#you bloody hoot you | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sunnami · 4 months ago

Text

❝like the grass wants to grow, i want to run anywhere that you go.❞

summary. 'a tiny butterfly flapping its wings today may lead to a devastating hurricane weeks from now.' or alternatively, it takes six lifetimes for you to find each other.

pairings. poly!marauders+lily x reader.

word count. 8.9k (i tried to keep it short. i really did T-T)

tags. hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, happy ending. reincarnated/regressor!reader. no specific gender described. not proofread, we die like lucerys velaryon.

cws. brief depictions of death and war, themes of mental health and trauma.

note: lmaoao, as per the poll, here is the time-traveler!reader fic! i didn't cry during the angsty parts so it's probably not that bad.

YOU WAKE UP to a familiar weathered stone ceiling, owls softly hooting beyond the curtained windows, sunken in the mattress of a canopy bed with low snoring on either side of you. There’s a wilting candle on your nightstand, alongside an unfastened leather journal—a whiff of spilt ink under your nose. In your limp embrace, is a plush capybara with a turtle attached to its head. The quilt blanket is entangled between your thighs, the early morning breeze flurrying past the exposed stretch of your belly where your oversized granny-square jumper has ridden up.

It’s only then, when you try curling your fingers and wiggling your toes, that you realize that your body feels as though it had been hit by a shrinking charm.

You sit upright instantly, heart skipping a beat from fright.

No.

You can’t have.

You reach for your brass handheld mirror, tucked away in the bedside drawers.

There is no way you are this unlucky.

Yet staring back at you, is your eleven-year-old self.

Naturally, you end up screaming in frustration—startling the robins idle on the windowsills and all but waking the entirety of the Gryffindor castle. Prefects burst inside the dormitory, wand at the ready and crust in their eyes, in search of a threat only to find you on the verge of hyperventilating.

Bloody hell.

Not again!

Merlin, Morgana and Arthur—you are not going through puberty a sixth time.

“Oh, fuck me,” you mumble defeatedly as you fall back onto the patchwork pillows. Your roommates are gawping at you in horror, the sound of heavy footfalls echoing in the halls outside.

Months ago, you had heard about the gruesome passing of Dorcas Meadowes—you weren’t necessarily close friends with the girl, despite being sorted in the same House, but you would grieve where grief is due.

YOUR FIRST LIFE came to an abrupt end at the age of nineteen, in a quaint coffeehouse where the owner knew your name and the baristas wore a sunlit grin everyday. That day, no one had expected for Death Eaters to wreak havoc in Diagon Alley—it could have been anticipated, if only the Ministry was competent during the onset of the war. But with the extensive list of Muggleborn and half-blood casualties after that incident, Ministry officials had no choice but to restrict certain areas and propose the ‘lesser-breeds’ go into hiding for their safety. This alluded to many families; most condemned to be blood-traitors.

(There had been fleeting whispers of her dying at the wand of Voldemort himself.)

Then, you’d woken up in the four walls of your dormitory. The sensation of being ever-so cruelly struck by the killing curse burning in your chest—a scorching fire, yet bitterly cold all the same. You had sobbed wretchedly, curled up in a shuddering ball of tears until your roommates had called for the prefects. It got worse when they tried to console you—you felt everything still. The panicked cries and screams of the wounded ceaselessly echoing in your head. You remembered the shards of glass sinking into your skin as you dove for cover, Unforgivables apathetically hurled in every direction.

It was not until Madam Pomfrey administered a Calming Draught and an elixir for dreamless sleep that you finally went out like a light extinguished.

Your second life was relatively longer—you had spent it under the supervision of mind healers at St. Mungo’s, after all. For the next thirty years, you’d been confined to a ward on the fourth floor. (Later, you would share this space with a couple who went by the names of Alice and Frank Longbottom.) Regardless of the bleak walls, it was not so bad. The quilts were warm and the assigned matron, Madam Strout, was kind and fussed over you regularly. While the healers had done everything they could, you continued to struggle with discerning what appeared to be your ‘first life.’ (Which one was your true reality? The first? Or the second?) Eventually, all the poking and prodding wore you down. Your fingertips had bruised and brittled. You could not look over your shoulder in fear of finding a Death Eater staring back at you. Night terrors plagued your dreams.

(Your parents who had always embraced you with loving arms—they could not look you in the eyes now.)

Memories bled into newer memories as the days went by. You haunted the corridors with a plagued stare, quickly becoming a woeful canard amongst the residents of the hospital. ‘The hysteric fortune teller,’ they called you. You who spoke of wars and rebellion at the age of twelve—but whose words nobody cared for when Voldemort began rising to power. You who’d gone mad and overwrought. In the end, you believed everyone else.

(See? It must have been all in your head—a wayward spell that unfortunately damaged your memories.)

You’re unsure of how you died, but perhaps, you were never even alive in the first place. There was only so much Draught of Peace you could take before you inevitably became a soulless, sleep-walking husk of a person.

You woke up in the Gryffindor tower once more—this time, you’re careful enough to smother your cries.

If you flinched every time Marlene McKinnon coarsely bellowed Dorcas’s name in the middle of the school hallways, or if you averted your gaze at the sight of Alice Fortescue and Frank Longbottom’s intertwined hands—it was nobody’s business but your own. In this life, you kept your head down, breezing through your homework and exams—although you had seen no purpose in it, at this point. Each morning that you woke up, you wondered if this was a favor from the Gods, or a relentless hell so meticulously-crafted for you.

(But what sins had you committed for them to spit on you as they had done? Surely, you would be granted peace after two deaths.)

You could not tell your family, nor could you ask anyone else in Hogwarts if they remembered fragments of their past lives—for the last time you had done that, you were met with vindictive laughter and cruel gazes.

(At that moment, you had understood Xenophilius Lovegood a little bit more. You never knew how many sought to trample on the wallflowers of the castle.)

And so, you’d kept your head down until the end of your time in the castle. You stayed away from Diagon Alley and surrounding areas, and you willed yourself to perfect the art of apparating—a skill you wished that you had learned earlier.

On the first of November 1981, witches and wizards had come to celebrate the fall of Lord Voldemort—which ultimately meant the death of James and Lily Potter. (You could not come to their funeral the first time around, seeing as you were chained to your hospital mattress that day, inebriated on the third dreamless sleep potion administered to you.)

Under the eyes of St. Jerome, you laid bouquets of white roses and dahlias on their tombstones.

“Wherever your souls are now, I hope you find each other and unearth peace,” you whispered to the two names engraved on the slate, hands clasped together as you rested on the grass. The winds had been cold and biting, a testament to the looming winter that would sweep away the tears on their graves. Like Dorcas Meadows, you did not interact much with James and Lily—but more than anyone, you knew how death was no easy enemy to conquer.

(You hoped their orphaned son would live a life that would not take him too early.)

A few months later, you met your demise to a werewolf named Fenrir Greyback.

As you bled out on the grassfields, you wished for Death to come and take you faster.

When you awakened, it was in the same bed and the same dusty ceiling.

There was nothing you could do but go back to sleep this time around.

After dying pathetically for a third time, a stubborn part of you wanted to fight back—so you did.

Unlike your previous lives, you joined the Dueling Club, supervised by Professor Flitwick himself. Your wand work was clumsy and you stumbled on your incantations. You could not lift your wand without remembering a coffee shop laid to ruin and wreckage or the hardened gaze of Greyback as he sank his teeth into your neck. The times were merciless, your dance with Death even more—but you would not die helplessly again.

As you lay in your bed, muscles aching from dueling practice, you had realized one thing.

You did not want to stain your hands with the blood of another—having grown tired of the Reaper and his antics. If the Gods would not let you rest, then you would not let them take anyone else.

After all, you had the stubbornness of a Gryffindor lion.

For the next six years or so, you devoured your textbooks on charms and healing spells, refining your spellwork until your tongue grew numb and your wrists became sore. When the time came, you followed James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Lily Evans, and many more, in joining the Order of the Phoenix. (Perhaps you should have realized earlier that you all were just wide-eyed children on both sides, forced to partake in a war that should have never been yours to fight.)

The First Wizarding War transfigured the years into a blur of mourning, surviving, and fighting in alleys now-bloodied. Even the sun hid behind the clouds, for brothers began turning on one another. You could only find solace in the fact you had kept Dorcas away from Voldemort’s clutches, volunteering to go in her stead during incursions, and Marlene McKinnon alive for another day to see her family.

But for how long could you cheat fate?

Hours before your death, you found yourself in a forest clearing. The campsite was filled with witches and wizards afflicted with severe hexes and curses—a few of Dumbledore’s best fighters screaming in agony from the Cruciatus.

There you found Remus Lupin, bruised and worse for wear, attempting to wrap a bandage around his shoulders in an empty tent.

“You look like you’ve seen better days,” you said in a soft greeting, stepping inside the tent with a forced smile, your collection of potions and jars of herbal pastes jostling in your leather satchel.

Remus chuckled tiredly. “Haven’t we all?”

You gently pried the bandage from his trembling hands and maneuvering yourself at his back. You stifled the urge to cry at the sight of his scars—so violently red against his pallid skin. Compared to your previous lives, you had developed a friendship with Remus and his group of bold marauders—a camaraderie as true as it could be in dire times. (And if providence had been kinder, you could have dared to want more than just friendship.) You poured drops of Dittany onto his shallower wounds, murmuring empty words of comfort as he flinched and hissed.

“It’s Peter,” he rasped, abruptly holding onto your wrist as you turned to leave. “He’s been missing for hours. Please. I don’t know what I’d. . . what I’d do if. . . if. . .”

You squeezed his hand. “I’ll find him, Remus. Don’t worry.”

True to your word, you had found Peter at sundown deep within the forest. There was an unsettling quietude that hung in the air as you trudged to his side. He was kneeling on the muddy ground, head hanging low. It’s only then that you noticed the body laying still in his arms. Violent chills slithered down your spine as you recognized the woman in his embrace.

“Mary!” you cried out, hurrying to them as fast as you could.

“What happened?” you asked frantically, hands in a desperate search for a pulse. When you were met with no answer, you pressed again more heatedly. “Peter! Look at me!” You gripped his chin, heart hammering in your chest. “You have to tell me what happened! I can’t. . . I can’t help her if I don’t know what hit her.” Droplets of tears fell from your eyes down to Mary’s pale cheeks. “I can’t. . . I need—please. . .”

Bloodshot eyes stared back at you. “I. . . I didn’t want to do it.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry,” he croaked, burying his head into the crook of Mary’s neck. “I was so, so scared.”

“Peter, what are you talking about?” You grimaced impatiently when Peter lifted his gaze—but he was not looking at you, rather behind you.

The answer to your question was a killing curse to the back.

An unseen rustle in the bushes that you should have paid attention to, a cloaked figure darker than any shadow; a Death Eater that’d come to ensnare you in a perfectly-laid trap.

(Damn it!)

(Damn it all to Hell!)

You awoke to the sound of your screaming and your limbs thrashing in the bed you’ve grown to despise. There was nary a remorse in your body as your roommates wailed at the sight of your nails drawing blood from your arms. Later that morning, the common room would be filled with talks of your faraway gaze and your scratched-up flesh.

You could not take it anymore.

In your fifth life, you had sought peace—or rather, the most beautiful mockery of it.

You decided to give up your magic to chase a semblance of normalcy. No more wands, no more moving portraits, no more jinxes and pranks, no more owls and wizard robes. Most of all, no more war. (‘But it did not work like that’, Death laughed.) In this life, you wanted what was denied of you in the previous ones.

A family.

A happy ending.

Bitterly enough, the Gods saw fit to give you only one of the two.

You married a Muggle, to your parents’ dismay. He was nice and compassionate—a distant contrast to the ongoing turmoil of the wizarding world. But you could not bring yourself to feel guilt. You had been stripped of everything, which included the privilege to die and lay your soul to rest in perpetuity.

(Who were you, if not a dead man walking?)

Over the years, you would have three children with your husband—three beautiful children born from love, in a world that would not actively seek to take them from you. You raised them all to adulthood, hoping they would not fault you for finding relief at the lack of magic in their veins. Their names were Kinsley, Piper, and Avery—and you had adored every inch of them, from their striking eyes to the tips of their stubby fingers.

On your deathbed, you were surrounded by your grandchildren and your great-grandchildren. An image you held close to your heart as your vision began to deteriorate.

Just this once, you prayed to all that would hear.

Let me die surrounded by my family.

At the age of ninety-one, you drew your final breath.

And when you opened your eyes, you were back in Hogwarts for the sixth time.

TO SIRIUS BLACK, you are a curious little wallflower, albeit a withering one—you who blend among the crowd, with a sad gaze in your eyes and the fretful twisting of your fingers. He doesn’t know why he’s particularly drawn to you—but perhaps he understands, more than anyone, the hesitance of taking up space in fear of punishment for one wrong move. But you look so lost, meandering along the corridors like the ghosts of the castle—but even the spirits seem more alive and colorful than you.

“What is it that they have taken from you?” Sirius wants to ask.

(What judgment has fate placed upon you so—for you to cry each morning?)

There is a raging urge in his veins to reach over and wipe your tears away, but what can he do as a stranger, if not watch powerlessly as you fade into the background?

His fingers feel like they might fall off if they do not entwine with yours. He wants to offer up his shoulders to carry the burdens that weigh down on a creature as lovely as you.

There are times when he and the other Gryffindors catch you crying at the long tables of the Great Hall.

“O-Oh, was I?” Your reply is quiet. Resigned. Sirius has never felt his heart break more than in that moment. You move to weakly swipe at your tears. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to. . .”

“It’s alright, really,” Lily says, her voice strained, the words lodged in her throat. Under the table, she seeks James’s hand for comfort. (How can someone appear to be so lonely and defeated?) “We all have those days.”

“Yes.” You blink away the fresh tears pricking at your eyes, mindlessly pulling at the threads of your woven bandages, a weary chuckle falling from the cracked skin of your lips. “Except, it seems the days never end for me.”

Lily stays silent.

Sirius shares a look with Remus from across the table, an unspoken question hanging between the animagus and the werewolf.

How do their voices call out to the one who so faithfully believes that the world has abandoned them?

But Sirius Black is determined and unyielding—what good of a prankster would he be if he could not bring a smile upon your beautiful face?

He gets his chance during Transfiguration class, when McGonagall instructs the class to pair-up for an activity in turning miniature statues into birds. Predictably, you don’t move a muscle, staring ever-so intently at the sights beyond the classroom windows that you don’t notice the professor observing you worriedly—her lips tightly pressed and her eyes wrinkled with concern. Sirius slams his buttocks onto the wooden chair next to you; the sound of chair legs screeching bounces off the cobblestone walls.

“Hullo, partner.” Sirius grins as he offers you an enthusiastic wave, his dark curls floundering with his energy. He feels the gazes of his best mates boring into his back, but decides to ignore it for now—Remus can live without him for one class. In his mind—a perfectly-reasonable logic for an eleven-year-old, mind you—he figures that you would find class more entertaining if you had the right company. And, Sirius is wonderful company.

You stare at him with furrowed brows and Sirius wishes nothing more than to bring fire to your eyes. “Partner?” you repeat, a tinge of confusion in your voice—a deafening cadence to his ears, as for once, it is not desolation that laces your words.

“Partner,” Sirius affirms with a nod of his head, barely paying heed to McGonagall’s directions at the front of the room—but noting the mention of a prize for the pair who would successfully cast the spell for longer than ten minutes. He takes your silence for uncertainty, and replies with a light-hearted scoff—finding the pout on your lips adorable. “I’ll have you know I’m a bloody master at Transfiguration. Not even James could match me in this class—okay, maybe he could, but that’s not important, is it? Point is, with me at your side, Minnie will have no choice but to give us a hundred points!”

From the frown on your lips, Sirius gathers that you’re unimpressed by him—a first, but not a total setback.

He seizes the small box of porcelain figurines before you can blink, a wry smile on his face as he wrangles a boastful laugh from his throat. “Ready to have your mind blown? I’ve been practicing this spell since last night. There’s no way I’m getting this wrong.”

“Oh, I’m Sirius Black, by the way—at your service.” He holds out his hand for you to shake, wondering what your palm would feel like in his. Cold? Warm to touch? Or, perhaps, a perfect fit—just as Lily’s hand feels laced with his?

He doesn’t find the answer to his question. Instead, you draw your wand from your robe pocket, and point the tip of the wood at the earthenware at Sirius’s grasp.

“Avifors,” you recite delicately—such a flawless incantation that Sirius hears Merlin himself weeping in the depths of his grave.

The figurine grows feathers and a beak—Sirius and the rest of the students can only watch as the weebill flutters its wings and soars through the roof.

He’s stupefied. Breathless, one might say. But not because of your little trick—rather, the growing smile on your lips as you watch the bird fly across the room. Your eyes flicker with mischief, and like a man on the edge of a cliff—what is Sirius Black to do, but fall?

THE END OF YOUR first-year at Hogwarts draws near, and so does the springtime—a coveted season for lily flowers to bloom. The April winds find you out by the lake edge, swinging your legs idly on a marble stone bench where the cypress vines grow along the cracks. Songbirds fly overhead as the daylight glistens on the surface of the Black Lake, a beech tree in the near distance, butterflies dancing past the gnarled trunk. Pollen floats like dust in a cupboard under a staircase. Ducklings waddle after their mother as riverine rabbits scurry on into the tall, purple nettles. On days like this, you find it easier to settle into your new life—but, perhaps, you have your friends to thank for that.

Yet, as you find yourself wanting to reach out to their outstretched hands, flashes of children with your hair, your eyes, cheekbones whittled to resemble your own, haunt you. Their pure and gentle temperaments, painfully akin to their father’s. You mourn them every day. Their names are forever inscribed in the locket of your soul. (You did not find it fair—you who live again, and they who disappear forever. An existence that would cease to be—all because you fear what awaits you in this life. Why must it be you who should walk this land with a body scarred by wounds no one else can see? Why must it be you who mourns the loss of your family, your friends, and all your loved ones—everyone murdered by the Gods who spit on the five graves with your name written on it? Why? Why?)

Do you dare to live a life without them? Is it fair to deprive them of a chance of being a family while you waste away on the Isles? You may have lived multiple lifetimes, but not once have you been given the answers you seek.

You will not find happiness without them; it is as you deserve.

(For why else would Death torment you so if you are seen as innocent in their eyes?)

“How did I know I’d find you here?” A sing-song voice emerges from the trees, and you’ve no need to turn your head—the sound of Lily’s bright cadence is one you’re familiar with. But, somehow, you’ve grown fond of her voice, more acquainted with her smile and laugh than you’ve ever been in the last five lives. (You have to wonder if this friendship is one you’re permitted to enjoy.) Her grin is blinding, more so than the afternoon sun behind her. Lily’s wavy hair falls over her shoulder as she plops down on the empty space beside you. “We didn’t see you at lunch today,” she says, looking ahead, the warmth of her hand inching closer to your own. “I figured you didn’t want a bunch of whiffy boys around.”

Then, she looks around, searching for any prying ears, a stream of giggles falling from her lips. “Although, I must warn you—their pockets are loaded with food stolen from the hall, saying they’d give it to you when you returned to the tower. But I think Minnie caught onto them.” She chortles, a fond gaze in her eyes.

You hum in thought, a smile unknowingly pulling at your lips. “Thank you, Lily. It’s sweet of you to come and find me.”

She harrumphs light-heartedly, snootily lifting up her nose. “Don’t get too used to it. We’re only just best friends, after all.”

A silence encompasses the two of you, sitting under the shade, pink fingers shyly intertwined. Lily allows the minutes to flow by like a breeze on the waters, until she stares at you with thick emotions flickering in her emerald eyes. She nibbles on her bottom lip, long lashes kissing her eyelids. “Are. . . Are you alright? Is it one of those days again?”

You grin at her question, impishly nudging her legs with yours. It’s a gesture you deeply appreciate—befriending you and growing closer to you in ways you imagine are never in your cards. But Lily is only eleven, and you will not act upon your selfishness. (But, maybe—just maybe—you are allowed to relish in their company until you are called once again to your deathbed. In the next life, they might not know your name as they do now, and the revelation frightens you immensely.)

“I’m okay,” you say, a gnawing lie that sounds unconvincing to even your own ears. You stare at the flock of swans diving in the lake. “I was just missing a few friends back home.” You remember the toddlers that you used to call your own—their spittled possessiveness toward anyone who dared to snatch your attention away from them. “I don’t know if they would be happy with me going off on my own adventure,” you say, sparing Lily a knowing look. “They are—erm—Muggles.”

“Oh.” Lily nods, mulling over your words. “Tuney. . . my sister. She sort of resents me ever since I left for Hogwarts. We live a world apart, and it barely helps that she ignores me during the holidays.” She sighs, averting her gaze elsewhere, a grimace pulling at her mouth. “Sometimes I wonder if all of this was never meant for me. That I was just a fluke. Why do I have magic and not her? Any day now, I expect for McGonagall to come and ask me to pack my bags and head straight home.”

“But,” says Lily, her eyes resolute and her fire unwavering, “until that day comes, I will enjoy every bit of this world as I can. Tuney will just have to deal with that.” She offers you a mellow smile—a likeness to a kind husband that you had once in a past lifetime. “Besides, I think those who truly love us will understand the paths we must take. Even if it means parting ways for a long time. Your friends will not blame you; they’ll want you to live truly and freely.”

Her words sink deep into your bones, and you can’t help but let out a hearty laugh. You simper at the confused tilt of her head. “Wise words, Lily Marie Evans. Are you sure you’re only twelve?”

Lily beams. “Mum likes to tune into the Sunday motivational-talk channels.”

(“The ones we love never really leave us, do they?” Sirius Black will tell you one day, when you’ve bared to him the truth of your lives, and he looks at you no differently than he has before—with all the adoration and fondness of his heart.)

Later, before you and Lily make your way back to the castle, you pick three flowers among the chicory weeds. She stays behind as you kneel by the riverside. For the children you have loved, and will continue to love for eternity. Droplets of tears fall onto the water, joining the floating blue petals. “I’m sorry that I cannot find you as you are,” you whisper, a heavy weight lifting from your shoulders. “But I hope that we meet again in this life, whichever names you may take.”

(After all, what love is stronger than one that perseveres across endless lifetimes?)

You carry them in your heart—letting cherished memories remain as such. Otherwise, you’ll be chasing what can never be again. It would be an injustice to their names to try and replicate a shallow imitation of them. They deserve more than that—to be treated like a pawn in Death’s game. They were alive and you will honor them befittingly.

You bid them goodbye and allow the tethers of their soul to untangle from your grasp.

It is the most difficult farewell—and yet, the easiest act of mercy you have ever carried out.

‘THE FLAP OF a butterfly’s wings can evoke a hurricane in the next world over.’

This is a phrase you’ve come to be familiar with over the span of your numerous lives. It has never been truer than the moment you step outside the infirmary to find a group of mismatched Gryffindors waiting for you in the halls. Their heads snap in attention at the sound of your footfalls. In an instant, you’re crowded with their questions and worries—but you find it endearing, the way your friends fuss over you. It’s certainly a welcome change from a past spent by your lonesome in the castle. (You only wonder what makes this life so different from the rest? Why is everything changing without you noticing? What will be taken from you for this deviation in time?)

“How did it go?” James asks, now seventeen and captain of the Quidditch team, wavy tendrils of brown hair swooping over his round glasses. The broad of his chest fills out his red and yellow jumper, crocheted by Lily over the yule break—the five of you, including Peter, Marlene, Mary, and Dorcas, have matching sweaters as well.

Except, you like to tease them with a jest that Lily made yours with the most love—as no one else had the pattern of a capybara with an apple on its head.

“Well enough,” you answer, patting his shoulder with a tired smile that reaches your eyes—for how could one not cheer up in the face of James Fleamont Potter? That would be saying the skies do not brighten in the company of the sun.

By incontestable decree of Poppy Pomfrey, the headstrong matron of the castle, you are required to meet with a mediwitch from St. Mungo’s twice a week, since the start of your fifth-year. Healer Robbins floos to Hogwarts on Wednesdays and Saturdays to check up on your health, physically and mentally. Of course, you don’t divulge anything about your time-traveling dilemmas, lest you end up confined to a hospital ward again for the rest of your years. But you do end up addressing—albeit, begrudgingly—the dried tear stains on your pillowcase every morning, your wayward habit of purposefully missing meals, or your tendency to withdraw yourself from your peers on certain days—which coincidentally happen to be the anniversary dates of your deaths. (If no one would grieve for you, then you’d do it alone.)

Who’d have thought that healing would be much more tortuous than hurting in the quietude of your room?

But one thing is for certain—this is a suffering you will endure with greed and hunger.

For today’s session, Healer Robbins suggests you proactively live in the present more—which is easier said than done.

“Although, she did tell me to stop slouching all the time,” you inform James, scrunching your nose in feigned offense, to which he replies with a hearty chuckle, pulling you into his embrace for a side hug. You burrow your nose in his scent of oakmoss and orris root, a lingering touch of broom polish as well—you feel the warmth of his hand splayed out on your back, and hide your grin into his chest.

“Well, someone had to tell you,” says Regulus Black with a scoff, arms crossed over his chest, yet no genuine heat in his trenchant eyes. He looks pleased that you return unharmed from your meeting with Healer Robbins. Funnily enough, you’ve no doubt that the famed Black temper would emerge should you utter so much as a single word against the mediwitch. (You like her, though. Some days, Robbins lovingly spiels about her clumsy-footed wife—and in return, you talk about your sad feelings. Eurgh. Talk about a fair exchange.)

Among the many divergences in this life, one of them is the unforeseen friendship you have forged with Regulus Arcturus Black. But that story begins with Xenophilius Lovegood, when you stumble upon him in the Forbidden Forest chasing after a family of bowtruckles with a fervid expression and a journal in one hand. You protect him from foul-mouthed Ravenclaws, and he allows you to tag along in his woodland escapades—including a lifelong access to the kitchens beyond curfew. His lack of regard for personal safety is both endearing and maddening, you realize early on. One stormy night, you chase Xenophilius into the forest—he is barefoot, following the Mooncalf hoofprints, as you spit out strings of expletives and mouthfuls of rain. That is where you find Regulus, groaning in pain and carrying a burden that is much too heavy for a fifteen-year-old.

Then, a year later, they decide to give you a heart-attack when you discover that Pandora and Xenophilius have taken Regulus under their wing—figuratively and literally. And, most of all, romantically.

You’re more speechless than Sirius had been when you catch him one fateful evening.

(“Don’t do it, Sirius Black,” you greet, startling the ebony-haired boy as you step out from the shadows. The common room is silent, save for the crackling embers in the fireplace. You stare at the sixteen-year-old with a vehement resolve, your hands curled into fists. If there is one fixed event you had to live through over and over again, it is the news of Severus Snape being nearly mauled to death by a creature so feared and gruesome. You will not let it happen in this life. His eyes flicker with shame amongst a sea of gray, and he knows that you know about his abhorrent idea of a ‘prank.’

You sigh, taking another step forward, hand coming to rest on his tense shoulder. “Let it go, Sirius. It’s not worth it. Bringing someone to harm is never worth it. If he dies, his blood will be on your hands—and you don’t want that, trust me. Be kind to him, Sirius—and even kinder to your brother. The two of you are all each other has.”

“Not true,” Sirius whispers back, almost afraid, his fingers tracing the curve of your cheeks. “I have you, Prongs, Lily, and Rem.”

“And Remus is exactly who we should be with right now,” you reply with a harsh glare. “Not in the common rooms trying to one-up Snape because of some childish rivalry.” With a long sigh and a shake of your head, you push back the dark curls from his face. “The times are cruel, Sirius. We must hold onto what we can.”

His forehead will fall onto your shoulder, and your shirt will be soaked with his tears, but you realize that you will hold him, and all those who’ve captured your heart, until Death himself pries you away from their embrace.)

But, it all pales in comparison to the horror in Sirius’s eyes when you point at Regulus and Peter, as you utter with absolute conviction, “They are my dearest friends.”

While Peter may have been a traitor in another life, a murderer with blood and guilt staining his hands—he is only a skittish boy in this one. A timid student who hides behind the shadows of his friends. You will not let him go down that path again. The Peter Pettigrew you currently know is a mousy little thing, pun intended, who sneaks in a pouch of sugared jelly worms in the library for you and him to enjoy whilst copying off each other’s Arithmancy homework—you two automatically get perfect marks, seeing as you’ve went through school multiple lifetimes already. Truthfully, when you see him tongue-tied before Mary Macdonald, you can’t envision anything else than a lifeless body and a man apologizing for his sins. But it is hardly fair to condemn Peter for the sins of a life he has not lived—and will never live through, if you have anything to say about.

A lion protects their pride, and that is what you shall do. Even if it tears you apart in the process. (Healer Robbins won’t be so pleased about that, though.)

But, perhaps, the most unexpected surprise you’ve received this year is—shockingly—not the news of Dorcas and Marlene dating, and neither is Alice and Frank’s relationship as you have already known that since your first life. It is James, Remus, Lily, and Sirius announcing to the world, with a poorly-written poem for a gnome to recite on Valentine’s Day—courtesy of James Potter himself—that the four of them are in love. In all five lives, that has never happened. Not even Lucius Malfoy can call into question the genuineness of their devotion to one another—and he will not dare to do so in your presence, otherwise he’d find himself at the mercy of you and Narcissa Black.

The four of them are happy as one, and you would die to ensure they stay together until the end of their time. Dark lords be damned.

An even bigger shock comes when their affection for each other unspokenly extends to you. Not in a manner that equals their rambunctious gestures—because the Marauders don’t do anything half-arsed. (And if they fall in love, they fall without fear.) But in a way that is quiet yet intense, ever-so mindful of your walls—with an intention to break them down slowly and only with your utmost permission. They leave you confused with each day that passes. (You fear that they think you pitiful for having not found a significant other.)

(For months now, your heart is set aflutter just by the sound of their voices—if they look at you as a token charity case, it would tear you apart.)

Forehead kisses, hand-holding in the corridors, late nights in the kitchen—tipsy on gillywater and the scathe of each other’s touch. Picnics by the lake, bodies intertwined where no one knows where they begin or end. Ventures in the library where not a soul is paying attention to the passages of their textbooks—hushed giggles turning into unrestrained laughter until Madam Pince rounds the corner and has you all thrown out. (How long has it been since you felt so free?) It’s the little things, like your fingers brushing against theirs as you walk side-by-side, or the soft glint in their eyes as they stare at you from across the room—as though you are a jewel to behold.

It is one thing to know that you are living a life after life—but it is another thing entirely to feel alive when they are nearby.

You are alive when Remus relaxes on the carpeted floor of the Gryffindor tower, and as you lay on the velvet couch, he draws protection runes on your palm with his finger. When he thinks you’re asleep, he presses a kiss to the back of your hand. When the nights are unbearably long and you find a safe haven in his embrace, and he in yours.

You are alive when James cages you in a bear hug after an intense Quidditch match against Slytherin, limp tendrils of hair clinging to his sweat-soaked skin, pressing a series of fervent kisses to the side of your head until his voice is louder than the cries of victory coming from the cheering stands.

(“Lay back down, James Fleamont Potter,” you command tersely as you push him onto the infirmary bed. You narrow your eyes at the bandages wrapped around his arms and neck, as though it’d personally wronged you. “Don’t even think about getting up,” you quickly add when you notice his droopy eyes staring at the doors—where Sirius, Remus, and Peter have gone off for a night of mischief. With an exaggerated sigh, James will roll his eyes before pulling you into the bed with him.)

You are alive when Lily scours the Great Hall in the mornings, hair fussed from sleep and her face bare, and when her eyes finally land on you—none misses the way she lights up blindingly, as if she were a poppy flower emerging from the forest floors and all her petals are curling towards the sun. She bounds over to you with a smile that draws everyone in the room to her. And your heart will have no choice but to swell three times its size when Lily falls asleep mid-meal, snoring with her neck bent and a spoon dangling from her mouth.

You are alive when Sirius dashes across the room to claim you as his Potions partner. He’ll spend the rest of the class with a triumphant grin on his face—sitting on a rickety chair as he lazily admires the view of your backside. And may the Gods help the poor soul who dares to question your work.

(“See that lovely creature over there?” Sirius will say with a dangerous lilt to his voice, pointing to you who’s quite busy squabbling with Severus and Barty Jr. over frog legs. “They will be the greatest apothecary to ever walk the wizarding world—so watch your tongue, mate.”)

They are your limbs, the blood in your veins—the ache in your heart. The fires of your soul. And when they are near, you are finally whole. (Healer Robbins certainly won’t like that, either—but this is a thought you shall selfishly keep for yourself.)

That is why you had come to a decision at the beginning of the year.

“I need to tell you all something,” you say, breaking out of your stupor and finally meeting everyone’s eyes. You meet Sirius’s gaze from where he leans against the wall, his attention on you—and only you. You reckon he notices the way you’re fidgeting nervously with your fingers, gnawing on your lip as you suck in a deep breath. It’s similar to the way he acted when he first told the group about his intentions to run away from his mother. Healer Robbins told you earlier to not dwell on the past—it’s only a thing that time-travelers do, she had said. You suppose there’s no better way to exercise honesty than to tell your loved ones about the secret you have been keeping for the last five lifetimes. You just hope they won’t look at you differently when all is said and done.

Marlene’s gaze worriedly flickers from you and to the infirmary doors. “Has the mediwitch said something?”

You shake your head. “There’s something you should know about me.”

Like a badly-written joke, a pack of lions, a snake, and a badger follows you into an empty classroom. They watch with furrowed brows as you cast a silencing charm over the room. You feel the weight of their curiosity as you take a seat in the center, drumming your nails on your lap as everyone moves to do the same. Remus wordlessly takes the seat next to you, as though being by your side is a natural phenomenon—like the shores never straying from the sand. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze and you return his kindness with a weary smile. You look at the protective circle that’s somehow formed around you. Marlene, Dorcas, Mary, Xenophilius, Regulus, Lily and the Marauders. (Since when did you gain a family like this in such a short time?)

“Where do I even begin?” you ask with a shuddery breath. “It might get a bit intense. . . and sad, and I wouldn’t want to overwhelm you. So it’s okay if you aren’t prepared to take this all in yet. I’d understand.”

“What one of us goes through, we all go through together,” Dorcas vows with her head high. “It’s not the first time we’ve done this, love,” she says, looking at everyone else in the room. “We’re here for you. Always have been. It’s what friends are for, aren’t they? You taught us that. Let us return the favor now.”

You laugh wetly, eyes crinkling with gratitude. “I suppose you’re right.”

There is no time like the present.

And if all goes awry, you probably might just jump out of a window and reset everything. (You wouldn’t, really. This life is precious to you more than anything in the world.)

You close your eyes and draw air into your lungs.

No time like the present.

“When I first died, I was only nineteen.” Despite the pinched expressions and soft gasps, you force the words out. You have to. Otherwise, the tale of your lives will be buried with you forever. This is the first time you have ever said the words aloud. It’s both exhilarating and terrifying. “Death Eaters came to Diagon Alley. It all happened so fast, next thing I knew the killing curse was cast straight at me.”

Regulus flinches, and you offer him an apologetic grimace.

“But that wasn’t the end,” you continue amidst their horrified wide-eyes—feeling Remus tighten his hold on your hand. You chuckle bitterly. “If it had been, maybe it all would’ve hurt less. When I woke up, I was back in the Gryffindor tower.”

“What?” Lily frowns as a shadow is cast over her eyes. “But how?”

“I wish I knew,” you reply with a lodge in your throat, eyes thick with incoming tears. “I really wish I knew. But I woke up back in Hogwarts. I was alive again. Somehow, someway, I was alive. But I was dying.” You shut your eyes, head craning to the ceilings as you swallow back a sob. “Have you felt what it’s like to be burnt alive? That’s what the killing curse is like. And I feel it everyday. When I told the nurses this, I was sent straight to St. Mungo’s. They could not heal what was not found in my body. They called me mad. And there was nothing I could do but believe them. It was like that until I died on an infirmary bed, leather straps around my wrists and legs, forbidden to leave the ward and feel even the sunlight on my face. I was deemed a threat to the others and myself.”

Lily beats you to the punch and cries into her hands—the harrowing sound torn from her throat. Mary, with her own stream of tears, pulls Lily into a hug.

“I-I told you it was ugly,” you say timidly, averting your gaze out of remorse. “We can stop here if you’d like.”

“We’re staying,” says Lily with a guttural edge to her words, eyes quickly growing red.

“Then, in my third life, I died by a. . . Greyback—it was Greyback who killed me.” You intertwine your fingers with Remus’s, who’s gone ashen from the reveal. “It’s alright.”

“The bloody hell do you mean it’s alright?” James bellows, running a hand through his hair as he tears himself from his seat, chest heaving up and down. “None of this is alright! How could you say that? We. . .We should tell Dumbledore or something—or anyone! This shouldn’t have happened to you—it’s just too cruel. . .”

“I know,” you acquiesce with a low hang of your head. “I know.”

Sirius exhales jaggedly. “Was that the last of it? Of your. . . your deaths?”

“No.” You stare at him with regret. “In my fourth life, I died in a Death Eater ambush.”

Xenophilius looks like he might faint any second.

“But in my fifth life, I met some people in the Muggle world,” you explain, remembering kind eyes and wide smiles, a family made in a home far away from magic and wars. “I loved them dearly. When I thought I was being punished by Gods, they gave me peace. They taught me unconditional love and I. . .” You let the tears drip onto your skirt. “I might never find them again, but I’ll never forget them for as long as I live. It was the only death given to me without pain.”

You watch as Lily’s doe-eyes flicker with realization. Three flowers in a watery grave.

“And here I am now. The end,” you say, forcing a crooked grin as you brush the dust off your school robes.

No one moves a muscle for the next few minutes.

You freeze in fear.

(Have you upset them? Do they see only a talking corpse now?)

The room is suffocatingly quiet and you can’t bear to see the pity or judgment in their eyes—so you run out of the room as though Death himself was hot on your heels.

They are right behind you—of course, they are. (Where a part of their soul goes, they will follow.)

“Are you angry?” You quietly ask, wrapping your arms around your waist—afraid to turn around and face them. “I would not blame you if you are.”

“No, not mad. Never.” Lily falls into place by your side, hovering but never stepping past your erected borders. “Maybe at the circumstances. It’s all so unfair. I’m. . . We’re just upset that you had to live through that all alone. To die over and over. I can’t imagine how much it must have hurt each time.”

You nod, swallowing the urge to crumble on the floor. “Then you’ll understand why. . . why you and I—all of us—I can’t be with you.”

Remus frowns, stepping forward to reach out to you. “What?”

“Don’t make this any harder than this has to be, please,” you beg, voice hoarse and hands trembling.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Sirius presses further, a bitter acid to his words. He looks frightened, almost—guilt instantly pools in your stomach.

“Don’t you see? Everything is changing!” You exclaim, grateful that you’ve chosen the abandoned corridors of the castle where no one dares to venture on a sunny day. “I can’t protect you if I don’t know what’s to happen next! I’d rather die again than let any of you get hurt.”

“Then don’t!” shouts James, veins straining against his neck, tears of his own glistening within his hazel eyes. “I would rather die than pretend none of what I feel—what we feel—for you isn’t real.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying, James,” you retort with a sharp scoff. “I’ve no need for a relationship that’s borne from pity or charity.”

“Pity?” Lily echoes incredulously. “You think I’ve confused love for pity? Is that how low you think of us? After all that we’ve been through?”

“Are you stupid?” Sirius bites back.

“Excuse me?” you shriek. “Must I spell it out for you? I’m trying to protect you! I am cursed!”

“Not anymore than I am!” Remus bellows with his fists tightly clenched, his canines laid bare and his cheeks lit ablaze. “If you’re cursed, I must be damned. Why can’t you allow yourself the same grace that you’ve given us?”

You wilt. “I can’t do it, Remus. I just can’t. If I die again, and everything resets—don’t you know how much it will kill me if we start as strangers again?”

Remus encases you in his warmth, an embrace that promises to keep you safe from all harm. (What good of a monster would he be if he can’t rip apart your fears for you?) “Then we will find you in that life. And every life after that. We’ll use a pensieve, or anything at all—just so we don’t forget.”

You melt in his arms, bathing in his scent of caraway and bergamot. You feel Remus placing a kiss on the crown of your head. “All these things I know. All these lives I’ve lived through. What if I ruin everything in this life?”

“Then do it,” Lily provokes stubbornly.

“Ruin me,” James pleads raspingly—a falter in his steps as though he’d get on his knees and beg in an instant just for you to stay with them. “Ruin me as much as you’d like. You would be the most beautiful devastation of my life.”

And so, you choose them.

For there was never any other option from the start.

YOU WAKE UP in the dead of the night, sunken in a mattress that is one too small for five people to fit in, leafy vines and fairy lights wrapped around the posters of the bed. Sometime during the night, Lily had thieved the wool blanket for herself. You rest in between her and Sirius, their snores echoing into your ears as the grasshoppers chirp outside. The potted plants will swing from the ceiling as the evening breeze passes by. (You’ll scold James in the morning for leaving the windows open again.) By your feet, is a fat Tabby cat with one eye named Tuna. (Full name: Tuna Belly.) There are moving pictures on the flower-plastered wall, a testament to the life you share—and the life you have fought hard for. Ruffled pillows are strewn across the carpeted floor. Parchments and notes lay askew on the desk table across the room—Remus’s jittery preparation for his first day next week as Hogwarts’s newest professor.

Remus will catch you wide awake and tuck you into his chest, murmuring, “Rest now. We’ve got an early morning tomorrow for Wormy’s wedding.”

You’ll hum and relinquish your thoughts for the night, holding onto James hand over Remus’s belly. “I love you,” you’ll whisper.

Remus will say it back without hesitation—and you know the others feel exactly the same.

Minutes later, the door will creak open and a tiny shadow will come crawling into the bed, knocking into everyone’s knees and stomach. It’s a little Harry who’s three years old now. He curls under your neck and you will hold him with all the love that six lifetimes can offer and more.

When you close your eyes, it is a comforting darkness that envelopes you.

(Somewhere in a castle beyond valleys and lakes, locked away in the dusty shelves of Dumbledore’s cupboards, sits a broken Time-Turner that finally stops ticking.)

a/n: i wrote the last 2k words like a woman posessed! LMAO. i have to be at training in 2 hours and i haven't prepared yet. tell me what you thought aaaaa!!!! and yes, your sixth life is your last life so u die happily and in peace mwah mwah. might continue this universe with drabbles, idk. if u spot any mistakes.. ignore it for a bit LMAO, i'll proofread this soon.

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my-castles-crumbling · 7 days ago

Text

wall - November 2nd - jegulus - @stag-microfic - word count: 443

In Regulus's family, the word pride was associated with blood status. It meant superiority and bigotry; condescending actions and making others feel inferior. Not once, in all of his years, had his parents ever told him they were proud of him.

Even as he aged, his actions, when deemed appropriate, were simply met with a head nod or a simple 'good.' Affection and praise were not given, and Regulus learned not to seek them out. He was either left alone for meeting expectations, or admonished for being disappointing.

So at age seventeen, when he finally ran away to the safety of the Potters during the winter holidays of his seventh year, he didn't understand why James's parents were so nice.

James, of course, was overjoyed to have him there. Ridiculously thrilled that he'd chosen to stay and, even though Regulus constantly worried about it, not at all upset that Regulus became something of a needy housecat: curling into his boyfriend's lap silently for most of the hours of the day, silently processing his past.

Sirius, too, was teary-eyed with happiness. All too eager to hug him and mend their broken relationship, willing to talk whenever Regulus allowed himself to speak aloud about anything they'd seen in their horrible childhood home.

But he didn't understand Effie and Fleamont. So, months later, when he prepared for his graduation ceremony in June of that year, he expected Sirius and James to be there, obnoxious hooting and hollering. He did not expect to see the Potters in the audience.

"Your parents?" Regulus gasped into James's ear, some of his breath knocked from him as he was pulled into a huge hug after the ceremony ended.

"Of course!" James beamed. "They're so bloody proud of you! Mum cried when they called your name and everything!"

Stunned, Regulus walked over to the waiting adults, blushing lightly. "Hi," he mumbled shyly.

"Regulus! Congratulations!" Fleamont boomed, pulling him into a hug almost as enthusiastic as James's.

"So proud, love!" Effie gushed, hugging him as well. "Now, pose for a picture, we want to put you on the wall in the sitting room right next to Sirius and James!"

And Regulus froze. Never before, in his seventeen years of life, had his parents ever asked for this. A stuffy, commissioned portrait, sure. But a picture? Blinking, he tilted his head to the side. "Me? I'm not-"

But it was too late. James and Sirius put an arm around either side of him, directing him to smile at the magical camera.

"You're amazing, love," James whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "And we're so glad you're here."

Blinking, Regulus could only smile.

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mistiell · 1 year ago

Note

Ok so, maybe you knew this already or maybe not, but... In the game, if you hover over Astarion's original outfit it says that it looks rather old and mended over several times. The running theory is that he's been reparing his own clothes (explains the cheeky embroidery in his underwear) , since we damn well know that Cazador would not give two hoots about it, and that poor baby has been running around in a 200 year old shirt and probably doesn't have much clothes with him. I just want something fluffy... maybe the reader always let's him have first dibs on whatever they find or even gets him new clothes. I just imagine him finding a brand new shirt on his tent that is soft and comfortable and I just want to weep in a corner 🥺

Can you help a sister out?

Here you are <33 (also, I'm so sorry this took so long lol) WC: 1.3k Also CW for potential spoilers

---

Astarion is slow to wake this morning, fully intending to lay with you in his tent as long as you’ll allow. Rolling over with his eyes still closed, he reaches to hook his arm around your waist only to grasp at nothing but air.

He’s certainly awake now.

It’s unusual to find you missing given he’s usually the first to wake between the two of you; two hundred years of living in The Underdark and only ever surfacing at night having apparently made him a little sensitive to light.

Sitting up and shifting onto his knees, he reaches to pull the tent flap back and peer out at the campfire. A small gust of the cool morning air sweeps over his bare torso, raising goosebumps over the skin of his arms despite the fact that he’s not really bothered by the cold. That little spike of anxiety dulls when he finds you haven’t strayed far; standing maybe fifteen feet away in conversation with Karlach.

As if you can sense him, you glance over and light up when you spot him peeking out of the tent, excusing yourself from the tiefling. He expects you to come straight over, but instead, you turn to grab a basket he hadn’t seen first.

He shuffles back to let you come inside, flushing a bit when you brush a few rogue curls from his face and bend to peck his hairline, “Good morning, handsome.”

“I- Good morning.” Is all he manages, still tired and a little stunned. Shifting off of his knees to sit cross-legged, he peers into the basket as you set it down in front of him and cocks a brow, “What’s this?”

“Clothes.”

“Well yes, I can see that, darling.” He sasses and you chortle, “But why have you brought me a basket of clothes?”

“I found it the last time we left camp.” He remembers that. You’d gone out with Karlach, Gale and Lae’zel and came back bloodied and bruised. He’d been so focused on getting you patched up that he hadn’t even thought of asking about what you might have found.

You clear your throat and glance away, smiling sheepishly, “I picked out some things I thought you’d like, but then I thought you might prefer to have a look through yourself, so,” You shrug and jerk your nose at the basket, “I brought you all of it.”

His heart would be stuttering in his chest if it could. Reaching into the pile, he thumbs over a few of the garments, feeling the different fabrics and looking over all the different colours. It’s been centuries since he’s had a choice in what to wear. Sure, he’s picked up some things throughout your travels but never so much all at once. It’s a little overwhelming, having all this to pick through after so long.

Taking hold of the basket, he pushes it closer to you, “Show me what you picked out first.”

“Oh,” Your heart rate spikes, and he smiles as you stutter out, “Are- Are you sure? I’m not sure you’d actually like what I picked out. That’s one of the reasons I brought you the whole basket.”

He scoffs and waves off the thought, “Nonsense. You could hand me the most distasteful outfit in all of Faerûn and I’d at least try it on for you.”

“Really?” “Of course I would.” He realises the implications of what he’s just said and tries to play off the sentiment with a puckish grin, gesturing towards himself, “It’s hard to not look good in something when you’re this beautiful.”

You laugh, eyes squinting shut with the force of your smile. “Yes, you truly are dashing, my love.”

“Stating the obvious, but I can’t complain,” You roll your eyes at him as he taps the sides of the basket, “Now, are you going to show me what you picked out? Or are you just going to sit here sing my praises? Personally, I’d be fine either way.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll get on with it,” Reaching into the clothes, your laughter tapers off as you glance back up at him timidly one last time, “But if you don’t like something, tell me, okay?”

He lays his palm flat against his sternum, all dramatics as he grins, “Cross my heart and hope to,” He pauses, before chuckling, “Well, die again, I suppose.”

He laughs when you shoot him a glare with no real malice behind it and tut disapprovingly.

He watches in quiet curiosity as you pull out a few items, explaining why you thought he’d like them as you go. Your reasons range from colours and patterns to embroidery and necklines, all of which are shockingly on par with his tastes. It appears you know him better than he thought you did.

“That’s about it, I think.” Your brows furrow in a way that is entirely too cute – especially for someone he’s watched eviscerate hoards of goblins – before you perk up with an excited gasp, “Oh! I almost forgot!”

Turning to look this way and that, you make a little sound of satisfaction when your gaze lands on your pack. Your shirt rides up a bit when you twist onto your knees to reach for it, and he stifles the urge to run his hand over the sliver skin it exposes. You rummage through a few pockets before finding what you’re looking for, returning to kneel in front of him with something hidden in your hand.

“Close your eyes.” You urge, and he does as you’ve asked.

“Ooh, saved the best for last, have you?” He grins, holding out his hands before you even ask.

You chuckle, sounding a little nervous, “Hopefully.”

He hears the tinkling of metal and nearly jumps when your hand makes contact with his, one cradling the backs of his while the other presses something small and rough into his palm.

“Open.” He can hear the smile in your voice as you say it.

On your command, he opens his eyes to find you’ve given him a necklace. The pendent is a little piece of a raw, orange crystal encircled by dainty gold rods that are bent to resemble branches.

“This is... beautiful.” He breathes, turning it over in his hand to admire the jagged edges, “What kind of crystal is it?”

“Sunstone.” He looks up at you then, finding a shy smile hung on your lips, “I know it’s a little on the nose but...,” You worry your bottom lip for a moment, clearly a little hesitant to continue, “I know you’re worried about... what’ll happen once the tadpoles are removed. So, I wanted to get you something just in case. It’s not the same thing, obviously, but I thought this way you can still figuratively have a little piece of the sun if,” Cutting yourself off, you glance away for a moment, “Well, if things don’t go the way we hope.”

He stares at you for a long moment, entirely unsure of what to say. He doesn’t think there’s anything he could say to convey just how much the gesture means to him.

Setting the necklace on his pillow, he draws you into his arms and weaves them tight around your waist. He pulls you to him so suddenly that your knees bump his shins, but you don’t seem to mind as you hook your arms around the back of his neck. His eyes burn as he murmurs against the side of your neck, “I love you.”

You card your fingers through his hair and he shudders, leaning further into you as you dot a few sweet kisses along the length of his shoulder.

“I love you too.” Your words are muddled as they’re mumbled into his skin, “More than you know.”

Maybe he didn’t before, but he thinks he has an idea now. You love him enough that you gave him his own little chunk of the sun. Even if things don’t pan out they way he hopes they will, he doesn’t think he’ll need the necklace – however pretty it may be.

He’s already got his bit of the sun wrapped up tight in his arms.

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x mc #astarion bg3 #astarion x you #astarion x tav #astarion x gn reader #bg3

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sytoran · 1 year ago

Text

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟎𝟎𝟓 — 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀

kinktober day 005 | mermaid!wanda x pirate!reader

as captain of a notorious gang of pirates, you've got a reputation of steel, but when there's a pretty little mermaid presenting herself for you, there's no chance in hell you're not saying yes.

cont. sweet talk, begging, humiliation, overstimulation word count. 2178

kinktober masterlist || main masterlist

“Righto, fellas, so we got sixty ducats – twenty doubloons, is it?” Bucky asks lackadaisically, tossing gold coins up and down with his good hand.

A loud guffaw surrounds the group of you huddled around the campfire. You shake your head with a toothy grin at your right-hand man’s idiocy. Even the least educated pirates in your gang knew what sixty divided by two was.

You reach over and knock the side of Bucky’s head with your bloodied knuckles. “That brain cavity wouldn’t make a drinkin’ cup for a canary, buddy.”

“Aw, kiss my boot, ya fuckin’ cunt-licker,” the dark-haired man grumbles in response, still playing with his shiny gold coins. He playfully punches your arm his prosthetic one.

In record timing, you whip out your dagger from your cow-skin belt and pierce the hole in Bucky’s coin midair, pinning the coin to the nearest tree with a deadly aim.

“Cunt-licker is right,” you say smugly, going to ruffle Bucky’s already shaggy hair. The impressed hoots and jeering taunts at your dagger-throwing skills are all good-hearted, as is the general atmosphere within your gang.

The lot of you were specialists in your craft, the most formidable and deadly in the piracy industry. Five years ago, you had claimed the largest plot of land that was the very island you lived on with your mates. Tu’Au was surrounded by the freshest of ocean water and the most gorgeous of views.

There was also a legend of the mystical mermaids that lived beneath Tu’Au, but you didn’t believe any of that bosh and bullshit about supernatural creatures. You’d believe it when you saw one with your very own eyes.

“Yall’ finish up counting our loot for the day, I’m gonna take a walk by the shore,” you say, adjusting the piece of tobacco between your lips and then dusting off your pants. “Don’t let Buck do the counting.”

“Got it, boss,” Steve answers promptly, ever the loyal one. Bucky rolls his eyes.

Loveable idiots, you think, tossing your hat to the side. Strolling away from the main camp, you finally take a deep inhale of that tobacco, smoke trailing off into the orange sunset.

As you walk along the shore, bare feet on the wet sand, you look up and close your eyes. It was times like these that were simple, times like these that you never wanted to end—

“I said, get away from me! Please, just leave me alone!”

A feminine, desperate cry from the distant ocean has you blinking open your eyes in sudden alertness, darting to the source of the sound.

From a short distance to shore, there is chaos occurring within the waters. What seems to be a muscular, bare-chested man is swimming inhumanly fast towards a significantly smaller-sized woman with long, cascading hair.

Though both of them certainly spoke like regular humans, there was a certain way about their moving in the waters and tremendous presence that had you second-guessing yourself.

“Get back here, you good for nothin’! You’ll make up your mind when I fuckin’ want you to!”

He’s yelling foul words at her, catching up to her already, clearly incredibly unpleased. Suddenly, the man dives down, and you catch sight of a shimmering blue tail above the waters before it disappears.

Hang on a damn moment. Merfolk are real?

But before your brain can process what you truly just saw, the merman reemerges much closer to the mermaid, massive gold spear in a vice grip.

As if a gear was kicked into motion, you sprint towards the water. Kicking up water as you run through the shallow part of the ocean, you stumble but never slow down, eyes set on the target. It’s prey-or-predator right now, either conquer the enemy or die trying.

The said target has got the mermaid in his massive arms, wrapping around her torso and forcefully dragging her back into the deep waters. Her strangled cries get muffled by the water, cries and pleas ringing in your ears.

Just before you dive into the water, your hand flies to that trusty weapon holster, and a sharp dagger flies at the merman with an air-cutting, brutal force. “Y/N bullseye L/N,” you remember Bucky saying with a stupid grin on his face. “Never misses a shot.”

A millisecond before your plunge into the ocean, the stunning blue eyes of the mermaid meet yours, and you lose all the air in your lungs.

You’ve never seen anything like it, never laid your eyes upon such a breathtaking beauty before. Blue eyes deeper than the depths of the ocean, sparkling more than the brightest of glimmering stars,

An agonized cry from the merman hauls you out of your trance. The dagger struck him directly in the right eye, just as expected, just as you had calculated. Opaque red blood comes out in spurts, and his hands release the mermaid and go to clutch at his eye.

Your arms glide in the water, smooth and cutting, bringing you closer to the struggling pair.

Seizing the moment of the merman’s distractedness, you wrap your arms around the mermaid. You immediately notice the way she sinks into your embrace, head drooping to lean against your chest as you struggle to move through the water.

You really try to not think too hard about the lithe body in your arms. It was proving to be an incredibly difficult task.

After your hell of an escapade, you have the mermaid girl propped up against the wet rocks. It takes a while for you to notice that you’re on all fours above her, panting heavily with wide eyes and a drenched white shirt.

When you do realise it, though, you get off her immediately, clearing your throat awkwardly. So much for being a scary pirate.

“You alright?” you ask instead, fiddling with the collar of your white shirt. It had gotten drenched while you were in the water, along with all your clothes and your hair.

You were having a hard time trying to avoid looking at her chest since it was literally in front of you.

“You saved me,” the mermaid finally speaks, eyelashes wet with drops of water, her voice softer and sweeter than you could ever have imagined. You get a bit lost in the delicacy of her red lips as she stares back at you.

“Right,” you answer, your throat suddenly dry.

“What is your name, human?” the mermaid asks, hand going to stroke at the curvature of your jawline that was dotted with droplets of water. The touch was honey-like.

“Y/N. How ‘bout you?”

“Wanda.”

“That’s a pretty name.”

“Prettier than me?”

“No,” you answer a little too quickly, voice a little hoarser than before. Your eyes dart around to focus on anything but the ethereal mermaid before you, but soon they land on a wound at her tail.

“Oh, shucks, you’re bleeding. I’ll go get bandages an’ stuff from base,” you say, looking at the nasty wound on the tip of Wanda’s tail, incarnadine blood leaking out of it.

“Don’t go,” the mermaid suddenly says, and there’s this little begging lilt to her voice that messes up your brain chemistry. “I mean, mermaids have healing properties, so you don’t have to go,” she mumbles, looking away with her cheeks flushed. Cute.

“That’s cool,” you answer, leaning back to let your hands run over the tip of her tail. Just like she said, the wound heals itself, slowly stitching back that scaly-smooth skin with a magical touch.

You give her tail a long stroke, running your fingers through the little scales that decorate this new thing you’d like to explore.

“Hng,” a little whimper suddenly escapes from the mermaid, and the both of you freeze. It’s a fine line between comedy and erotica.

You rub at her tail again, harder this time, and Wanda lets out a louder moan.

You start massaging her tail, hands spreading out over the sensitive area, kneading gently. Wanda’s face is absolutely flushed, eyes screwed shut in pleasure, the prettiest thing you’d ever seen.

“Kiss me?” she asks, breathlessly, and you don’t have to be told twice.

Warm mouths meet in an inferno of lust, Wanda’s head tilting up to meet yours, your head tilting down to chase hers. The moment you taste the sweetness of her lips, a trigger is flicked inside of your brain, and your body kicks it into overdrive.

Your hands tug off the seashell bra with unbridled haste, flinging it behind you without a care in the world. Wanda squeaks against your lips at your sudden boldness, hands going to encircle the back of your neck.

But that’s before you’re grabbing both her wrists with one hand and pinning it above her head against the wet rock. She moans as your lips make their way down the column of her porcelain, leaving red hickeys into the pale canvas like it was a work of art.

It was true, to a certain extent, because this mermaid before you was a work of art: brown hair splayed onto the wet rock like something out of a Renaissance painting, water droplets across her eyelids, breathing and panting your name, hips moving helplessly under your stronger body, trying to chase a fraction of the pleasure that you’re dangling out of reach.

Your mouth latches on to her supple breasts with eagerness, lips wrapping around her hardened bud. Wanda lets out a shriek when you suck on it, hard. As a mermaid, the sensations and emotions that they felt were many times that of a human, and you were making it no easier for her.

“N-Need you,” Wanda pleads, when you flick at her other pretty pink nipple, admiring how her body arches along with the sensation.

“Need me where?” you ask, a lust-coated rasp in your voice, edged with a tone of teasing that has Wanda’s head spinning.

You finally release her hands, and Wanda grabs your right hand with certainty, sliding it down her shuddering body and scaled tail to where a pussy would be.

Instead, your fingertips find a hot, wet, slit.

“Fuck,” you growl into Wanda’s skin, lost in the sheer thoughts of how much you could ruin her.

“Please?” Wanda begs again, giving you the biggest doe eyes she could. You didn’t need any convincing, anyway.

“All this for me?” You ask, ruthlessly plunging two fingers into her dripping slit. It’s warm and wet, and so tight. Your fingers explore, straightening out then curling in, going in big circles then in smaller ones.

All through your unabashed exploration of Wanda’s cunt, the pretty little mermaid is left completely at your mercy. She’s writhing, never been touched like this before.

“S’ too, too much,” she babbles incoherently when you slide a third finger in, thrusting in and out of her gorgeous little cunt like it’d be the last time you’d get to do this. Because in all honesty, it might be.

That thought alone spurs you on to go even faster, playing with Wanda’s body like a fiddle, making all the right noises with the right fingerings.

“Y/N,” she cries, long fingernails ripping the back of your vest to shreds. You don’t give a damn about it.

Turns out, mermaids have several sweet spots, because you’re finding all of them and breaking her with it.

“Gonna cum already?” you ask, “Needy little thing, hm? Couldn’t even wait five minutes?” Wanda tries to shake her head, but your other hand is stroking the length of her tail.

“Come f’me, sweet thing.”

Those words send her over the edge, snapping the knot that had been building in her belly.

“Y/N!” Wanda screams, a melodious tune, hands clawing at the edges of the rocks, then the back of your neck, all while her head is thrown back. Her tail is flapping in a state of no control, lost in the pleasure you’re feeding her.

Acknowledging the delicious tightening of Wanda’s mermaid slit around your three fingers, you opt to instead go at an even faster pace, fingers thrusting deeper into her body, because you wanted every inch of it.

“Y/N,” Wanda sobs, because she sees stars. Those brilliant blue eyes getting teary with your relentless pace. The tears escape the corners of her eyes and cascade down her cheeks like a waterfall.

It’s a sight you’d imprint into your memory forever, when Wanda’s ocean blue eyes roll into the back of her head and her little mermaid body goes limp in your arms.

You admire her for many moments, at how she had made you fuck her silly, at how she was yours now.

—

“Why’re you smilin’ like a baked possum?” Bucky asks you once you head back to camp. It’s early the next day, still dark out in the wide seas. He’s sprawled out on a wide hammock, sharpening a knife. Steve is cuddled into his chest.

Your lips curve into a stupidly smug smirk. “Not that you would know a dime about pussy, but remember what you said about cunt-lickers?”

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transalphabf · 4 months ago

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1000th Post - My Prince

Your kingdom had been at battle for ten years now, starting when you were but a child, you didn't know why or how it started, but the war with the neighbouring kingdom had been long and bloody. The enemy had cut swathes of land apart until they were finally at your door.

A general entered the throne room, where you stood as the last member of the royal family left in the kingdom. Your mother had fled to her home nation, your father cut down in battle, sisters had gone with marriages elsewhere or with your mother.

You, the crown prince, remained. You held your head high as you were surrounded by the filthy animals that had taken your land.

These wolf warriors, as they were known in their own kingdom, with their foul Lupine Lord were not justified in what they did, in battling your people over false claims.

You snarled and snapped when they came too close, but otherwise didn't move. You were their captive already, they had no right to touch you.

Then, their King entered. They all fell onto one knee as he swept into the room.

His dark eyes drank you in, and he approached you without fear, markings along his face indicative of his fur markings when he transformed. It was an unsightly thought, that a man could shift his skin into that of an animal's.

He showed no fear as he drew close to you, taking hold of your face in one of his large, calloused hands. You thrashed and tried to hit him, but he took hold of your hand when you tried to strike him.

"You will be my bride, and we will end this war now. No more blood need be shed because your people are pelt hunters." He commanded. You felt your blood drain from your face. Forced marriage? Yes, it would save your people, but you didn't want to be his bed warmer...

He growled lowly, and you felt yourself whine in response, his hand tightening around your throat.

"We will be married now, in the way of my people, meaning you'll be bound to me. We will have a public ceremony later." He instructed, and the warriors and generals around you whistled and hooted in their lewd, filthy joy as their king pushed you towards the throne, your father's throne, the throne that would have been yours.

They'd all watch as he took your virginity right there. You kicked as he tugged at your trousers, exposing your cunt to the cool air of the room.

The watchers howled with excitement. The king grinned wolfishly, not having known you were able to bear his children. He wouldn't even need to make the effort to prep you. You thrashed in his grip as he gripped your hair and bent you over the arm of the throne, your hands gripping at the other arm to prevent your face being smashed against the wood as he began to rub at your cocklet, the sensation of pleasure making you gasp and arch up instinctively, not expecting such a feeling to be caused by someone else. It felt different to when you rubbed yourself in the darkest hours of the night.

He then brushed something large and hot against your thigh, smearing wetness against you as you began to fight again.

Then, his thick, hot cockhead pressed into your untouched cunt, sheathing every last inch into you without waiting for your body to adjust to the invasion. You cried out as the tip kissed something deep inside of you, and as the king began to move inside of you, leaning down to huff against your throat.

"You're so fucking tight, my prince. You're going to bear me a whole litter of pups, and you're going to love it. I can tell already, your cunt is so desperate that you're dripping with need already." He taunted, before humping into you roughly, the soldiers jeering, some of them rubbing their cocks as they watched you.

The sounds being forced out of your slutty body embarrassed you, because you sounded so desperate for the way the king was using you. He was pressing against everything inside of you, and your traitorous body was loving it. You could feel something building inside of you as he continued drilling you.

Something began to swell at the base of his cock when it pressed into your cunt. Your eyes went wide as you realised the rumours that their cocks were wolfish... were entirely true. And you were going to hang off of his knot like a common bitch.

You began to fight again, trying to break free, which just made him moan and growl against you, and his cock throb and feel bigger as he pounded you harder.

"That's it, fight back, makes you go so tight on my cock." He taunted, before something inside of you gave way, and your whole body tightened up as you came on his thick, invading cock, which in turn caused his knot to be pressed deep inside of you and swell up, locking his cock inside of you, the tip pressed against something deep within - your cervix - as he began to pump you full of his thick, hot cum, spurt after spurt of his potent seed ensuring that you'd bear his heirs.

The kingdom was taken.

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charnelhouse · 2 years ago

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boxed cake

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader Wordcount: 1.7k Warnings: fluff. mentions of smut. ghost is a legit simp, but has had it up to here. barf. Summary: Things don't go as planned. Simon 'Ghost' Riley Masterlist

Red's birthday doesn’t go as planned. Ghost is used to order. He’s used to predicted results and should the path shift, he will accommodate. He can work with outliers, delays, and hostiles poking up in places they shouldn't. He has twenty-five back-up plans. Fail-safes.

She just gets so bloody drunk.

The blame lies fully with Soap and Gaz. While Ghost is distracted with finishing reports, the two of them drag her to some pub and feed her shots until she’s texting him:

c’m4ere boob

bobe

fuc no meant babe*

When he calls, her voice is syrupy with alcohol. She’s slurring her words, whimpering and begging for him to come to her.

It’s my birthday, Ghost.

Yes. He knows. He had a plan. He had things he wanted to do for her before those two fucking cunts had snatched her from the base.

I want you.

Simon.

She’s got that familiar desperation rushing beneath her tongue. He knows it well because it’s the same tone she uses when she’s pleading for him to finish her, let her come, make me come, i don’t fucking care, Simon, please.

But now she’s begging for him in public and he can hear Gaz and Soap drunkenly hooting and hollering in the background like a couple of fucks.

“Stay there,” he orders as he shoves away from his desk, boots knocking against the metal.

He’s irritated, striding down the hallway and shouldering past the newest recruits who give him a wide berth. The muscles in his shoulders bunch up as he rolls his neck. He chews his tongue until it throbs.

The day has changed. He must adapt.

He doesn’t understand why he feels so out of his element trying to do something that doesn’t involve bloodshed.

***

When he storms into the pub, the atmosphere is already clouded with celebration. The TVs blare. String-lights spilling from wood beams. The clack of billiard balls. The yeasty scent of beer and cigarettes. Cherries.

Price is leaning against the bar, grinning at something Red's said before his gaze falls on Ghost. Immediately, his expression tightens, his lips slanting to a grimace.

Then, Gaz notices him, followed by Soap.

"Fuck me," Gaz mouths as he whips the vodka bottle behind his back.

The both of them sport hangdog faces as they slink closer to Price. Soap's skin is visibly flushed as he squints at Ghost. There's no doubt that Johnny is already pissed.

“Their fault,” Price loudly declares, gesturing to the other two. “Not mine.”

Red frowns before spinning around on her stool. “Whose fault- Ghost!”

It’s cute. She’s glassy-eyed, her lips are swollen from too many drinks, but everything brightens when she sees him. His chest expands at the sight, his fists uncurling as he relaxes. She throws her arms open and completely topples off the back of the stool.

***

Red groans as Ghost holds the ice pack to the crown of her head. There’s a slight lump, but he can’t tell if her symptoms are from intoxication or a concussion.

“Red! Red!” Soap interjects, shouldering Ghost. “Follow my finger, lass.”

“That’s three fingers, you daft cunt,” Ghost growls. “I can’t believe you didn’t catch her.”

“She was too far away! Here, bonnie Red, my sweet ole’ Fox, follow my -”

“Johnny,” Ghost utters in a voice so chilling that it fogs the air.

Soap straightens, jerking his head apologetically before shoving a finger in front of Red’s face.

She grimaces, but follows the movement.

“How’s your vision?” Ghost asks.

“Meh.”

“I need more than that, kid.”

“It’s fine,” she groans. “No dizziness. Just hurts.”

“We know how to solve that, eh?” Gaz slides a foamy glass of beer down the bar top. She grins, plucking it daintily before downing half.

Ghost blinks, unsure how she’d managed to do that so quickly. He shoots Gaz a death glare, but the man is oblivious, already sauntering toward the center of the room to chat up some girls.

“Here, lass,” Soap coaxes. “You can have this one, too.”

Lightning fast, Ghost snatches the bottle from Soap’s outstretched hand and Red makes a low, frustrated noise.

“He’s a stick in the mud,” she accuses as she prods him in the chest. Her skin is hot to the touch, sweltering from too much liquor, but he can smell her. The eucalyptus scent of her hand lotion. Grapefruit. A bit of leather. She leans into him, pressing her cheek to the place she’d just poked and sighs. “But he’s really not, actually, basically.” She pauses and peeks up at him through her lashes. He inhales sharply, focusing on the wet slip of her tongue over her lower lip. “He’s not at all,” she murmurs. “Definitely, not in bed-”

“We're done!” Ghost announces before dropping the pack of ice and lifting her off the bar stool and into his arms. She goes easily, a cloth doll without its stuffing. He’d toss her over his shoulder, but the head wound is worrisome.

Price slaps him on the back. “Get her home, then.”

“Affirmative,” he replies as he carries her bridal style out of the bar. Soap hollers after them, shouts something about stopping by later and Ghost flips him off.

Outside, it’s cool and clear. The air tastes good enough to drink. The pub was too overwhelming, noisy and viscous and not at all what he had in mind for tonight - for her. But then again, she’s not him. She’s charming and ruthless and being in her proximity is akin to having the midday sun beat down on his bare face. She's popular. She should party.

He lowers his chin, studying her as he takes them both back to base. She looks slightly ill. Definitely piss drunk.

Still beautiful, though.

Truthfully, she could be covered in blood and gristle, and he'd find himself speechless.

She swallows, gaze sliding sluggishly up at him before covering her eyes with her hand.

“Fuck,” she mutters.

“What is it?”

“I-I think I’m going to be sick.”

***

He strokes her back as she wretches over the toilet. He’s sitting against the wall, legs spread with her kneeling between them. Her bathroom is so tiny that he takes up half of it. He can press the bottoms of his boots against the wall.

“Ughhhhhhhhh...”

She’s trembling, the muscles in her back spasming as she braces herself over the rim and vomits again.

“Just get it out,” he urges softly as he palms her waist. Her shirt is crumpled in the shower, her jeans somewhere else.

“Kill,” she shudders, fingers tightening on the toilet seat before she swallows. “Soap.”

“Was already planning on it, Duchess,” he assures her as she crumples into his chest. He wraps his arms around her, hunching his head to drag his bare cheek against her own. His mask is gone, secured in a drawer, now that they’re in the privacy of her room. She smells a little sour, her skin salty with sweat, but he kind of loves it. He loves when she’s dirty, slick under her knees, between her thighs. He loves her vulnerable and wanting his comfort.

After a nightmare. After a really horrendous mission. After he gets hurt, after she does.

She’ll reach for him in the dark. Simon. Please.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “This is so gross.”

He shrugs before lowering his head and claiming her lips in a fierce kiss. Surprised, she freezes and he slips his tongue behind her teeth, stroking it against the roof of her mouth. She finally yelps, pushing him away and he chuckles. “I’ve had my fingers in your artery before, darling. I don’t care about this.”

“You’re a freak,” she mumbles as she buries her nose into his neck. His stubble chafes her forehead, audibly rasps against her softness. She reaches up and tugs on a lock of his hair and he hums in contentment.

They remain that way for a long time. Her body curled in his lap, fingers threaded together, their hearts thumping at the same, even pace. With his eyes, he traces characters in the cracked tiles of the floor. He sketches her name. He finds her mouthwash when she complains and sweat pants.

“I have something for you,” he reveals, lips a breath from the lump in her skull from falling.

“Your dick?” she replies sleepily, which only makes all of his blood rush downward. He gets hard, twitches in his jeans and she giggles. “Definitely your dick.”

“No,” he retorts as he snags his arm under her knees and lifts her up. “That’s for later, missy.” He lowers his mouth to her ear. “If you’re even awake to enjoy it.”

She huffs. “I am very awake. Definitely ready. We should - ow-”

He plops her on the shitty, threadbare couch before heading to her fridge. Seeing as she’d only had a hot plate, Ghost had to sneak into the barracks kitchen at 3 am. He didn’t need the recruits watching him attempt this.

“Ugh,” she moans from the couch. “I shouldn’t have had that second beer.”

He shakes his head as he slips his lighter from his pocket.

“I don’t think I can be on top,” she continues. “Definitely a potential hazard, but I can lie-”

She abruptly shuts her mouth when she sees him, her pretty eyes widening. He holds the aluminum pan out like a bomb. The frosting is haphazardly spread across the top. “Happy Birthday” is written in pink icing, the scrawled letters similar to spider legs. He’d managed to find a single candle to place at the center.

He shuffles toward her, before crouching low so that she can read it. “It’s just from a box,” he explains. “I thought it might be dangerous if I tried to do it from scratch.”

She blinks at the cake and then up at him, her mouth parting. “You can make a wish,” he offers lamely and she nods, shutting her eyes, licking her lips and then blowing out the candle.

Finally, she takes the cake from his hands and carefully places it on the shitty wooden coffee table. She turns back to him before grasping the hinges of his jaw and pulling him forward. He doesn’t expect it, his hand flies to the edge of the couch to brace his weight, his other landing beside her hip and sinking into the cushions.

“Easy,” he warns, but she doesn’t seem to care. She holds his face and kisses him tenderly, sweet and insistent. Their lips move together, savoring the other and when he moves his head, she follows so he can deepen it. It’s indulgent. More intimate than anything else they’ve ever done.

He draws away to stare at her, caressing her cheek with his thumb. “Is it alright?”

The cake.

Him.

This.

She grins - her white teeth splitting her face in two. He’s never seen her smile like that, glimmer like something out of the sky. Galaxies. The sun. It reminds him of Afghanistan and when they’d found a moment to themselves. It had been when everything between them was new and strange. She clung to him in the desert, tangled herself around his body after he’d been inside her. She’d been damp and sensitive between her legs and he’d traced the seam of sex, teased it until she flinched.

“No more,” she’d pleaded; he’d sat up because he thought she was done, sated, full of him and ready to quit.

“Wait.”

“For what?”

“Stay.”

And they’d counted stars.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #john soap mactavish #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod mw22 #cod fanfiction #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon riley

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justsomerandomfanfic · 2 years ago

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Exhausted - John Wick X Female (Wife) Reader - ft. Boy

Title: Exhausted

John Wick X Female (Wife) Reader - ft. Boy

Additional Characters: Boy the best Boi

Requested by @fujinswife!

WC: 1,713

Warnings: Hitman stuff mentioned, killing people insinuated, wounds mentioned, bullet grazes mentioned, blood, one curse word, Reader takes care of John after a long day sort of cute fluff, massages cause John deserves them, Donald Glover mentioned), slight angst like the tiniest of angst, and fluff

You watched the clock on the wall, sitting on your favorite chair with a book in your hands. Though you had originally been enraptured with the new romantic drama you bought at Barnes And Noble, your mind began to wander and your eyes landed on the clock on the wall; tick, tock, tick, tock. It was almost ten, pretty late for you, but not for your husband. While you would probably be in bed by now, snuggled up with Boy, and cuddled in the arms of your beloved, your husband, John was out on the job.

Being a Hitman was a hard and stressful job, going out to find your hit and, in better words, eliminate them. It was taxing on the body and mind, and it was for you also at times. You always became overwhelmingly worried whenever you found John gone from bed and a Post-It note on the fridge. The words, 'going to the store' in black ink. You knew by now that that was code, code for 'I'm going to go and fight people and possibly come home with a wound or two.'

Now you didn't mind taking care of your John. Cleaning his bloody knuckles and bullet grazes helped you rationalize with your brain that your Johnny was alive and with you. That he came back, somewhat safe, but he was there with you in the flesh. Though you had to admit, the blood on your hands after helping your husband haunted you and made your skin crawl. But no matter how many times John tried to let him clean his own wounds, knowing how much you hated the sight of his blood, you'd stop him. You didn't think your husband was a burden, you were beyond willing to take care of him. You'd do anything to make sure he was alright.

As your gaze broke from the clock, you tried to re-read the page that you were on, glancing up when you heard the pitter-patter of clawed paws, watching with a smile as Boy entered the room, making his way over to you and sitting at your feet. You hummed, leaning down and past your book to rub Boy's head, his eyes closing in bliss as you scratched behind his ears. You hummed again, leaning back against the back of your chair, and looking at the front door. "I bet," You began, glancing at Boy with a smile, "He'll be home in ten minutes." You finished before tilting your own head. "When do you think Dad will be home? Hmm? Soon, right?" You asked Boy, who only whined a bit before laying his head on his front paws, making you sigh, nodding knowingly. "Yeah, another thirty. You're right."

For the next forty-five minutes, you sat and read, periodically making sure Boy was alright or taking a bathroom break. The room around you was dim, only a few lamps lighting it as you listened to the owl occasionally hoot outside, and the constant sound of crickets chirping outside in the garden. The book in your hands was as anticlimactic as you thought it would be from the first sentence. You regretted giving it a chance, really. You thought it was going to be a heartfelt book, with drama but a happy ending, like Pride And Prejudice or something, but you felt extremely underwhelmed when the main character, Maryanne, ended up marrying Lord Leo after her childhood friend Steven confessed to her. After all they've been through!? You thought as you stared blankly at the page. Steven sacrificed everything for you, and this Lord Leo had been caught cheating on you with your cousin Claire! You couldn't find it in yourself to even finish the last two pages, tasting a sourness in your mouth.

"Should've called off the damn wedding." You muttered, earning a head raise from Boy as you shut the book and sat it aside, before you could say anything more to Boy, you watched as he looked over at the door suddenly, his tail wagging, and you smiled, staring at the door yourself as you felt your heart hammer in your chest. John was home. You watched as you heard the keys jingle in his hands before you jumped out of the chair and slid across the hardwood floor with your socks, almost hitting the door as you looked out the peephole just in case before hastily opening it. John stood there, blood on his bottom lip, hands, and dotting the collar of his white suit shirt, and yet, he still gave you a smile.

Entering, you closed the door behind him, instantly taking any weapons from him to put away in that safe of his, before rushing back to find him standing where you left him, shoulders slightly slouched as he stared down at Boy at his feet, still fiercely wagging his tail. Breaking their stare down, you took John's hand in yours, leading him to the bathroom. As John sat on the lid of the toilet, you grabbed the first-aid kit from under the sink, and for the next half-and-hour, you cleaned any and all his wounds. It was silent as you worked, your tongue sticking out slightly from your mouth as you dabbed the cotton ball on his knuckles, cleaning off the blood. John just watched you, like he usually did, mesmerized by the thought of you caring for him, and just you in general. You were so careful when treating him. It warmed his heart, body, and soul.

After you finished cleaning his wounds, you helped John into the shower, before rushing off to find a new fresh pair of pajamas for him, throwing them, and his towel, in the dryer for a couple of minutes so they would be warm for John when he got out. For the rest, it was like clockwork, helping him out, giving him clothes, brushing his hair for him as he brushed his teeth slowly, and finally holding his freshly bandaged hand as you led him to the kitchen for some dinner.

Sometimes words were exchanged, but most of the time, there wasn't. The silence engulfed the two of you and it was nice, peaceful. You both basked in it. After you and John finished your food, you traveled to the couch where you turned on the tv, handing John the remote for him to browse through channels. Your hands then landed on his shoulders, gently putting pressure in all the right places, easing the tension in his muscles. You kissed his cheek softly, giving him what he needed to relax as he leaned further into you, sighing as your fingers trailed up his shoulders to his scalp, your fingernails scratching gently, running your fingers through his slightly damp hair.

Pulling away, you walked around the couch to sit beside John, smiling and chuckling lightly at the smile of content on his face. You sat down, leaning into his side as John's arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. The two of you watched the TV for a good while, which ended up being a Donald Glover movie, before you felt John's head turn, the stubble of his beard softly grazing your cheek, causing you to giggle quietly, turning your head a little to meet his gaze. Before you could say anything, John leaned down to press his lips onto yours, You smiled against his lips as you placed your hands on his stubbly cheeks, pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. His hands ran down your body until they reached your waist, gripping you tightly, protectively, his thumb rubbing small circles on your hips, sending tingly shivers throughout your entire being before you both pulled away.

You hummed, gazing lovingly at your husband, your eyes beholding the man's beauty, your fingers gently brushing against his cheeks, chin, and jaw. "What are you thinking about?" John mumbled, his voice husky with sleepiness. You opened your mouth to answer, but a yawn escaped you instead, shaking your head as you hid your face in his neck, feeling a bit embarrassed.

"Just you." You answered softly, snuggling further into his neck as his arms wrapped around you, holding you close. You smiled as you laid your hand against his chest, you could feel his heartbeat quicken, a soft chuckle escaping him. "I'm glad you're home." You told him as his hand cupped the nape of your neck, pulling you closer to his shoulder, his fingers running through the hair on the nape of your neck; kissing the top of your head.

"Me too. I missed you." He answered, kissing the top of your head.

You sighed contently, nestling your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent deeply. You could feel your eyelids growing heavy. "I missed you too." You muttered against his neck, closing your eyes as you fell asleep in his arms.

John sighed, holding you close as he watched Boy waddle over from his food bowl, looking up at him with big brown eyes. John took his time, scooping you up in his arms before standing up, grunting slightly as he strained his side a bit. Boy followed after you and John as he headed to the bedroom, hopping up on the bed as John laid you down gently in the bed, tucking you in the soft, fluffy covers. When he stood back up, he looked at Boy, staring at him for a moment before reaching down and petting the dog, smiling slightly as Boy leaned his head into his hand.

“Good Boy.” John muttered, not wanting to wake you, as he rubbed Boy’s ears before Boy moved to lay beside you, your arm subconsciously wrapping around the pup before going back to sleeping peacefully. John sighed slightly before he got in bed on his side, pulling the blankets over him before turning on his side to wrap his arm around your waist, pulling your back into his chest. The night went on peacefully like this, the three of you falling fast asleep and waking up to each other. This process continued like this, every day, for months and years to come. You wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. Just you, John, and Boy, against the world.

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danaewrites · 10 months ago

Text

you with the dark curls (you with the watercolor eyes)

part ii: i wanna hear you speak to me

james potter x reader // read it on AO3

word count: 3.6k

summary: “Falling in love with your best friend was never a good idea, but you’d managed to do the idiot thing anyway, carrying a torch for a boy who would never look past Lily’s emerald eyes to see the watercolor ones that had always been by his side.”

tags: best friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, based on the song "dear arkansas daughter" by lady lamb, fem!reader

author's notes: new year, new chapter! i started writing this one back in SEPTEMBER and finally had enough time away from the terrors of calculus homework to finish it. thanks for reading my story so far and i hope you enjoy this incredibly self-indulgent chapter, because i had way too much fun writing it!! i promise that the angst in this chapter *will* be resolved, but it was too deliciously tempting to resist sprinkling a wee bit of hurt/comfort and dramatics in there as well. sorry not sorry!

read it all here: part i, part ii, part iii (coming soon!)

“I’ve got no bloody clue how Dumbledore can be so energetic all the time,” you groaned, head in your hands as you peeked out at the headmaster’s more-than-slightly manic grin from your seat at the Gryffindor breakfast table. You were far too sleep-deprived to process his latest choice of garish attire: a bright chartreuse robe covered in plaid polka dots, topped off with what appeared to be rhinestones and tinsel attached to his beard.

Perhaps if Kettleburn hadn’t assigned you three feet of parchment on the seventeen glorious properties of dragon dung yesterday and expected it done by this afternoon, you might have appreciated the headmaster’s creative fashion choices– oh, who were you kidding. There really was no understanding that wizard, even properly rested. James and Peter had made a bet during fifth year on how long it’d take Dumbledore to crack under a constant deluge of pranks in his office, but they’d quickly realized that the man was too far gone to do anything but take inspiration for school events– an idea that was quite frankly, comically frightening, and the sort of thing you weren’t keen on pondering on a normal Tuesday morning.

Sirius wrinkled his nose sympathetically and slid the pile of raspberry jam tarts closer to you. “Late night in the library again?”

You nodded sheepishly, gratefully taking a pastry from the pile. “I honestly don’t know why Pince allows me to stay past curfew. Marauder’s luck, I guess?” Your attention was diverted by the sound of hoots and flapping wings as the morning owl brigade arrived, apparently choosing a kamikaze dive-bomb approach to deliver this morning’s newspapers. Ah, the joys of living at the world’s most advanced magical school.

Sirius, ever the epitome of grace, slipped under the table as a rogue owl zipped past, popping himself back up just enough to throw you finger guns. “Exactly right, doll, exactly right,” he grinned. “Trust me, Marauder’s luck gets you everywhere. And I mean everywhere,” he winked, sending you a lecherous smirk.

“Ew, Sirius, I don’t even want to know,” you sniffed. “I’ve learned my lesson after the mental trauma your tales of Dorcas’ birthday adventures inflicted upon my psyche. Please, spare me the details.”

“What? All I meant was Slughorn’s Christmas Party, of course!” He batted his eyelashes angelically, still partially covered by the tablecloth.

Your mouth gaped open in shock. “Last year’s Christmas party? Sirius Orion Black, I refuse to hear another word! What on earth would your ancestors think, with you bragging about such exploits-”

He leaned over, eyes wide with laughter. “No, I meant the one Slughorn is throwing on the 21st, it’s exclusively for us lucky seventh years this time. Although, you bring up some very fond memories… okay, okay, I’ll stop, don’t kick me–”

“What are we kicking Sirius for?” James slid onto the bench across from you, eyeing a groveling Sirius with interest. Peter joined him, but wisely chose to stay away from the ruckus, piling his plate high with the bacon the owls had spared. Remus was noticeably absent, spending the morning resting in the infirmary after a rough night of shifting– which you assumed was much more peaceful than the current chaos at the Gryffindor breakfast table.

“Oh! Good morning, Jamie,” you beamed up at him, passing him the plate of desserts you’d been protecting from Sirius’ nefarious advances. “Morning, dove,” he greeted you, and then paused. “Ha, get it? Morning dove?” He puffed up his chest smugly and nudged Sirius with his elbow in a futile effort to make him laugh. You huffed fondly at his antics. Boys.

Sirius rolled his eyes and took advantage of your momentary distraction, retreating back onto his seat to nurse his wounds– to your ever-growing delight (and Sirius’ woe), you had recently discovered that the Hogwarts girls’ uniform shoes were quite sharp. “At this point we should call you Lames. ‘Cause your puns are lame,” he muttered.

You shooed him away with a brush of your hand, remembering what Sirius had mentioned earlier. “According to Sirius, Slughorn’s hosting a Christmas Party again this year. Let’s pray it won’t be like the last one.” You muttered. James and Peter both looked vaguely ill at the prospect, shuddering in unison. “My tie will never look the same again,” Peter griped, but suddenly sat up straight in his seat. “Hey, wait, we’re finally old enough to bring dates to this one! Without sneaking them in, I mean.”

Sirius snickered and lightly punched his shoulder. “Why, Petey, got some lucky girl in mind?” Peter reddened and glanced over at the Hufflepuff table, where a certain freckled blonde was chatting with her friends– a move that didn’t go unnoticed by James, who gave a delighted wolf-whistle. “You got a thing for Lucy Abbott, huh? Might want to make a move before Smith does,” he grinned, gesturing to the tall brunette boy who’d just arrived and sharing a knowing smirk with you. You giggled at Peter’s increasingly pouty expression; he’d figure out sooner or later that Smith was definitely not interested in Abbott– or witches in general– but it was entertaining to see him out of his comfort zone. Peter had always been the quietest of your little group, and you privately thought that a bit of momentary romantic angst might spur him to be more assertive. An ironic opinion, considering how your own love life revolved around the fact that your best friend had feelings for someone else… and you couldn’t do anything about it except mope.

Peter scowled. “Easy for you to say, Prongs, you’ve finally got precious Lily-flower wrapped around your finger. I bet you’ve already asked her!”

There it was: another reminder that James wasn’t yours, and never would be. You watched as the Gryffindor boys good-naturedly jostled his shoulder and tousled his curls. James grinned sheepishly, shrugging off their teasing. “Not yet,” he admitted, glancing hopefully at the end of the table, where Lily was chatting with her friends.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Aw, come on, we all know she’ll say yes this year.” Sirius winced, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. Peter glanced at Sirius, drawn by the movement. “What’ve you got to worry about? Half the population would kill Dumbledore to get one dance with you. The only person who’s got to worry about a date is me– well, and maybe Y/n, I guess.” His face suddenly turned contemplative, looking you up and down. “Are you going with someone?”

Sirius’ grimace became doubly pronounced at Peter’s tactlessness, and you felt your face heating up. Peter had a way of accidentally hitting on the issues others tried to hide. It wasn’t his fault he’d never heard about your trips to Hogsmeade with a paramour– in fact, none of the boys had. Because there hadn’t been any. You’d spent your entire time at Hogwarts pining after James, and as a result had missed the romantic milestones your classmates had already blissfully bragged about.

Peter looked at you expectantly, waiting for a response, and you opened your mouth to confess your lack of experience when you spotted a familiar redhead walking gracefully towards your side of the table– to James, you realized with a start. Something within you ignited as you watched her glow with confidence, carefree and lovely as ever. Lily would never pine after someone uselessly; she knew she could get anyone she wanted with the right amount of banter and flirty gestures. You... Well, you weren’t there quite yet, but maybe it was time to take inspiration from the Muggle saying and ‘fake it til you make it’. And before you could think about what you were about to do, you turned to Peter and smiled coyly. “I might.”

James’ and Sirius’ heads snapped up immediately from their perusal of the breakfast lineup as they let out an identical murmur of surprise. “What?” James furrowed his brow, looking you up and down– seemingly trying to discern whether you had taken a holiday from your senses, most likely via Bludger-induced concussion at the last Quidditch match. Sirius merely raised a questioning eyebrow at you. You groaned internally, knowing that you’d have to explain yourself later… although, if your half-baked idea worked, you’d be spending a lot more time with him anyway. For now, you beamed innocently at both of them and took a sip of your pumpkin juice. Apparently, the Sorting Hat had placed you in Gryffindor for a reason- you were either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish to commit to this plan, but with Evans quickly approaching, you saw no other choice.

Peter looked momentarily shocked, then glumly began to assemble an egg and bacon sandwich seasoned with the occasional mutterance of “unfair” and “perpetually single, my arse”.

James’ eyes were still trained on you. “Who is it?” he asked, searching your face again as if he was looking for some indication that you were joking. You shrugged, trying to look casual. “I guess you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”

“Dove-” he began, but Lily finally reached his seat and placed one stupidly perfect hand on his shoulder, diverting his attention momentarily. “Sorry to interrupt your breakfast, but Professor McGonagall asked me to bring you to her office for Quidditch scheduling.” James blinked, glancing up at her and then at the rest of the table. He stood up and focused on you again, expression clouded. “I’ll see you in Potions, yeah?”

Sirius stood up quickly, ushering him out of his seat with a speed you’d only seen him use to gulp down cheap Firewhiskey. He gave you a significant look. “Actually, Y/n and I were just about to take a walk, isn’t that right? So we'll both see you in Potions, what a sublime coincidence, now don’t be late for your meeting–” he chattered on as he shoved James toward the doors of the Great Hall, the latter eyeing him suspiciously but moving nonetheless. Sirius turned to you and pointed to the courtyard entryway. “You. Me. Talk, as in right now.”

Once you were sure that you’d made it out of earshot of Peter and the rest of the Gryffindor table, you wheeled around to face him. “Okay. First of all… I didn’t plan that.” Sirius raised an eyebrow again. “Second of all, I need a favour,” you pleaded, staring up at him with the most adorable doe eyes you could physically summon. They were usually most effective on James, for some reason, but you were sure that Sirius wasn’t immune to your manipulation either. He groaned, resting his face in his hands. “How do you even have a date? Last time I checked, also known as yesterday, you were still head over heels for Prongsie, doll. So do I need to check you for Amortentia or somethi–” He peered out from between his fingers with annoyed realization. “You don’t have a date, do you.”

You blinked innocently up at him. He let out a long-suffering sigh and ran his hands through his hair. “This is what you need the favour for? You want me to go with you to Slughorn’s party so you can pretend in front of the rest of Hogwarts that you’re not madly in love with Jamie?”

You grinned confidently up at him and slung an arm around his shoulders. “Aw, Siri, you know me so well. It’s almost as if you were maaaade to be my date for the party...” You fluttered your eyelashes up at him one more time for good measure, trying to hide a smirk. “Alright, alright, stop with the Bambi act, I’ll take you.” He scowled good-naturedly. “You know, this is going to ruin my dating pool for the next month.”

You scoffed. “As if! If anything, you’ll just have more people fawning over you– temptation of the forbidden apple and all, you know.”

Sirius brightened up considerably at this revelation. “Well, why didn’t you say so in the beginning, doll! I vote that we match in purple velvet, it does wonders for my complexion–”

You gave a very unladylike snort at the thought of you and Sirius swanning into the party in some sort of horrendous plum-coloured disco getup, and shooed him away towards the Potions classroom. That was an eyesore to imagine sometime when you weren’t about to get a headache from the dim dungeon lighting.

Slughorn greeted you and Sirius by directing you to the front of the classroom with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oho, a pair of latecomers, I see!” He winked at you and Sirius in exaggerated motion. You winced as Snape jeered and nudged Malfoy, who was busy enjoying Flint’s crude gestures at you. Ugh, Slytherin boys. The worst of the lot. Their snickers were quickly stopped by James chucking a handful of powdered wormwood at their heads when Slughorn turned away, making Malfoy’s prized hair appear covered in soot. You shot him a grateful smile.

“Since you two missed my initial remarks, let’s see if you can make it up by identifying today’s potion, hmm?” Slughorn gestured dramatically to a shimmering green brew in a cauldron next to his desk, cherry-coloured smoke curling off of the top invitingly.

Sirius shot you a panicked look, clearly not expecting to be put in the academic spotlight, but you shook your head and stepped closer. You smelled something rich and incense-like, which meant that Bumburrel leaves were a key ingredient. And combined with the way the smoke was drifting lazily around your wrists, curling higher and higher… “Brew of Mandelian, sir. Used for sharpened acuity under times of pressure.”

Slughorn gave a delighted chuckle and clapped his hands. “Well then! Ten points to Gryffindor for paying attention in lectures!” He dismissed you and Sirius with a wave, moving on to explain the finer points of ingredient preparation to a very bemused George Goyle as you slipped into your usual seat beside James.

You worked in quiet harmony for a moment, methodically slicing and crushing the slippery beetles needed to give the brew its signature green colour while James handed you the insects. He broke the silence after six beetles (not that you had been counting or anything) with an awkward, “So… you have a, erm, date?”

You huffed, motioning for him to hand you the foul-smelling Moorish tubers next. “Honestly, James, is it that surprising?” He scratched the back of his neck, frowning. “Well, I– yeah, I guess.” he trailed off, seeing your expression.

“The tubers, Jamie, thank you. I mean, you looked at me like I was a ghost back in the Great Hall!” You were decidedly not making eye contact with him, trying your best to focus on the slimy plants in front of you and not the fact that your best friend-slash-unrequited crush doubted your romantic potential. What a way to be humbled– and while covered in tuber juice, no less!

He huffed, running a hand through his already messy curls. “Come on, Y/n, it’s not like that. What did Sirius want to talk about in the Great Hall, anyway? You two looked… chummy.”

You glared down at the copper slicing board. “Well, it’s none of your business how chummy we are, is it? I don’t interrogate you every time you converse with Peter. In fact, it’s rather expected that Sirius and I speak to one another on occasion, considering the amount of time we all spend together thanks to you.”

You moved to grab another tuber from the jar, but James reached out and grabbed your hand, forcing you to look at him. His hazel eyes were alight with frustration, a look you knew by heart thanks to the hours you’d spent tutoring him in History of Magic after he napped his way through the entire first semester. “Are you serious? You’re actually going with someone?”

“Please, Jamie, do enlighten me on whyever you think I couldn’t possibly get a date with my numerous and diverse charms,” you sniffed, hoping to Merlin that he would just leave the entire subject alone.

“No, it’s–” he groaned, leaning back in his seat. “The other boys, they don’t know how– you’re so, I mean, just look at you!” he exclaimed, gesturing at you. He stopped, frowning to himself, looking more confused than before. He glanced over at Lily, expression becoming even more muddled, brow furrowed and hard to read to anyone but you.

Your mouth parted in shock, and to your dismay you felt tears bubbling up again. You blinked fiercely, refusing to let him see you cry. James thought the issue was… your looks? You suddenly wanted to crawl under Slughorn’s desk and never come out again, except perhaps to find a shovel to dig your grave with. This was far, far worse than watching him transfigure chocolates for Lily every Valentine’s Day. Now you knew for a fact he didn’t find you attractive– thought other boys didn’t either, even! And the way he’d clearly mentally compared you to Lily after what he’d admitted… well. There was no recovering from that. Teenage boys could be dense, but Merlin, how you had wanted him to at least let you down gently.

You wished you’d never opened your mouth to lie about having a stupid date in the first place, but you forced yourself to laugh and mutter something trite about how that could all be fixed with a couple glamour charms anyway so it really wasn’t an issue for the party, thank you very much. He looked even more confused, opening his mouth to respond, but Snape chose that moment to interrupt.

“Hey, Potter!” James turned to scowl at the greasy Slytherin as you thanked your lucky stars for Snape’s interruption (a rather disturbing thought– potentially a harbinger of an imminent apocalypse. You’d never thanked Snape before in your life and hoped to never do it again). “Here’s payback for earlier,” he smirked, checking that Slughorn had dozed off and the other students weren’t paying attention before whipping a mottled yellow bottle at James.

James’ carefully honed Quidditch reflexes kicked in and he quickly dodged the object, but as the vial soared up, up, past your carefully diced tubers, over James’ messy notes, it hit your arms and shattered. You flinched in pain, crying out as the glass shards embedded themselves in your arm and the congealing, repulsive liquid dripped down your hands and onto your thighs. James lunged towards you, but it was too late– the potion had already seeped into your skin, causing an awful sparking sensation.

You gasped, grabbing onto the desk as the feeling bubbled upwards. “Jamie, I don’t– I don’t feel–” you stuttered, suddenly lightheaded, and you heard someone gasp as you began to taste something metallic. You absently touched your nose. Why was it so cold and wet? You had been so careful not to touch your face around those horrid tubers and oh, oh Merlin and Morgana what was that pain in your hands and legs, please no make it go away someone help me help me HELP

You vaguely registered someone whimpering in the background. It might have been you, but you weren’t entirely sure what was happening outside of the electric symphony of agony crescending in your nervous system. The pain built swirled flooded through until you weren’t sure where you ended and the potion began which was a funny thought because of course you were you, but you couldn’t remember who you were before this so you laughed but that really hurt, oh how that hurt no no no no no bad idea–

“Fuck– no–” James? Was he here too?

You blinked– when did your eyes open?– and saw him reach for you, frantically pushing his dark curls off his forehead. Why would he do that? You loved his hair, even when you were feeling funny awful things from the potion. You felt his arms scoop under you, lifting you off your seat as he caught your head from falling back. You heard a door slam open, footsteps, darkness clouding your vision–

His voice. “Sweetheart, no– don’t do that, I need you to keep your eyes open.”

You blinked again, trying to focus on James’ face. He looked pale, jaw set and tensed like it was before his Quidditch games. Were you moving? You couldn’t tell whether James was walking or the hallways were walking around you. He glanced down again, exhaling with relief once he saw whatever he was looking for. “Yeah, just like that. Keep those pretty eyes focused on me, okay?”

He thought your eyes were pretty?

James gave a tight laugh. “Yeah, I think your eyes are pretty, dove. Hold on a bit longer, we’re almost there,” he choked out.

Oh. Had you said that out loud?

But you thought– he had said something, before, you couldn’t remember now but it was important and it hurt–

Some part of you, deep where the potion hadn’t reached, had melted at his words. That part was tinged with pain, too, but in a different way, raw and honest and hopeful and all for him. Or maybe that was the potion, you were pretty sure witches weren’t supposed to melt unless they were green and lived somewhere much further west, but your thoughts on the whole process evaporated as you reached a white door and a woman and your words started to swirl until they melted too and everything went black.

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please comment if you'd like to be tagged for any of my works/fandoms in the future! :)

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scarletlizzard · 7 months ago

Note

‘I’m fixin to pitch a fit’ might be my favourite new phrase ever. So American. So southern. So cute.

Anyway, don’t mind me, just pranking you because I’m a total hoot.

-🫖

I'm so glad I could amuse you with my 'American/Southern' phrase. Are y'all not pitching fits across the pond? At least you think it's cute 😅

A bloody hoot at that! You had me questioning everything, I hope you know that

#scarletlizzard asks #🫖 anon #you think youre sooo funny #dont you?#a bloody hoot

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remembrancer-of-heresy · 1 month ago

Text

(Not) Salvation

AU Reverse Therapy

Next Part: New Home

Summary: One of the agriworlds is attacked by heretics and the young girl finds salvation in the arriving Space Marines. Not suspecting that it was they who brought death to her planet.

Pairing: Chaos!Lamenter/fem!OC/Chaos!Flesh Tearer

Characters: Malina (fem!OC), Luka The Angel (OC Chaos Lamenter), Virgil (OC Chaos Flesh Tearer)

Warnings: yandere, violence, cannibalism

Word count: 2244

Author's note: In this part I wanted to focus more on the space marines and the atmosphere of horror. Hope you were interested in my OCs. In future there will be more interactions between this trio but here only meeting.

Song: Inkubus Sukkubus - Wild Hunt

It was scary. Screams were heard everywhere. The air smelled of blood and burnt flesh. From afar came cries and pleas for help, the hooting laughter of heretics. Someone was less fortunate than her. No one had found her yet.

And it is unlikely that they will.

“God-Emperor, do not abandon me, guide me to the light, I will not fear the darkness for I believe” - she repeated the prayer dryly, like a memorized text from school.

Because it was a lie. Of course she were afraid of the darkness. Afraid of death. And even more so of torture. The endless pain that the enemies of the Imperium promised to bring with them. Yes, the clergy would say that she was a heretic. But in the last hour, she did not want to lie, at least to herrself.

Soon her agri-world will drown in the blood of its inhabitants. And if the Imperium returns the planet to its bosom, resumes the delivery of food, then other people will do it. Your fate is to become meat in the hands and mouths of heretics.

She felt new tears running down her cheeks. They haven't found her yet, but soon, soon they will find her small and weak body. Soon they will tear her apart, eat the meat, throw away the bones, and put the skin on thier armor like a cloak. She already saw how the heretics did this to an elderly couple.

Sudden steps pulled her ark thoughts and returned to an equally dark present. Her heart fluttered like a bird in a cage. These were too heavy steps for a human. Too metallic a sound. The smell of imminent death hit her nose and she held back from screaming in horror at the imminent meeting with the most terrible shame of the Imperium.

A Chaos Space Marine.

And at that moment, when the legionary appeared before her in full height, when she almost bit her lip until it bled, just to keep from screaming... only then did she notice the armor. Golden as the sun, with a distinctive sign in the form of a bloody heart. The Lamenter.

She burst into tears like a little girl.

“The G-God-Emperor h-heard m-my prayers.” - her world was under siege, she had already managed to lose loved ones, she had the right to tears, but she still tried to wipe them away. - “I-I am too weak to walk. Please save the others.”

The Space Marine did not say a word, listening to her sobs. He came closer until he knelt down on one knee next to her. Only then did she notice that his armor was covered in blood, and in some places there were signs drawn that were unfamiliar to her. If she had any doubts, they were dispelled as soon as the Astartes removed his helmet.

He was quite handsome. Pale-faced, with a snub nose, a scattering of freckles and bright cheeks. His wheat-colored hair barely reached his shoulders. His face was clear and bright, with only one scar crossing his left eyebrow. But what stood out most about the young man were his eyes. Blue as the sky of her planet until the heretics attacked it and it turned red.

“You really are an angel.” - she switch to a reverent whisper. For the first time, a happy, albeit tired, smile appears on her face. Her eyes are still shining from recently shed tears before she plunge into the saving darkness. She could no longer remain conscious after what she experienced. She were too tired.

For a second before she finally lose consciousness, it seems to her that the Astartes' ears are red. Like an ordinary young man who heard a compliment from a pretty girl.

Hah, what a heresy.

***

The mortal soldier of the Corpse on the Throne writhed helplessly in Virgil's arms, unable to resist him. In truth, Virgil would not have minded playing with his victim, but the thirst for blood was stronger. But it doesn't matter. The planet they had landed on promised rich loot.

Quite a long time had passed when he joined the Red Corsairs. And when he realized this delightful feeling. The ability to not pretend. The ability to kill as he pleased, torment as he wanted. Maybe the Black Thirst was a curse, but such an opinion was imposed on him. The veteran never thought so.

"Virgil!" - a completely joyful cry rang out across the battlefield.

But having a roommate like this one is a curse. And to his great dissatisfaction, quite scary and uncontrollable. Although a narrow-minded mortal would probably think that a flesh tearer covered in someone else's skin is more dangerous than a lamenter with an angelic face.

But to be fair, he thought so too.

The veteran sighed and threw the soldier's body away from himself. And judging by the convulsions, he was still alive despite the loss of blood. On another day Virgil would have liked to watch mortal’s suffer longer, but the plundering had only just begun, and man had to deal with the young pup before he did anything wrong.

“Vergil, look who I found. She mistook me for a loyalist.” - the young man, unusually softly holding the limp body of a mortal girl, looked at her face with almost love in his eyes. - “I saved her.”

Vergil rolled his eyes, scratching his poor bald head. Why, why, did he get Luka?

“Of course she thought so. Not only did you not change your armor, but she also apparently passed out before you spoke.” - the lamenter, to Vergil’s irritation, ignored the fair remark. - “Why did you even bring her here?”

“What do you mean, why? I saved her, now I have to marry her.” - the blond answered as if nothing had happened. Seeing how his pale partner’s eye began to twitch involuntarily, he raised his voice in displeasure. - “Don’t look at me like that! She will behave well.”

“Like the previous girls, huh?”

“First of all, I liked them, but I wasn’t going to marry them. Secondly, we met when they already knew which side I was on.” - Luka again gazed tenderly at the sleeping girl, burying his nose in her cheek. - “And she said that I looked like an angel.”

A little more and Virgil would throw up, he was sure of it. Of course, he was a sadist. He liked to torture and torment. He liked to hear screams. And yet, when it came to intimacy, it was unnecessary. The cultists screaming in strange ecstasy irritated. Some went completely wild, so after a couple of blows, he had to fucks their still warm corpses.

And the captured slaves... well. They cried. Of course, it was beautiful, but their constant attempts to escape and crawl away also irritated the man. Why couldn’t they just lie quietly and wait for him to finish his business? Why are they all so disrespectful?

It's annoying. Everything annoys him.

But the girl's calm, sleeping appearance was apparently one of the few exceptions. Virgil would even say that he liked the way her eyelashes twitched slightly, and her lips parted just a little. Serenity itself. Innocence itself.

Even as a loyalist, Virgil didn't care much about mortals. But still, even in such a callous person as he, there was a hidden desire to protect the innocent. Now he likes to torture them more (everyone, to be precise). But after his desire was returned, the need to possess lovely ladies settled in him. Alas, but he no longer serves the Emperor, and the girl expects exactly this from them. Luka, an idiot, does not understand this and dragged her to her death.

Although-

"Let's tell her that we are fighting for the Corpse on the Throne."

"What?"

“You just said that she took you for a loyalist. So why try to convince her otherwise?” - the veteran smiled with all his sharp teeth, enjoying his genius. - “She has had it tough enough as it is. Let’s lock her in the quarters. She will see and listen only to us.”

The boy stared at him blankly for a while until the whole plan dawned on him. Luka opened his mouth joyfully, causing the blood of the dead to slowly flow inside. Virgil involuntarily stuck out his black mutated tongue at the sight. Hmm, he would have to keep that abomination in his mouth if he didn't want to scare the girl ahead of time.

"Oh, that's a great idea. She'll be so thrilled to have ended up with the good sons of Sanguinius. But, Virgil, what if she finds out that we're fighting against the Imperium?" - Luka hugged the girl tighter, burying his nose in her hair. - "What should we do in that case? Will she cry? Hate us? What if she wants to run away??"

"By that time, she'll be used to us and her new home. She'll come to terms with it, you'll see." - the veteran growled with displeasure and slapped the blond on the back of the head. - "And stop squeezing her like that! You'll break all her bones."

"B-but she's so pretty!"

He was right. She really is pretty. By the Ruinous Powers, Virgil hated the False Emperor and the Imperium. But he had to admit that some of its citizens were better looking than the cultists.

"Don't. Squeeze. Control. Yourself. Or better yet, drag her on board before she wakes up."

The blond immediately went thin. The veteran involuntarily cringed as he saw tears gathering in his blue eyes. You wouldn't know from Luka that he was wreaking heretic.

"But we've only just begun the massacre! I've never even come across any children!"

You wouldn't say he was a pervert either.

"Then it would be in your best interest to quickly take her to the flagship and return to us. I don't know how you'll do that. But since you've picked up the girl, have the respect to take care of her."

“Fine! But then I’ll choose her name.” - the blond possessively hugged the limp body and headed towards the ship. Virgil only sighed heavily, raising his red eyes to the sky. How hard it was sometimes with the young man.

But on the other hand, he was still useful. The idea of playing the role of the Emperor’s loyal servants was hilarious in itself. And an unhappy and lonely lady in distress was an extremely pleasant bonus after the massacre. Surely, such a good girl was followed by crowds of vile fanatics of the Corpse on the Throne. But never mind, now her saviors will take care of her.

“We are the Emperor’s Angels after all.” - Virgil muttered under his breath, pleased, turning his attention to the soldier who dared to shoot at him. It seemed he would finally change his cloak.

What a great hunt they made on this world.

#au: reverse therapy #yandere space marine #space marine x reader #space marine x oc #warhammer x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #the bloody trio #oc: Vergil #oc: Luka the Angel #tw: yandere #tw: cannibalism #tw: violence

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dawn-moths · 10 days ago

Text

"I'm So Dreadful, But I Still Need You"

Werewolf!Dabi x Female Reader

word count: 16,300+

part 1 * part 2 * part 3

(As Keigo closes in, you and Dabi dream of foreign lands, of places where you could be free to love each other in peace. But the hunter is relentless, vowing never to stop the chase until he’s claimed you from the wolf’s vile clutches, dead or alive. So the only question that remains is… who will emerge victorious in the end? The hunter or the prey?)

disclaimer/content warning: 18+ content! minors dni! title taken from “RUINED” by WesGhost, size difference, reader is called “baby, good girl”, yandere Keigo, character death, some smut in the middle but mostly plot, some descriptions of body horror towards the end, reader is choked (and not in a fun way).

*ao3 mirror*

***

Dabi sat at the tavern’s bar counter, a half drunk pint slowly warming in its stein as he abandoned the idea of finishing his drink and instead became mesmerized by you— watching, guarding, protecting you from afar while you basked in the reverie of your fourth face-paced dance of the night.

You kept up with the quick yet precise patterns of the intricate footwork, your skirts bunched in your fists and slightly lifted to allow you more room to jig alongside the crowd of boisterous patrons, some stray men lining the walls shouting hoots and hollers towards the circle of dancers as the fiddle player picked up the tempo, other onlookers clapping in time with the beat to encourage all of those inhabiting the dancefloor to continue until the end of the song. When the final note rang out, the human circle in which you’d found yourself ensnared ceased its motion, everyone turning to face the outside of the ring and clapping with their hands over their heads.

When you turned, you were facing Dabi, seeing him staring at you from the barstool a few feet away. His patches of pale, scarred skin were bathed in a low amber glow from the lanterns hanging overhead, that entrancing cobalt gaze shimmering with mirth. There were no pointed ears perched upon his inky black spikes nor was there a mischievous ebony tail swishing at his heels. Tonight was the new moon, one of the handful of nights clustered together in the month where the notorious wolfman was free to see what life could’ve been like if only he’d been granted a different fate.

And he was smiling. Really, truly smiling. It took your breath away, the way he was looking at you now, like you were the only thing in his entire world worth protecting, like he loved you.

And maybe he did.

It was just too bad he’d never be able to make himself admit it, that he’d never be able to trust in that kind of careless hope.

As you migrated closer to where he was perched, you were smiling too, big and bright and blinding him with your joy. Your forehead was shining with a thin sheen of sweat and your breathing was a little labored, as expected from how many dances you’d participated in tonight, but you didn’t care how hot or tired you became.

You knew you had to enjoy it while it lasted.

Back in your devout little town, there was only one tavern, mainly where the hunters gathered to relax on their way out into the woods or having just arrived back, a bundle of dead rabbits or ducks, or, one time, an entire deer dragged into the tiny brick building and heaped in a pile of bloody fur and mangled flesh on the floor at the foot of the counter.

Needless to say, whatever your village had to offer, it was nowhere near the freedom and frivolity this place provided, all the laughter and the lighthearted joking and pleasant conversation between men and women alike filling the room with its joyous melody.

Plus, even though the people back home also liked to talk, it was usually of scandals and gossip and suspicious speculation, so if you were ever spotted so much as peering in through one of the latticed windows to see what all the commotion was about, it was likely word would spread, rumors would start, and you wouldn’t feel comfortable enough to pass the place at night again.

“You should come do the next one with me,” you suggested to Dabi, hoping to entice him as you took his hand, his own instinctually outstretched towards you once you were within the range of his reach, still staring at you with that love-drunk grin. You even swore you could see a warm blush to his cheeks, only, you knew he wasn’t actually drunk. He’d been too intent on making sure he could stay sharp in order to protect you if anything went sideways. And, while you’d tried to assure him one night couldn’t hurt, promised you’d stay out of trouble, Dabi just wouldn’t hear of it.

“Anything could happen when we’re least expecting it,” he’d reminded you, the worry of the prey sounding odd when coming from the mouth of the predator. “And if he shows up, we gotta be ready.”

But that had been a week ago and you and Dabi had already crossed through three towns, having hidden on the outskirts of the first one, been bold enough to break into an abandoned farm house to escape the cold in the second, and then, by the time you’d reached the third— the one you were currently in— Dabi had shed all of his more obvious wolfish traits. And, though you’d had to beg him to let you explore, to actually enjoy some of what this place had to offer, he’d eventually given in.

“Tonight’s our last night…” he’d told you, hating the way disappointment filled your eyes, all the optimism in your gaze slowly dying out like embers in a hearth. He’d put his hand on your head, given it a gentle pat as you’d started sulking. Then he’d said, a new lightness to his usually dark and heavy tone, “So you better make the most of it.”

You’d looked up at him then like you didn’t actually believe him, yet still somehow hoped it were true. “Really?!” You’d exclaimed, glittering excitement refilling your gaze. “We can really go out? Oh, Dabi!” You’d flung your arms around his waist, buried your face into his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of pine and campfire smoke that always seemed to cling to him. “Thank you…” you’d murmured, words muffled by his shirt. “Thank you, Dabi…”

And so you two had tried a taste of what other young people did for fun when they weren’t burdened with a curse or kept cooped up inside a house on the hill. You ate delicious, foreign foods. You laughed with boisterous strangers. You danced until the music stole the breath from your lungs. You allowed yourself to live. Because, the truth was, neither of you really knew how much time you had left. Not with Keigo hot on your trail, knowing full well he’d hunt you to the ends of the earth or die trying.

But there was nowhere Keigo wouldn’t go, no path he wouldn’t follow, no choice he wouldn’t make, if you were somehow found at the end of it.

And so die trying it seemed to be…

***

TWO WEEKS AGO

Dawn broke over the horizon, painting the sky in an aurora of colors, a collision of amber and silver that gave way to the pale blue and gold of early morning. Among the newborn buds preparing to unfurl from the spindly twigs on the early-spring trees, Keigo sat beside the final dregs of serenity and watched the fledgling finches hopping among the natural debris gathered beneath where their nest lay.

They would be soon to leave their mother’s protection, venturing off into the cold, cruel labyrinth of the surrounding woods. Perhaps some would survive into adulthood. Others would fall into the sharp-taloned clutches of the falcons or the hawks. Only the strong would survive and only the lucky would evade a gruesome end.

The hunter stood from his perch among the open campsite he’d constructed, the small fire he’d made to keep warm for the short night stomped out before morning’s first light. He couldn’t have his mark catching sight of the smoke. Not when he was so close to his main territory. If he scared the wolf away now, he might risk losing you along with him.

Enough stalling, Keigo told himself as he tested the tension of his bow string, two calloused fingers curling around thin sinewy rope and envisioning an invisible arrow finding a new home between two flashes of sapphire. A wolf might not’ve been as fragile or easy to kill as a finch, but, Keigo felt confident, the hawk would still prevail.

Keigo began his stealthy approach towards the cabin, every step more careful than the last. He was intent to locate the wolfman, hopefully through one of the cracked windows, knock an arrow, and finish the job in one precise shot. But then something made him stop short, his next breath catching and sure footing staggering as he felt a rush of ice surge through his veins.

Because there you were, sitting at the villain’s table, unbound and of your own free will it seemed, given the carefree grin spread across your face as you shared breakfast with the beast.

Keigo could’ve been standing between those mammoth pines for six seconds, or six hours. In truth, he didn’t know. Because in that moment time seemed to flow in reverse, everything that had led him here— led you here— flashing through his mind in bright bursts of violent color.

For a while, caught in his stupor, Keigo merely observed, his hands going numb as they clutched his weapons, watching in equal horror and intrigue as the wolf sat across from you at the table, a snarky grin tugging at one corner of his lips before breaking out into a laugh, looking for a moment— dare Keigo even consider it— authentically human.

You know, so long as you didn’t spend too much time focusing on the ears and the tail.

You were barely clothed, and while Keigo perhaps would’ve been inclined to blush under less dire situations, the emotion that replaced his bashfulness was betrayal and rage.

The loose shirt hanging comfortably from your form no doubt belonged to the monster with which you’d chosen to share a bed with.

But Keigo, despite having all the evidence he needed to convict you of witchcraft or whatever other crime that having such relations with a monster and a murderer would behold, still couldn’t quite bring himself to blame you.

Because you’d been seduced, hadn’t you? You’d been lured into sin, naive little Eve who’d been tempted by the sinister snake.

He could still save you.

All he had to do was not miss.

With trembling hands and shallow breath, Keigo drew back his first shot and aimed for the back of the wolfman’s head. He let out a shuddering exhale, hesitating a mere flicker of a moment, then let the arrow go.

The arrow struck home in the back of Dabi’s chair, the resounding twang of the shot causing his wolf’s ears to perk up at the same moment you sucked in a sharp, startled gasp. Neither of you had seen the arrow fly through the open window and bury itself in the chipped wood so much as you heard it, felt it, the evidence you were under attack only revealed once Dabi turned in his chair to peer around the back of it.

His eyes followed the weapon’s path out through the dew-speckled glass and between the barricade of trees until it found the hunter. Keigo knocked a second arrow, this time looking much more focused and determined than he had before, and prepared to fire again.

Dabi’s eyes widened with dread as he stood abruptly from his chair, backing towards you as he ordered, voice low and dark with severity, “Run.”

You didn’t think. Only acted. Every survival instinct you didn’t know you had flaring to life inside you as you sprinted towards the back door after Dabi, who made sure he had secured your hand before you departed the threshold of the cabin’s false sense of safety. It was only when you were halfway down the porch steps that you realized your clothes, or rather, lack thereof, and attempted to go back, but Dabi’s grip on you was firm. He made it apparent by his strength in pulling you along alone that there was no time for that now, lest you wish to leave the property wearing an arrow through your heart.

By the time you reached the forest’s edge, two more arrows were on your heels, and as you cast a terrified glance over your shoulder, the sight of Keigo growing smaller in your vision, watching with defeat and forlorn as the wolfman whisked you deeper into the lush evergreen, a small part of you couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of guilt.

Because what would your family think once he returned to tell them the news— to tell them that their sweet baby girl was caught so shamelessly uncouth with the very wolfman himself, the successor of your baby brother’s killer?

The hunter called your name, and the way it broke with a type of vengeful promise at the end of his shriek made you want to pull away from this path you’d chosen, something about hearing that level of pain in someone’s voice cracking something inside of you, even if a part of you still knew it was selfishly motivated.

“C’mon!” Dabi urged, continuing to pull you harshly after him, the two of you soon disappearing within the piney labyrinth and leaving the distraught, vindictive hunter before the empty wolf’s den. You realized that the two of you would never be able to return there again, Dabi’s cabin full of little keepsakes, trinkets, and mementos doomed to collect dust, rot, and collapse over time if it wasn’t burned to the ground all together.

But Dabi didn’t care about the cabin right now. If the hunter so chose to strike a match, then let the cabin catch flame and disintegrate into bitter ash.

All he cared about— all he’d ever care about from that moment on— was protecting you.

***

The winds began to pick up as night fell, the dusk-tinted horizon fissured with the last wisps of pale peach as you and Dabi slunk through the last neighbourhood on the outskirts of the village’s perimeter, the sparse little homes dotting the sloping valley hosting glowing ghosts flickering in the windows, the candles placed on the sills likely to burn for only another hour or so before the residents turned in for the night.

You shivered beneath Dabi’s arm, the precursory chill warning of a long, cold night ahead, one that you and your meager means of clothing would suffer to endure.

“Just a little longer,” Dabi murmured, sympathetic, pulling you in closer to share some more of his abundant body heat. “We just have to wait till they kill the lights. Then I’ll sneak up and steal you something from the clothesline.”

In the dim dark, the breeze made the bedsheets and tunics flutter like lingering spirits. The laundry left out to dry was mostly men’s clothing, though there was one modest brown dress among the damp garments, and though it looked a few sizes too big, you supposed you’d have to find a way to make it work.

You just wished you had some of your sewing supplies with you, even just a simple needle and thread. With that, at least, you might’ve been able to tailor it to better suit your figure. Perhaps you’d be able to procure some along the way, or find another innocent clothesline to skim from, but for now, you just had to find a way to enter into the next town without being too conspicuous.

When the time came, Dabi told you to wait under the veil of shadow that had served as your cover while he skulked closer to the house. You watched him cautiously, stealthily making his way to the clotheslines, trying not to imagine a scenario where the cocking of a shotgun echoed out across the clearing before the heart-stuttering blast of two shots rang out as they tore through the thieving villain and left him twitching and gasping, his blood turning the crisp grass beneath his body black with death.

But Dabi was a professional when it came to swiping things that weren’t his. He’d survived the last decade on such methods. This was nothing new. So, in what felt all at once like too much time and the blink of an eye, Dabi returned with a bundle of brown fabric bunched in his wiry arms.

“It’s still a little wet…” he informed you as he handed it over, allowing you to unfurl the garment and hold it lightly against your form to gauge how much excess fabric you’d have to swim around in.

“That’s ok…” you sighed, draping the dress over your arm. “It’ll be dry by morning if I find a place to hang it…” You then considered him, studied those two pools of sapphire that always seemed to glow through the dark. You wanted to ask him now what? What would happen to the two of you from here?

Seeming to read the uncertainty in your gaze, Dabi let out his own sigh through his nose, pressed his lips into a firm line, then said, “I know…” He placed a soft, apologetic kiss to the top of your head, once again gently tugging you into his side. “I know, but we’ll figure it out…”

When you wrapped your arms around him, allowing Dabi to feel your weight sagging with exhaustion, he returned the gesture, more than willing and capable to carry you the rest of the way if you needed him to.

For a while now, he’d realized— at first to his own horror— that he felt more than just lust for you. He wasn’t sure if he could yet call it love. Love was still more terrifying than anything. But he knew he felt an innate sense to protect you, to cherish you and care for you and make sure you had what you needed to be satisfied.

Whether that lied with or without him, he still was on the fence about, but he was willing to fight like hell to prove to you that he was at least willing to try.

“Let’s find a place to camp for the night,” Dabi suggested, and your sleepy nod against his chest was more than enough confirmation of just how badly you needed to rest after such a long, arduous day. You worried about Keigo tracking you while you slept, but Dabi said he knew a place that not even the hunter would be able to find you.

“It’s not exactly close…” he disclosed with an apology fringing his tone. “But if we can make it that far, we should be ok for a couple days at least.” He spoke of an old boat house on the edge of the shore, a place where he and his maker used to retreat to back when things in the village started to get a little dicey. He promised to make a plan, assured you you didn’t need to worry, but the moment you stopped moving and you closed your eyes, the rest of his words and your encroaching worries were lost to you.

***

NOW

The time of tavern dances and reckless reveries was bound to come to an end sooner or later, but when just two days after your carefree night of fun and joy Dabi’s signature ears and tail began to show the first signs of his dreadful moonlit monstrosity, it was time to kiss the cheerful twang of the bard’s fiddle and the buzzing warmth of overpoured drinks goodbye.

Going into hiding wasn’t anything new to the wolfman, but for you, it was quickly becoming unbearable. You wanted a bath and some clean clothes. You wanted a warm bed and a hot meal. You weren’t built for the scarcity and savagery of what a life confined to the edges of the wilderness beheld and, pretty soon, even Dabi was beginning to become concerned for how you were faring.

But you’d found an abandoned barn a few miles off from the nearest civilization, which, needless to say, was a much better, safer place to sleep than the open expanse of the woodlands. Discovering the shelter had helped raise your spirits, even if only a little, but there was one thing neither of you could deny much longer, and that was the fact that you needed something to eat.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” you promised him after he’d finally given in and agreed to let you take a quick trip into the nearest town. You were planning on, hopefully, swiping some fresh fruit or bread from the edge of a merchant’s kiosk while his back was turned and, while you had no doubt Dabi would’ve been able to pull that kind of brazen mission off without a hitch, he was currently indisposed.

“Don’t worry,” you further attempted to comfort him. “If I see Keigo I’ll turn right back around.”

But, while you wouldn’t admit to it out loud, you both knew that if the hunter really wanted to find you, he would. Dabi wasn’t worried about you seeing him. He was worried about him seeing you first.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come?” he asked for about the tenth time. “I can just keep an eye on the perimeter, maybe see if I can sniff him out—”

“Dabi,” you cut in, sounding half firm, half contrite. “It’ll be fine, really. I promise I’ll be ok.” He wanted to remind you that you couldn’t promise that. Not really. But you were placing a peck on his cheek and telling him to get some rest while you were gone before he could.

He’d been so close to saying it as he watched you leave the barn’s lopsided embrace, so close to telling you he loved you, but he hadn’t.

Instead, he settled for watching you walk into the distance until your figure became an indistinguishable shadow amidst the trees, wishing he weren’t such a coward.

***

This town was much more intricate and lively than your own. From the outside it had been hard to tell just how hustling and bustling the inside became at the height of the day, the high stone walls that surrounded the place blocking most of your view even from the top of the cliff that served as the outlook at the forest’s edge.

Street vendors called out with booming voices at passersby with promises of fairly priced goods and wares, messenger boys ran to and fro with bundles of parchment clutched in their hands or overflowing from their satchels, busking musicians played and sang in the town square, and there were even ladies of the night already draped over the banisters and leaning in doorways of the many brothels that spotted this foreign civilization.

You had to remind yourself that you were here for a specific purpose and couldn’t afford to find yourself distracted by all the curiosities that shimmered from around every corner and turn. You hoped that if you just pretended to belong here that no one would mark you as an outsider. As a lone woman especially, that could prove particularly disastrous if you happened to find yourself in the wrong part of town. However, just when you were starting to think you’d have to approach another young woman in order to ask for some directions, you stumbled upon the market street.

The cobbled paths stretched on for what seemed like forever, the ever shifting crowd moving along like bees in a hive all with a different intention to their stride. First, before you made a move, you tried to survey your options. A little bit of fruit and bread wouldn’t get you far, not to mention you knew Dabi needed to eat too, but you didn’t see how snagging any more than that from the edge of a distracted vendor’s stand was going to allow you to sneak away unnoticed.

And if you did get caught, you had no idea how severe the consequences might be. It could be as simple as making you return it and exiling you from the vicinity of the city walls or as harsh as tossing you in a prison cell or, what you feared most, the loss of one of your hands, as you’d heard rumors of being the punishment for theft in some far off civilizations that some of the hunters frequented during the herding seasons.

You kept circling, slowly but surely studying each of the merchants until you found one that looked like your best chance. He was an old man, appearing like he was just a few more nods away from falling asleep based on how he sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, eyes struggling to stay open as he kept jolting back awake. His stand was mostly empty so you knew that, if you approached now, his eyes would be on only you.

So you waited for someone else to take interest in his goods.

You were just about to lose hope and move onto your next best bet when finally a mother and her three young, rowdy children stepped up to his stand. The two boys kept trying to chase and hit each other with sticks they were pretending were swords, much to the embarrassment and exhaustion of their mother, while the girl, who appeared to be the youngest, clung tightly to her mother’s skirts until her brothers inevitably began to pull her into their teasing little games too.

The old man forced himself to stay conscious as the woman looked over his fruit— most of which was bruised or close to going bad— and chose some to put into her basket after haggling the price down a little. While she was contemplating, you swept in to complete your mission.

Your heart was beating so fast and so hard you swore anyone standing close enough to you would be able to hear it, but as the smaller of the two brothers began to wail and cry, the mother and the merchant’s head turning towards the sudden noise, you quickly grabbed an apple in each hand, shoved them deep into your oversized dress’s pockets, turned on your heel, and hurried away.

To get as far away from the market street as quickly as possible just in case someone had seen you, you cut down one of the crooked, narrow alleys, hands still shoved into your pockets as if the apples would simply disappear if you let them leave your grasp. By the time the end of the alley was in sight, you felt your heart rate slow just a little. It looked like this path led back to the square, and when the musician’s guitar registered to your ears, you let out a breath of relief.

Just a couple more yards and then you’d practically be homefree.

Just a couple more yards and then—

You gasped as a hand, calloused and firm, grabbed your wrist and wrenched you back. Instantly, instinctively, you tried to pull away, but when you turned to see who’d caught you, you froze, your next breath hitching, eyes widening and limbs beginning to numb with adrenaline and dread.

“Kei—” You began to blurt, but the hunter clapped a hand over your mouth and pushed you back against the wall of the alley, being a little rougher with you than you’d expected.

“Don’t speak,” he ordered, though his voice was low and somewhat gentle given his gestures. “Just shake your head yes or no…” He paused, clenched his jaw, swiveling his gaze from one end of the alley to the other before asking, “Is he here with you?”

With tears welling in your eyes, you shook your head no. You were too startled and scared to even consider telling a lie.

“Good…” Keigo sighed, easing up a little bit and removing his hand from your face, though still kept your body caged between his and the wall, watching you carefully for any sign that you’d bolt. “I need you to listen to me,” he began, still keeping his voice low, more of that dire urgency seeping back into his tone. “Whatever this is, whatever’s happening between you two, I need you to stop. I need you to come back home with me—”

“Keigo—”

“No,�� he growled, frustration swelling before gradually deflating as he recognized the fear in your eyes and that fact that he was currently the cause of it. He took a pause, collected himself, then continued, “No, listen—” He said your name and again something in his voice broke with desperation upon it. “Do you have any idea how distraught your parents are?” he said. “Do you have any idea how fucking terrified they are that their only daughter has gone missing?” When you didn’t answer in the space of silence he provided, he made you jump when he snapped, “Do you?”

You couldn’t hold back your tears anymore, pairs of them racing down your cheeks and dripping from where they met beneath your chin. Only stuttered, incoherent ramblings could escape your trembling lips.

You could imagine it, how heartbroken your family must be, how each night that passed where you hadn’t returned home was likely a sleepless, torturous one for them. It hurt you to know you were hurting them. But just going back wasn’t so easy now.

You didn’t know if you were ready to accept that you might never be able to go back at all.

You weren’t sure what to say, but it turned out you didn’t have to say anything, because after another frustrated huff, Keigo was pushing off from the wall and allowing you room to escape as he scowled at the ground and muttered, “Just tell me what he gives you that I can’t…”

And you didn’t feel sadness or fear anymore.

You felt anger.

You felt rage.

“You’re— That’s what this is about?” your voice was quiet, but the fury felt through your words didn’t go unnoticed. Keigo flicked his severe gaze to meet yours, his chin still tilted slightly towards the ground. “You’re chasing us down because you’re jealous—?”

“Of course that’s what—” He scoffed, incredulous. “Do you know what would happen if anyone ever found out the truth about all of this? You’d be tried and hanged for witchcraft. The church would drag you to that pyre, tie you down, and everyone that you’d ever known or loved would watch you burn!” He let out another growl of frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose as he huffed out a short-tempered breath. “Y’know what, no. What this is about is that you’ve been lying to my face for months. You’ve been lying to everyone around you for months. Probably even longer than that!” His expression changed from hurt to one of betrayal, one of disgust. “And all for what? To protect him? To protect some monster?”

“He’s not a monster!” you cut in. “You don’t know anything about him. Or us. You—”

“Then explain it to me!” shouted Keigo, immediately catching his outburst and lowering his voice again so as not to attract any suspicious or nosy townsfolk who might want to eavesdrop on your conversation. “Explain to me why you’re willing to risk everything— to risk your entire life— all for some— some—” He couldn’t find another word that wasn’t akin to monster in some way, so instead he opted to let you fill in the blanks yourself as he gave a defeated shrug.

You exhaled a quick, curt breath through your nose, then began “It’s not…” you paused, searching for the right words. “It just happened that way. I don’t know… I can’t explain it. I never intended to get so… involved. I— He’s changed, Keigo,” you insisted, looking up into his eyes wearing a pleading sincerity. “He’s not the kind of evil, malicious person you or anyone else in town makes him out to be. He can be… kind and gentle and…” You thought of all the times he’d been so tender with you, all the times he’d treated you like you were the only person or thing in this entire world he dared to hold dear. It hadn’t started that way, of course. It had been terrifying. Exhilarating. It had been something you hadn’t known you’d wanted until it was happening.

And then you couldn’t forget him.

You couldn’t stay away.

You saw him in every flash of blue that crossed your vision. You saw him in your dreams. When you gazed out the window of your little cottage home into the vast woods that lay beyond, you could swear you saw his figure shifting from between the trees.

He’d plagued your imagination until you swore you were going mad.

And then he’d returned.

He’d changed.

And maybe you were still far too naive to think you could truly trust him, but you couldn’t help but try.

“Please, Keigo,” you began again, voice trembling at the edges. “Please just… don’t kill him. If you promise to spare him, I’ll…” You knew that, once you spoke the words, you’d never be able to take it back. But, if it meant sparing Dabi, you thought you might be able to live with that. “If you let him go, I’ll marry you…” You hung your head in defeat, as if you’d just offered yourself up for a beheading rather than a betrothal. Then, snapping your gaze back up to meet his, a new fire blazing within your stare, you added, “But you have to swear to me that you won’t try anything. That you’ll be good on your end of the deal.”

“Does that mean,” he asked, a twinge of innocent hope to his voice, “you’ll come back with me?”

Nervously, you chewed on the inside of your cheek. You didn’t see how this could end well. Because if you chose to return with Keigo, Dabi was sure to become the hunter in pursuit of you. But if you rejected Keigo and returned to Dabi, the hunter wouldn’t stop until his prey was dead. You just wished Keigo would turn a blind eye, return to town with some story about how he’d tried but he’d lost the trail.

But that would never happen.

Not when both the hunter and the wolf were vying for your hand. One would inevitably result in a marriage you didn’t want, even if that meant you’d have a comfortable life as the prized hunter’s wife, while the other damned you to a life of running and hiding, running and hiding, your existence dictated by the cycles of the moon.

“Just let me see him one last time,” you said, feeling your window of opportunity closing in. “Just let me say goodbye…”

Keigo said your name again, and the way it came out as a condescendingly sympathetic coo made you feel that wave of dread wash over you all over again. So when he said, “You know I can’t let you do that…” you weren’t surprised in the least.

Both of you were still as stone in that alley. For a moment, it seemed like only the whistle of the wind and the distant tolling of the church bell could be heard between you.

Then, everything snapped back into razor sharp focus as Keigo darted forward with both hands outstretched to grab you.

He was going to force you to come back to town and marry him whether you wanted to or not.

But you threw yourself out of the way just in time, the side of your arm scraping against the rough brick wall before you were sprinting out of the alley like a rabbit giving chase.

Keigo was close on your heels, but not for long. You weaved your way in and out of the dense crowds, only a few people casting odd looks your way before continuing on with their business, and slipped down another short alley to discover a different way to exit the confines of the city walls.

You didn’t stop running until you’d reached the woods and beyond, your lungs burning and legs aching as you pushed yourself forward yet another wild, anxious step, constantly glancing behind you and expecting to see Keigo closing in.

Perhaps the hunter was skillfully stalking you, trying to use you as bait to lure him to his real target. But by the time you reached the valley that led to the farmhouse and saw not another soul in sight, you figured that you were probably safe for now.

“Hey—” Dabi began as you rushed back into the barn, but the moment he saw the look on your face and noticed how out of breath you were, he was coming over to your side and placing his hands on your shoulders, feeling just how badly you were shaking. “What happened?”

“I— He—” you stammered, tears beginning to sting in your eyes again as you relived the scenario you’d just barely managed to escape. Anything that came out of your mouth after that was incoherent, frazzled nonsense as your sobbing took over. You hadn’t even realized Dabi had taken you into his arms until your terror had subsided enough for some of the buzzing numbness in your limbs to fade and your breathing went from hyperventilation to stuttered hiccups.

He’d been trying to ask you what happened in between attempting to comfort you, but when nothing seemed to get through he’d resorted to stroking your hair and your back, rocking you gently as you clung to him until you’d seemed to return to yourself. Only then could you attempt to verbalize the horrible realization that, had things gone just a little differently, had you not run fast enough, you might’ve never seen Dabi again.

“Ok,” Dabi said, his voice low and quiet, but resolute. “We can’t stay here for long then. We’ll sleep here tonight…” He ran his fingers over your hair again, smoothing down some of its disheveledness but ultimately not doing much to erase the evidence of the frantic rate at which you’d fled town and went rushing through the woods. “But in the morning we’ve gotta keep moving.”

You didn’t respond. Didn’t have anything to say. You could only sag under the weight of the day’s trauma— and all the trauma you’d experienced since fleeing the cabin— and hope that you could trust Dabi to know what was right.

But time was running out.

As much as he was trying to keep the chaos as bay, Dabi knew it was only a matter of time until the hunter caught up with you and the three of your fates were set in stone.

Because whether it was Dabi or Keigo who was left at the end of all of this, your entire world would be forever changed.

***

In truth, he’d let you get away.

Keigo had forced himself to slow his pace and watch as you were folded into the crowd and swallowed behind the teeth of yet another jagged brick alley. He’d stood in the middle of the square, itching to reach for one of his arrows. To knock it. To aim. To take the shot.

To end your suffering before things got so much worse.

Because if he couldn’t have you, why should he let anyone else?

Why should he let a monster lay his claim to you?

You were meant to be his.

He’d seen you first.

He knew, if only he’d had a little more time before you’d encountered the wolfman, that you would’ve been his.

No, if he couldn’t have you, then no one could.

And if he had to be the one to end you, at least he’d know he could make it quick.

He could make it painless.

A beautiful death befitting of a beautiful girl.

And when he took your body, so small and still in his arms, back to your family— When he told them how the ruthless, brutal wolfman had sank his savage teeth into your supple flesh, had stolen your purity, had stolen your life, and by the time Keigo had arrived it had been too late…

He’d still end up as the hero at the end of the day.

He’d become even more revered in your small, pious little town despite not being able to save the life of the pretty girl who lived on the hill.

So, yes, while Keigo had let you go, while he’d lost your trail, he knew that you couldn’t have gone far. He’d find you. There was no doubt about that. But first, he had to prepare something special for when he met you next.

So he walked into the nearest hunting shop and picked out a knife.

***

The hayloft was more comfortable than you’d originally given it credit for on sight. Sure, it still wasn’t a soft, warm bed, but after consecutive nights of sleeping out in the cold, raw wilderness since you and Dabi found yourselves on the run, it was the closest thing you were going to get to some sense of comfort and home.

“Found some blankets in the shed,” Dabi announced after returning from scouring the place for any resources the two of you could use. “They’re a little tattered but should at least keep us warm through the night.”

Suddenly, for what might’ve been the first time in two weeks, you found yourself smiling and, not only that, but giggling as well.

“Dabi…” you began, an edge of sympathy to your otherwise amused tone. “Those are saddle blankets.” When he simply continued to stare at you as if waiting for you to elaborate on why that was an issue, you pushed up from your seat and said, “It’s fine. Either way, that’ll work.” You neglected to mention the fact that you two were lucky to be finding yourselves in such a predicament during the late spring and not the dead of winter, in which case those thin, handmade blankets probably wouldn’t have done much good, but overall just found his lack of knowledge on the subject endearing.

“I’ll keep watch,” Dabi stated once he’d made sure to get you all tucked in and as cozy as currently possible. “Don’t worry about the hunter. If I so much as catch his scent—”

“Dabi…” you began again, much sleepier this time. “Why don’t you just take a moment to relax. If he was on our heels, you’d sense him, wouldn’t you?” It felt like an eternity since the two of you had been able to just relax, to trust in a false sense of security like the cabin had once provided.

“I know, but—”

“Just lay with me,” you cut in, your voice laced with the softness of oncoming sleep. “Just for a couple minutes…”

Glancing over his shoulder at the wide barn doors, ears twitching, tail swishing slightly across the dusty floor, debating whether to indulge you— indulge himself— or do the more responsible thing for once, Dabi ultimately decided that a couple minutes couldn’t hurt.

Even if those couple minutes turned into an hour.

“Hey…” he murmured eventually, rousing you from where you’d very nearly drifted off into dreamland. Your eyes fluttered back open, blinking a few times until he came into focus through the dark. “So… What’s his deal anyway? Why is he so…”

His words trailed off, but you knew what he meant.

“What?” you asked, nuzzling in a little closer to him, trying to bask in as much of his warmth as proximity would allow. “You mean why is Keigo so obsessed with me?”

Dabi didn’t want to phrase it like that but, he admitted, yes, that’s exactly what he meant.

You explained that you’d known Keigo since childhood, or rather, your family had known his— the hunters who’d brought him in after finding him as a baby abandoned in the woods raising him as their own, teaching him to track, to lure, to kill. You said that you’d first met him at the church, that you’d noticed him a few rows ahead of you peering over his shoulder throughout the entire service, his golden eyes always finding yours as if he had something he desperately wanted to tell you, beseeching you with his stare.

“At first,” you recalled, “it sort of freaked me out. Every Sunday he’d be there, a few rows ahead, just glancing at me throughout the entire mass…” Keigo was five years older than you, and back then, it had seemed like much more. As a little girl, you remembered tugging on your mother’s skirts or your father’s shirt sleeve whenever his stare became too oppressive, afraid that the boy had the devil in him and was plotting something against you like the pastors were always telling cautionary tales of during their sermons.

But then, after about half a year of silent, mysterious stares, your parents had introduced you to the renowned Takami family and their prodigy of a son. It was then that you got a taste of Keigo’s more charming side, the easy smiles and polite manners, though something mischievous had always lurked beneath the surface of his laugh.

From then on, your families attended church together, standing in the same pew, breaking bread after service and helping each other out during the harsher seasons, trading your mother’s handmade coats and quilts and father’s extra firewood for the Takami’s rabbit and deer meat.

Keigo had always been enamored with you, had always tried to say and do all the right things.

But deep down, you knew, just like you’d caught a glimpse of during those six months burdened by the amber of his predator’s gaze, that there was something subtly, inexplicably, inherently wrong with him.

“And then he got the idea that he was going to marry me,” you sighed, as if the mere notion was exhausting. “And no matter how many times I tried to avoid him, no matter how many times I tried to brush him off, he just wouldn’t give up…”

Dabi blew out a low whistle, the note laced with sarcasm. Then, jokingly, he said, “So… what? Were you the only girl in your entire village, or…?”

You hummed out a short chuckle, gave Dabi a light nudge, and said, “Sure seems that way…” But then your mood darkened yet again, causing you to add, “But, I dunno… I have a feeling all of this has more to do with you than it does with me…”

The admittance had sort of just slipped out, the thought having been on your mind since your run in with the hunter this past afternoon, your intuition unable to shake the feeling of unease that came along with it.

But before you could ruminate on that unsettling idea for much longer, Dabi pulled you in closer and muttered, “Yeah, well, if he wants to marry me, the guy’s got another thing comin’.”

Now you laughed for real, body shaking with mirth, and you thought of all the ways that Keigo could never, would never, be any match for Dabi when it came to your affections. Because who else could make you laugh like this during such dark, dire times?

If it was a monster’s love that had sunk its teeth into you, then so be it.

You would accept it with open arms, even if that made others view you as a monster just the same.

As your amusement simmered down and your body once again prepared to become heavy with sleep, Dabi remained alert and awake. He knew he should force himself from your tangled embrace and assume his post for watch. And he would.

He just had something he needed to do first.

You were stirred awake yet again as his hands slowly began to wander, the shape of his palm and the press of his fingertips a familiar, welcome thing. And, while you wanted to get some much needed rest, you also wanted whatever he had in store for you as well.

Because how long had it been now since you’d had enough time to partake in these kinds of pleasures?

You were pretty sure you’d lost count.

But, this time, Dabi decided, he was going to be soft with you. If this was the last time he might ever get to have you like this, the last time he’d ever get to have anyone like this, if Keigo succeeded in finally killing the infamous wolfman like he so desperately aspired to, then he wanted you to remember him as gentle, as more than the monster that the myths portrayed him to be.

With the two of your bodies pressed close, limbs loosely entangled as you shifted slightly, as if gently turning in sleep, he nudged his nose against yours, those blazing blues at half-mast as he drank in the sight of you so vulnerable and tender beside him. When your eyes fluttered back open, slowly blinking him back into focus, you leaned forward, lazily chasing after his lips for a kiss. Normally, he would’ve denied you. Would’ve teased you until you were practically begging for any and everything he would give you. But now, tonight, Dabi was content to oblige you.

Like a dying man’s last meal, he was going to savor every kiss, every touch, every inch of your skin until there was nothing left to give. Nothing left to take.

He was going to draw it out.

He was going to make it last so, when the hunter finally came for him, he’d have no regrets if the worst befell him.

Your lips first met with a soft, chaste touch, the ghost of affection reaching out between each other in a silent plea for more. You felt his fingers flex where they gripped your waist, tugging you just that much closer to him, wanting to have you so close he could feel your heartbeat against his skin, so close that your pulse and his own became indistinguishable.

When his tongue gave a gentle suggestion for you to part your lips for him, you obeyed, melting further into the kiss as you hummed out a sated sigh, a breathy moan working its way up your throat. As you relearned the shape of each other’s mouths, rememorized the taste, Dabi’s hands began to wander some more, mapping out the familiar curves of your body as he so liked to do, his fingertips rough but the touch itself gentle, delicate.

You sucked in a small gasp when he groped at your ass, feeling his lips split into a smirk as one of those sultry chuckles escaped him. He couldn’t help but find your reactions to such things amusing yet adorable. It was like you were his helpless little virgin all over again. It made him hard just thinking about it, that first night he’d had you.

He began to strip you of your clothes, the bundle of oversized brown fabric gathered around your waist while he pressed a kiss to your hip, your tummy, then pushed up higher to expose the soft curve of your breasts to him, nipples pebbling as the cool night air brushed up against your skin, then over your head and discarded completely in a pile off to the side, Dabi pulling his own shirt over his head to expose the expanse of his chest, pale and etched deep with scars, just as lovely as you remembered him to be.

With a knee between your legs, he gave one of them a nudge as means of encouragement to open for him, his hands aiding in getting you the rest of the way there when you seemed to suddenly become a little shy.

As his head lowered between your spread legs a shiver wracked through you, a tremor of anticipation at the magic, be it witchcraft or a miracle, that he had a habit of placing upon you with his fingers and tongue. His warm breath fanned over your wet cunt, causing you to whine when you felt just how soaked you’d become, raising a palm to cover your mouth as your face grew hot with the humiliation, muffling your next precursory moan. But that was when Dabi stopped, just inches from tasting you, moments from delivering you the most divine pleasure you’d known, raising his head and appearing above you again, lightly taking your wrist in his grip and tugging it free from your mouth.

“No,” he stated, plain and simple, yet still retaining that err of gentleness that he was becoming more accustomed to displaying around you. “Don’t try to hide it. I want to hear you, understand?” Despite your face growing hotter still, you swallowed down your apprehension and nodded for him. “Good girl,” he praised you, slowly retracing his descent down towards where you were most needy for attention. Then, as if talking only to himself, he muttered, “I wanna hear you when you come for me,” and upon hearing those words you felt your little hole flutter, your belly clenching just at the thought of what you knew it would feel like once he was buried deep inside you, the sensation all too familiar yet, at the same time, always feeling like nothing could’ve prepared you for it beforehand, the ecstasy created by your two bodies becoming one stronger and more potent than any other brand of euphoria the world could offer.

You let out a broken mewl as his long, slick tongue began lightly teasing at your dewy folds, gathering more of your arousal as he made you obscenely drenched with his spit, taking his time to flick the tip of his tongue along your sensitive little bud, making you jolt and writhe, wrestling you still with his arms looped snugly around your thighs. Your melody of moans and whimpers only ever made him desperate to hear them more, engaging in the skillful dance of bringing you right up to that edge but always pulling you back before you tumbled over.

“You’re being mean—” you lightly chided, a feeble quiver to your quiet voice, the teasing soon becoming too much.

But, at this, Dabi only chuckled, placing a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the inside of your thigh, stroking the other with the pad of his thumb as he rested his head against it. Gazing up at you with glittering eyes, he cooed, “Promise I’ll make it worth it, baby…” Another kiss, this time closer to your soaked core, caused you to flinch. “Besides…” He began to leave languid kisses up your body, shifting his position to reach your tummy, your chest, your collarbones, your neck. When he was face to face with you again, the sight of your arousal shining on his chin making your stomach clench yet again, he said, “Don’t I always?”

But he didn’t give you time to answer before diving back into his ministrations, his tongue lolling out to lav at your perked nipples, making you moan and arch further into the warmth of his mouth, Dabi lightly tugging at one of the furled buds with his teeth, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to hear you give him one of those cute little gasps again, balancing on the precipice of fear.

After he’d coated both of you breasts with his saliva, making nearly as much of a mess of you as you’d made of him, Dabi’s kisses once more made the migration towards your neck, sucking a few dark bruises into that tender flesh, your grip tightening around his biceps as a wave of goosebumps raced across your skin, your breath stuttering at the sensation.

Then he was coaxing your mouth back open for him, taking a moment to hover there, to taste each exhale that leapt from your lungs. The kiss he gave you next was sloppy and open-mouthed, and you could taste the salty tang of yourself on his tongue now, only distracted from the flavor when you felt two of his long, lithe fingers glide through the glistening petals of your pussy before slipping inside of you, pumping in and out, slow and steady, before beginning to scissor you open wider in preparation.

“Hurts—” you hissed when he stretched you a little too far a little too fast, but the feeling of your cunt trying to suck his fingers in deeper, the way your silky walls clenched around them as if in hopes of holding them prisoner, only made him that much more painfully hard. He could already feel himself leaking through his trousers. He was just as needy as you were, only better at hiding it.

“I know, baby…” he cooed, unable to keep some of that saccharine condensation from fringing his raspy tone. “But you’re doing so good for me…” Another kiss placed to your temple as he reached into his waistband and took hold of his cock, feeling it pulse against his palm when the cool night air hit the velvety length of him. He didn’t waste time lining himself up, his other hand stroking gentle lines along your hip. “You’re always so good for me.”

You half expected him to bury himself to the hilt with one harsh thrust, as he sometimes had a habit of doing, but tonight, as he’d already decided, he was going to take his time with you. So, inch by inch, he sunk deeper into your slick heat, sucking in a hiss through clenched teeth when your little nails bit into his back at the sting of the stretch, your delicate skin breaking in fragile fissures as his cock split you in two.

Once he was fully inside, both of your bare chests pressed close, Dabi gave you a moment to adjust to the feeling of him stuffing you full, but before he could move, you made a request of him.

“It hurts a little,” you said, then further clarified, “The hayloft. It hurts my back. Can we…?” But before you’d even finished your question he was carefully propping you up, helping to hold you into a position that allowed you to straddle his lap, the shift making you wince a little as his length nudged against your cervix, but you definitely felt more comfortable now than you had laying back against the rough wooden surface.

Letting out a soft chuckle as he picked pieces of straw from where they stuck in your hair, Dabi asked, “Better?” and you nodded, adjusting your position just a little bit more before you felt like you were in the perfect spot to take him. As he began, he kept a strong palm pressed to the small of your back for support, your little hands gripping his shoulders and becoming tighter the more he fucked into you, urging you to ride him to the best of your ability, and you did all that you could to match his pace. But, as always, eventually he became relentless, hips meeting yours with ruthless stamina, drinking in every cry or yelp or moan you would grant him, soaking up every clench of your cunt around his cock until, finally, he came, his body shuddering as a breathy moan was punched from his chest, filling you to the brim with his sticky warmth. But he wasn’t done with you yet. He wasn’t done until he’d made you come, made you gush all over his cock, coating him in so much of your love and your lust that he swore he’d never be able to clean it all away.

Rubbing some more of those torturously skillful circles on your swollen little clit, Dabi soon worked you over that sharp edge, feeling your body tremble and tense before your weight sagged against him, your shallow, panting breaths gradually returning to something much more even and controlled.

Normally, he’d take this time after to clean you up, to lay with you as he watched you drift off to sleep, only then daring to fall unconscious himself. But out here, in this unfamiliar and unequipped place, there wasn’t much he could do besides wipe the excess of your shared arousal that drooled in thick globs from your sore little hole with the edge of one of the blankets, murmuring promises of the life he’d create for the two of you once you’d escaped the hunter’s grasp as you feel unconscious.

He’d build you a house. One with a fireplace and a balcony and a back porch. He’d build you a bed. One with four posts and a canopy and a quilt. You’d have a wardrobe full of the finest clothes money could buy, making a living by selling your handcrafted sundries in the market of the nearest town. Your world would smell like honey and pine. You’d spend your days surrounded by the trees and the songs of the birds. You’d get married in the backyard in a wedding dress you’d made by hand, freshly picked poppies adorning Dabi’s makeshift lapel, trading matching rings carved of oak or birch or stone. He’d make love to you on that bed he’d built, on that quilt you’d sewn, every night leading up to the full moon.

You’d bake bread.

He’d hunt deer.

You’d be safe.

You’d be happy.

You’d be his.

But first, before the house and the honey and the hunting of the deer, there was one thing Dabi knew he had to do in order to make even half of that fantasy possible.

He had to kill Keigo.

He had to pave the way for a world where not a single hunter would follow in pursuit of you.

***

The blade caught the morning’s glow, sunlight on silver a burst of blinding light.

Keigo couldn’t help but admire its pristine shine, the flawless edge of its craftsmanship, the way he could view his reflection in it, the amber of his eyes cutting across the weapon wearing determination but also something sorrowful.

He didn’t want to kill you. Truly, he didn’t. If Keigo got his way, you’d finally see reason once the demon who’d tempted you had been slain. You’d come to your senses. You’d accept his offer to return with him and take his hand in marriage.

You’d choose the path that let you live, left your family pleased, and ensured that Keigo had you all to himself.

He could give you a good life.

He would give you a good life.

All you had to do was let him.

And if not, well…

Keigo had always thought you looked best in the color red.

***

The countryside by the shore was comfortingly desolate, the hills sprawling out in every direction as far as the eye could see until the rolling waves of the ocean crept up to meet them. The breeze tasted of salt and the lingering smoke from the small campfire that had just been stomped out.

The old boat house stood on the border between the sand and the seagrass, the exterior half rotted by the caress of the brine, flecks of once-white paint hanging onto the planks for dear life, the decaying wood turned a pale shade of teal.

It was so quiet out here, not another soul for miles beyond the seagulls that circled come high noon.

You’d never seen the ocean before, your little village too far inland to ever make the journey, even by horse, so you found much comfort and wonder by simply sitting in the soft sand and staring out at the froths of foam lining the waves far off in the distance, nothing but water meeting sky. It gave you time to think, to really put some things into perspective.

You and Dabi had been on the run for over two weeks now. You’d traveled so far, seen so much, and the further you distanced yourself from home, the less you found yourself wanting to go back.

“We could do it, y’know…” he’d said the first night you’d arrived, the crumbling little structure one of his maker’s old hideouts. “We could head south to the ports. Sneak onto a boat…” He’d gone from gazing at the stars to gazing at you, those half-lidded blues sparkling as if he’d reached up into the constellations and plucked down two of the stars just for you. “See where it takes us…”

You’d hugged your knees up to your chest, turned your view back to the expanse of black sky above, and tried to contemplate what that would be like.

A new country.

A new life.

No one to chase you, at least, for a little while.

But maybe then you could put down some roots, still away from the center of society, of course, but you could create a life where you wouldn’t have to live day by day, hour by hour.

Though now, as the sun rose on a new dawn, you wondered how many days you had left.

“How long have you been awake?”

You turned as Dabi’s voice registered to you. He was standing on the porch that sagged under the weight of every pace, each step surely the last one it would take to cause the whole thing to crumble as it creaked and groaned beneath his feet. He had a moth-eaten blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders, the nights out here so much colder than what the dense forest provided.

Dragging one of your bare feet across the sand, you carved a smooth arc out before you as you sighed. “Maybe an hour,” you responded, your voice just loud enough for him to hear with the couple of meters between you. You were about to approach him but then he was the one closing the gap, coming down to join you on the soft, cool sand.

“I was worried,” he admitted, now standing before you, close enough to reach out and touch. “I thought maybe he’d…” and his words trailed off. But you didn’t need him to finish the thought to understand.

“Sorry…” you whispered, feeling the threat of tears prickling in the back of your nose. “It’s just—”

Dabi pulled you in close to his chest, wrapped you up in the thin blanket along with him, and he murmured into your hair after a shuddering sigh, “It’s fine. It’s just…” He didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to say it out loud. How he’d thought the hunter had come and stolen you in the night. But he really should’ve known better.

Had Keigo come around, he would’ve ensured that Dabi never got the chance to wake up ever again.

“Once we get through the next full moon,” Dabi concluded, “we’ll head to the ports.”

And so it was decided.

The next full moon was two days from now— you’d grown accustomed to reading its phases based on the current state of Dabi’s wolfishness alone over these past few weeks— so that didn’t leave much time.

Not for you to decide whether you were truly ready to turn your back on everything you’d ever known and plunge into the uncertainty of what a future with Dabi would hold, or decide this was all too much too fast and return to the damning familiarity of had once been your normal day to day.

You’d tasted freedom.

You were so close to grabbing it with both hands and swallowing it whole.

How could you give that up?

How could you forget all of that in just forty-eight hours?

Though, for Keigo, forty-eight hours was more than enough time to take some drastic measures.

It was also more than enough time for him to catch up.

“The ports…” you repeated, your words sounding far off to your own ears, as if you were hearing them in a dream. It seemed almost impossible to you, this plan that Dabi felt so sure would work. And Dabi, well…

He was just hoping he could convince you to cross the border before you changed your mind.

Once he got you on that boat— currently speculating that stowing away on a cargo ship would be your best bet, even if the journey could take days or maybe even weeks until it reached the next port, Dabi sneaking out at night to maneuver around watch patrols as he sniffed out any food that he could steal— and whisked you away from this place, escaped the hunter who swore he’d pursue the two of you to the ends of the earth…

Only then would he feel like he’d won.

Only then would he let himself believe that he’d be able to have you forever.

“Don’t worry,” he was telling you again, placing a kiss to the crown of your head as he stroked gentle patterns down your back, his palm warm through your clothes, a welcome reprieve from the chilly sea air. “I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you.”

It was the only lie he couldn’t bring himself to stop telling.

He thought that, if he said it enough, it would become true.

You turned in his arms, your back pressed to his chest, so you could once again face the sea.

Those waves both beckoned and terrified you, pulling you in with every frill of foam lapping at the shore, yet pushing you further away with the hiss of its rhythmic ambience.

Once you crossed that water you’d never be able to come back. You’d only have Dabi and the moon and whatever little life the two of you could manage to make for yourselves after that.

And so you asked yourself…

Would that be enough?

“I know…” you told him, your voice so fragile, so small and trembling, when you wanted nothing more than to look him in the eyes, so firm and resolute, and give him that answer with your whole chest. With your whole heart.

You wanted nothing more than to believe that, no matter what stood in your way, as long as you had each other, nothing could break you apart.

Nothing could hurt you.

No one could take you away from him again.

Yet, every time you closed your eyes, you saw it— that flash of tawny and gold. It haunted your nightmares, crept up behind you between every shadow or sudden movement out of the corner of your eye.

You didn’t want Keigo to die. Not really.

But, you were coming to accept, there might be no other way.

It was going to be him or Dabi.

You didn’t need to take the time to figure out which one you most wanted to fall into the arms of once all was said and done.

***

When Keigo could taste the salt in the air, he knew the sea couldn’t be far. He quickened his pace, the sting of the open blisters on his feet and the pain twisting in his stomach after three days without a meal no longer registering to him once the thought that the wolf could’ve already stolen you away across the water struck him.

Or maybe he’d arrive to find your body strewn across the shore, your blood being licked at by the waves.

He thought he’d prefer the latter. At least then he’d have closure.

At least then, he wouldn’t have to do it himself.

And if he was lucky enough to discover the two of you still there, what would he do?

There would be nowhere to hide. He might be able to finish things once and for all, if he was able to knock an arrow and aim for the heart faster than the wolfman could sink his fangs into the hunter’s soft human throat.

He was so close he could feel it in his bones, this insatiable ache for something he couldn’t quite describe. Perhaps it was the thrill of the hunt calling to him, this new, intelligent prey so enticing to a man who’d pursued the same game ever since his father before him had handed the little boy a knife and a bow and taught him how to kill. He’d learned to get into the mind of his targets, able to trace the path of their steps as if they were his own. With the two of you, he’d been kept on his toes, always trying to predict what you’d do or where you’d go next but unable to get three steps ahead like he was used to.

The swish of the waves mingled with the whistle of the breeze, and when Keigo could tell the two apart, he knew he had to keep moving. He would reach the sea tonight. He would face whatever awaited him at that shore.

When the boathouse appeared in the distance, at first Keigo didn’t let himself believe it, figuring that he’d somehow dozed off and was caught in a dream. Or maybe he was delirious from lack of sleep and food and was wandering aimlessly towards some sort of mirage. But the closer he trudged, the bigger that crooked hut became and he knew it was all too real.

He drew his knife, slinking up to the side of the little house and listening for any signs of life. It was silent, so he thought fuck it and tried the front door.

Keigo winced when it opened with a creak, his body going still and he anticipated an attack. But when nothing came, he gathered up the courage to travel further into the house, going room by room, of which there were only four, and expecting to find a pair of glowing blue eyes peering at him around every turn.

But the boathouse was empty, as far as Keigo could tell.

All that was left behind was a tattered shawl and some empty crab husks.

***

The morning before the full moon, you and Dabi headed south. It would be easier to catch a boat if you weren’t running on at the last minute, and this way you could sneak on under the cover of night when there would be less people around. A few towns back, on the way to the shore, Dabi had found himself a long, stiff piece of fabric that could pass as a cloak to hide his wolfishness. The plan was, if anyone asked or seemed suspicious, you would just tell them that you were traveling with a sick relative who was, unfortunately, horribly deformed beneath that cloak, and that you were setting sail in search of a specialist overseas who you hoped could cure him.

By nightfall though, he’d be man no more, and then the cloak would be used to keep you warm as the ocean’s breeze tangled around your limbs. Dabi would curl up around you, keeping watch while you slept, and in the morning, when he looked just as human as you did though still hiding beneath the cloak to maintain your cover story, the two of you could merge with the other passengers and blend into the crowd. Depending on the length of the journey, Dabi would have to sneak off periodically once the moon became full, but somehow, some way, he’d make sure that both of you were delivered safely to a foreign shore.

He’d find a way to start over.

He’d find a way to live and not just survive.

“Look!” you’d called from where you’d ventured up a little ways ahead, the edge of the forest fading from a cliffside. You pointed a finger out at a horizon Dabi couldn’t yet view, though as he marched up the incline to stand by your side, the sight of the town’s edge lined with vessels— passenger liners and freighters and sailboats— finally revealed itself.

“We’re so close!” you beamed, and it was the first time in a long time that Dabi had seen you smile like that, heard the giddy excitement fringing on your words.

He slung an arm around you, gently tugging you against his chest before reaching forward to twine both of his long, thin arms around your waist. “Just a little bit longer…” he murmured, though whether it was more to himself or to you, you weren’t exactly sure. “Just a little bit longer and we’ll be free…”

And so you made plans to camp out on the hem of the forest until dusk. You sat by the cliff, counting the hours until the sun would set, sharing the meager stock of berries and nuts you’d collected as the sky changed from blue to a beigey gold, and when hints of lavender tinged the edges of nature’s great canvas, the two of you stood, staring out at all the little boats bobbing and swaying and beckoning you on board, hands clasped, hope high, and prepared to commence the final and possibly most daring piece of this crooked jigsaw puzzle of a plan.

Too bad you only made it a few paces before the weathered figure of the hunter appeared between the trees in the distance, causing both sides of this long, treacherous game you’d been playing for so long to stop short, the wolf and the hawk sizing each other up.

Then, just before you could squeeze Dabi’s hand, a silent imploration to him, though for what exactly you did not know, without taking his sharp gaze off the hunter he merely said to you, “Head for the port. I won’t be long.”

Before you could protest even half a syllable or a single sound, Dabi took off running, darting towards Keigo faster than you’d ever seen a living creature move.

Keigo drew his knife and gave chase.

And you, however frustrated and terrified, started in a sprint to follow.

***

With every leap and bound through the uneven path, closing in on the hunter but not quite near enough to catch him and take him to the ground, Dabi could feel the pull of the full moon running through his blood like fire and ice colliding in a burst of cruel fireworks.

His senses became sharper, his reflexes quicker, his vengeance and bloodlust flaring molten and deadly between the grooves of his ribcage. It wouldn’t be long until this curse placed upon him took control and his bones twisted into canis lupus.

But, for perhaps the first time since he’d been turned, Dabi longed to become a monster. Because, when he did, there’d be no chance for the hunter to get away. He’d rake his razor-sharp claws down Keigo’s back, drag him to the ground, and sink his teeth in deep, savor the man’s blood as it gushed into his maw and ran in thick rivulets down his throat.

Just a little longer, Dabi told himself, not slowing down a single beat as he forced Keigo back further into the woods. Just a little longer and it’ll all be over.

Only, the hunter wasn’t keen on playing the part of easy prey.

Keigo was guiding Dabi, bringing him deeper into the darkness of the green in hopes of having a chance to spare you.

He’d give you one last chance to accept his offer and return home with him once the wolf was dead.

If you still refused, well…

At least then no one from the town on the coast would hear your screams echo out across the sloshing water.

The moon became brighter still, cutting through twilight’s haze like a window opening into the silvery heavens, and with that illumination came the protruding of fangs, the curvature of claws, the sprouting of thick, black fur down the nape of Dabi’s neck and along the column of his spine. The blueness of his eyes became bluer still, glowing sapphires slashing through the shadows to pierce his target’s back every time the hunter dared to glance behind him, panic striking as the wolfman closed the gap more and more with every step.

You’d lost their trail long ago, rushing frantically through the dark woodlands in hopes of spotting the imprint of a familiar shoe tread or catch a glimpse of Keigo’s tawny hunting jacket from between the rustling pines. Your lungs were starting to ache, every breath of the evening’s cool air sucked down in short, panicked breaths stinging from inside your tightening chest the longer you went without any sign of them.

You were about to give up. To turn around and hope you could find your way back into hiding and pray that Dabi would be the one who came back to find you.

But then you heard a scream.

Not a scream, exactly.

More like a low, guttural, raspy growl.

Dabi’s tone echoed in sharp, staccato bursts from somewhere off to your left, his voice sounding pained, like he was in the throes of agony.

And so you took off running again, this time faster than you’d previously thought yourself capable of.

Just before the wolfman had been able to take hold of the hunter, an invisible force seized his limbs, an acidic suffering surging through his veins, lacing through the very marrow of his bones as they began to crack and shift inside his frame, the pain splintering through him like white hot electricity as he arched and bent with the torture of the transformation.

By the time you reached him, he had only a few more breaths left of being a man. You’d never seen him during a shift. He’d always gone away, done it somewhere privately, somewhere you couldn’t hear his misery.

And when you looked at him, even just for those few seconds he was caught in the horrible in between, he could see it in your eyes.

The terror.

And you…

You’d be lying if you said you could no longer understand why so many viewed his kind as monsters.

It was only once Dabi’s haunting hisses and moans ceased that you registered Keigo’s own groans of struggle and dread and revulsion filling the air as he panted through clenched teeth, attempting to scramble up from the ground where he’d tripped as he’d been backing away, golden eyes wide with fear of all that was holy and damned and everything in between.

You’d never seen Keigo afraid and, somehow, that in and of itself was terrifying to you.

“Dabi!” you called out to him, something more akin to concern than disgust breaking at the end of his name. He peered over his shoulder to find you running towards him, immediately swiveling to help close the gap, mindful to let you collide with him and not the other way around, as his current size might do some damage if it crashed into your fragile human form. You threw your arms around his neck, buried your face into his fur, the scent of campfire smoke still clinging to him even in this form, and he could feel your whole body shaking, trembling like a fall leaf one breeze from being shorn from the tree’s withered branch.

A short, breathy whine was sighed out through the wolf’s nostrils and you felt his massive weight sag a little further into your desperate embrace. Man or wolf, you just wanted him to be alright. You wanted him to whisk you away from this nightmare and deliver you both safely to one of those boats, the promise of a new life, a new land, awaiting you.

But, while you two were having your touching little reunion, the hunter wasn’t wasting any time. He knocked an arrow and drew back the bowstring in one swift, deathly precise motion, the sharp tip of the weapon aimed for your beating heart as soon as you parted from your beloved monster. He took one steadying breath, not a single flicker of doubt or apprehensive shudder to be found.

Keigo had no other choice.

You’d forced his hand.

You’d made your choice and now he’d follow through with his.

Dabi saw the hunter turn his aim onto you, and before he even had time to think he was springing into action, vaulting towards the hunter with his teeth bared as the arrow was set free.

The world seemed to slow around him as he dove into harm’s way, a dozen memories flashing through his head all at once, though still seeming to draw out and take their time. He remembered the first time he lay eyes on you, so enticing and vulnerable as you’d waded your way through the fog, the fur of his maker wrapped around your pretty neck, the look of terror you’d worn when he sang your lullaby back to you and you’d spotted the glow of his eyes through the trees.

He remembered how he’d terrorized you, chasing you through the woods, his cruel laughter ringing out and startling the birds from their resting branches. And when he’d caught you, he’d been even more horrible still, earning himself a bite and a cut from the knife you’d carried back then. And when you weren’t afraid anymore, that’s when things had gotten interesting.

That’s when things had changed.

Dabi no longer viewed you as the scared little rabbit, the prey that indulged him in the thrill of the chase.

You could be a wolf in sheep’s clothing, if you wanted to.

And Dabi’s curiosity of what a girl who was as beautiful as she was fierce could be like— could feel like, could taste like— had ultimately won.

And he’d grown attached.

Because you weren’t afraid of him like everyone else was, like everyone else had warned you to be.

You were compassionate and smart and empathetic and kind. You were so many things that he’d convinced himself he didn’t deserve, convinced himself he’d never experience again since damned to live by the cycles of the moon.

You’d given him a reason to live.

And now, for you and only you, he’d be happy for you to be his reason to die.

“No—!” Your shriek cut through the dark as Keigo’s shot buried itself in Dabi’s shoulder, the arrow piercing his rough wolf’s flesh and causing the beast to yelp and stagger. You watched as the blood shone on his matted fur, soaking it to his scarred flesh, and felt like something in the center of your body had been yanked clean out of you, leaving a gaping hole in its wake.

But it would take more than one measly arrow to kill the werewolf, and when Dabi turned his gaze back onto the hunter, his lips pulled up in a vicious snarl to reveal two rows of sharp teeth, he glared with every ounce of hate he’d ever felt for anyone or anything in this world. Yet, at the same time, he was relieved. Because he’d much rather it be him than you who had to experience such pain. Besides, Dabi was no stranger to the sensation. It had been a while, yes, but it greeted him like an old friend.

And now, Dabi would relish in introducing Keigo to this bitter acquaintance.

Keigo took aim once more, firing off another arrow that, that time, missed the beast by only a hair, merely grazing along its side as it lunged at the hunter. Keigo threw himself out of the way, his full weight hitting the ground with a thud before frantically rolling away as the wolf snapped its razor-toothed jaw where his neck had been just a moment ago.

You’d fallen to your knees, the cool earth curling its damp tendrils around your bare legs, creeping up and up and up until the chill seemed to seep into your brain, leaving you frozen and helpless to watch everything that was about to unfold, the cruel crescendo of these past weeks— this past year— finally coming to a close.

The blonde was springing back to his feet with another arrow at the ready before Dabi could attempt his next strike, and the following, from what you could see, was a tangle of claw and limb, black and beige caught up in a deadly, face-paced dance.

The tears running down your cheeks had stopped flowing, leaving behind salty, shimmering streaks, your eyes wide with fear and hurt and anticipation.

The hunter was holding his ground, even in such close proximity, but what Dabi didn’t know was that this was all going according to Keigo’s plan.

Just a little closer, the hunter hoped. And, with one more luring motion, he had the wolf within his circle.

Keigo drew the knife, raised it above his head, then plunged all eight inches of the silver blade down into the werewolf’s back.

The sound that Dabi let out wasn’t quite a howl, wasn’t quite a scream, but something caught in between the realms of monster and man. You felt a pain in your chest upon hearing that sound, letting out one last hiccuping sob before your body truly had no more grief left to give. You couldn’t even call out his name, to let him hear it with your broken voice one last time.

The wolf went still, sagging heavier against the blood-soaked earth, and the hunter, satisfied with finally claiming such a victory, hoisted himself up to stand using the blade’s handle as leverage, sinking it just that much further into his prize’s flesh. When he did it, he locked eyes with you, the gold of his stare suddenly a much muddier shade, rusted over with apathy and scorn.

But when Keigo looked over at you, it wasn’t with relief.

It was with contempt.

It was with the tired, heavy realization that this wasn’t over yet.

Starting toward you with a slow stride, boots dragging more and more with every step, Keigo flexed his hands and clenched his jaw, his throat working as he attempted to swallow down the final ounces of sentimentality that he held for you, to let them burn away in the churning acid of his stomach. It wasn’t until he was five paces within your reach that you recognized the danger you were faced with and began to scramble from your awkward sitting position on the ground.

But the moment you even so much as hinted at giving chase, Keigo was on you, pushing you back so that your head hit the ground with a nauseous thud and stars sparkled in your swaying vision, giving no time to recover from the rattling in your brain before he was wrapping his cold, calloused hands around your throat and squeezing hard, causing you to claw at his grip as the oxygen was wrung from you.

You couldn’t hear Keigo speaking over the hammering of your pulse in your own ears, but as your vision began to go black you saw his mouth moving, caught slivers of the murmur of his voice in between your asphyxiation

“Why are you making me do this?” he was asking. “Why couldn’t you have just come home?”

Even as he squeezed harder still, the strength of your struggle fading away more and more by the moment, Keigo’s eyes filled with tears, his chin beginning to tremble as he bit back a sob, drops of his sorrow flecking your face as your eyes rolled back and he watched as the life began to drain out of you.

Once upon a time, you would’ve been the girl he’d married. You would’ve been the mother of his children, the beloved wife he returned home to at the end of every hunt.

He could’ve provided for you, protected you, given you a good life.

But you’d gone and burned it all to ash.

And for what?

All because you’d been tempted by the monster that now lay in a heap among the shadows of the trees.

Keigo wondered how long it would take for your bodies to be found and, when they were, if Dabi’s would be that of a human or a wolf.

He supposed it didn’t matter. His job was done. There was nothing left to do now but return to your village and deliver the grim news to your family.

“I tried…” Keigo wept, his words barely above a whisper. “I loved you.”

It was only half a breath later that the hunter’s grip released from your neck, two bruises in the shape of his hands marring your tender flesh, making you wince as you wheezed and gasped for air, the final shreds of mortality he’d nearly stolen from you breathing you back to life one painful cough at a time.

Once the ringing in your ears subsided, you turned halfway onto your side, looking out at where the hunter was granted but one final scream before the wolf sank its teeth into his jugular with a sickening crunch, tearing ruthlessly at his windpipe with a rapid shake of its head to deliver the killing blow. You pushed up onto your elbows as you saw Dabi open his jaw and let Keigo drop to the dirt, his eyes still open, blood drenching his neck and down his chest, soaking dark into the fabric of his coat, running up the side of his face, staining his curls a vengeful crimson.

It was then that you collapsed, though whether from trauma or shock, you did not know. Dabi was quick to return to your side, walking with a limp on his front left paw from where the knife had yet to be pulled free. He breathed in your scent, sensed your heart still beating, and curled up beside you.

It wouldn’t be until dawn, when the moon faded away back into the pale horizon, that he’d be able to change back. He just hoped that, when he did, you’d both have survived through the night.

***

The sun was just beginning to tinge the sky with all its newborn colors when you woke, your eyes fluttering apprehensively open, the light that flooded your vision making you wince and retreat back into the dim, pinkish darkness the back of your eyelids provided.

Your head throbbed and your neck pulsed with pain, your entire being sore with the aftermath of the night previous. You wondered, for a moment, if it had all been some kind of horribly vivid dream, but when you looked further into the field, your sight adjusting into focus, you saw Keigo’s corpse still lying dormant amidst the grass, his blood congealing and his expression twisted into a sight you had to force yourself to look away from, rigor mortis settling over his once handsome features in a grotesque display of death and decay.

You went to speak, to call out for Dabi, but found you couldn’t make a sound, your voice less than a wheeze and feeling ragged and raw even upon the gentlest whisper. You feared, for a moment, that Dabi hadn’t made it either. That he’d dragged himself off somewhere far away to die. But then you glanced behind you and felt at least that part of your panic settle, finding him asleep and hopefully alive.

He was man once more, having shed all of his wolfish parts by daybreak, though was left naked and vulnerable against the earth, the blood from his wounds showing bright against his pale flesh, new scars likely to form on his shoulder his back, flaking rust still around his mouth and down his neck, all the evidence of Keigo’s attacks and Dabi’s victory staining his skin with gore.

But, as you curled back up beside him, moving closer so your two bodies could touch, wrapping your arms around him in hopes of sharing some of your warmth as he’d done for you so many times before, it was confirmed that he was, indeed, still alive.

You could feel him breathing, feel him occasionally twitch or wince amidst his slumber, you keeping watch over him this time, finally able to feel like you were the one capable of doing the protecting.

An hour or so later, when Dabi finally began to stir, it was with a hiss and a groan, all of last night’s pain resurfacing from its rest as well. The moment he laid eyes on you though, all of his suffering was forgotten, all of his worries chased away.

“Hey…” he cooed, gently threading his fingers through your hair as your eyes filled with tears. “Hey, it’s alright…” he continued to assure you, pulling you in a little closer. “We’re safe now… I’ve got you… We’re safe…”

Despite the pain, you still attempted to speak again, but to no avail. Once Dabi realized this, remembered how he’d almost been too late to pull the hunter off of you, he had you sit up, allowing him to carefully inspect the damage done to your throat.

It would take some time to heal, that was for certain, but he had confidence that you’d end up ok. For now though, he told you not to push yourself, not to speak, that he’d take care of everything and get you what you needed as soon as you boarded one of those boats.

Helping each other to your feet, Dabi instructed you to head up the hill and wait while he procured some clothes. You didn’t protest. You knew it was so you wouldn’t have to watch him strip Keigo’s body of his belongings. Because even if he had tried to kill you, it still wasn’t easy to see the corpse of someone who’d once been so familiar.

It wasn’t long before Dabi returned to meet you, now wearing Keigo’s clothes, the sleeves of the jacket and the legs of the pants a little short on him, but seeing as his garments were destroyed during the shift, he had no other choice. Keigo’s body would be left behind, whether for the vultures to begin scavenging from or some unfortunate hunter to find, that wasn’t the concern of either of you.

You had a boat to catch, after all.

A proper burial would take too long.

So, heading in the direction of the shore, passing through the last remaining town that you’d probably ever see of your home country, Dabi used the last of the coins that he’d found waiting patiently in one of Keigo’s pockets to purchase you both some new clothes and, the real shock of your entire pre-voyage excursion, two third-class tickets onto one of the passenger liners headed east.

You didn’t know what would await you in the next land you set foot on, if things would fare better or worse than the situation you’d just escaped, the family that you’d heartbreakingly left behind. But there was no way to know unless you tried.

All you could hope was, perhaps there, you could start over.

Perhaps, there, you could be free.

***

Hello and thank you so much to everyone for reading (and for being so patient in waiting for the finale). Also, happy halloween! It’s always a bittersweet feeling to wrap up a series, especially one I started so long ago despite it only being three chapters, so I sincerely hope you enjoyed and were satisfied with the way things turned out. Since going back to school I’ve been very busy and not had very much time for writing as I’m used to, but little by little I intend to continue other projects of mine that I’m still in the middle of, so please continue to be patient with me on that. Anyway, I want to say thank you again if you’ve come this far and hope you have a wonderful rest of your day/evening! See you next time, byyyyyyyeee! <3

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themotherofblood · 1 year ago

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Let’s Play Dress Up

Vampire!Rhaenyra x Reader x Vampire!Daemon

masterlist | Bloody Baby AU | Vampire AU

synopsis: Ms Blood Bag breaks a rule to play her little game, stumbles onto Rhaenyra’s midnight snack. Rhaenyra punishes Baby to prove to Daemon she isn’t soft with Baby

warnings: DARK! DUBCON (I think) NONCON (to be safe) blood, blood drinking, infantilism, mdlg vibes? mommy mink, sub space? pet play, spanking (paddle), clamps (nipples and clit), vibrators, exhibitionism? butt plugs and bondage. overstimulation!! degradation!! pussy spanks. heel worship. WlW,

A/N: what have I done 😨

Another day of digging through your closet, gowns of pinks, baby blues, sweetheart neck lines, halter tops, sparkly, tulle, high slits—high slit. You happily shuffled out of your sundress for the day, your getting ready playlist blaring through the ceiling speakers. The red dress hugged your body perfectly, the silk so cold it made your nipples perk up and rub against the fabric. You excitedly twirled, damn— you already imagined your best friend hooting at you once she saw you in this. You clicked a picture and sent it to her, nibbling at your thumb and smiling to yourself.

Makeup, because why not, you still had five hours before Rhaenyra made it home. Daemon had left for Braavos the night before, preparing for the charity gala for a deal well struck. You hummed along, rubbing moisturiser into your skin, you had hoped to put on some mascara, maybe a nice bold lip to match the dress— mostly since it would be easy to scrub off in the shower. It was only then you realised from all the lip glosses, oils and sticks. Not a single red, barely darker than a hot pink. You pouted, you knew this was Daemon’s doing, forever infantilising you to his perfect little girl. The frilly socks and the bowl of candy in your room.

You knew who did have beautiful red shades— Rhaenyra! You knew you weren’t supposed to be in their rooms when they weren’t home. Only having been inside the dark scarlet room twice, the night of the party and the second was when they showed you the cabinet full of dragon eggs. You sauntered over, your Versace pumps clicking against the marble floor as you walked across the corridor to the other end of the grand staircase. You rested your hand upon the gold handle for a moment, looking back to your rooms once more— they wouldn’t know — you pushed the handle open.

The strong scent of mahogany and vanilla filled your nostrils, you once more looked to your rooms and the the floor below through the trim railings to check for Mrs Stone before slowly closing the door behind, wincing at the gentle thud as it latched close. You turned, the thick maroon and sheer white curtains pulled, the only glow in the room came from the heated egg chambers. You happily trotted over, squatting down to admire them once more.

“Hello dragons.” You mused, petting the egg from the outside, finger dragging against the warm glass. “Will you hatch? Maybe one crack…” you spoke to the white egg with gold scales “no? Please?”

What pulled you from your adoration gleam upon the dragons was the quiet but very apparent whines echoing in the room. You looked around the living space, finding nothing as you stood in confusion and stood straight. Walking towards your left to Rhaenyra walk-in-closet. The moment you stepped in, the soft vanilla smell of her perfume became more apparent. Her closet far bigger than yours, shelves covered with glass doors and quaint vanity at the end of the room. The centre island filled with jewels, rubies, gold, a very distinct dark metal necklace with rubies laid on a plush velvet holder. Valyrian steel, just like Daemon and Rhaenyra’s signet rings.

You looked at the vanity, eyeing the perfect scarlet to match your skin tone and the dress. You pout your lips to swipe the colour across your lips before looking side to side, a little messy without lip liner but just to mess around? This would have to do, you wiped around the corners of your mouth before making sure everything was placed right back where the belong before leaving.

Again, you were graced with whimpers, you were sure they were there. You should have left, you knew you should have. However your curiosity are at your as you ventured further to their bedroom, and then it was. The source of the whimpers, a tied redheaded woman, heaving with the gag shoved in her mouth. Her hands chained to the brass ringlet mounted to the wall, the second she say you her shoulders slumped as she blinked her tears away. Then she gestured her head to the chains, you gulped - fuck, what the hell had you stumbled into - you walked forward bending to her eyes, worried for the poor thing.

You pulled the tape from her mouth, cries pouring through in relief. She had dried blood running down her neck, chipping against her skin. She sniffled her cries to try and halt them.

“Ho- how long have you been here.” She hiccuped, seeing a glimmer of hope for survival in you

“Two months…” you looked to her chapped lips “do you need water?”

She furiously nodded as you stood up, tiptoeing across to your room to not alert Mrs Stone as your grabbed your pink cup and sprinted back with your skirt hiked up.

You bent by her head again, holding the straw to her lips and letting her drink, her hair was in a messy braid, the stray hairs clinging to her skin and her skin ghostly pale. You pulled two tissues from the tissue box on the side table and wet it with the water from your cup. Gently rubbing away the dried blood.

“We have to leave!” She croaked “why haven’t you run?”

“Run? I live here now, with Daemon and Rhaenyra. This is my home.” You monotonically replied, still wiping away at the blood, your heart mildly thudding. Not for her, she shouldn’t be here.

She was in their room, chained by their bed. You weren’t even allowed in here. Your heart thud louder as you rubbed away “we can never leave.”

“No! You don’t understand, we can run…” she huffs “I counted steps and you— you know this place. Please! Untie me, we can go.” More tears fell from her eyes as she pleaded with you.

You looked back to the door before reaching for her cuffs, that heaviness in your chest returning as you unhooked the bonds for the ringlet and started pulling at the chains.

“What do you think you are doing?” Rhaenyra’s stern voice spoke up from behind you.

Your blood froze as you slowly turned to face, “uh- I— she,” your words began to fail you.

“Get away from her.” Rhaenyra commanded, pointing at the bed for you to go sit on the bed.

A hard glare fixated itself within the purple of her eyes as she swiftly tied up the red haired woman again.

“Was she letting you go, sweetie.” Rhaenyra asked the girl, petting away her hair and you frowned harder. You’re her sweetie. The girl nodded, making Rhaenyra tut before turning to you. Her eyebrows quirk, awaiting an explanation.

You looked at your fiddling finger on your lap, unable to muster up an answer as she came to hold up your jaw. She was disappointed, you could see it in her eyes.

“What was the rule?” Rhaenyra questioned, she should have known your curiosity would kill you soon. Mostly she was worried that you would be terrified of her now.

“Don’t go to your room.” You whispered, still trying to look away.

Hmm

“You just had to play dress up that badly, huh?” she stroked her thumb across your cheek. “Let’s play dress up then.”

You sat on your knees, moving your weight uncomfortably.

“Don’t be scared.” Rhaenyra had whispered, forcing your to look at her, your head went blank for a moment and then your heart wasn’t thudding as hard anymore

All you could here were the placated whimpers from the red-haired girl sitting on Rhaenyra’s lap as she fed on her. Not a drop of blood trickled down as she controlled the flow of the girl’s blood through the carotid. Jealously was burning at your throat as Rhaenyra took her time leisurely feeding on this girl, she only fed like that on you. You were all pouty, however you couldn’t look away if you knew what was best for you.

Rhaenyra had dressed you throughly, after ripping through your red gown, she had pushed a cabinet to open. Pulling out a red collar to wrap around you neck, she had cherry lubed your ass, pushing in a plush red kitten tail butt plug into your hole and then promptly pulling onto it to tease you. Clamps with kitten bells on them had been pinching on your nipples as she sucked them hard before sliding them on. Your horror was when she flicked her tongue against your clit just the way you liked it to have you squirming and then clamped the little bud over the hood. The kitten bell adding just enough weight for it to remain dangling in between your legs.

You wanted to call out to her, beg her to feed from you instead but you couldn’t. You focused so hard on the way her lips’s suckled around the girl’s skin. There were tears rolling down your red hot cheeks.

Rhaenyra pushed the girl off her, she was still conscious but too weak to break her fall as she laid flat with a thud.

“Come here kitty,” she motioned her fingers towards you. “Come to Mommy baby.”

You moved to stand but she stopped you, “Crawl to me.”

You placed your palms flat against the plush rug, crawling over to the space in between Rhaenyra’s legs without giving the barely moving girl’s body laid on the other side of the floor. The bells clamped to you jingled as you inched forward, longing to bury your head in between her thighs.

You stopped in between her thighs, glancing up at her through your lashes, your glossy red lips just begging to be kissed and bitten. You were about to rest your head on her thigh but she pushed you back with her heeled foot.

“Lick my heels, kitty.” she smiled, tapping her other foot on the ground.

You waited for a moment before bending down, your pink tongue poking out and licking a strip through the pencil-thin heel of her red-bottom shoes. You hummed, kissing the heel. Taking your sweet time to show her how sorry you were. She tapped your cheek with her other foot, letting you switch over and lick up the covered foot and then her heel.

Rhaenyra pulled you up by the hair, admiring the lengths you had gone to play your little dress up game before. The red bows in your hair would have Daemon feral and she knew the perfect way to coax her husband back home early. She reached down to pinch both your nipples as she pulled you up to your feet, you yelped, the sting radiating through your tits as you gave her the pouted lips once more.

She stood to push you down where she sat, taking a moment to admire the mess you were soon to be before flicking her middle onto your pouted lips, they wouldn’t work this time. The connectable cuffs laying idle around your wrists and ankles were just waiting to be used as Rhaenyra pulled you to the edge of the bed. You scent of gleaming cunt making her impatient as she hooked each of your ankles to your wrists, forcing you to keep your legs spread open.

“Now— you’ve been bad.” She began, shuffling down to pick up the forgotten flogger in her hands.

“I’m sorry Mommy.” You whimpered the second you saw her stroking through the ropes of the flogger.

“Ah- ah kitties don’t talk baby,” she tutted, reminding you of the plug situated in your asshole as she gently pulled on the plug to stroke the tail. “Use that dumb baby brain of yours and tell me, what do kitties do?”

The humiliations burned through your chest, more tears welling in your eyes but what other alternative did you have?

“Meow?” you asked, hoping to appease her enough to weasel your way out of this predicament.

“Good girl!” She praised before swatting the flogger sharp against your ass. Your help bringing her much joy.

“Let’s see—“ she rubbed the sore skin of your ass “Mommy will strike you ten times, and you will count? You can count kitty? Can’t you?”

You nodded your head, sniffling.

“Good, let’s begin then.”

The first hit landed against your ass, your body stiffened as you whimpered. “O-one.” You stammered.

Another immediate strike radiated through your rear, much harder—a penalty. You made mistake. “Kitties do not talk.” She reiterated.

“Meow.” You sobbed.

The lashes came one after the other, Rhaenyra had enough sympathy in her heart to soothe the sore flesh with her palm as she waited for you to mewl out your kitten count before striking harder than the one before. The last one, you screamed. Legs shuddering from the pain as your cried out the last count. Face covered in mascara tears and snot as you lamented the ache on your ass, the tips of the flogger curling bitterly around you curves to cover the expanse of your skin. Some cruelly being landed right onto your cunt, the fourth one making your squirt from the pain.

Rhaenyra sighed, dropping the flogger and reaching for her phone in her trouser pocket. The sight of your reddened, blue ass was sure to be a ticket home for Daemon.

“Look here baby, pose for mommy.” she cooed, the frame perfectly capturing your tear-soaked face, your sopping cunt and your bruised ass. Even the little red ribbons in your hair leaking from behind made it in, along with the tail hanging over the edge of your bed. Your swollen little clamped nub also waiting to say hello to Daddy. She smiled to herself as she sent the live picture to Daemon before tossing her phone to the armchair.

She was nowhere near done with breaking you apart just yet.

She pulled out a vibrator next, hoping to reward you for taking your spankings like a good little girl. She reached up to the bed to place a pillow under your back to angle you to her liking before shuffling behind you, pulling you snugly between her legs. She unhooked the cuffs, holding onto your ankles as she freed them. You whimpered feeling the cramps in your hips.

“Shhh—you are fine kitten, no more pain for you.” She cooed, letting your legs fall before hooking her calves around them to keep them spread open.

She reached for the oh so yearning bud next, the worst of it all. Toying with the little bell as you yipped and flinched, she gently pulled it off. Letting the bundle of nerves fill but blood again, the filling pain had you crying out. Trying to bury yourself in Rhaenyra hold as she consoled you.

“Oh baby, so swollen look.” She curred, letting the pads of her fingers gently graze over the peaking flesh before pushing the hood behind.

She turned on the vibrator, the setting low as she pressed against your clit. You squirmed against her hold but to no avail. She tapped the vibrator on your bud. You still mewled, rubbing your hips into the cool object.

Even in the throb of your ass and the one very evident in your clit, your first orgasm tore through you out of nowhere.

“That’s it, good girl!” Rhaenyra praised as she pressed down the vibrator hard, switching the setting up higher.

Just as the waves of the first one washed over, dread-filled in your belly as Rhaenyra didn’t pull away. You cried harder, the oversensitive tingle in your bud began to knock the air out of your lungs. Clawing at your insides as you cleaned harder around nothing, wanting to beg her to stop, please mommy, you tapped at her thigh but she wouldn’t budge.

Rhaenyra knew you would break, you would speak. She didn’t want to hurt you more for violating another rule, finding the only solution for this and sticking two fingers into your mouth. Using it to gag you as she stroked your slimy tongue, your soft lips curled around her fingers as your muffled wails indicated your next peak.

This time you gushed around the vibrator, screaming from the back of your mouth as Rhaenyra pulled out her fingers to push open your hood further, letting those cruel vibrations focus on your weeping clit. You thrashed, shaking your head as the wave toppled you down, eyes rolling to the back of your head, back arching away from Rhaenyra Your entire body stiffened as the warmth engulfed you once more.

Rhaenyra turned off the toy, dropping it on the bed next to her as she held you through your orgasm. The pads of her fingers rubbing through your folds gently and circling around your throbbing clit. You still sobbed in her arms, unable to speak, you looked up at her. Vision blurred from tears as you cried, Rhaenyra kissed your temple as she pulled off the nipple clamps.

You shrieked as she rubbed them, soothing the pebbled flesh with the cool pads of her thumbs. So bitterly pinched and hardened.

You wept, letting Rhaenyra scoop you up into her lap; your head immediately burying itself into her chest as you wailed, she was rocking you, like a child grazing their knee upon she was soothing you with the rubs on your back.

You look up at her, still hiccuping through your sobs. She knew what you wanted, tracing the trembling bottom lip as she laid a peck on it.

“You can speak, baby.” She purred, her eyes long softened at the broken figure of yours.

“I- I’m sorry Mommy.” You pule, then again hiding your face in her chest.

Rhaenyra might have sat there for hours, rocking your shaking frame in her hands, humming a Valyrian lullaby to soothe your aching.

“Do I not make Daddy and you happy anymore?” You weakly mused, your fingers toying with the gold chain on Rhaenyra’s neck.

She frowned looking down at you before nudging her nose against your forehead to make you look up at her.

“What makes you say that?”

“She gets to stay with you at night,” you referred to the red-haired girl “You like feeding on her.”

“Oh, baby.” she cooed in a sing-song voice “She is just a midnight snack,” Rhaenyra explained. “Just like the candy bags in your room.”

You were still pouting, satiated with the answer but unhappy. You could still see her wrist laying on the floor, you looked away.

There was a longing, you needed to be sure. You lifted your wrist to her lips, looking at her pleadingly.

“You want me to feed on you?” Rhaenyra tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, a burst of triumph flared in her chest. The reasons to compel you into feeding seemed to have been fading.

“Please, Mommy.” You mumbled, shuffling further into her hold.

Rhaenyra took hold of your wrist, just grazing the poking nerve with her fangs as her eyes darkened, the nerves yet again pooling around her eyes, a terrifying sight to most but not to you. She hummed before sinking her fangs into the flesh. Fine caviar amongst the pretenders, she groaned at the sweet coppery taste of your blood. Watching over you as you closed your eyes, dozing in a soft slumber dancing across your eyes.

Phew… here’s another Rhaenyra focused chapter. I’m sorry if this is a bit much compared to my usually vanilla smut (minus the incest)

I’m giggling thinking of Daemon loosing his find over the picture of tied up and weeping Ms Blood Bag

comments and reblogs are appreciated.

Let me know in the comment if you would like to be on the Taglist :)

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mlmxreader · 11 months ago

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Nothing Better Than to be Home | Kyle Gaz Garrick x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Kaz with

94"Have I ever mentioned how good you look in my hoodies?" ❞

: ̗̀➛ Being home is one of the greatest things in the world, and Gaz isn't one to ignore it.

: ̗̀➛ smoking, swearing

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

More often than not, Gaz always texted you to let you know when he was close to getting home, usually when he was around five minutes away so that you would have time to put the kettle on and make him a cup of tea for when he walked through the door.

You always did the same if you were ever out; always texting to let him know when to stick the kettle on and make coffee.

The thing was, though, Gaz was home in the early hours of the morning, and when he went to text you and he saw the time, he figured that you would be asleep.

So he left it, and when he got to the door, he tried to be as quiet as possible; sneaking around to the kitchen and gently, softly placing his bag down as he sighed.

You left your cigarette stuff on the side, along with one of his lighters; it made him smile as he rolled one for himself, lighting it and taking a long drag. After months of smoking Price's shit cigarettes, he was glad to steal one of yours.

He leaned against the counter, closing his eyes for a moment as the nicotine flooded his system. He didn't realise that you had just come out of the bathroom after getting into your pyjamas… not until you screamed and made him flinch.

With the cigarette between his lips, he threw his hands up and exposed his palms.

“Only me!” Gaz yelped out, daring to grin when you took a step closer. “Only me, sweetheart.”

You breathed out a sigh of relief, turning the light on and coming to stand beside him as you hummed quietly; you took a filter, a paper and a pinch of tobacco, rolling together. “Why didn't you turn the bloody light on? You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

He couldn't help but to laugh, shaking his head as he gently put his arm around you; you were so warm, he couldn't help but to close his eyes as he sniffed gently.

He tried not to laugh again. “Did I say you could steal my hoodies while I was away?”

“Did I say you could pinch my baccy?” You pointed out with a soft chuckle, shaking your head fondly. “Why didn't you text, anyway?”

From the corner of his eye, Gaz could see the light of dawn slowly starting to rise; the darkness of the night slowly turning a pale, dull blue as the sun began to creep out of its blankets and glare wearily at the world.

He was glad he could watch another sunrise with you, in all honesty. He missed it.

The long nights watching films together from the moment it was dark, only to look out of the window and see the dawn start to rise; the cooing of pigeons taking over from the hooting of owls. The foxes running away as the light slowly reached out with deft fingertips.

Gaz couldn't wait for times like that again, being able to snuggle into you as you neglected the world outside in favour of more films; your laptop resting on his crotch as he leaned his head on your shoulder.

“I thought you would be asleep,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a gentle and sweet hum. “I'm sorry.”

“It's fine,” you assured just as gently, leaning into him and closing your eyes for a moment. “How was the trip home?”

Gaz wanted to tell you the truth, he really did.

He wanted to tell you that Ghost had annoyed him to Hell and back with his constant dad jokes and stupid puns. He wanted to tell you that Price's cigarettes were disgusting and nearly made him give up on the spot. He wanted to tell you that Farah was the only one who didn't annoy him and actually let him use one of her earbuds.

But he couldn't bring himself to do it, too tired and drained from the planes and trains and taxis that all he could think of was having you near; snuggling up with you at night and feeling your warm flesh against his own.

Feeling your soft kisses wake him up as the light crept through the gap in the curtains. Singing with you in the kitchen as he helped you to cook whatever meal you had settled on together; trying not to laugh when you begged him to slow dance to country songs.

Going shopping with you and pushing the trolley as you asked him what to get even though you had both left a shopping list on the kitchen counter. Splitting the chores directly down the middle and meeting halfway through for a quick kiss. Watching films together from dusk until dawn.

Gaz had missed the lot of it, from the mundane to the exciting. He missed every single second, but he was so tired. He hadn't slept for two days, and he wanted nothing more than to snuggle up with you in bed and fall asleep.

Catch up on whatever he had missed and know for once that he wasn't going to wake up alone; that he was going to wake up and be able to bury his face against the back of your neck and grumble and plead for five more minutes in bed.

“It was… the usual,” he breathed out. “To be honest I'm just glad I'm finally home.”

“Y'know what?” You mused, finishing your cigarette and putting it out in the ashtray on the counter. “I'm glad you're home, too… I've missed you.”

“I can see,” Gaz chuckled softly, tugging at the hem of the hoodie you were wearing as he grinned. “Have I ever mentioned how good you look in my hoodies?”

You shrugged, hooking your arms around his neck and pulling him close. Gently rubbing the tip of your nose against his for a moment. “I’m sure you have, but you've been gone so long… I need a reminder how it sounds.”

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royallyprincesslilly · 2 years ago

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Title: Just Do It {One-Shot}

Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Warning: Fluff, Cursing, Implied Smut,

Words: 5.6k

Summary: Lewis is practically the dead last to realize his feelings, feelings he’s had from the very beginning of your arrangement that was to be one night, then one afternoon, then just strictly FWB.

Note: Did anyone ask for this? Nope. I couldn’t resist the so damn adorable pictures of him looking so dreamy. Again, I wrote this with the reader from “One Night” in mind. At this point, I think I’ll just create a collection for them. LOL. Think I’ll begin with the rules you will see in this one shot.

As always, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy this!

If you enjoyed this, please, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!!!

***NOT Edited/Proofread***

The gentle breeze brushed against his face bringing with it the salt of the sea, the garlands of flowers that were strewn nearby, and the subtle scent of steamed lobster, and crabs. It had been an exhausting two weeks, and this was just what his spirit needed. A few feet away his eyes were locked on you as you danced with his niece and nephew. You effortlessly went between swan-like graceful and delicate twirls and dips for his niece then Star Wars-esq light saber swipes in the air to battle his nephew. You made it look easy. He always wondered how it was so easy for you. You had no nieces or nephews of your own and rarely interacted with children. When his niece bent over with one leg lifted behind her you mirrored her, and it was then his nephew saw his opening to attack. "Haagh!” He shoved his invisible imaginary lightsaber at you, but you did some impressive skip-hop turn that had you barely missing his attack to come around and swoop him in your arms then spin around swinging him like a carnival ride. He laughed and screamed while you laughed. His niece giggled, jumping up and down as she announced it was her turn to get the same treatment. You put his nephew down then took her into your arms and did the same thing. She giggled and hooted her enjoyment as you adoringly smiled at her. When you placed her down, she wobbled from the dizziness for a few moments then they were both off chasing you to the shoreline. Once there the three of you splashed water on each other laughing the entire time. It was clear you guys were having the time of your lives. The sigh of a content man fell from his lips. It was a sigh he’d released several times before today and usually always when he was with you watching while you were wrapped up in whatever you were doing. So basically, him being an obsessed stalker. "Oh bloody 'ell just do it already," a voice to his left said. Turning, he found his father's smiling face, a face pretty much identical to his own. "What?" "Just do it already. You know you want to; I know you want to; gracious everyone here knows you want to. So just do it." He crinkled his brow as he took in his father but once again you drew his attention. He smiled as you ran from them both as they teamed up on you trying to catch you. You were so good with them, and it was evident how much they liked you. It was just how he always wanted it between the woman in his life and them. "Earth to Lewis." He shook his head slightly and brought his attention back to his father who now had his stepmother just behind him and his younger brother on his left. "Sorry, what? Do what?" They laughed together leaving him completely confused. "Yeh, I’m lost." He raised his virgin pina colada glass to his lips and took a mouthful as they continued their inside joke. "I'll explain," his brother offered as his fiancé stood behind him. He took a swig of his beer and then spoke. "You and Y/N have been friends for years and everyone knows how great she is..." "I mean yeh, she's awesome,” he confirmed interrupting his brother. He nodded and continued, "Exactly so she is great in general and for you, and over the last I don't know a year and a bit, we've noticed a change in you and even in her." "That's...weird. What change are you talkin’ about? I don't know what you're talking about." "Of course not because you’re oblivious. Men," his sister chimed in joining the group. The women laughed this time while nodding. "Okay, get on with it, yeh. What change are you talking about?" "You're softer," his mother voiced. "More relaxed, the stuff that got to you before don't now," his sister added. "Christ just tell him. You’re acting like a lovesick bloke," his father spit out. Pausing, he tried his best not to look your way. Instead, he raised his glass again and took a long sip. "Uh-huh, there it is,” his sister teased. "You're madly in love with her and she's madly in love with you. So just do it, just ask her to marry you already so we can get some grandkids from you already," his father rushed out. He was fine until he heard the “marry you” and everything after. Coughing up a storm, he tried to get a hold of himself, but it posed a more difficult task than expected. "Is Uncle Lewis ok?" His niece's question was filled with concern. You approached him and placed your hand on his back and rubbed. "Are you okay? Slow down, slow down," you said as you rubbed his back. The action was soothing in more ways than one. The bout of coughing slowed until it stopped, and he was then left trying to take full breaths. "Slow breaths. There you go. What happened?" "Ehm! Mu-mu-must have swallowed too fast," he croaked. You cupped his jaw and looked him over. "You're sure you're okay?" Your thumb gently stroked his cheekbone and just like that he was lost in your touch. The urge to lean into your hand was strong and just as he was about to do just that, four pairs of soft eyes and smiling lips caught his attention. His parents and sister watched with "I knew it" and adoring looks on their faces. Damn it, he thought as he looked back at you. "Yeah, I'm all right. Thanks." He gave you a small smile that you returned before he stepped back giving his attention to his niece and nephew. "I'm all right. I promise. Show me those fancy moves, little ballerina." His niece smiled then began dancing for everyone as they watched with smiles. She loved the attention and had everyone wrapped around her finger. As he watched her he tried to figure out just when you'd started to affect him like this. When had your touch been like soothing and heated hot stones? When had your eyes become such endless pools of stars to him? When did this begin? How did he not even notice? Glancing at you he found you smiling and sipping your drink. He for sure knew it wasn't virgin and had more alcohol than needed in it. You looked so good with the warm glow of the light bathing your skin and thanks to the very lite sheen of sweat you looked iridescent. The long maxi dress you wore that had two deep splits at the thighs fit you perfectly hugging the full globes of your breasts while showing off your tempting curves. God, you were beautiful. Your eyes slipped to him and locked on his. The look you gave him was a mix of something he'd seen plenty of the last year and something completely new, something that made his heart beat faster and his mind wander to other things like a flower-lined path along a white sanded beach with you in a white dress as your long intricate Spanish style veil wafted in the air while you walked to him. At the same time, the two of you flinched as if you'd had the same vision down to the wide smiles on both of your faces. That's crazy he thought, shaking the idea off. You averted your eyes as a confused look washed over your face. Or was it? Was his father right? Were you in love with him?

~~~~~~~~~

-Y/N-

"What the actual fuck was that Y/N?" You stared at yourself in the mirror for a few moments then dipped down to splash cold water on your face. After you caught Lewis' eye on the beach as his niece showed off her dancing skills, the visual you'd unexpectedly had of him standing at the end of a flower-dusted path dressed in beach-appropriate neutral colors while you walked to him atop those flowers in a sexy and chic gown of white, you couldn't get it out of your head. Anytime your eyes met you saw it. When he touched you, you saw it. Even when you were sitting with his family laughing or leisurely gazing out to the darkened sea you saw it. "Where in the hell did that come from?" You stared at yourself as if the answer would come to you in the mirror. You sighed and hung your head. It felt like it came out of left field. Ok, yeah your relationship had drastically changed thanks to your impromptu request for one night of filth and debauchery, a night you were convinced would be enough but wasn't in the least. Yeah, that night opened Pandora's box for the two of you prompting you to establish a friends-with-benefits arrangement with clear stipulated rules for the both of you to adhere to. Rules that over the last year had been broken time and time again. You thought of those rules again. 1) No sleepovers past one night. That rule had been broken 2 weeks after you’d made it when you visited him in Barcelona for a race weekend. A weekend where he had waaaay too much energy and you had waaayyy too little self-control.

2) No personal gifts. Shattered after a month when you woke up to a gorgeous diamond tennis bracelet resting between your breasts after a night of sinful indulgences with one another's bodies. He’d said it was just something he picked up but he thought of you when he saw it. 3) No dates or date-like things. Yeeted into the stratosphere after a month when a day after you'd gotten that tennis bracelet Lewis surprised you with a rented out restaurant where he cooked you dinner in the kitchen and you ate surrounded by candles until the wee hours of the morning leading you to break the next rule. 4) Only fucking, nothing more. That night the sex felt like more than sex, it was more than fucking. It felt like a transference of self, of energy. The way the two of you stared into each other's eyes as if you never wanted to look in any others spoke of more than fucking. The way he slowed his strokes to take his time with you rather than pounding you into the mattress screamed planting a seed. The way he kissed you and held your hands with your fingers entwined as he passionately and hungrily moaned your name into your ear megatroned yearning and felt like lovemaking. The way held you through the night with your bodies still connected sealed the moment with an air of permanence. Just fucking never stood a chance. 5) No intermingling lives. Kicked down so many times in so many ways. You spent Christmas with him and his family just 4 months after you'd set the rule. Since then, you hadn't stopped. Your friends were already his friends, he showed up and supported your work events and career every chance he got. He came by to take care of you when you were sick, as did you for him. You’d been intermingled since the very beginning. 6) No possessiveness or jealousy. What a joke. New Year's proved that. Dressed in your sexiest you partied together flirting up a storm and teasing one another until you began getting attention from a futbol star that was also in the building. With every drink he sent your way Lewis got grumpier and grumpier. By the time he'd come over to spit his game, Lewis was downright pissy and didn't care about showing it.

When he interrupted your conversation to bring you a drink, he wrapped his arm around your hip to pull you close and it was there he kept his hand. When he left the kiss he gave you on your cheek was practically half on your lips. You found it funny though you knew in any other circumstance you'd have popped off at the mouth for the display. That night the way he pounded you into the mattress confirmed it all, he was trying to stake a claim. 7) No more than 5 hookups a month. Laughable. It only took 3 months for both of you to lock the door on that rule. In the beginning, though you found yourself wanting him more often than not. However, you controlled and distracted yourself to keep to that no more than 5 times rule. However, around the 3rd month, you found yourself with more free time than you expected and that was your first flight out to see him for dick, which he was overjoyed about. Since the first time was so easy, you found yourself flying out for dick appointments often and was even shocked when he granted you time out of his normally jam-packed schedule to fly out to you for the same appointments. 8) No unplanned visits or expectations He'd broken that when he came by your place after flying back home. It was a night you were entertaining some business associates. He'd apologized about it and felt bad, but his presence probably made it easier to get what you wanted from the bunch. They were so starstruck it was hilarious. That night you didn't even have sex you stayed up talking easily breaking the next rule. 9) No intimacy. The major break happened with you after he'd had a struggle-filled week in a new season, and you'd dropped all your plans to cook his favorite dish and go over to his place to distract him and comfort him. You ended up letting more than enough intimate words slip as you let him rough you up. He called you his true peace and you silently agreed he was that for you as well. 9 rules that never stood a chance from jump. 9 rules that as you stared at yourself in the mirror you deduced paved the way for that visual to infiltrate your mind. A thought gripped you then, a thought that stole your breath. "Am I...have I...do I?" You couldn't even finish the sentence out loud without your heart racing. "Oh god." Had you broken the 10th rule too? Your eyes were wide with horror. "Everything okay, Y/N?" You saw Lewis' sister standing behind you through the mirror. You did your best to cover everything you were thinking and feeling. "Yeah! Ehm, sorry. I mean yes, I'm fine. I'll be right out." She smiled then nodded and turned to make her way out. A few seconds passed and she came right back. "Okay, you don't look all right. Wanna talk about it?" Again, you stared at yourself. Did you? Could you to his sister though? "Um...uh..." "I'm a good listener," she coaxed coming to sit on the sink counter. You turned off the water then slowly dried your hands. "It's nothing really just... thinking." "About Lewis?" "What?" You nervously giggled while fanning her off, "Nuh-uh, no." She laughed and shook her head. "Wow. They say opposites attract but you two are just alike except one is a man the other a gorgeous woman." "What does that mean?" "It means neither of you seem to know what you have while you have it." "What do we have?" "You tell me,” she coaxed. "Nothing. We have nothing. We're friends." "Just friends?" "Pretty much," you answered. The look on her face said she didn’t believe not one bit of that. Shit, you were pretty disbelieving right now too. She sighed exaggeratedly then spoke, "You look at each other too long and too deep to be just friends. Why are you the only friend here? No Miles, no Daniel, no Andrew, or your other mutual friends. Just you. Why have you been around my children regularly? He is protective of them and doesn't allow anyone he doesn't consider family around them. Why have you been to Christmas, Easter, family BBQs, trips, and bday parties? Why have you been up and down the paddocks? Why is your nickname around the team the queen of the paddock? Why does he seem like less of a stubborn ass lately? Why can he now easily change his schedule and fit time in for R&R when before he was a workaholic? Why has he turned down attention from any and all other women that aren't you?" You began to panic and worked overtime to keep it in. You turned back to the mirror and took several slow breaths. She hopped off the counter then put her hand on your shoulder. "I doubt you've ever been just friends and I doubt you will ever be just his friend." She walked out of the bathroom leaving you standing there practically quaking. You felt as if she'd pulled the pin out of a grenade, left it on the counter then escaped leaving you to deal with whatever happened next. "Holy fuck." By the time you got a hold of yourself and made it back to the ladies, you felt more composed. You sat, listened, talked, and laughed with them for a while longer and enjoyed their company. It was always nice being with them. They were sweet and kind and always made you feel like part of the family no matter what. After another hour or two, you said your good nights and walked through the villa that Lewis had rented toward your bedroom. Halfway there you paused, it was also a room you shared with Lewis. Since you arrived there had never been a discussion or assumption that you'd sleep anywhere else. You could have kicked yourself in your own ass at this point. "Seriously Y/N" You continued on your way while distracting yourself with the view. The house was quiet, telling you everyone was most likely asleep or getting ready to be. You wondered if he was already asleep. When you walked into the bedroom you found the bed empty and not turned down. Approaching the window, you saw him sitting by himself with his phone in hand. You assumed he was doing a little work before bed. Deciding to give him some time, you went to take a shower. You took your time leisurely washing yourself and your hair while your mind drifted trying to understand what was happening. Yes, you'd felt like things had shifted but you hadn't dwelled on it enough to decipher what had shifted or why. You'd put everything in a box and put the box way out if reach. Now that box was overturned, and you had to sift through it. You saw everything in a new light and found yourself picking apart actions, conversations, looks, touches--everything. By the time you came out of the shower nearly an hour had passed, and Lewis was still on the beach. After pulling on your robe and wellies you walked out onto the balcony and took the stairs that led to the beach. The closer you got you could see he was still on his phone. Shaking your head. you came up on him and slipped right onto his lap. Without needing to be told or reminded, his hands slipped around your waist as if on instinct. "Woah," he mumbled. "Do you have any idea what time it is?" He smiled softly then closed an eye as he faux calculated. "Uh...1am" "Close to 3. What in the world are you doing?" "Nothing just enjoying this," he said motioning his head around. "It is nice, but I don't believe you. Which big booty Judy caught your attention on IG?" You took up his discarded phone making note that he wasn’t stopping you or hurrying to hide something. When you looked down you found a picture of the two of you that you hadn't seen before. You both were asleep on the beach. You were lying on your back which Lewis laid on your stomach with one of his legs thrown across both of yours. His arms were wrapped around you hugging you to him while your hand was in one of his, fingers laced. It looked so domestic, so natural. "Who took this?" "My mum. She sent it to me." You stared at it a little longer taking extra notice of the feeling of calm within you. Clearing your throat, you plopped his phone onto the table behind you then wrapped your arms around his neck. "What're you thinking?" "That nothing says you're part of the fam more than sneak shots." He snorted then stared at you. "Is that okay with you?" "What? Sneak shots?" "Being part of the family." You stared and thought about your answer. "Sure. You know your family is great." He nodded slowly. "Why you're not okay with it? Want me back in my lane asap?" "No. I'm actually more than okay with it. I've been sitting here thinking a lot about the last year and you and me. I know that we made an agreement and set rules and agreed not to cross the line." He stopped then sighed, but he didn't continue. "Uh-huh. I hear a but." "Let's take a walk." He stood with you in his arms but then let you slide down his body. The two of you walked down the beach hand in hand enjoying the quiet crash of the waves onto the shore and the warm breeze. Five or so minutes of silence passed before Lewis spoke again. "Do you realize we've broken every rule we established?" You sighed, "Yep. All but--one." He stopped but you continued to walk until he pulled you back to him. Your body collided with his and eyes locked. "Which one is that?" "Uh—well--ya’ know--not to fall in love." Lewis' hands slipped to your waist. "I'm afraid I broke that one," Lewis slowly said. Somehow your face remained expression free. Somehow your internal panic didn't rise to the surface. Somehow your poker face was immaculate when you were steadily freaking out. "I fell in love with you, Y/N. I--I don’t know when it happened or even how. I can't even pinpoint a particular day or situation when it did or when I knew it because tonight was the first night I realized it. Tonight, watching you with my niece and nephew I realized I'd fallen head over heels for you and that realization scared me but not because of why I thought it would.”

His eyes were wild and blazing as if he were on fire or felt a searing urgency to get this out.

“It was because me realizing my love for you that is in no way shape or form platonic made me scared you didn't feel the same way. It made me terrified that I'd gone and fucked this up. Fucked us up. I hope to God I didn’t ruin us and how good we are together, but when my father said to just do it already and ask you to marry me so he could get grandkids it hit me all at once like a train barreling into a narrow tunnel.”

His hold on your hands became tighter like he wanted you to really understand what he was saying. You were so lightheaded right now it looked like swirly stars were falling around him. Was it because you were practically holding your breath? Realizing that you took a deep breath that sounded ragged. Your body swayed backward but Lewis was there to steady you.

With a large hand cupping your cheek, the balls of his fingers pressed just behind your ear, a soothing move he’d learned instantly calmed you. You released a slow breath and he continued, “I want that. I have always wanted that but couldn't trust it with anyone, couldn't see it with anyone. I see it with you though. I want that with you.”

Holy shit, you thought, and his fingertips kept pressing.

“I want you to have my last name, I want you wearing my number around the paddock cheering me on, I want your belly to swell because of my child.”

The hand he that was holding yours drifted to your abdomen and gently rubbed making the butterflies there flit around more prominently. Your panic only increased as your body reacted to every single bit of him.

“I want to cuddle in bed together, Christmases, Easter, Thanksgiving, all vacations. I want intimacy, I want unplanned visits and all the expectations, I want possessiveness and even some jealousy, I want more than 5 hookups a month, I want all month every month, I want to intermingle the shit out of our lives, I want dates, so many fucking dates, all the romance you can stand. I want to give you a personal gift every day no matter the occasion, I want so much more than fucking. I want to make love to you every night, every afternoon, every morning for an eternity of sleepovers. And holy fuck I hope you want that too because I don’t think I can let you go. I don't think I have the strength to know you're in the world and we’re not together, that you're not mine." Your panic had turned to complete and utter fucking freaking out. Still, your face must have said otherwise because Lewis did even more as if you weren’t a flight risk and a commitment-phobe that would run screaming down the beach. You were all those things. He then dropped to one knee before you. "I know it's sudden and I know completely out of left field, but I love you Y/N. I'm in love with you and I know for a fact it's been longer than a year since I've felt this way. I know before we started this friends-with-benefits scenario I had always felt something for you something I knew if ever started would never end. I love so many things about you. Even the things that drive me crazy I love, like your flightiness, and your indecisiveness, your stubbornness, your argumentativeness, your ability to keep people and me at arm's length without giving anything away to how you feel or what you think. Even these things I love because they make you so uniquely and perfectly you.”

You were convinced he had to be able to hear your heart pounding over the crash of the waves. The way it thumped inside your chest was so fast, so brutally fast you felt like it was seconds from giving out.

“I love you and I don't want to waste any more time. I don't want to pretend anymore or even act like I feel less than I do or try to make myself feel less. I know I don't have a ring right now and I am so sorry about that. I wish I'd planned this better because you deserve sky writers and fireworks and every extravagant and romantic thing for a proposal, and I swear I will get you the biggest most expensive rock if you say yes. I promise but I have to get these words out for the first and only time in my life. Will you marry me?" Your panic and freakout turned to complete hysteria. You screamed long and loud then slapped your hands to your face like in the Home Alone movie. "Uh." You covered your mouth and kept screaming muffling it, but it was still loud enough to echo over the barren beach. "Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my fuck! Are you serious? You're not serious. There is no way you're serious!" "I'm dead serious." "Are you drunk? High?" "No. Completely sober." "Oh my god Lewis! What the fuck!” "I know." "Oh my god!” You could not believe this. For some reason, you felt like this was a prank but there was no one around, just the moon as a witness. You turned from him needing a little movement and space. You looked to the ocean and took a few breaths then turned back to him completely restless. "You're for real." "For real, for real." "You're not kidding." "No." "You mean it? You want to get married." "I do." "To me?" "Only you" With panicked and wild eyes, you gripped your head still unable to fathom how you'd gotten here from where you were or how in the world your heart was pounding so hard at the prospect of this future. You were in complete and utter shock and disbelief.

Staring at him kneeling in the sand before you in his black shirt light wash pants, for the first time you allowed the protective walls you had around your heart to fall. You allowed yourself to just feel without thought or worry of if you should. You let your heart speak for the first time in damn near a decade. He was right you'd broken every rule. Every single rule. "We really did break every single rule huh,” you recounted. "We did."

The way he stared at you with his eyes so clear and filled with so much emotion showed he was so open. You could break him or build him up and he knew it and was willingly giving you the authority to do whatever you chose. This man who had so many trust issues who was jaded due to his career and fame and everything that came with it was kneeling before you and giving you this power over him, spilling his heart, and begging for you to catch him and love him in return. God, he was beautiful. "Ask me again." "Will you marry me Y/N? Spend the rest of our lives breaking even more rules with me. Please." You didn't know you had tears in your eyes until you felt them rolling down your cheek. "Yes," you said barely above the waves. Lewis' eyes widened with disbelief. "What?" "Yes," you repeated, your voice shaky. "Wait. Are you serious?" You nodded. "You're not fucking with me right now?" You shook your head as the tears kept coming. "For real?" You nodded. "For real for real." "You're not drunk, or high right now are you because that would suck to wake up tomorrow with you not remembering this." "I'm sober." "You mean it? You want to get married to me?" "Yes." "Y/N--,” he began on a breathy emption filled whisper. "Yes!”

You shouted so loud it echoed around. "Yes, yes, yes, yes!" Lewis lit up, then leaped to his feet to pull you into his arms. "Oh my god,” he croaked out before his lips crashed to yours. The kiss was wild and frenzied as his lips and tongue devoured yours. When he pulled you back to look into your eyes, you saw the glisten in them.

"You want this?" "Yes." "You feel the same?"

Your yes wasn’t enough, he needed the words, craved them. "I do. I love you, Lewis. I'm in love with you." It took a few moments of him searching your eyes for your words to sink in and when they did, his smile was so freaking adorable you wanted to melt. Your lips met and began a passionate kiss but then you heard loud cheering behind you. Both of you turned and found his whole family standing out back by the pool watching, clapping, and cheering. Your eyes bugged as the realization hit you that you probably had seen. Lewis cupped his mouth and hollered out, "I did it! She said yes!’ They cheered louder and you laughed burying your face in his chest trying to disappear. However, he held you close not allowing you to miss one second of his family’s happiness and excitement. "Just engaged sex here we come," Lewis lowly sing-songed. Snorting, you corrected him, "I told you we are not having sex anywhere near your family. Ever." Lewis pulled you flush against him lacing his hand behind your back, so you were trapped with no other choice than to feel his growing need press against your belly, "Come on, it's a special occasion." Momentarily you got lost in the feel of him but quickly cleared your throat and shook your head, "Nope." "We have orders from my dad to give him grandkids. How am I to make that happen if I can't even put them in you?" You snorted again, "I'm sure he is not expecting kids 9 months from now." "Hey, dad!” ”Yeh?" "When do you want them grandkids?" "Asap!” Your jaw dropped as embarrassment filled you. You tried to pull away from him so you could hide behind him, but Lewis would not allow it. "Oh my god." Lewis laughed, dipped down then threw you over his shoulder and ran down the beach. You knew he would try every seduction method in his repertoire and then some to make you change your mind and you knew you would only be able to hold yourself back for so long before you were begging him to fill you up like a gas tank. You had every intention of making him work for it tonight. He had to know now what he was in store for in this eternity he wanted with you. After all, what was one more broken rule to start a lifetime together?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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