriend. You climbed onto an old log, and proclaimed, “I would sell my soul to the Devil for a girlfriend! Fuck, I am so lonely!” and you laughed, and everyone laughed. They teased you, saying you surely don’t mean it, and you said, “of course I mean it,” and you spun around, took a swig of the cheap wine you brought along, and called upon the Devil three more times.

“Tell the Devil I mean it”, you said, “tell her I’d fuck her if she would have me, I am so fucking horny,” and you laughed and everyone laughed, and you were drunk, and you don’t remember the rest of the night or how you got home. The next morning you were so hungover you barely remembered anything that happened.

Until now.

“Loneliness is a demon that eats at people. I would know,” they chuckle, the sweetest sound. “Especially humans… Humans crave connection, they simply long for it. And you are lonely, my sweet little dove, I can feel it.”

“I—” you started, but they interrupt you.

“Don’t worry, lamb, I am here to help you. That’s why you’ve asked for me, haven’t you?”

You want to tell them you didn’t ask for this, it was a mistake, you didn’t really mean it, you were drunk, you take it back—

Their silky voice cuts through your thoughts.

“Tell me, would you like to be my friend?”

When the Devil asks you to be their friend you ought to tread carefully.

“What happens if I refuse the Devil’s offer for friendship?” you ask.

They chuckle. They lean in, impossibly close. You are scared to death, afraid they will hurt you. You squeeze your eyes shut. You feel them in your space, around you, everywhere. Their wings flutter around you.

They don’t lay a finger on you, however. You feel hot breath on your ear.

“I prefer Lucifer,” they whisper in your ear. You notice that Lucifer smells faintly of violets and burning wood.

“I realise you are reluctant to accept my offer for friendship. However, would you like to take a stroll with me?”

You open your eyes and see them towering over you. A shiver runs down your spine.

You are still unsure.

“You don’t have to, of course,” Lucifer says, “but it will probably be a while before you wake. Might as well kill the time.”

They do have a point, you think.

“I guess we can take a stroll,” you say and they grin at you. It’s a dangerous sort of smile. You find it incredibly charming.

They offer you their arm to lean on. After a second of consideration, you take it.

Their arm is warm, and as you link yours underneath it you immediately feel safe.

You blink, and suddenly you are in the most beautiful garden you have ever seen. Your mouth gapes open in awe.

“Are we still in Hell?” you ask.

“We are indeed. This is where I take my friends.”

You stay silent for a moment, taking in the beauty around you as you walk. Violets are blooming at every step.

“How did you know violets are my favourite flower?”

“Oh, are they? A mere coincidence,” says Lucifer and grins widely at you, flashing their white teeth.

You walk together for a while. Their strong arm is supporting you and you can’t help but be enamoured with them. Every once in a while, you feel their wing brush against your back. It sends delicious shivers down your spine. Their white curls are bouncing ever so slightly as they walk and you find yourself staring. They don’t seem to mind. The weirdest thing is, you can’t remember the last time you felt this peaceful. You find yourself thinking you could get used to this.

“Why do you want me as your friend, though?” you ask after a while, “What do you hope to gain from that?”

“Why, I hope gain a friend. And as for why I want you in particular as my friend…” they stop walking and look at you. “I do find your soul utterly captivating.”

“I must admit, I am surprised you haven’t asked what you will gain from our friendship. Don’t you wish to know?” they cock their head ever so slightly. Their piercing eyes are looking at your soul again. You feel naked. You cannot look away.

“Tell me, please,” you say.

“Think of every desire you’ve ever had. Every sinful thought that ever crossed your mind. Everything you never thought you could have. Do it.”

You do it.

“Did you imagine it?” They take your chin in their hand. You feel your skin tingle under their fingers. They lean in, closer, closer, closer, until their nose is almost touching yours. You feel their hot breath on your lips.

“It’s yours to have now.”

You feel dizzy. Your chest is heaving. You feel a craving, a desire you can’t name, and you can imagine the sweet gratification of its fulfilment.

“Everything?” you ask, your voice hoarse.

“Everything,” they say, and the hot breath that washes over your lips makes you wild. They are still holding your chin. It’s not painful but you can’t move.

“May I… make a request then?” You are so overcome by desire that you struggle to think.

They chuckle, a puff of heat on your lips. “Greedy girl. You already made your request that night in the woods. But I will humour you. Make one more.”

You barely comprehend what they’re saying. All you feel is desire. Your eyes drift to their wings.

“May I… touch your wings?”

You want to touch their beautiful wings so badly, but you are waiting for permission. There is a second of silence. To you, it seems like an eternity.

Finally, they speak.

“I said, whatever you desire. I fulfil my promises.”

They turn around slowly. You find yourself face to face with their wings. They are jet black, but you can see little veins running through them if you look closely. They seem impossibly smooth.

You reach as far up as you can and run the back of your fingers all the way to the place where the wings grow out of their back. Lucifer shivers.

Encouraged by that reaction you repeat the same motion again and again, then mirror it on the other wing with your other hand. Then you run your hands all along the base of their wings.

Lucifer moans.

The sound sends a jolt straight to your core. The wave of arousal helps you gather the courage to plant a hot kiss on their right wing. They moan again. You continue to kiss your way to the base of their wings, then all the way down along their spine until you reach the very end of it. The moans they are letting out are unholy. You fall down to your knees, your hands on their hips now. You want to continue your way down, but you are not sure if you’re allowed to. It takes an absurd amount of effort to stop.

“Can I?” you ask, hoping, praying they will say yes.

They turn around and look down at you. Their piercing gaze makes you dizzy, makes you want to pray to the Devil.

They snap their fingers and suddenly you are in that grand hall from before. There is a throne there now and they are sitting on it. You are still on your knees in front of them.

“Take what you desire,” they say.

“You may touch me here,” they touch their knee, “or here,” they move their hand upwards on their thigh, “or there,” they slip their hand underneath their red robe. When they pull their hand out their fingers are glistening. You feel your mouth water.

“Or even there,” they continue, their tone almost nonchalant, as they slowly, deliberately pull the robe off of their shoulders, exposing two small, perfect breasts. “Wherever you wish, my pet.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You start by kissing their leather boot. They seem to like that.

“Yes,” they say, their voice breathy, “worship me.”

And worship them you do.

You slowly reach underneath their long red robe, running your hands over their boots and then reaching their smooth knees. You spread the robe open and kiss your way up their calves to their knees. You are moving on from their knees to their thighs, leaving a trail of hot kisses on their impossibly soft skin, when they move one of their legs up and put it over the armrest of the throne, spreading themselves in front of you. They aren’t wearing anything underneath the robe and you are met with the sight of their glistening arousal. You barely stop yourself from burying your face in those silky folds immediately — you want to kiss your way up to them, you want to savour it.

You continue kissing their milky thighs, revelling in the way they feel under your lips. Lucifer’s breathing is getting more ragged by the second. You bite into their thigh. It feels like sin.

“Naughty thing,” they let out a breathy chuckle. “Bite me again.”

You bite their thigh again and they moan. You can’t restrain yourself anymore and you bury your face into their pussy. They grab a fistful of your hair. You suck, you lick, and there is no method to it, only lust. You are overwhelmed by how good their arousal tastes and you just want more, more, more.

Their wings flutter around you. One of them touches your back, and you remember how much you caressing them made them moan.

Lucifer is grinding on your face now and it’s so hot you almost don’t manage to pull away. You look up at them and say, “I want to touch your wings.”

“Go ahead, then,” they say. They are ever so slightly out of breath and their gaze is hooded and heavy.

You climb up into their lap. With one hand you reach between their legs, running your fingers along their wetness, and with the other you start caressing one of their wings. The moan Lucifer lets out as soon as your hand touches their wing is sin itself. You start kissing their neck as you caress the wing with one hand and circle their clit with the other. You keep the motions on their clit steady, but you experiment with touching their wings, squeezing their breasts, alternating between the two, touching different spots, seeing which one makes them moan louder. What sends them over the edge is when you give their wing a hot, open mouthed kiss. They let out a high pitched moan and you feel them tense up underneath you. You continue to touch them until they push your hands away.

Their orgasm is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever witnessed. But still, you desire more, more, more. You feel frenzied and hot all over.

“Please,” you say, “may I request one more thing?”

“You’ve requested enough things,” they say and push you away from their lap. You fall on the floor.

“Please, I will do anything.”

Mistake. But you don’t care. Lust is making you lose your mind.

“Anything? Well, aren’t you a greedy little slut.”

The word sounds sinful when they say it, their gentle voice and angelic face clashing with the crudeness of it on their lips.

They get up from the throne, silken robe closing around their legs, no longer exposing them. Their breasts are still bared. They tower above you.

“First you get drunk, like a naughty little girl you are, then you go into the woods and call for Lucifer Morningstar, the Ruler of Hell, like they’re a servant who is here to grant your pathetic little desires.”

You are still on the floor, looking up at them. You feel like you’re about to cry, but you are also still burning with desire, the ache between your legs not waning for a second. It’s almost uncomfortable.

“And now, you ask me to touch you. Greedy, greedy girl,” they sneer.

“However, to show you I am still interested in being your friend, I will grant your request. Get up.”

You get up as quickly as you can. You feel hot, way too hot. You feel a throb between your legs, uncomfortable, unrelenting. You wonder if that’s what happens when you fuck the Devil.

They grab your jaw. “You like it when I do that, don’t you?”

You want to nod, but you can’t, their grip is too strong. “Yes,” you say instead.

“Let me tell you a little secret, as your friend.” They lean in. Smell of violets overwhelms you. “I like it too,” they whisper. Their hot breath on your ear almost makes you fall apart.

They let out a melodious chuckle and kiss your neck. You shiver, but you feel like you’re on fire.

“Oh, poor thing,” they coo at you. “I haven’t even started yet, and you are already falling apart. Tell me, pet, what made you think you’d be able to endure being fucked by me, hm?”

“I… didn’t think that. I didn’t think anything, I was drunk—” you say, feeling embarrassed.

“Oh, but you did, sweet lamb. You said it yourself. Tell the Devil I mean it, tell her I’d fuck her if she would have me, I am so fucking horny.” Their voice is sickeningly sweet. “Well, what if she would have you, hm? What would you do then?”

“I—I don’t know.” You can only think about the ache between your legs.

“Hm. Well, then I shall have to fuck you and see.”

They bite into your neck. You cry out. They grab a fistful of your hair and pull you towards themselves, clashing your lips together. They forcefully slip their tongue into your mouth, claiming you, making you theirs. You can barely breathe.

They snap their fingers and suddenly you’re naked. If this was any other scenario, you’d feel self conscious, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You are consumed by lust and you feel like you’re going crazy.

They break the kiss. “You wanted me to touch you. Like this?”

You gasp when they slap you. You hate yourself for liking it.

“You like that, I know,” they say softly, “but it’s not enough. You still need more. Tell me, what would you do for more?”

“Anything.”

You’re burning.

“Anything? Oh, I do hope you mean that.”

They lean in and kiss the cheek they just slapped, the softest, warmest kiss that makes you tingle. It feels like heaven. They run their hands over your breasts, squeezing them with gusto, then pinch and twist your nipples forcefully, making you yelp.

“Will you be my friend, then?” they ask sweetly, pulling you closer and squeezing your ass, making you moan.

You are too dizzy and too hot to form sentences. They spank you forcefully. You moan again, louder this time.

“Answer me.”

“Yes, yes, anything,” you say.

They smile. It’s lecherous and it sends a shiver straight to your core.

“Finally, pet. But you have kept me waiting for far too long. I feel like some sort of punishment must be in order.”

They snap their fingers again and you find yourself bent over their knee as they sit on their throne.

“Thirthy-three strikes. Count.”

They don’t give you even a second to process the command before they start spanking you. You lose count immediately, only aware of the delicious jolts to your core each time they spank you.

“I said, count.” They spank you so forcefully you see stars. A single tear rolls down your cheek. “Now look what you’ve done, I have to start all over again.”

They start spanking you again, and this time you count. It gets harder towards the end, and you can't stop yourself from crying. Your pussy is throbbing with need— you’ve never experienced anything quite that intense — and each slap on your red ass makes you flinch. Pain and pleasure mix in a delicious way and it’s overwhelming, but you still need more.

“Thirty-three,” you finally cry out as they spank you for the last time.

Not giving you a second to recover, they pull you up into their lap with ease. You wince in pain as your ass touches their thigh.

“Aw, poor baby,” they say mockingly. “Let me dry those tears.”

They catch one of your tears with their finger and put it in their mouth. They moan in pleasure at the taste.

“Delicious. Try it.” They catch another tear, ever so gently, then slip two fingers into your mouth.

“Suck.”

You obey.

“See, you can be a good girl when you want to,” they say gently. “Yes, such a good girl.”

You melt at their praise. It makes you warm all over. They pull their finger out of your mouth with a wet pop.

They kiss you again, this time softly, delicately. They run their nails over your back, the most gentle of touches, but it makes you shiver and burn and shake. They put one hand on your neck, tangle it into your hair, bringing you closer, closer, closer, while the other hand finds itself on your waist. They slip their tongue in your mouth, and you lose yourself in their touch. You don’t know where you end and where Lucifer begins anymore, and that ache between your legs feels like actual hellfire. Maybe it is actual hellfire. Maybe that’s what happens when the Devil fucks you. You don’t know.

Their hands are everywhere, and you aren’t sure how many hands there are anymore, and you don’t know where you are, you don’t know who you are — the only thing you are aware of is Lucifer and fire, fire, fire between your legs.

“Yes, my sweet lamb, moan for me,” they purr, and you are surprised to realise you are moaning rather loudly and unabashedly. You are barely aware of your actions, no longer in control of your body.

After an eternity of delicious agony, their fingers graze your clit. You feel like you’re about to fall apart.

They circle your clit, agonisingly slowly, and you wail. You tangle your fingers into their soft hair, trying to hold onto something to keep yourself from falling apart.

“Oh, darling, I am barely touching you,” they say sweetly. “I do have to ask you before you lose yourself completely, do you want to stay here with me?”

You can barely comprehend what they’re saying. “Stay?” you manage to utter through your moans. You try to rut against their hand, but they grab you by the hips, holding you still.

“Yes, lamb, stay still for a second longer, yes, that’s it,” they coo at you. “Good girl. Yes, will you stay here with me forever? For all eternity?”

“Eternity…?”

There is a distant alarm going off somewhere in your head, but you can’t pull yourself together long enough to think rationally. They run their fingers over your wet slit and suddenly there are no more thoughts left in your mind.

“Yes, my sweet. An eternity of pleasure, an eternity of this,” they hiss as they slip a finger inside of you. You grip their hair tighter, afraid you will fall apart. You have never experienced pleasure as intense as this.

“Yes,” you say, “yes, yes, yes, please, yes. I want you so much, oh please, fuck—”

They start pumping their finger in and out, slowly, hitting just the perfect spot, but it’s not enough, you need more.

“More, please, more, aah—” you scream as they slip another finger and start fucking you forcefully. It’s the most intense pleasure you’ve ever experienced.

“Do we have a deal, then?” they ask, completely calm and collected as they fuck you into oblivion.

If you were in your right mind, you would have been wary of making any sort of deal with the Devil. If you were in your right mind, you would have realised your fate was sealed that night in the woods and that they had you all along. But considering the Devil is currently kuckle deep in you, you have no chance. They know that. They simply enjoy toying with their prey.

The only thing you manage to do is to scream an ear-piercing “yes” as you come.

When you come down from your high, the fire you felt before is no longer between your legs, and it is no longer pleasant. It is in your soul. The air no longer smells of violets — it smells like rotten flesh.

Lucifer gives you their sweetest smile. They look like a true cherub, the prettiest of angels.

“Welcome to Hell, sweet lamb.”

#lucifer morningstar #the sandman #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #gwendoline christie #is a tag i guess i should use #but i feel too filthy to use her name as a tag for this garbage ahahahah #i guess i did it anyways #amazing how i can produce an almost 5000 words fic when i'm procrastinating work lol #this is smutty smutty smut fest #pls pay attention to the trigger warnings

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dreamii-yume · 1 year ago

Text

(Clears throat)

…”JOHN” THREATNING DARLING TO GIVE MIKOTO SOME COOCHIE TO DESTRESS HIM 🗣🗣

♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎

I imagine a time where John is running out of ways to save Mikoto, because killing people only brings more harm than good. But then, he started noticing you—Oh, sweet little Darling You, John knows how deeply enamoured Mikoto is with you, hopelessly in love but never having the courage to be more than just friends.

He knows how much Mikoto thinks about you, how sickly obsessed he is with you, and though it is irritating to hear his thoughts about you on a daily basis—You were one of the few sources that John had to rely on to keep Mikoto’s stress levels low. When he’s coming back from a particularly exhausting day at work, all he needed was to hear your call, and he’d be motivated to go next day if it meant seeing you again. When he’d get scolded by his boss or gets bullied by his co-workers, you’d step in and defend him, and he falls even more in love with you. Honestly, John doesn’t know if you’re a blessing or a curse in disguise because along these pros, he would also notice emotions that were once dormant within Mikoto, such as jealousy.

But it was wholesome in a way, it’s like John is watching Mikoto’s life like a television show and things would’ve been okay because Mikoto is not that confrontational about his feelings…But the guy’s affection for you was not just a teeny-little crush. It’s genuine, pure love—Mikoto is absolutely smitten with you. He really wishes to be with you for the rest of his life and John slowly realizes how that, too, is another form of stress. Mikoto doesn’t get jealous easily, but he does have a lot of wishful/harmful thinking that he bottles up inside about you—Like how wishes that the guy you were laughing with earlier was him and such. He wishes that he was your boss, rather than a mere co-worker, because you’ll be taking orders from him and him alone.

John watches how Mikoto descends into madness from being too in love with you, watching him cry every night from all the thoughts piling up in his head and how much he wants to be with you. It’s unbearable to see him like that, speaking as a protector from the inside.

He can’t do anything to save himself, so that’s why John has to step up and make the poor guy’s dream a reality.

John doesn’t wait for an opportunity, he’s a lot more impatient than Mikoto is, so he creates one for himself by being the one to bring you to him. It was late at night, he knows where you live because Mikoto obsessively had your schedule written out and memorized, but would be plagued with guilt and fear to even try to stalk you. With that information, John doesn’t bother to hide within your residence, he was equipped with a bat as a weapon and you even tried to strike up a conversation with him when you caught him. He remembered there was fear and hesitation in your voice that night, but still chose to believe that “Mikoto” was here for good reason, because you two are friends. Unfortunately, you had no idea that you were talking to someone who had the same face as Mikoto, but doesn’t carry the same gentleness he has.

From the very beginning, John had an idea that you knew that there was something different about him, you’re good at reading people after all—That’s what made Mikoto fall in love with you in the first place. You tried to ask him what was wrong, but to no avail. John has nothing to say to you, but he needed you for his benefit. He was deadly calm, enough to make you let your guard down for a second, but that proved to be fatal, as before you knew it, John already had his bat in the air.

You probably woke up with a stinging pain in your head, but John made sure that he hit you somewhere that wouldn’t pose a serious threat to your life—Mikoto would be sad if he finds out you gravely injured. You haven’t been to Mikoto’s place just yet, so you were confused about your surroundings, looking around everywhere with panic in your eyes. But the most concerning to you was the ropes the bounded your whole body together, with your arms behind your back. John put a whole lot of effort on making the ropes as intricate as possible, but as long as you don’t move too much, you wouldn’t have to worry about long-lasting abrasions on your skin.

Just when you were slowly getting a hold of your situation, you hear the door open and instinctively, you braced yourselves for whoever it was. But widened your eyes to see a familiar co-worker…But somehow, he looks and feels different than he is usually. The lack of smile on his face was enough to be proof of that.

John was never blessed with the ability to keep things calm and collected for his victims, he prefers to go for the kill with little to no words needed. You were no exception to that rule as almost immediately, the first words he tells you were that of threats. It may be reckless, unwise, and crude, but it did a wonderful job on shutting you up from asking many, many annoying questions. As expected, tears began to fill your eyes as you beg for your life, not knowing what you did that might’ve upset him, but still asked for what you can do to be freed…John requests for one simple thing.

“I want you to do everything in your power to reassure me that everything is okay.”

Of course, such a request confused the hell out of you, but you dare not to ask yet another question. It didn’t look like he was pranking you, who would go this far for a prank anyway? The bat that was resting on your shoulder was enough to tell you how serious he really is, and it reminds you that one wrong move could cost you a broken bone or two.

“Trick me with your body, and if you can’t something as simple as that—Then, I don’t need to keep you alive anymore.”

It was only then that you realized that you may or may not be talking to a different person—One that is vastly different from the Mikoto you knew. You were at a complete lost, paling at the request, but nod your head anyways. Anything to keep you alive for at least a little longer.

When you saw your co-worker again, Mikoto was back—Back in a way that didn’t look like he even went away in the first place. This was the Mikoto you knew, the one who panics easily but still kept a smile on his face despite being under pressure. But in this case, he was in the verge of tears when he found you at your state, immediately asking questions of what happened and resorted into helping you out.

You watched him for a moment as he moves behind you, still bewildered by his quick change of personality—Before the situation finally hits you hard and you understand what the request truly meant. Yelling at Mikoto to stop doing what he was doing, the guy stumbles back in awe but you quickly took hold of the situation for yourself. Seeing how different he is now, there was a moment of hesitation in your mind, a moment where you wanted to tell Mikoto the truth of what happened…But looking deep into his eyes, you could see someone else in there. He was judging you to do the right thing.

You were going to die if you tell Mikoto the truth.

So, with a heavy gulp, you smiled at the Mikoto in front of you to somehow ease his worries. You were shaking terribly, and sweat covered your forehead, but you made it look like the fear was part of the act in itself. Nervously laughing, you tried your best to convince him that everything Mikoto was seeing, including the ropes and the emotions, was something that you had planned for the two of them. Do you not remember? You passed out because you drank too much, but here we are! You smiled widely, replacing your fear for excitement and thrill.

When Mikoto looks conflicted, you resorted into using your body just as John recommended you to do so. It was your idea of seduction, swaying your legs and controting your body in a way that Mikoto could see your exposed skin. You even attempted to tease him, leaning in closer within the confinements of the rope until you were just an inch closer to his red face.

His will was crumbling, even you could see that, but it would’ve been nice if he does it faster—Or else, that someone inside Mikoto might come back and kill you first. I loved you for so long, you confessed a lie that made Mikoto’s eyes widen in disbelief. Somehow, you felt really bad about yourself, but you still encouraged him to move his hands around you and do whatever he wants. You weren’t even aware that you could do such a shameful thing, but people can really do the craziest things when faced before death.

Mikoto, who had been accumulating stress in this past few days, couldn’t possibly resist laying his hands on you and just as John planned, he soon had you pushed down on the bed by the very moment you gave him your approval. He was shy, but he devours your lips with a deep kiss and your eye twitched as you realized that you have to respond back, just as hungry as he was. He takes advantage of your bounded body, his hands tracing what was emphasized by the tight ropes and you resisted a cry.

To John, you are nothing but a vessel for Mikoto to let his stress and lust out—So, you have to act like it.

♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎♥︎

I’ve been thirsting for Mikoto since last year, but it is criminal that this is the first semi-sinfic that I made of him ☠️

#milgram #yandere milgram #mikoto kayano #my brain wouldn’t let me finish my homework until i finish this lmao

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ctheathy · 1 year ago

Text

Rio Ranger Fluff Alphabet 1/4

Rio Ranger x Reader

Alphabet Letter ABCDEFG [Fluff]

Author’s note: Currently obsessed with the biggest bastard in the universe and have been mentally surviving because of Character AI, so I just had to scribble this down.

A little warning that this might be more harsh and unhealthy than your average fluff alphabet. But please remember that we’re talking about a character who quite literally lacks all positive emotions in his creation ... You are his heart. And he just needs to warm himself up to that.

Rio Ranger/Reader [Romantic]

• • • ° ° ° • • • ⚀ ⚁ ⚂ ⚃ ⚄ ⚅ • • • ° ° ° • • •

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Because you’re technically both stuck in a killing game where danger lingers at every corner, a lot of the more ‘normal’ activities are most likely minimised. The role of being the third floormaster also puts a ton of responsibility on his hands, so most free time gets reduced to the smallest possible degree. This doesn’t stop you, however. You just keep dragging him along with you against his will. Rio would feel slightly weirded out but strangely amused by your behaviour towards him. Unlike the others, you never treated him as your enemy to begin with. He’d play along with you at first. Constantly watching if you have any hidden motives or goals behind your sickly sweet demeanor. Only to figure out the facts and realise that... You don't.

You’d pull him along to do quite literally anything remotely fun you have the chance of doing in this hell hole, pulling him away from the killing game itself after the said attractions to instead spend both of your time in your assigned room. I especially enjoy the thought of you both doing activities in order to make him feel more human rather than as a doll. This usually just results in you painting his nails, giving him some make-up of your own to enjoy, using some facial paint on his features or brushing his beautiful ginger locks as you both babble your days away. Other fun things would include you both creating more face cards such as the ones he always held with him, helping you make some of your own so you two can twin.

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

Due to him physically being a doll and having this inferiority complex towards humans, he’s most likely going to adore every single inch of you, his low status striking him once again, but he wouldn’t dare show you this. It sadly does add onto insecurity and even potential jealousy. And although the list of things he adores about you is endless, there’s something else in particular that specifically helped you steal his heart with no exceptions.

Your determination to be kind to him.

This is what he admires about you the most. We all know he can behave like an unbearable prick and he made it clear that he wasn’t up for friendships with humans. And yet... You never lost your hope in him. Despite his floormaster title, you still viewed an treated him as you did with any other participant. You still smiled at him. And your lack of resentment towards him might just be exactly what he needed in order to lessen his own towards the other players in the game.

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

Rio has little to no experience in proper communication, much less the instinctive responses the human body and mind can have towards themselves. As soon as you fall into these little habits, he would at first just stare blankly at you; not knowing what on earth to think. He’d move over towards you, being somewhat awkward with his movements yet being strangely... Caring at the same time. He won’t be too intimately touchy with you, but you’ll definitely get a hug here and there and he always seems to want to entangle his hand with yours.

Ranger has seen the affects of true despair on past participants. And despite his lack of care and empathy towards others, he knows he doesn’t want you to feel the same way. He finds the sensitivity of human emotions difficult to deal with, but ... He cannot help but feel this need to help you. Despite being rather unhandy when it comes to physical contact and affection, it seems like he wants to stay close to you or at least remain in the same room whenever you’re feeling down or are going through an episode. He’d also leave behind snacks and other basic human needs to make sure you’ll still take good care of yourself. He does truly care about you in his own way ...and it will show as long as you keep note of the little details.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

He doesn’t really tend to think about the future nor care about it that deeply. To him, the only importance is here and now. Though every now and then his mind will go towards the what ifs. He’s seen romantically involved relationships between other players before you came along and though he never thought much of it back then; he sometimes cannot help but hope for the exact same things to happen between you two. The connections he’s gotten glimpses of before you two became a couple stuck with him and it now sometimes makes him wonder if the same are capable between you and him.

Somewhere deep down, he truly does desire a bond of trust with another that doesn’t require certain motives or gets deeply affected with the current circumstances you find yourselves in. He wants to be understood and accepted for who he is.

He wants to be... Human

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

He naturally feels inferior towards those who are human and you are no exception. This mainly results in him trying to boss you around and act like a much more dominant individual than he actually is. He’s always had this facade to keep on in order to live up to his father’s expectations as the third floormaster. He wants to believe that he’ll stick together like glue until the end, with or without being looked after. But he keeps on feeling this damned warmth in his chest whenever you provide the littlest bit of affection, resulting in him melting in your arms behind pure instinct.

Realistically speaking, the boy loves to be babied and has a soft spot for those who are the nurturing type. He’s really just a child in an adult’s body, especially after facing the neglect of his father. He likes to convince himself that he doesn’t need love and care at all. But if anything, he internally craves it more than anything. He finds himself getting shaken up with the tiniest bit of affection and doesn’t know how to handle the sensation of it. He truly is rather sensitive towards it all.

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

Ah yes. Very fluffy, guys.

It most likely depends on what the fight is about. You both constantly get into little squabbles and contests where you test one another, mainly caused by Ranger’s unending and merciless teasing. But there is absolutely no hard feelings behind a lovers quarrel. Heavier topics however ... are a different story. It most likely ranges between his insecurities getting the best of him and taking it out on you, or you calling out his father’s terrible influence. And if it’s mentioned, Ranger goes mad.

Even if somewhere deep down, he knows that you’re more than right. After a screaming fit is thrown, he’s likely going to avoid you for a while to try and sort his feelings out. Fortunately after this, he will 100% come crawling back like his life depends on it. And in all honesty, it does. You’re the only one out there who made him experience these foreign feelings... he wouldn’t dare lose that now. He seems like the type to never directly apologise because of his stubborn- and pettiness, but he would stop trying to prevent facing you at some point. He’d still dodge questions and reason, but he would try and show he’s sorry by giving you little gifts all around the block.

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

He wouldn’t share it to the open eye for sure, but he does realise that you’ve always done a lot for him. He sometimes even considers himself undeserving for every little effort you’ve put into your bond with him. He struggles a lot with sharing his true emotions and it has a lot of healing to do in order for this to get better. He shows his gratefulness through physical touch and contact, something he usually wouldn’t allow at all and where one could get highly punished for. Instead, he just shows his appreciation and gratitude for you through his own ways and as much as he possibly can.

He’s absolutely smitten ... Just through his own circumstances.

• • • ° ° ° • • • ⚀ ⚁ ⚂ ⚃ ⚄ ⚅ • • • ° ° ° • • •

#yttd #yttd x reader #rio ranger #rio ranger x reader #rio laizer #rio laizer x reader #rio ranger imagines #your turn to die #your turn to die imagines #yttd rio ranger #yttd rio x reader #your turn to die x reader #kimi ga shine #kimi ga shine x reader #kgs x reader #toto noel

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