#I think once he opened up to letting you strike him more often

[morimess]

I finally figured out what I want to do with the imposter wind waker for TBABS.

[hayatoseyepatch]

Description: You couldn't believe your misfortune. Once more, you found yourself tethered to Sylus, stuck in a closet with no choice but to stay hidden so you both wouldn't be discovered. But this time around, it seems Sylus has every intention of making sure you have a hard time remaining quiet enough not to be caught. Character: Sylus (Love & Deepspace) Word Count: 2.1k Contains: Sylus x Fem!Reader. SMUT. Forced proximity, penetrative sex, semi-public sex (kinda?), trying not to get caught, dirty talk, praise, degradation, Sylus being Sylus.

Authour's Note: So I just realized it's been almost an entire month since I've published an actual fic, 𝖜𝖔𝖒𝖕 𝖜𝖔𝖒𝖕. Hi y'all thanks for sticking around and being patient with me! Between kinktober prepping and working on my matchup event (thanks for being patient I'm getting those out asap) I've been SWAMPED. This is based off the "Immobilized" memory, I couldn't stop thinking about this ever since I pulled it so here we are.. This is my first Love & Deepspace fic, so please be gentle with me, if there's anything I can improve please let me know! I just started playing and I'm already hooked (its so bad save me). Anyways I hope you enjoy!

The enclosed space in the closet is cramped, you and Sylus were chest to chest, both trying to remain quiet as to not be caught. You couldn’t believe you had been so foolish as to forget another one of your belongings in this room. The bond around your wrists still tethering you together, he smirked, a glint in his vermillion eyes as he leaned down. His lips pressed against the shell of your ear, you could feel his hot breath caress the sensitive skin as he speaks. “Careful, kitten, or I’m going to get the wrong idea and think you like being stuck in a cramped space with me.” He teases, that infuriating grin never leaving his lips. You reach your free hand over, shoving him harshly, which only serves to make him chuckle.

You peek through the slots in the closet door, the roommate you had for this event was just sitting down at the vanity in the room to get started on her hair and makeup. You exhaled, careful not to do so too loudly to alert her to the fact you were currently tethered to the leader of Onychinus. The mischievous glint in Sylus’ eye was impossible to ignore. He stood to full height, in two strides in the cramped space, he had your back pressed against the wall. His head ducking to the crook of your neck, his breaths fanning across your skin had your heart racing and breaths coming in unevenly. “What are you doing?” You whisper harshly to him, though your words are hardly threatening due to the way your voice shook from having him so close.

The only response you get is a soft ‘shh’ sound coming from his lips before his lips attach themselves to your neck. His mouth begins to leave open-mouthed kisses up the expanse of your neck, not stopping until his lips reach the shell of your ear. “Seems like we’ll be trapped here for a while, sweetie.” His whisper comes in between rasping breaths to your ear. 

“Let’s see how quiet you can be while we ‘pass the time’, shall we?” His sentence was punctuated with a playful nip to the skin of your neck. His large hand grabbing the back of your thigh to wrap one leg around his hip. Any words you could attempt to formulate would be cut off by the following kiss he presses against your lips. The tension between you two over the last few weeks could be cut with a knife and Sylus couldn’t stand it any longer, he needed to have you. He was a man who seized opportunity, and he saw this as the perfect one to make you his.

You can’t help but melt into the kiss. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you never wondered what kissing Sylus would be like, as frustrated as it made you, you couldn’t help but think of him often. The striking red of his eyes, his broad shoulders, that deep rasp that his voice held making every word he spoke go straight to your- Your trailing thoughts were interrupted by a gasp, feeling him roll his hips into yours, feeling just how much the kiss was effecting him against your center. He pulls from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your lips for a moment before it snaps. Looking up you meet those vermillion orbs, he lifts a sculpted eyebrow, smirk returning to his features. 

“Someone seems distracted. Something on your mind, sweetie?” His words are hushed as to not draw attention to the third party just outside the closet door. Suddenly your current predicament comes rushing back, alarm bells ringing in your head. “We shouldn’t, what if we get caught?” You look up at him, eyes laced with panic, to which he only chuckles under his breath. 

“Well, then I guess you’ll just have to be quiet then won't you, kitten?” He cuts you off once more with his lips, his tongue slipping past your parted lips with ease. His hand slipping up the smooth skin of your thigh, well past the fabric of your skirt. He relishes the sweet whimper he receives when the pads of his fingers come into contact with the damp fabric of your panties. His next words coming murmured against your lips. “But of course we can always stop if that’s what you want.” He goes to pull from you, grinning when your lips chase his as he attempts to separate. 

“Though if we’re going by the state of your panties, darling, I’d say you want this as much as I do.” He coos, pushing the fabric to the side. He tsks as he collects your wetness on the pads of his fingers, using it as aid to glide his fingers against the sensitive nub of your clit. “So wet, is this all for me, little bird?”

Your fingers grip the fabric of his sweater, so lost in the feeling of him you don’t notice the bind connecting your wrists had vanished. His fingers begin rubbing lazy circles against your sensitive spot, lips returning to your neck. “I couldn’t hear you, kitten, who made you this wet?” He grins as you grip him harder, nails pinching his skin through the fabric. Your words are unsteady and hushed, trying your best to remain concealed. 

“Yes, Sylus, I’m this wet for you.” His grin is palpable, guiding his fingers to your entrance. Rewarding your compliance with a finger sliding past the velvety walls of your cunt. “That’s my girl.” Without hesitation, he slips a second finger inside you, groaning lowly at how your walls contracted around his fingers. Just feeling how tight you were has his eyes rolling back in his head. He works you over with his fingers, digits scissoring inside you to offer some preparation of what's to come. He works you over on his fingers, pumping them in and out of your tight heat. 

“I don’t know, baby, I think if anything’s gonna get us caught, I think it just might be this cute little cunt.” He chuckles softly as you slap his shoulder in protest. “It’s not my fault she’s being so vocal for me, do you hear her?”

His words have heat rising to your cheeks as he speaks. He curls his digits, pads of his fingers expertly hit the spongy spot within your walls that has your eyes seeing while. Bundling his shirt in your fists, lunging forward to sink your teeth into the skin of his neck to muffle your moans as you shake against him. Walls spasming around his fingers as you come undone on his fingers. He hisses upon the impact of your bite but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. He barely allows you time to recuperate, maintaining eye contact as he slips his fingers from your cunt and past his lips, tasting you on his digits and groaning low in his throat. 

“Absolutely delicious sweetie.” He purrs, lifting your thighs to wrap around his waist. Supporting your weight with one hand that grips the plush skin of your ass. In one swift movement, he has his pants unzipped, pulling his hardened member from his boxers. Hand holding the base to position himself at your entrance. “Need to hear you, kitten. Tell me how much you want me inside you.”

Your eyes look up into his own, holding onto him as you're pressed between him and the wall. Chewing on your bottom lip, whimpering as he uses your slick as leverage to tease your clit with the mushroom tip of his cock. Unable to take his teasing any longer, you comply, not recognizing your own voice from the need lacing your tone. “Please, Sylus, I need you. Need you to fill me up with your cock, want to feel you splitting me open, please.” 

Your words send a shiver up his spine, wishing only that he could hear you whisper to him so sweetly on repeat. “Now how could I deny my little bird when she begs me so sweetly?” He grins slipping past the tight ring of your entrance, silencing your sounds with his mouth. Tongues and teeth clashing from the intensity of the kiss both of you being consumed by your need for one another. He spurs on, continuing to sink inch by inch before bottoming out. He lets out a shaky breath against your lips, pulling away just far enough to check that you were okay. The half-lidded expression you send him has his cock throbbing, your eyes begging him to move. The both of you catch the sound of the door shutting outside the closet door, the tell tale sign that you both no longer needed to be quiet. “Fuck, finally, need to hear you kitten. Don’t you dare fucking muffle a single sound, you hear me?” He groans into the skin of your neck.

His hips start to move, setting a brutal pace from the start. Every moan, whimper, and call of his name that slips past your lips goes straight to his cock. The sounds only spurred him to continue slamming his cock against your gummy walls. Leaning forward as he began rolling his hips against your own, pressing another desperate kiss against your lips. He pulls from you after a moment, using his thumb and finger to open your mouth and spitting directly between your now-parted lips. Watching with hunger as he watches your throat contract as you swallow.  

“Gods kitten, so goddamn pretty.” He grunted out throwing his head back, his hands coming to the backs of your thighs, using them as anchors to pull you down on his cock. The feeling has a deep groan slipping past his lips, his eyes rolling back in his head from the intense pleasure. “Fuck sweetie, so fucking tight. Gonna have you molded to my shape by the time I’m done with you.”

His words have you shivering, eyes hazy with pleasured tears glassing over your vision. Feeling your end approaching, needing desperately for him to push you both over the ledge. “Please Sylus, fuck me harder. Fuck, please, Sy can't take it, please.” Your words ignite a fire in him, hand coming to the small of your back pushing you down just a bit further angling your hips for a better angle. 

“Oh? is that really what you want kitten? Want me to breed this pretty little pussy? Have you walk out of here and back to base with my cum dripping down your thighs? Want me to fuck you harder, is that so?” he questions, a satisfied grin on his face, but unable to deny the effect your words had on him. “Well your wish is my command, sweetie, begging me so prettily. Oh so proud of you, that’s my girl.” He grips your hips, slamming them against your own the sounds of skin slapping echoing in the room. “Fuck daddy, please, fuck please” You beg, hearing the pathetic need in your own voice. Your eyes roll back, hearing your own wetness now, coil inside tightening at a rapid rate aching to snap.

Sylus felt his own coil reaching its end. He knew that it was bound to break and crumble, much faster than it usually did from the sheer tightness of your gummy walls. Whimpers started falling from his mouth as he heard your calling to him begging for your own sweet release. His thrusts became sloppy, desperate, as he urged you both to tumble over the edge. 

“Go on kitten, give it to me, you can let go.” He whispered in your ear, making sure that you released before he finished the chase for his own high. Reaching between your legs rubbing your clit in small tight circles, feeling you tighten around him as he shivered a bit. Your cries and begs were like music to his ears. Unable to help it, your hips rolling against the attention to your clit. Hand gripping him by the back of his neck to pull him into a heated kiss, moans spilling into his mouth. One last harsh thrust has your coil snapping, crying into his mouth as your walls clamp down on his cock. Sylus groaned, biting down on your shoulder, sure he would leave a mark in his wake. Falling over the edge himself. A low groan and a cry of your name falling from his lips. His hips slowed as he allowed you both to come down from your highs, holding you close to him. Pressing his forehead against your own as he stilled his hips. 

“So beautiful sweetie, did so fucking good for me. Let's get you home, kitten. Get you nice and cleaned up where you can rest.” Sylus never imagined this being the situation where you both would find yourselves in each other’s arms. But he would be the last to complain, so long as he was finally able to call you his, he couldn’t ask for more.

Dividers by @cafekitsune & @adornedwithlight. Writing & character banners by me. Special thanks to @staraxiaa & @ambiguouslady42 for beta reading for me you guys are the best! Tagging: @pixelcafe-network

[morallygreyyn]

Can i pls get some clingy ass illumi x reader who hasn’t seen them in days because of his missions?

Have a nice day!! Make sure to drink water💓

miss me? (illumi zoldyck x reader)

description: illumi has been gone for a week and when he returns, he seems slightly off. it didn't take you long to realise that he wanted attention, namely yours...

authors note: another super old ask but i love this one with all my heart and soul. illumi? stunning. clingy illumi? immaculate. seriously there is nothing i love more than illumi so this is how i think he would be when he's clingy and wants attention! have a lovely day anon and i really hope you drink lots of water! (seriously i've just found out how important this is so pls everyone drink lots of water to flush out that bacteria) 💗

warnings: none

word count: 1.1k

requests are open! please read my rules!

You hadn’t seen Illumi Zoldyck for the better part of a week. While you were used to the assassin leaving often for work, usually you were in a position to follow him. This time, however, was one of the rare occasions where you had to stay home at your apartment, all for that blasted electrician who kept cancelling on you. If he called you one more time to cancel, while you stayed home when you could have followed your boyfriend to a sunny location that you would have treated like a holiday, you swore you would hire the Zoldyck yourself to track him down. 

As though he had heard your silent threat, the electrician came and went, and your kitchen appliances were once again fully operational. Happy that you could finally restock the fridge, you left to get groceries. You couldn’t admit this out loud, but your apartment often felt too empty without the assassin occupying it too. While he didn’t own the space where you lived, he stayed there often enough that he may as well share it with you. 

It had surprised you when you brought up the offer of living together and he didn’t reject the idea immediately. Illumi actually seemed contemplative, as though it was almost a pleasant thought. That was what you assumed anyway, you could never truly tell what he was thinking most of the time. 

By the time you returned home, you knew something was different immediately. For one, you were certain that you had locked the door. Cautiously stepping into the apartment, you coiled and prepared to strike whatever or whoever was lurking. Despite not being an assassin, you were still a qualified Hunter, and those licences did not come easy.

It turns out that you needn't have bothered as, when you approached the living area, Illumi was sitting calmly at your kitchen island watching you. 

“Oh, Illumi!” Setting down your bags, you ran to him, throwing your arms around your boyfriend as you held him tightly. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back?”

“No signal.” He said simply as he let you hug him, hands gingerly settling around you. You had to fight tooth and nail for him to learn how to hug properly, and even now he still hadn’t quite managed to perfect the act. Despite this, he still tried, and that was good enough for you. 

Pulling away, you looked at him with a smile. “How was it?”

He shrugged, a clear sign he was disinterested in the topic. “Simple.”

Nodding, you stepped back to put the groceries away, not wanting them to rot on the floor. Illumi sat back down, fathomless eyes locked on you while you completed the task you had set for yourself. You liked to think that you knew the Zoldyck rather well, and that included when something was bothering him.

Turning around, you raised an eyebrow as you met his gaze. “What?”

“What?”

“You’re staring at me.”

“Why are you pointing that out?”

“Because I’m wondering why.”

“I stare at you a lot.” He stated, tone very matter of factly.

“I know, but now it seems different.”

“It isn’t.”

“If you say so, darling.” You rolled your eyes and finished putting the food away. Once you had, you turned to face your boyfriend once more, looking for an explanation.

“You forgot something.” Illumi said, and while his voice was the usual light and expressionless one, his eyes still bore into yours.

Looking around, you couldn’t see anything out of place, and you had certainly left nothing on the counters. “What did I forget?”

Illumi didn’t answer, only continued to look at you expectedly. Now you were really confused, and slightly unnerved by his odd behaviour. Illumi rarely acted like this.

With no answer to give you clarity, you grinned in feigned annoyance, kissed his cheek and whispered you were happy to have him back before you left to head into the room you used as an at home office. 

Sitting down at your desk and opening your files, you stared blankly at the screen while you mentally observed Illumi’s behaviour. There was something amiss, and you couldn’t put your finger on what. He wasn’t usually the expressive one; well, he was never the expressive one. All physical, verbal, and emotional affection fell on your shoulders to deliver. While this may seem one sided to most, you didn’t mind as you knew Illumi was not able to express much by way of love. Despite this, you knew he loved you, in his own way. He had threatened to kill the electrician for you when you complained about the situation to him, and that spoke millions. Not only that, but he also allowed you to be as affectionate as you are with him, and he accepted it whereas anyone else wouldn’t have a chance in hell of even approaching him, let alone the things you did together.

What was bothering him?

Just then, you saw a shadow move in your peripheral vision, and your heart dropped to your ass. “Fucking hell, Illumi! At least knock!”

He ignored your outburst. “What are you doing?”

“Working.” You said as you willed your heart to calm down.

“Oh.” Illumi stayed standing behind you, hovering ominously. 

Then it clicked, Illumi was being clingy. This was how he acted when he wanted attention. Unable to control yourself, you laughed loudly at the realisation.

“What?” He asked, watching you stand from your seat to face him.

Your smile was incredibly smug as you approached, wrapping your hands around his waist. “Did somebody miss me?”

Naturally, he didn’t respond and it might’ve been your imagination, but he seemed to relax under your touch. 

“I think I know what I’ve forgotten.” You captured your lips with his own, smiling as you did so. It was moments like this that made you realise that Illumi did in fact love you, and that he was quite attached to you. Even if he didn’t show it much, his hands resting on you, the slide of his lips against your own, the way he seemed unwilling to let you go spoke for him.You pulled away for a moment, bringing a hand up to caress his cheek. You had the Illumi Zoldyck as your lover, and no matter what anyone said, he loved you. “Miss me?”

[sashiavi]

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this has been rotting in my documents since October </3 abandoned kinktober prompt I just couldn't get out of my head :((

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♡𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙳𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗♡ Wriothesley x Reader - wrio finds you stuck in a wall

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: | ¹⁸⁺ | ˢᵐᵘᵗ | ᵃᶠᵃᵇ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ | ᴾʳᶦˢᵒⁿᵉʳᵎ ᴿᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ | ᵖᵘⁿᶦˢʰᵐᵉⁿᵗ | ˢᵗᵘᶜᵏ ᶦⁿ ᵃ ʷᵃˡˡ | ᵖᵒʷᵉʳ ᵈʸⁿᵃᵐᶦᶜˢ | ᵈᵒᵐ/ˢᵘᵇ | ⁿᵃˢᵗʸ ⁿᵃˢᵗʸ ʷʳᶦᵒ ˢᵐᵘᵗ | ʷᵒʳᵈ ᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗ ³.⁵ᵏ

→ᴰᵃʳᵏ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗ ᵂᵃʳⁿᶦⁿᵍ←

ᵀʰᶦˢ ᴾᶦᵉᶜᵉ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵃᶦⁿˢ ᵀʰᵉᵐᵉˢ ᴼᶠ ⁻ ᴰᵘᵇᶜᵒⁿ|ᴰᵘᵐᵇᶦᶠᶦᶜᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿ|ˢᵗᵘᶜᵏᵃᵍᵉ| ᴿᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ ᴰᶦˢᶜʳᵉᵗᶦᵒⁿ ᴵˢ ᴬᵈᵛᶦˢᵉᵈ

•· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·····.•🍑•.····· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·•

Well, well. What an amusing predicament. Wriothesley certainly didn't expect his morning to turn out so… Interestingly. 

The Duke makes his rounds through the Fortress of Metropide twice a day. Once in the morning and again during the young hours of the night, right when the sun sets. Not that its rays could be seen so far down under the surface of the sea, but the sentiment was there. Wriothesely would often be seen passing through the establishment's pleasantries, always making a stop by the inmate sleeping quarters, he ought to have an idea of exactly whom he had in his Fortress.. Right?

He ventures further than the guards are assigned, boots clicking coolly against the metallic flooring, echoing through the high domed ceilings of the holding pods. The Duke makes an effort into personally peeking a look into each isolated cell, sometimes striking up a small conversation with an inmate or two. The man knew all-too-well just how lonesome time in prison was, he could at least acknowledge their existences. 

Speaking of, his mind wanders as he approaches a specific cell, isolated and cold - Away from the rest, segregated by the Fortress’ rule of separating cases, depending on their verdict - Wriothesley flitters back to a conversation he held the night before -

- “Now, what's a girl like you doing here in my Fortress?” Wriothesley leans himself upon the bars of your cell. The area was quiet, isolated with little inhabitants, even more so during the day time, while inmates congregated within the public area of the fortress. You jump slightly, whipping around to face him. 

“Oh, you know.. Stuff..” You reply, looking a little shameless towards him. He had an inkling that you were up to no good. But he’d bite.

“How’s the Fortress treating you? Despite the whole prison aspect,” He chuckles to himself, earning your own laugh, dancing in his ears.

“It’s.. a little boring in here,” He watches your eyes wander around the cell.

“Well- At least you have that poster there, plenty of fun to stare at, I’m sure.” Wriothesley lets his eyes crinkle. The poster was large, stuck to the wall haphazardly, crooked and torn on one corner. “That thing could cover up anything,” He side comments. He watches your interest pique, head tilting in what he could only describe as thought - A stupid one he thinks. 

“I wouldn't try it, you just might escape. I can't have that happen, now can I?” He winks, finally continuing his evening round throughout the section of the fortress.

All of that circles back to the now, as Wriothesley approaches your cell on his morning patrol. Something stirs in his chest, a tickling inkling. He nearly half expects you to have followed his gracious ‘advice’ - If you could even call it that. 

Lo and behold, the Duke spots a special individual poking out from the cracked cell wall. Your lower half nearly dangles from the partition, practically on tippy toes, ankles surely close to giving out from the awkward position. The poster from the night before lays perfectly on the floor next to your frame, comically outlining just how bad you had messed up. He nearly chuckles at the sudden jolt of your body as he unlocks the cell door, craning it open with an obnoxious creak.

“Well.. Aren’t you something?” His heavy boots resonate through the near barren cell, echoing as he makes his way towards your predicament.

You helplessly squirm, whining out of your throat as you fruitlessly struggle in your impromptu confines. Wriothesley stares down at you in utter bemusement, his face cracking with an audacious downturned smile; not that you could see his face through the thick prison wall. Poor You. All lodged and stuck.

"Y-Your Grace! It's not what it looks like-" Your voice manages through the wall, a little muffled to the ear. However, Wriothesley was sure you hadn’t even broken into the adjacent room.

"It's exactly what it looks like. Who knew you'd actually try it." He almost laughs. It wasn’t like you were going to go anywhere - Last he checked, the Fontainian Ocean was right outside their door.

“Seemed like a decent idea..” Wriothesley has to strain to hear your mumble.

“We’re far under the water dear.. Or did you forget in your haste?” This time, he makes no effort to stifle his laugh, chuckling out loud when your form visibly slumps - Whether out of embarrassment or defeat - He was thoroughly amused.

“Hmm.. Now, what do we do with you?” Wriothesley teases. He cranes his body, bending his back with purpose, inspecting the damage you had added to the already faulty wall. How you had managed to wiggle your way in this far, he hadn't a clue. Your body noticeably tenses, you make an attempt to find a proper footing, easily failing from the height of the hole.

“P-Please Your Grace- I’ll do anything, really! Anything you want just- please don’t add time for this..”

“You’ll do.. Anything…?” Call him confused, what were you on about?

“Yes, anything- ch-chores? Solitary? I’ll be good I swear, really- Or you could..” You trail off, leaving the Duke to sit with his whirring brain for a moment. “You.. Can take me… Use me how you want- Please~ Y-You’re stressed right? U-Use me.. Do whatever you wanna-” You sounded nearly delirious. Your pretty ass shakes, brushing up against the front of his pants, a feeble attempt to press back into him.

Were you trying to bargain with him? Wriothesley was more than ready to pull you out, maybe give a little slap on the wrist and send you on your merry way. But now? The Duke couldn't help but indulge in the feeling of his pants tightening around his groin. The idea of taking your pretty self, stuck helplessly in the wall. He couldn't refuse your offer, right? Not when you sounded so eager. Not when you begged for him, for his body, for his thick aching cock, threatening to burst the seam of his trousers. 

Before he can properly stop himself - Not that he was really going to - Wriothesley finds his hands on the soft swell of your ass, squeezing the flesh in his palms. You jolt under his touch, footing slipping slightly against the floor that barely brushed against your toes. Wriothesley breathes hard from his nose, hooking his fingers into the cut of your waistband, pulling the fabric over your form. He hears a whimper from beyond the wall.

“Y-Your Grace…The wall..” Your voice wobbles, body tensing against the brush of his hands.

“What? Having second thoughts?” He can’t help but tease you, squishing his fingers into the soft meat of your ass, digging his hands into your half-on pants. You did say anything. You gasp out, voice cracking with muffled little pleas. ‘Never’ you say ‘Want it bad - so bad’.

Your pants come off quickly, thrown to the floor in a crumple. Wriothesley’s hands are on you again, spreading the fat of your ass apart, marvelling at the pretty swell of your pussy hugged against your panties. He watches your plush thighs squish together, rubbing and squirming in his hold, he couldn't tell if you were wiggling away or keening into him. Not that you could go anywhere. The thought irks a chuckle out of Wriothesley. His fingers wander again, caressing over the soft skin of your ass, digging them in and jiggling cheekily. His thumbs slide over and hook into the elastic of your panties, hugging around the thick of your legs. He meanly tugs at the snappy material, pulling it up and taught, forcing the fabric to cling achingly against your cunt. His tongue instinctively pokes from behind his lips, itching to lap at the pretty wet spot that had formed over the fabric. 

Wriothesley swallows thickly, eyes locked on your pretty cunt, head swimming with the short, hiccuped whines that cut through the wall. You babble and cry, repeating his title over and over - Your Grace, Your Grace - begging him to just touch. To do anything - Anything. 

Your pretty voice gets to him and he finds himself nearly ripping your drenched panties off of you. He pulls them down, leaving them dangling off of your legs, showing off your wet cunt just for him. Gods, he wasn't disappointed. Your pretty pussy peeks from behind the swell of your thighs, already dripping wet, all over yourself. He swears he twitches, breath hissing through his teeth, cold on your core. The sweet jump you make - as best as you could - sends him reeling. 

Wriothesley’s thick fingers tentatively poke at your dripping pussy, catching your sweet, dribbly slick on his fingertips. He awes at how it webs between his fingers, how you’d managed to work yourself up with your own babbling. Perhaps the wall aided a little - Showing off your bottom half, on full display just for him to enjoy, your own vision obscured. You wouldn't see anything coming. The thought runs straight to his cock, making itself well known again against the fly of his trousers. 

Wriothesley licks against his lips, enamoured at the pretty string of your slick on his fingers, sticking between his digits like a lattice. He needs more. He wastes no time, easily slipping in two of his fingers, knuckle deep right into the doughy swell of your hole. Gods, you felt so soft. Silky to his touch, pussy pretty and plushy and warm. The squeal that muffles through the wall forces him to sink his teeth into his own bottom lip. Toying with you came to him naturally. Ever so easy with you all snug and stuck, silly enough to try and swindle him and escape your commitment to the Fortress. 

“W-Wriothesley… your g-grace..” He ignores you, fingers digging into the sweet, supple curve of your cunt. He curls them downward, earning the prettiest, muffled cries through the wall. He releases a breath he didn't even know he was holding. Wriothesley thrusts his fingers hard. Pressing meanly into the achy swollen bump in your core, getting a kick out of the lewd suckling squelch of your pussy on his fingers. Your poor legs practically give out, ankles going limp, your body holding itself up thanks to the wall hugging your body. Your voice crackles through the cement, whiney and keening, babbling dumb nonsensical begs and pleads to him. Your slick pools against his knuckles, threatening to overturn the snug fit of his rings on his fingers. He can't help but stare, locked in, mind reeling with the way your cunt wrapped around his digits. He couldn't help but wonder just what that pretty little thing would look like, all red and puffy, hugging on his thick cock.

He shamelessly lets out his own groan. Finally managing to remove his fingers, watching in awe as your slick drips off of them, connecting him to you with a thin, dribbly line. 

Just a taste…

The thought zaps through his brain, tongue shamelessly poking its way past his teeth, running over his lips with a quick tilt of his head.

Wriothesley wastes no time. Wrapping his lips against your slick cunt, eyes rolling hard into the back of his skull. Fuck. Your taste on his tongue, sweet and tangy, oh so decadently coating his throat. Archons, he laps and suckles, nearly sinking his teeth into the heat of your core, into the puffy swell of your pussy lips. You keen back into him, whining never-ending, absolutely ceaseless, voice managing to pierce through the heavy material of the wall you’d stuck yourself in. That thought charges through his mind again. Poor little you, all stuck and lodged in the wall all for him to play with. The man was sure he would cream in his own pants if he kept up. He barely registers his knees beginning to ache under the heavy pressure of his own body meeting the floor. Since when had he managed to sink down? Finding his hands back on your plushy ass cheeks? Chin dribbling slobber and slick, sticking wetly to the scratchy stubble shadowing over his face? He couldn't take it anymore. 

Wriothesley stands with a start, ignoring the stiff crack of his knees in favour of unbuckling his godforsaken pants. His hands are clumsy, large palms pawing at the metal of his trousers, his belt suddenly too intricate for his rough, fervent body to figure out - Not with how his mind reels, with the sight of you stuck in the wall, pretty pussy drooling, on display all for him. He barely shoves his pants to his thighs, the material wrapping around his legs in a mess. His cock weeps as it's free, slapping up into his stomach, heavy balls hanging over the waist of his trousers. He leaks beads of sticky pre, messing up the surface of his dress shirt. Wriothesley groans out loud, hand coming up to wrap around the base of his cock, squeezing it up and down to ease the hot tension pulsing through his thick cock vein. 

He was sure you heard the cold clink of his belt, the only inkling of what was to come for you. He can't help but jerk his length off to the sight of you, shamelessly stalling just to mess with your head. No matter how much you squirm and beg, crying out as best as you could, stupidly asking for a reply to gather any kind of indication of what he was about to do to you. He stays silent.

Wriothesley meanly slaps his cock over the sticky, wet folds of your achy cunt, he chuckles when you jump again, going absolutely crazy for your every little reaction. Your pussy sounded so pretty on his tip, all wet and sticky as he slapped and rubbed against it. His fat tip slides over your warm, slick folds, craning his hips forward, catching against your sopping hole, earning him the softest gasps from within the wall. Your little jumps all but spur him all the more on.

“M’ not even in yet.. Pussy’s already tryin’ to suck me in,” Wriothesley pokes his tip against your hole, catching it against the warm, supple squeeze of your cunt. He growls through his teeth, head quickly draining of any cohesive decision making. Your babbling continues through the wall, your hips crane up into his own, wiggling and catching back on the thick head of his dick. Gods, that does it. You were insatiable, all stuck waiting for him to come along and ravage your pretty cunt with his cock. 

It all urges him to dive in, give your poor cunt no warning for his thick, dribbling cock.

And so he does.

“Fuuuckk” Wriothesley can’t help but groan, finally feeling the sweet swell of your cunt enveloped the fat length of his cock. He has to bite into his thumb, just to slow himself down, let himself relish in the sweet squeeze of your cunt on his cock. Gods the way you wrapped around him, silky soft walls hugging on his length. He can't help but awe at the way your achy pussy squeezed on him, all puffy and sore from neglect. His hands find your hips, one of the only parts free from the wall.

“Your Grace~.. So big- so biiig… Filling me up- please please… please” Your silly voice cracks through the wall. Wriothesley digs his fingers into the flesh of your hips, purposely lifting your poor legs off of the floor, leveraging your body just for him to use. You squirm in his hold, easily forcing him to grip you tighter.

“Fuck, stay still. Gonna make me go crazy..” Wriothesley finds himself mindlessly rocking his thick cock into your silky cunny, humping his hips against your ass like some kind of dog in rut. Archons, he could get used to this. His own personal little wall slut, always there for him to use and abuse. His eyes roll at the idea, his snapping hard, earning a loud hiccuped cry from within the thick wall. The hot squelch that follows has him nearly drooling, mouth dropped open in a soft frown, eyes locked on to his heavy cock sliding in and out of your dumb cunt. He fucks his hips hard again, cock head smacking into the deepest parts of your pussy.

Wriothesley doesn't remember speeding up. But he sure as hell won't be slowing down - not anytime soon. Your gushy pussy squelches on his cock, dribbling down your thighs, messing all over your poor aching legs. Wriothesley’s fingers keep a hold of your hips, rocking them slightly to meet his brutal pace. He doesn't have to crane his ears to hear your pretty moans, effortlessly reaping through the solid wall, barely muffled by the sheer loudness of your voice. 

Fuck, he didn’t care about the noise. Let everyone hear them. What were they going to do about it? What were you going to do about it? About getting all stuck in this wall, going against the Fortress’ protocol? Seducing the Duke of the Meropide, forcing him to fuck your dumb brains out to teach you a lesson? A growl resonates from his throat, hips snapping hard, clapping into the sweet swell of your ass cheeks as he fucks up your cunt. 

Wriothesley’s eyes wander, locking down on the sweet jiggle of your ass and the puffy red throb of your cunt on his cock. A heavy breath makes its way through his nose, eyes hyper focused on the pretty, creamy ring around his length as he fucks his hips against you, slowly leaking its way on to his pants. An ache builds in his pelvis, thick vein pulsing on the underside of his cock. Your moans don't stop, legs continuously squirming in his grasp, body stuck in the juncture of your silly wall. He thinks you beg, maybe you scream, crying out for him to keep going, to fill you up to cum hard and deep and mess up your insides. 

Wriothesley drops your legs, forcing you to dangle, his hands press into the wall above, grinding his hips upwards, stabbing your pussy impossibly deeper with his length. Sweat beads off of his nose, his calves cramp and ache with every thrust he makes, but Gods, he wasn't going to stop. He finds himself moaning out loud, complementing the pretty noises that creak through the wall. Your pussy hugs on his length, squeezing nice and tight, wrapping around his fat tip every time he slams it back into you. 

His teeth grit hard. Eyes still locked on to the messy slide of his length, in and out, in and out. He was coming close. So fucking close.

Wriothesley’s brow scrunches, relishing in the aching squeeze of your messy pussy on his cock. He couldn't take it anymore. The creamy ring he’d fucked out of you, the pretty ripple of your ass on his hips, how juicy and gushy your cunt was on his length. Gods, it was all so much. His hips snap, pace faltering, clapping his hips in heated staccatos, dragging his length out and slamming right back in with a hard smack. You cry with every thrust, silky cunt squeezing on his tip, babbling his name over and over and over. 

He finally spills with a deep, hard fuck. His thick tip spurts hot rivulets of cum into your silky pussy. He messes your insides with white, fucking himself through his orgasm, humping up on your cunt, mounting your pussy with his cock. His throat growls with every fuck, sweat beads off of the tip of his nose, he watches his hot spurts leak steadily out of your hole, leaking around the base of his length. He can’t help but nestle right into your cunt, relishing in the sweet squeeze of your milky walls on him, he cranes his hips every so often, teasing his aching tip with your soft insides.

You kick and whine as eventually, he pulls out, dribbling his hot white cum down your thighs. 

“No~ need more! More more!” Your muffled voice cries, pitifully wiggling within the hug of the wall, attempting to squirm your way out.

Wriothesley chuckles hotly, eying off the sweet gush of cum that drools out of your puffy pussy. His mouth waters, salivating like a dog. Surely he could take you out of the wall a little later? You’d understand. You’d been a great little wall slut for him so far, so why not indulge for as long as he wanted? Maybe he'd let you cum, spray and mess all over yourself - He could even let you out as a reward.

His finger comes up to caress over your spent hole, scooping up the leaking slick that coated your poor pussy. The cry he earns makes his half-hard cock stiffen, bobbing to life with a flex.

Archons, weren’t you something?

hnnnnnng gg g wrio wooof wOof - my longest fics are always wrio </3

Idk what possessed me to create this- I hope you enjoyed ;3

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Thank You For Reading! Comments Are Always, Always Appreciated! Ilysm <333

♡ᵀᵃᵍˡᶦˢᵗ♡

@madsw9 @pvbbyb0y @heath-sama @shiningpaint-marbleheart @the-massive-simp @tericula @a-random-weeb @mechalily @mydarlingdahlia @finnie9479

•· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ��·····.•🍑•.····· ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪·•

Do Not Translate Or Repost - Property Of SashiAvi ♡

[naomiarai]

シ ───── 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 !

┌─── ∘°❉°∘ ───┐

in which you get high with your boyfriend.

└─── °∘❉∘° ───┘

⪩⪨ PAIRING : boyfriend!sunghoon × fem!reader

⪩⪨ GENRE : smut, pwop, established relationship.

⪩⪨ WC : 1.8k (1793)

⪩⪨ WARNINGS : unprotected sex, dom!hoon, sub! reader, marking, teasing, riding, spitting, super messy, pet names (baby, doll, pretty), creampie, use of weed/marijuana, getting high, high sex. lmk if i missed anything !!

⪩⪨ AUTHOR’S NOTE : not proofread !! a lil request from my beloved josie, @pprodsuga don’t kill me if it didn’t reach your standard... not too proud of it myself but i tried my best 4 u. reblogs and feedback appreciated!

The clock strikes two am as you swing open the door for your boyfriend. You had asked him to come over, unable to sleep and preferring his company to a string of text messages.

“Hi, baby” Sunghoon mutters as he steps inside, his hands naturally finding their way to your waist. He’s wearing grey sweatpants and a plain black t-shirt, carrying a bag that promises relaxation for the both of you. Despite the late hour and the knowledge that you really shouldn’t be doing this, you shamelessly let your eyes wander over him.

Sunghoon smirks as he follows your gaze, clearly noticing your appraisal. “Didn't know you were this confident, pretty” he teases, his voice a low murmur as you close the door and bolt it shut.

You throw him a playful glare, retorting, “Learned from the best” You can’t help but think of all the times Sunghoon has blatantly checked you out, often accompanied by the click of his tongue in approval.

As you walk into the living room, his hand rests comfortably on the small of your back, sending shivers down your spine. The room is dimly lit, the soft glow of a table lamp casting a warm, intimate light. You both sink into the plush sofa, the familiar scent of his cologne mingling with the faint aroma of your home.

Sunghoon sets his bag on the coffee table, revealing a small stash of marijuana and a couple of pre-rolled joints. He raises an eyebrow at you, silently asking for your permission. With a sigh, you nod, knowing that despite the hour, this is exactly what you both need to unwind.

He lights a joint, taking a slow drag before passing it to you. The smoke curls lazily in the air, and you take a tentative puff, the familiar sensation instantly soothing your nerves. Sunghoon watches you with a lazy grin, his eyes half-lidded with contentment as you hand it back to him.

“C’mere, doll” he says, the palm of his hand patting his thigh in an inviting gesture. His eyes twinkle with a mix of mischief and warmth. You give him a suspicious look, eyebrows raised, but the hint of a smile plays on your lips. After a moment’s hesitation, you comply, moving over to seat yourself straddling him. The motion is slow, almost teasing, as you settle onto his lap.

He laughs at the face you made, a deep, rumbling sound that resonates through his chest. His hand comes up, tapping your ass lightly as you get comfortable. There’s a glint of amusement in his eyes, matched by the playful curve of his lips.

“Not going to stick a knife down your throat” he tells you, his voice laced with playful accusation. The way he looks at you, though, is anything but threatening; it’s tender and teasing all at once.

You roll your eyes at him, reaching over to take the joint from his fingers. Before he can say anything more, you push it back between his lips, urging him to take a drag. He complies, taking a deep puff and then exhaling a thick cloud of smoke. His eyes never leave yours, locked in a steady, almost hypnotic gaze.

“Fuck the knife, Hoon” you murmur, your voice slightly fuzzy from the effects of the smoke. “You’re rock hard” The words slip out, bold and unfiltered, as you feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against you.

He puffs out another cloud of smoke, his eyes darkening with desire. “Can’t help it when you’re around” he replies, his voice dropping to a low, husky tone. His hands slide up your sides, fingers trailing over your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

You lean in closer, your breath mingling with his, the scent of the joint and something distinctly him filling your senses. “What are you going to do about it?” you challenge, your lips brushing against his as you speak.

A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face. “Oh, you have no idea” he murmurs before capturing your lips in a heated kiss. His hands roam your body, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss until you’re both lost in the intensity of the moment. You feel the taste of the joint through the kiss as he pushes his tongue into your mouth; getting messy really quick.

As you both pull away from the kiss, Sunghoon picks up the joint again, taking a slow drag. His eyes lock onto yours, filled with a mix of desire and amusement. He tilts his head back, letting out a plume of smoke that swirls lazily in the dim light. You lean in, pressing your lips to his neck, starting to suck gently at first, then more insistently. Your hips begin to move, grinding against his clothed erection, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You can feel the slickness of your arousal soaking through your panties, the sensation making you bolder.

Sunghoon groans at the feeling, a deep, guttural sound that sends a shiver down your spine. Encouraged, you grind faster, your movements becoming more urgent. One of his hands rests on your hip, guiding your movements, while the other trails up your back, fingers splayed wide as if he wants to feel every inch of you. He pulls you away from his now marked neck, his eyes dark and intense as they meet yours. You look slightly fucked out, eyes droopy and hazy, lips parted as you pant softly.

He brings the joint to your lips, and you take a drag, the smoke filling your lungs and adding to the heady mix of sensations. As you release the smoke, your hands come up to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer. “Eager, aren’t you, baby?” he asks, his voice saccharine sweet, dripping with condescension and desire.

You release the smoke from your mouth, your lips curling into a mischievous smile. “All your fault!” you retort, your voice a sultry purr as you grind harder against him. The pleasurable pressure building inside you is almost unbearable, each movement sending waves of pleasure through you.

Sunghoon’s grip on your hip tightens, and he lets out a low growl. “Is that so?” he murmurs, his free hand sliding down to cup your ass, squeezing firmly. He pulls you against him, his own hips beginning to move in rhythm with yours. The friction between your bodies is electric, each grind bringing you closer to the edge.

You lean in, capturing his lips in a heated kiss, your tongues tangling as your hips continue their dance. His hands are everywhere, roaming over your body, stoking the fire inside you. You break the kiss, gasping for air, and he takes the opportunity to trail his lips down your jawline, his breath hot against your skin.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging lightly as he nips at your collarbone, the sharp sensation sending jolts of pleasure through you. “Please” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of your heavy breathing.

He looks up at you, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Please what?” he teases, his hand slipping under your shirt to trace patterns on your skin.

“Please, I need more, can’t just fucking cum in my shorts” you breathe out, your desperation evident in your voice.

Sunghoon’s eyes darken, and he lets out a low chuckle. “Yeah? Then why don’t we remove them? Wan’ my dick don’t you? Dirty girl” he rasps, hands roaming around your body, exploring and teasing until he finds the hem of your t-shirt, swiftly taking it off you. You shiver as the cold air hits your skin, top half only left in a baby blue bra.

Sunghoon lets you get up for a second, as you immediately pull down your shorts and drenched panties, the wetness trickling down your thighs. Sunghoon watches you while pulling down his sweatpants, boxers leaving him completely bare.

You stare at his hard dick without a second thought, mind high and mouth watering at the sight.

“God you’re so wet” he whispers, eyes closed shut as he pulls you down onto to his cock, red tip entering your wet folds. You let out a loud, choked moan as he enters you inch by inch, until he’s fully sheathed inside of you. The feeling of the weed you just smoked mixing in with the sudden burst of pleasure only drove you insane.

“Open,” Sunghoon commands, his tone leaving no room for disobedience. He grips your chin firmly, his fingers digging into your cheeks as he forces your mouth open. You comply immediately, eyes widening as he spits inside, the warm liquid landing on your tongue. At the same moment, he thrusts upward, his cock driving deep into you, hitting spots that make your body shudder.

“Swallow” he orders, his eyes locked onto yours, a predatory gleam in his gaze. You obey, the taste mingling with the overwhelming sensations coursing through you. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, seeking stability as he pounds into you from below, each thrust a powerful jolt that seems to rearrange your insides.

Sunghoon's grip tightens as his hands slide down to your ass, fingers digging into your flesh. He spreads you open, giving himself better access as he pulls you down onto his cock, meeting each upward thrust with a force that has you seeing stars. The combination of his rough handling and the relentless pace he sets leaves you breathless, lost in the intoxicating blend of pleasure and submission.

His rhythm is relentless, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Your moans and gasps mix with his grunts, creating arousing noises. Sunghoon’s control over you is absolute, his dominance only breaking you apart further.

As he continues to thrust into you, his movements grow more urgent, each stroke sending waves of pleasure through you. He lets go to your hips as he lets you set the pace now, bouncing on his cock endlessly.

“Don’t stop” he growls, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. You nod, too consumed by the pleasure to form coherent words.

“So good!—fuck! hoon, gonna c-cum” you moan out with a loud shriek as you squirt all over over, covering his dick thighs in complete white. You halt your hips but Sunghoon still fucks up into you, his hands spreading your cum all over your ass cheeks.

You’re completely out of it, dazed until he shoots his orgasm up your cunt again, which only resulted in it leaking out. “Shit—!, god pretty, you okay?” he checks up on you, even though he’s panting and breathing heavily, your bodies pressed close together.

Lifting your head from his shoulder, you nod with a smile, kissing his neck. He smiles back at you, holding you even tighter as you both lay still. Until you have to clean up that is.

[bloodiedrogue]

BLEED YOU DRY (1)

SUMMARY: When you awake to find Astarion attempting to drink your blood, you find yourself making a interesting decision.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader (reads as Gender Neutral but future chapters will be femme focused, just a heads up!)

WORD COUNT: 3,273

WARNINGS: Bloodsucking, that's about it?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, so I'm aware I'm way ahead of schedule for this Haunted Hoedown thing but I'm going to be gone for a few days in the middle of it so I figured I'd get a headstart now to make sure I get every day done but also to build the hype? Maybe?

Basically this is going to be a little twelve part miniseries based on prompts from this writing challenge. I'll make a masterpost either tonight or tomorrow with all the ones I chose, plus some other stuff, so you guys know what's going on!

The prompt for this particular day was "I want to watch you bleed."

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

-

The squirming tadpole behind your eye is what wakes you up. Its constant movement, wriggling from edge to edge quickly prompts you to groan and palm your eye, attempting to suppress the feeling as you blink through the darkness. It takes a moment to adjust —to feel that twitch of the creature die down— and when it does there’s a sigh of satisfaction that leaves your lips.

Despite how long it’s been, you’re not sure you’ll ever get used to the fact that you have a parasite living inside your mind. Even after experiencing the insertion firsthand, you often forget it’s there, looming behind your retinas, awaiting use every time you run into another. Normally it’s so still, barely inching out of place; sitting there, incubating within your thoughts. Tonight though, something’s urging its presence. Keeping it awake as you close your eyes again, scrunching up your face once it moves a second time.

Angrily, you sit up and turn your head, suddenly catching Astarion’s gaze, noticing the open-mouthed grin he offers in response. 

“Shit.”

You narrow your eyes, focusing on his teeth. How bared they are; ready to strike at a moment's notice despite the only food lying around being you. “Were you just about to bite me?” you ask and almost immediately he attempts to play it off as if it were nothing, scoffing and rolling his eyes. 

“I wasn’t going to hurt you if that’s what you’re insinuating. I was only going for a nibble.” 

You can feel your tadpole squirm. He’s telling the truth, albeit for reasons that are more selfish than he lets on. Despite seeming otherwise, he only wants to drink from you for strength —for energy. His desire to kill you is minuscule, lingering in the shadows of his mind for a potentially later day but surprisingly such notions don’t scare you. Astarion may be a bloodthirsty creature but for now, he’s an ally.

“And you didn’t think to just ask first?” You raise a brow at him, watching his expression twist into something bordering between confusion and interest. 

“I’m sorry, just ask?” he parrots, exploring your features and how they remain calm despite the context.  

He was expecting you to be angry. To throw some kind of fit and deny. It’s what any normal person would do, but considering the circumstances, offering up a little blood to build up the strength of someone on the same side is worth more than the annoyance that forms across your face. 

“Yes, like a normal person,” you chastise, taking in the scowl he offers in response. 

His brows furrow at the sound of your words, angling upwards to appear as sinister as possible, and you can’t help but snort. Something about his constant disapproval is almost humorous at this point.

“Normal? Darling, I’m a creature of the night. A blood sucking fiend. A—“

“Vampire, yes, we’re all well aware given the teeth.” You poke at your own canine, tapping the enamel with open lips just as he swallows hard and narrows his eyes. 

“Yes, well, obviously considering such details I thought it inappropriate to ask. People don’t typically agree to such perilous sounding terms,” he says, voice light and airy. Casual, you might say, despite the context. 

“So instead you were just going to go for it?” You raise your brow, a smirk playing across your lips as he rolls his eyes. 

“Seemed like the best possible option… at the time.” 

You offer him a quiet ah, nodding your head as the two of you remain still, watching each other. Trying to gauge how the other is feeling without the use of your tadpoles. 

Based on what you know about Astarion you assume he’s too stubborn to ask. Now that he’s caught, regardless of whether or not he needs the blood, he’ll never find himself in a position to be desperate enough to say those simple little words. Being a man of persuasion, he’ll most likely just talk his way into it —make it seem like the whole thing was your idea in the first place before diving right in. 

It’d be respectable if you weren’t the victim. If it were Wyll or Gale and you were to bear witness to his deceptions, you’d fully support it. Encourage it even if he were to ask your opinion.

Since it’s you though, you can’t help but feel a bit frustrated. Astarion and you have never been particularly friendly. Having only been around each other for a few weeks, all you’ve talked about is the Illithid and how you plan to get rid of it —what you’ll do after it’s gone. But even the latter conversations hardly spark specific details. Mostly they’re just brief mentions of wanting to run away. To become hidden after the war is over. 

You assume someone’s looking for him based on the way he speaks and carries himself. When you’re on the move he hides within the pack, using you all as a shield while he looks around. Always on high alert, his ears twitch at any foreign sound, his eyes dart to meet the faces of anyone you may come across. At night, he’s always the one to keep watch and over time you’ve come to realize it isn’t just because he doesn’t sleep. It’s because he’s looking for someone. 

Even now, as he stands above you, you can see his eyes looking past you to focus on the underbrush. The way they narrow with focus, pushing past your face. He can sense something that you can’t —feel the eyes of some foreign presence staring at the two of you. 

You’re tempted to use the tadpole to find out what exactly it is but quickly refrain once you hear the shuffling of branches behind you followed by Astarion’s breath of relief. 

“You alright?”

His eyes shut for a split second. His chest heaves a single breath and in that moment you’re struck with an odd sense of sympathy. The feeling of pity laces throughout your thoughts as you imagine Astarion’s life before all of this. You imagine it isn’t great. Considering he’s a vampire, there’s probably at least an inkling of trauma there after living, dying and coming back as something other than yourself. No sane person would be the same after that, especially when taking into account all the symptoms. Before his transition, he could do mundane things. Enjoy the pleasantries of life like the sun and sleeping and food. 

Nowadays, all it seems he craves is blood and power. Flesh of whatever he can get his greedy little hands on. The upper hand in any possible argument. Both make what Astarion is on the surface, but looking at him now, wondering what else lies behind that thick, defensive coat of first impressions, you know there are other things. Nicer ones he refuses to showcase. 

They’re the details of his life before everything. Traits reserved only for himself, and for some uncharacteristic reason, you’re tempted to find out what they are. 

“If you need to…” Trailing off, you feel your stomach twist at the realization of what you’re about to offer. The consequences are high, maybe even too high, but perhaps the benefits could be deemed higher. At this point, you’re certain no one else will give him what he needs. They’re all too noble or guarded to allow Astarion, regardless of his current allegiance, to drink. 

They don’t trust him. And even though you find yourself in the same boat, feeling the skepticism of your words start to echo in the back of your mind, you know it’s the most logical thing to do. Sure, it may not be the right one. By a long shot, it’s probably one of the worst ideas you’ve ever had, but you know deep down that it’s necessary for your survival. To ensure that, when all this blows over and the potential of you going your separate ways occurs, Astarion doesn’t view you as an enemy.

“If you need to drink, you can.” 

His eyes widen only a bit. Just enough for you to notice the slight shock that spreads across his features. “I can?” 

There’s a reluctance you feel begin to bubble up but instead of acting on it you merely shut it down, nodding your head. “Yes, but only a little. Don’t want you bleeding me dry before this whole thing is all over.” 

Somehow that makes him laugh. “Oh, darling, I wouldn’t dream of such a thing.” 

You force yourself not to smirk as he lies through his teeth. Knowing him, he’d suck you dry if it weren’t for the fact that there’s safety in numbers. “Unfortunately for me this isn’t a dream.” 

“Fair point,” he replies, taking a short step forward. After that he slowly begins to crouch towards the ground, watching you closely —focusing on the rise and fall of your chest as his face falls mere inches from yours. “For now though, I promise to do no such thing.”

“And you’re certain you’ll keep it?”  

He hums, a grin pulling at his cheeks. “For now,” he muses. “In the future though…”

He’s so close you can feel his breath. Hot and heavy puffs pushed through a low, far too sultry tone of voice that has you pressing your lips together in a thin line. 

Out of everyone, Astarion’s always been the most intriguing. The one you’ve had this constant back and forth with, debating whether or not to approach or run. Aside from the obvious vampirism, it’s quite obvious that he isn’t like the others. From what you’ve been able to piece together, he doesn’t have a cause. A God or some sort of leader he’s willing to lay down the law for. He’s not noble like Wyll or faithful like Shadowheart. He’s just Astarion. A bloodied wolf all by his lonesome, following the rest of the pack. 

You’re sure he has desires like the rest of them. Wants and needs that’ll inevitably be gifted to him at the end of this —so long as you all survive. Like everyone else, he has a purpose in mind, but what that purpose is is unbeknownst to you thanks to the charm he offers in replacement of the truth. Because of this, he feels almost like a treasure chest. A trove of untold riches kneeling before you, tempting you to open. 

“I’m sure the future will have us far enough away from each other where that doesn’t happen, so I won’t worry.” 

Almost immediately, he can tell you’re fishing for information. The way his brow slightly upturns and the flirtatious grin across his face transitions into more of a smirk. It makes you internally curse, knowing that no matter how hard you try you’ll never beat him at his own game. His way with words is too precise. Too calculated, even for someone like you who grew up convincing people of your lies. 

“You never know. Perhaps after this is all over I’ll follow you. Linger amongst the shadows until the time is right.” 

You can’t tell if he’s kidding. His voice is too convincing to be completely certain, so you merely roll your eyes. “Yes, well, if you do decide to drink me to death, be sure to make it quick.” 

He clicks his tongue, leaning slightly further in. “What would be the fun in that though?”

There’s an unfamiliar ache inside your chest. A rupture of pain that wreaks havoc against your ribcage, pounding. Now that he’s close to you, you can assume it’s always been there but because he’s so good at posing a distraction you weren’t fully aware of it until now. 

“Fair point,” you repeat his words back to him, deeply inhaling just as the tadpole suddenly shifts in tandem with your chest. Ebbing and flowing across your inner eye in time with your shaky breath, you notice Astarion pick up on it, humming knowingly. 

“You fear me, don’t you?” 

Despite the answer being blatantly obvious, your lips remained sealed. Closed off, regardless of the truths the rest of your body spills. 

“It’s quite alright, darling. It’s normal. Creatures of the night are hardly meant to be trifled with.” 

He’s in your face now, a mere hair’s length away, once again baring his teeth. Against your lips, you can feel the movement of his words pushing through the air, coating you in further reluctance as the withheld breath inside you finally releases. As it hits his face, he blinks and pulls away. Ever so slightly giving you the space you need to recollect your thoughts and swallow back the fear. 

He’s terrifying. Even you have to admit that. Unlike Lae’zel he’s more calculated in his intimidation, opting to pull you in —to make you feel comfortable— before he ultimately strikes. Because of this, his threats feel more authentic. Less like simple tactics used to get you to back off. They aren’t words of warning —they’re promises. Declarations of a moment he’s more than willing to make a reality if given the chance.

“Do you want my blood or not, Astarion?”

Your patience is thin. Your chest is in pain and while the tadpole inside unwittingly reaches out to his, driving you both closer as he instructs you to lie back down and get comfortable, all you can feel is temptation. Desire. 

Upon resting your head, you feel the connection between you grow stronger. Inside, your head flashes with icy sensations that trickle down towards your neck. Small tremors of what’s to come as Astarion positions himself around you. 

When he leans down, there’s a moment where you think of retracting. This is all too sudden, you think. A mistake made in hopes of gaining the upper hand. Just moments ago you were made unaware of the full potential of Astarion’s charms, but now that you’re lying beneath him, awaiting the moment he sinks his teeth into your flesh, you can feel the regret begin to build.

“It won’t last.”

Pulling yourself from your thoughts, you look to see him staring over top of you. Both of his arms are planted on either side of your head, bending at the elbow so that he’s low and close. “I’m sorry?”

“The pain. It won’t last long, I promise.”

Strangely enough, he sounds sincere. Not that that means much when a good portion of the words that exit his lips are lies. Still though, instead of returning to that previous headspace you merely breathe and nod, waiting for the moment the tadpole’s connection vibrates with confirmation and Astarion begins to lean in. 

It’s a slow process. Above you, his shoulders shift, pushing his arm to cup the back of your head and expose your neck. Against your skull, Astarion tightens his grip to steady the endless thoughts that race through your mind as you share a glance. It’s small but important. A moment of recognition that tonight is not the night you die at his hand, but merely a preview of what might come if your paths wrongfully cross. 

At the last second, you give him a curt nod and feel him dip, running the tip of his tongue along your jugular before the presence of teeth poke holes through your flesh. At first, it's painful. The blood that’s sucked through your veins pulsates through the open wound in stinging waves as you feign a soft groan. Then Astarion’s grip around your head tightens at the sound, pushing you further into his mouth. Further into the euphoria he takes as the feeling transcends into something numbingly cold. 

Your eyes flutter shut at his continued feed. The feeling in your hands begins to fade even as you somehow find them moving to Astarion’s back, one of them pressing against his shoulder, the other finding purchase in his locks. At that point, you can feel Astarion moan against you, desperation filling his every cell as his teeth shift further into your neck, prompting your eyes to shoot open. 

He’s going to kill you at this rate. To drink you drier than an insect's husk, so, through half-conscious pushes, you tell him to stop. To let go and to keep his promise as you grip the roots of his hair and pull. 

As it happens you see his eyes shift to yours. They’re blown out completely, the whites of his eyes stained red to match his ruby pupils. For a moment, they remain locked to your half-lidded ones, honing in on the way they start to flutter again before you see them tightly close. Then he finds himself ripping away and gasping for air. Coughing through the thick blood that coats his tongue as he stares down at your neck.

The wound is only slightly gaping. Two well-defined puncture wounds sit side by side, but at the moment you can’t feel them. Instead, there’s still only numbness. A space of nothing that lingers between your head and chest, making you shift to sit up and place your hand there, finding more blood. 

“See? Over before you know it, right?” He laughs but all you do is glare. 

“You almost killed me.”

“Ah, yes, but notice the key word being almost.” 

If you weren’t so heavy-headed you’d punch him in the throat. Maybe strangle him if you could get the right angle. “Yes, fine, you’ve had your fun. Now, do you need anything else or am I fine to pass out now?” 

You expect him to say something else. To make some quip about the safety measures of post-bloodsucking, but he doesn’t. Instead, he merely inches closer, staring at you as he reaches for your bloodied hand and pulls it close. 

Once again, your tadpole wriggles against your will. Throughout your skull, it practically dances as Astarion glances down, taking two of your fingers into his mouth with careful precision. If anyone were to see they’d most likely faint at the mere lewdness of it. Frozen in time, your body refuses to move as he laps the blood off your skin, staring at you through hooded eyes that make you want to scream.

You’ve never been in this kind of position before. Sure, you’ve experienced many kinds of intimacy, both sexual and not, but somehow this feels different. Forbidden, in a sense. As if sharing this moment is not only wrong but also against some sort of ethical code. 

At first, you wonder if it’s because blood isn’t necessarily something that’s given. Always taken. In battle, it’s ripped from your skin through the means of injury. Punctured or sliced out of you at the hands of a sword. No bond goes along with it. No mutual agreement that any life will remain once the deed is over. 

But then you begin to think of Astarion. The elven vampire now infected with the Illithid. Like you, he’s been changed. Subtly shifted into something new. Overall, your transformation isn’t nearly as different as his. Before the infection, you could still enjoy the pleasantries of being human, but still, there’s this connection that draws you towards him. It makes its presence known within the tadpole. Throughout the movements that echo in your minds as Astarion cleans the last of the blood away, looking at you with soft eyes.

“I consider this a gift, you know,” he says, dropping your hand, and moving away to stand without so much as a thought. 

You blink back your confusion, trying your best to focus on the genuine-looking smile that appears as he takes a few steps backwards, never breaking eye contact until he telepathically adds I won’t forget it then stalks away. 

[the-fiction-witch]

Bracken Bunny

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Davos Blackwood Couple - Davos X Reader Reader - (OC) Lady Y/n Bracken Rating - Smut (Non Con) Word Count - 1503

Warnings - Blood, Non Consent, Kidnapping

I held my breath, keeping my lungs strong and stiff. My knees were deep in the thick, slimy mud but I kept my legs still so I didn’t sink or slide any more. My fingers trembled slightly as I held the string taut. I watched my line of sight as the rabbit nibbled at the grass and slowly popped up its head. So I released the string sending the arrow across the grass and striking the rabbit.

I hurried over, taking my arrow back and putting the rabbit into my bag with the few rabbits, birds and mushrooms I had gathered while hunting.

It wasn’t much, I hadn’t found much of anything all day. The rainy and damp days are likely sending most game away.

I slowly walked the border between Bracken and Blackwood land, looking for any game on our side. Often gritting my teeth if anything was on theirs, I wanted to take it but I didn’t want to give any excuse for a fight.

I stopped short as I saw a deer chewing on a tree, I quickly grabbed an arrow and used the border stone to rest my foot to keep me from sliding on the mud. I held my breath as I drew my bow and quickly let it go, but the deer jumped away and I missed.

“Shit.” I sighed,

I’m not letting it go, I hurried over the border and followed the deer as close as I could to see it but not spook it.

The deer once again stopped in the open Blackwood field to eat some grass, I made sure it couldn’t see me as I drew another arrow making sure to line it up perfectly holding my breath and keeping my arm straight.

Just as I was about to release the arrow, I felt the cold sting of a blade against my bare skin, the blade pressed against my neck, and the hot breath on my ear. “Drop the bow,”

“Or what?” I whispered,

“or drown in your own blood.” He warns, “Drop it. Now.”

I grit my teeth and put my bow down on the grass,

“Good, now… tell me, what is a little bracken babe doing on blackwood land?”

“Tea Party,” I spat back,

“Humm, you weren’t planning on striking down that deer were you darling? A Blackwood Deer on Blackwood Land.”

“It’s not a Blackwood Deer, it was on Bracken land when I-”

“And now it’s on Blackwood land making it a Blackwood Deer.” He interrupted, “So? Did you plan to shoot?”

“... Yes.”

He chuckled, “I could have your head for that,” he paused, “But… you have a rather pretty head,”

I gasped, “Let me go. Let me go I’ll go home.”

“Awww… no, it’s a little late for that my little Bracken,” He chuckled smugly, “You are going to stay right here with me,” He growled his tongue slipped from his lips to lick the lobe of my ear, his other hand came around me holding my hip sliding over my dresses damp fabric, he got handsy sliding across me with little regard like I was some whore from a blackwood brothel.

I squirmed but he just held me tighter pressing the blade closer to my skin so if I moved more than even a breath it would cut my skin, “Let me go,”

“Now why would I do that? I think you and I could enjoy ourselves out here.” He purred, as his hand getting braver and less considerate brushing his hand across almost all of me, “quiet the pretty little thing aren’t you?”

“Let me go!” I snapped,

“No, no, you’re going to let me have my fun. Or I’ll cut your head off. You’re choice.” He demanded, “Yes?”

I didn’t answer merely huffed knowing I had little choice in this matter,

“Good,” He praised as his hand cupped my breast through my dress,

I gritted my teeth to stop my violet insults at him, trying to think of a way of getting out of this,

“Hum… how did the brackens ever get a pretty little thing like you,” He growled as he took the blade from my neck but before I could even move he pressed his body completely against my back thrusting his hips into mine and forcing me to feel the stiff shaft below his trousers, his other hand came to cup my other breast, his hands squeezing and fondling me. “Usually all Bracken girls are wide horse-faced little shits who look like they got pummeled with a sword… but you,” He smirked, “You’re beautiful, and ever so pleasing to touch little bracken.” He praised, “Let's get a better look at you,”

“Don’t. You. Dare.” I warned,

“Ohh I would, I would dare darling,” He smiled in my ear as he grabbed the fabric of my dress and gave it a firm tug forcing the top of my dress down and exposing my breasts to the air,

I screamed and tried to squirm away but he held me too tight,

“Ohh yeah, a very pretty little bracken,” He growled cupping my bare breasts in his hands and squeezing them hard, “Maybe I should take you back to Raventree Hall with me,” He purred gliding his tongue across my cheek,

I didn’t answer, too busy trying to get out of his perverted grip,

“Would you like that? Should I drag my little Bracken home with me kicking and screaming? Throw her on my bed and fuck her cute little cunt?” He smirked one hand moving from my breast to force its way between my legs grabbing me through my dress,

“My father-”

“Like I give a shit about your father. Or any other Bracken, All I want right now is this.” He smirked squeezing me tighter, “And I am very tempted to steal it,”

“Let me go. Let me go right now, or I will scream so loud every man in Stone Hedge will come and-”

“And what?”

“And drag you to Stonehedge on the back of their horses, and hang you from the tower.”

He chuckled, “You can’t really blame me, look at you. On Blackwood land, with muddy knees, a soaking dress, with your tits out. How am I meant to resist you?” He began to twist on my nipple as it hardened from the cold air,

I screamed from the pain, but he didn’t care. His one hand squeezing my breast his fingers twisting and tugging on my nipple, his other hand between my legs stroking so hard his fingers moved between my folds through my dress, his hips rubbing against my back forcing me to feel his hard shaft,

“Fuck… I might not be able to wait, I might just need to bend you over in this field,” He growled,

But quickly while he was so distracted I grabbed my blade from my belt and turned quickly sliding on the mud and grass and slicing his cheek as I did,

“Ahh! You little fucker!” He grabbed my wrist and for the first time we made eye contact, His smile only grew as he realized who I was,

And I gulped, eyes wide and becoming breathless as I now knew… which blackwood he was. Davos Blackwood, Lord Blackwood’s violet, hot-headed son, and I instantly realized just how fucked I was.

“My, my, my… Looks like I don’t just have some pretty little Bracken girl in my arms,” He smirked squeezing my wrist until I was forced to drop my blade, “But I have the pretty little Lady Y/n Bracken in my arms,” He growled licking his lips, “Ohh yeah, you’re coming to Raventree with me little lady,” He smirked as he forced me back around and used my belt to restain my hands behind my back,

“No, I am not,” I demanded my voice shaky,

“Yes, you are, How ever could I pass up such an opportunity? To keep little lady Bracken as my prisoner. They’re gonna have to be very compliant to get their little lady back.” He smirked, “And in that time I… will get to make very good use of you,” He growled biting my neck, “And I’ll be sure you pay you back for that little cat scratch,”

“I swear you try and take me I will scream bloody murder the whole way to Raventree,”

“Will you now?” He chuckled, “Not if I do this,” He grabbed my ribbon choker necklace forcing it off me and before I could even protest he forced it between my lips and tied it behind my head gagging me and silencing me.

I screamed but it only came out as a muffled mess, I tried to squirm but the belt held me too tight, I had no choice, no option but to do as he demanded.

He forced my dress back up to hide my breasts and wrapped his cloak around me pulling the hood up so anyone we encountered wouldn’t know who I was, “Come on now my little Bracken Bunny, Let’s get you someplace comfy.” he smirked taking my blade and my bow as he forced me to walk with him. 

[creamhoodie]

Hunted

synopsis: You're walking home late from work one evening and encounter a stranger..

Tags: yandere, smut, kinda dubcon, non canon characterization, afab reader, satoru gojo

You felt it again, that unmistakable feeling of the fine hair rising behind your neck. 

That feeling had been your loyal companion for the last few months, coming on and off. It came just often enough for you to not forget about it, but not enough to warrant true concern. You chalked it up to getting accustomed to this climate, you had recently moved to the area around the same time you first noticed it. Oh how naive you had been.

As you walked home from work after staying late to put in overtime, that feeling was accompanied by the rustling of footsteps. Soon enough the racing of your heart joined in, creating a daming trio. It was nearly midnight and though the office you worked at was only a few blocks away from your small town home, the route was dimly lit. 

Again the rustling permeated the air.

Pausing now, you turned around.. no one. 

It was only when you turned the corner that you peered over your shoulder and saw a tall male figure walking towards you. 

Instinctively, you picked up the pace but his long stride made it difficult to out pace him. 

“Hey are you okay? You seem shaken,” the male called out. His voice was smooth and confident and when he stepped into the light pole’s beam you understood why. 

This man wasn’t like anyone you had seen before. His skin radiant, free of blemishes, and his hair was a snowy white. Most striking were his eyes, a celeste hue that made it seem as though pieces of the sky fell into his lids. 

“You okay?” He asked again, laughing slightly. You figured he was used to the ogling. Who would suspect that someone who looked like they could be on the runway would live in the shadows? 

“I think so.. I was just walking home from work,” you voice said, still timid. 

“Me too, mind if I walk with you?” He asked. 

“Guess not,” you shrugged. 

He fell into a stride next to you, matching your slower pace. 

“So you’re a workaholic,” he teased. 

“I suppose. It’s only temporary, I need the money to pay my rent. I moved here not that long ago,” you said. 

He let out a tsk.

“You don’t have family to hold you over?” He questioned.

“No, I moved for my career.” 

Silence settled as the townhomes came into view. Why were you letting him walk with you? Why were you telling him personal things? It went against every survival instinct you knew. 

“Well this is me, I'm going to head home now,” you said as the two of you entered the neighborhood. 

“I’ll walk you to your door,” he said. 

“Oh you don’t have to-“

“I insist,” he said with enough permanence you knew it wasn’t up for debate. Perhaps he had been raised a gentleman and insisted on making sure you got home safe. 

When you were at your door you turned to thank him and saw he was watching you intently. 

“Thank you,” you said a little dismissively, hoping he’d leave now. 

“You’re welcome,” he said, with no sign of leaving. It was then you noticed how empty handed he was, a detail you had missed earlier due to his striking appearance.

“You don’t have any work equipment with you,” you stated suddenly your laptop bag on your shoulder felt much more heavy.

“Left my stuff at the office,” he replied coolly. 

Your heart began to thud.

The thud reminded you of the trio: the hair rising, the rustling, heart racing.

At the current moment they were all present except one.

One had stopped once this stranger had appeared and only silence had ensued in his presence besides his questions.

“I think I’ll be going inside now,” you said, quickly fumbling with the lock. 

As you opened the door and bolted in, his strong hand stopped it from closing. 

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” He asked, smiling, his brilliant white canines like daggers. 

You tried to force the door close but his strength allowed him to open it just enough so he could side step inside. 

You backed away and he closed the door behind you, locking it ominously. 

Even more frightening, your laptop bag fell off your shoulder and onto the floor with a thud so loud it rivaled that of your heart.

“Now we can be alone,” he laughed as if it were an inside joke only he knew. 

“Please leave. Please don’t hurt me,” you began to plead.

He raised a brow.

“Hurt you? I’d never hurt you, unless you ask me to,” he teased. 

His demeanor was a combination of playful and menacing. 

Bridging the space between the two of you, his lips came down roughly on yours before you could even process it. 

Moaning into his mouth from the shock, your head spun as he devoured your tongue with his own. He was a good kisser, his lips moving skillfully. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he whispered once the kiss broke apart. 

“What?” you asked. 

By way of response, his lips moved to your neck, and your body betrayed you by responding, a jolt of heat formulating between your thighs. 

“Mine. All mine,” he said between kisses on your neck. 

“I don’t even know your name,” you stammered. 

He laughed against your skin.

“Satoru,” he replied before continuing to lay kisses on your neck with his soft lips. 

“Satoru…” you repeated more to yourself than to him but you felt his lips curl up in a smile. 

“That’s right, it sounds so much nicer coming from you,” he said. 

His lips came down on yours again, more passionate and hungry than before. Your head began to spin when suddenly he broke away.

“Take me to your bedroom,” he demanded. 

“What?” you asked, voice shaky. 

“You don’t like that idea?” he asked. For a moment his face seemed extremely vulnerable but then it was replaced by a stern look. 

“No it’s not that, it’s just- I don’t know you,” you stammered, hoping he wouldn’t grow angry. On the contrary, your words made him playful again. 

“You don’t need to. I know you, I’ve been studying you,” he said, his hands going to rest at your hips now, “I know you’re lonely, so let me take care of you.” 

You couldn’t even feign offense. You were so deeply lonely. Moving here for your career away from everyone you knew was no easy feat. You had the same routine work, home, and occasionally the store for errands. His hands traveled lower resting right on your thighs, one hand gripped the flesh lightly. You let out a whimper at that. 

“That’s a good girl, I can tell you want me. So it looks like I’m just gonna have to take us to your bed myself.” 

The next thing you knew, he lifted you up with extreme ease, throwing you  over his shoulder with your rear end a little too close to his face. 

“Satoru!” you exclaimed. 

He seemed to move through your small home a little too comfortably, a little too familiar. 

Finding your bedroom at the end of the hall, he threw you down on the bed. 

Your face flushed with embarrassment at all your trinkets on shelves and your plushies on the bed, by all accounts you have never had a man over before. 

Satoru only seemed to have eyes for you, however.

He bent down on his knees before you, parting your legs open. He jeered at the sight of your white panties, easily accessible due to your wearing a skirt. 

You gasped and clamped your legs shut again. 

His eyes narrowed at that. 

“Don’t be rude, let me look,” he said. 

A part of you felt violated while another part of you felt excitement. 

“Satoru, this is all so fast,” you said. 

He raised a brow. 

“Actually it is not going fast enough for me. I’ve waited months for this moment,” he replied. 

It had been several times now he made comments of the sort implying he had been watching you, and it shifted things into perspective. 

The hair rising that had been your one and only companion in this stage of your life was due to him. 

“How long have you been watching me?” you asked. 

“Since you first moved in,” he replied simply as if it were the most normal thing in the world. He inched forward until he was hovering over you on the bed, his hands resting along on the mattress. He kissed you again and you fell further into the cot. You hated how your body seemed to love his touch so much, you were so responsive to him. You even felt your panties begin to dampen with arousal. 

When the kiss broke apart, he rubbed the tip of his nose against yours, an act of unwarranted intimacy for two strangers. 

“I want you and I intend to have you. I won’t take no for an answer,” he said directly. His striking eyes were serious.

“Satoru you’re handsome and I’m not saying no but this is just so sudden,” you said trying to hold on to some shred of dignity. 

“I want you and I know you want me, what more is there that needs to happen?” He asked. 

He slipped back into his prior position in front you before speaking again: “If I have to prove how good I can make you feel, I will do so gladly.” 

His hands effortlessly parted your legs again and when you tried to clamp them shut again he held them in place.

“Stop denying yourself pleasure,” he said. He smiled upon seeing the wet stain on your panties, “look at you all eager for me.” 

His voice grew husky and his eyes were lustful. His fingers intruded their way into your underwear, pushing them aside slightly so he had access to your folds. 

Your breathing hitched as you felt him find your clit, the mere touch inducing a pulsing sensation that was impossible to ignore.

��Satoru.. please..” you said but you didn’t know what you were pleading for anymore. 

Was it for him to stop? Was it for him to keep going? 

“Hmm?” He teased as his fingers gently rubbed little circles on your clit. 

Eyes rolling back in pleasure, you felt your resolve to resist him begin to fade away. 

“That’s a good girl. See you don’t know what you want, you have to be shown,” he said. Suddenly he stopped rubbing. Your expression like you just had cold water thrown on you made him laugh. “Don’t worry, I have something better.” 

He removed your heels, tossing them to the floor, soon afterward your underwear followed as he rolled them over your knees and discarded them. Your skirt remained, but it was thrown over your plush thighs, no longer offering coverage.

“Fuck, so this is your pretty little bud,” he whispered as he parted your legs again. 

You were still pulsating, it grew more fierce as he had stopped before you could reach your climax. 

He leaned forward smirking and suddenly you felt his tongue at your folds. He began to slurp at your arousal causing guttural moans to slip out of your mouth and your back to arch slightly. 

Your hands went to his soft hair as you searched for something to anchor you when every part of you felt like it was setting afloat. 

He was ravenous, his mouth greedily tasting every part of you, and he was nearly abusive to your clit with his rough laps. 

“That’s it… that’s a good girl,” he coaxed as he felt your sweet release coming on. He talked you through it, telling you sweet nothings of how good you looked right now and how he had fantasized about this for so long. 

Three. 

Two. 

One. 

And your breasts raised and fell like setting suns as you caught your breath. 

“Now I want you to do something for me too,” he said as he began to unbuckle his pants. 

“Satoru, wait,” you began to protest again. 

“I told you I won’t take no for an answer. I proved myself and made you feel good,” he said. He took his pants off so he was in his boxers, his shirt soon following after. Calloused hands pulled your skirt off. Your blazer and blouse were soon discarded roughly. 

He hovered over you again going to kiss your lips, salvia intermingling with yours so when he pulled away again a translucent string connected the two of you. Leaning back, he pulled down his boxers revealing his big cock, some slight precum on the angry pink tip. 

“Satoru.. I’m not on anything,” you began. 

He had been right, you were so dreadfully lonely it had been a long time since you had been touched like this.

He smiled as if he suspected no different.

“It’s fine. I’d look after you and the baby,” he said. 

You whine at this.

“Please, be serious,” you chastised. 

“Fine, I’ll pull out. I’ll take care of everything but for now,” he paused as he lined himself up with you, he placed his dick on top of your labia rubbing up and down before he continued, “just let yourself enjoy it.” 

Your body was on fire, every nerve seemed to make itself known and you were embarrassed by just how aroused you really were. 

He was so dreadfully attractive, the perfect predator. Even his scent was intoxicating as it wafted into your nostrils from having him so close.

The truth was you were doomed to lose from the moment he set his sights on you. He was the hunter and you had been the naive and ignorant prey. Everything about him was inviting. In truth that’s why you had let him walk with you, why you had told him personal details. In the end you had been responsible for your own demise but you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it.

Now you were going to have sex with your stalker, how fucked up was that? 

“You’re so fucking soaked,” he whispered as you felt him move his cock down and between your folds now. “Ahh.. fuck.. you’re so goddamn tight. How many guys have you let in here? Actually, don’t answer that. I don’t want to get mad.” 

You moaned as you felt yourself stretch to accommodate his impressive and imposing girth. He pushed himself deeper in, using his hands to wrap your legs around his waist so he could go even deeper still, until at last he was bottomed out inside you. 

He seemed delirious now, completely pussy drunk as he began to set a rhythmic pace of fast thrusts. 

“So big,” you whispered, but he heard you all the same, groaning at that. 

“Fuck.. I've wanted this since the moment I saw you.. Had to stop myself from taking you then and there-“ 

Your bed frame had begun to hit the wall with each thrust and you blushed to think of any neighbors who may hear. 

You could feel his pulse beating inside you as if it were your own and the lewd sound of wet skin slapping against skin only aroused you more. 

“Moan my name,” he commanded.

“Satoru..” you moaned. 

He groaned at that and his hands went to grope at your breasts, sensitive nipples spilling over onto his fingers as he continued to thrust into your mercilessly. 

“Such a little minx, you know that? I loved watching you.. following you.. coming into your place at night while you were sleeping.” 

Your eyes widened in fear at that, mortified.

No wonder he had been so familiar with your place. 

“Shh.. did that scare you baby? Don’t worry. I’d just watch you sleep is all. Sometimes I’d stroke myself off when you’d moan in your sleep. Believe me it took everything in me not to ram myself down your throat when you’d do that.. but even I have morals,” he laughed. 

You felt your heart racing in panic now, in fear of the invasion of your privacy but he took the opportunity to fuck you even harder than before. 

“‘Toru.. so rough,” you moaned as your hands went to his muscled back in an effort to stabilize yourself. 

“Fuck- your pussy is gripping me so much tighter. Thought you were scared, but maybe you like the attention.. hm?” 

His strokes became slower now, more deliberate. And for a moment his rough fucking turned into intimate love making as he kissed you, his tongue chasing after yours.

You felt yourself nearly close to your peak, and he felt it too, his lips moving to your neck biting as he returned to his fast speed.

He found your sweet gummy spot and his cock nicked it over and over, practically abusing it to the point of overstimulation that you felt tears of pleasure roll down your cheeks. 

“Satoru… it feels so good,” you moaned. 

“Yeah, I bet it does,” he teased, his own eyes half lied and full of lust.

He himself was enjoying this as well, enjoying how incredibly tight and warm you felt it was like nothing he had ever experienced before and well worth the months of waiting and meticulous studying of you. 

God, how he had enjoyed watching you, had enjoyed following you home from work every night. 

Tonight has been his breaking point, he couldn’t stay away any longer and when you didn’t resist him didn’t tell him to go away and that he could walk home with you.. well you had practically invited him to fuck you, or at least that’s how he saw it. 

“I’m.. I’m so close,” you whimpered underneath him. 

“Shh I know baby me too,” he cooed. 

“Satoru.. remember not inside-“ you tried to remind him, but your face was so flushed, makeup smeared, and voice so breathy, you couldn’t possibly mean that could you? 

Your words didn’t seem to have any effect on him as he continued to thrust into you. 

In truth he was imagining you pregnant, it would be a true testament that you were claimed by him, belonged to him. 

Because as far as he was concerned you did belong to him, he hadn’t invested all this time into you for nothing. 

“Fuck…” he groaned as he felt you gripping him even tighter still. 

Close so close.. 

Then the two of you finished and you screamed out in panic as his hot fluid rushed into you. 

“Shhh… it’s okay, baby,” he coaxed, shutting up your panicked babbles with a tongue filled kiss. You relaxed a little at that, he did have a way of calming you down with his touch, with his out of place intimacy which was far too familiar for what the two of you were to each other. 

He reluctantly pulled out of you and cradled you against his chest, stroking your hair and kissing your forehead. 

In this moment it was easy for you to close your eyes and pretend the two of you were lovers. 

Too bad the truth was much darker.

[lowkeyerror]

The Family Business Ch.14

WandaNat x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Ch. Notes: Angst, action, gun violence, character death

Summary: Things quickly escalate as Fisk tries to end the struggle for power once abd for all.

An: ... So it's been a minute. Sorry about that and frankly idk when the next update will be, hopefully sooner. However, whatever you thinks going to happen here, I don't think you'll see this coming.

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Wilson Fisk didn’t often smile. He was a sad and angry man that did his best to keep a neutral scowl on his face. What was there to smile about when he had lost everything. His wife, his daughter, his freedom, all irreplaceable. Being in prison while his wife and daughter were being buried is an ache that will never truly get over.

The void inside of him can only be filled by power and control. He will have the city and he will claim it for all that he has lost. He knew that to be a irrefutable fact.

Now, his smile was something straight out of a nightmare. It sat lopsided on his round face. It was there and it was horrifying. His smile only widens as he heard hushed voice over his phone.

When the line goes dead, he claps his hands together. He leans back in his desk chair. The smile doesn’t leave his features.

“Sleeping beauty has opened his eyes.”

Plans change at a wits notice, and things pivot, but goals could still be accomplished. Fisk wants Dragos gone and like a shark surrounding an injured surfer he smells blood in the water. It is time for him to strike.

Bowling was the activity that you came up with. Something in a place full of people, something that you enjoyed much in your youth, something that Pietro was unequivocally skilled at.

“Another strike ladies are you even trying?” Pietro gloats after looking at the scoreboard.

You might’ve been putting in a decent amount of effort, Wanda as well, but the two of you could tell Natasha was handing the man the win.

“Natasha, maybe take him down a peg,” you whisper in her ear.

“I thought we were supposed to be cheering him up, lisichka,” she taunts you with a smile.

“He can be happy without his ego being stroked,” Wanda puffs out in annoyance.

Natasha laughs at their bitterness, but nonetheless when it was her turn she quickly bowled a strike.

“Let’s go Natty,” you clap for her and Wanda let’s out a whistle.

“Is this where I realize you've been letting me win all night,” Pietro pouts.

Nat plops her hand on his shoulder, “I’m afraid so."

You all share a laugh and for moment everything feels normal. You could almost forget your ties and affiliations and feel like normal people. The moments were becoming more present in your life to the domestic nature of your relationship with Wanda and Natasha.

By now you should’ve known that sitting in any of those feelings did you no good.

When your phone rings you answer it immediately.

“Hello?”

“Y/n you will get through this. Do not let this be the end of what we’ve worked for, you don’t- you don’t need me malysh.”

“Papa? You’re awake, what are you you-”

“Y/N! Listen please, just take care of our family. I called you because, I trust you.”

As he speaks on the phone you gather Wanda, Pietro, and Natasha urgently. You have to go, it’s urgent. They can tell you’re shaken and when you put the phone on speaker they understand.

“Papa I don’t understand,” your voice trembles as you speak.

“Tell Flora, that my love with her doesn’t end with my last breath. Tell my Pietro that he’s the heart of all of this. Tell Wanda that all I want from her is for her to be happy.”

Natasha is the one that ushers you all into the car as you begin to shut down slightly.

“You can’t do this to us again papa,” your voice cracks in the end.

“It’s out of my hands,” you can hear fear in his voice and it terrifies you.

You hear a dark chuckle in the background of the call, “He’s right you know, it’s not in his hands.”

The smile in Fisk’s voice is present and it scares you, but you bluff the man.

“Haven’t you already made this play before, and it didn't work out for you did it?”

“Only because you interfered, and I got you back pretty significantly for that didn't I, sweetheart?”

Your jaw clenches, “Fisk , take a moment to think, really think what you're about to do. We are already enemies, in competition for control of the city, but that’s just business. Every move you’ve made recently has been personal. Going to war over turf it’s respectable, but if we go to war over family, there’s only one way this ends.”

“This is why I enjoy you so much kid, you have such an intelligent mind. Even under pressure you string together the right words. However, you’ve got it all wrong. There’s always only been one way this is going to end,” you hear the sound of the gun clicking.

“We will leave the city, just don't shoot him,” Pietro finds his voice.

You, Wanda, and Natasha look at him like he’s lost his mind.

“I didn't know we had guests on the phone with us, what a surprise. Keep talking little Maximoff, I like what you're offering.”

Pietro begins spewing nonsense, “We will disappear from New York and never come back. We will cut all ties with city and anything in it. It will be yours for the taking. Please, just don’t shoot him.”

“Anyone else want to beg for his life?”

Wanda’s mouth opens and closes a few times as her eyes water. You take the initiative instead.

“Wilson, you lost your family. Your wife and daughter were taken from you. Good people caught in the crossfire of your criminal actions. Who helped you get back on your feet after you got out of jail ? Who kept a corner of New York for you? Who gave you a jump start on your way back to this lifestyle? Who was there for you? The history between the two of you isn’t as convoluted as you’re making it out to be.”

Kingpin takes a pause, “That’s in the past.”

“It’s only history because you are making it that way. We have made a good relationship between our businesses until recently,” you keep him on the phone.

Natasha’s only about 5 minutes from the hospital, you just need to stall a bit longer.

“I’m not a beggar or a dog, Y/Ln. I don’t take scraps,” he says in a menacing tone.

You pause when he says your last name. It’s not something you hear regularly, you don’t ever use it. How’d he know about it?

“Quiet now Y/Ln, surprised I know that name? That’s not the only thing I know about you sweetheart. I know something that the Maximoff’s have been hiding from you, something that might sway your loyalty."

You look at Wanda and Pietro who were already on edge, but worse than that, they avoid your gaze.

“This is my family, my loyalty won’t ever change,” you speak strongly.

He chuckles, “Not even when I tell you they killed your mother.”

“What?”

“They killed your mother. Ever wonder, why she didn’t come after you, why she didn’t bombard or harass you after you left? She was dead within a week. Your father was debriefed, and relocated shortly after your graduation. These people sweetheart, before your family, they’re the mob.”

You’re in front of the hospital now, but you don’t move to exit the car. It feels like something has pierced through your heart.

You want to say something to combat him, to say it doesn’t matter, but you couldn’t say that earnestly.

You push your feelings aside for a second, “We’ve both lost a lot, Fisk. Things that we can’t get back. Things that fuel us to want more than what the world has offered us.”

“We’re alike in that way sweetheart, robbed of a happy ending. Forced to create our own,” he’s trying to flip you but you aren't buying it.

“Losing another parental figure in my life isn't a happy ending for me,” you grit your teeth.

Natasha pulls you out of the car and starts giving hand signal directions.

“I sympathize with you, Y/n. You’re not one of them, you never were. I’ll tell you what, the Maximoff’s leave, but you stay and work for me. That’s my offer.”

“We aren't leaving without Y/n,” Wanda finds her words for the first time in the conversation.

“It’s either that or I put a bullet in his head. You’ve got 15 minutes to think it over, when I call back you better have an answer,” he hangs up.

“Y/n,” Pietro starts, but you don't look at him.

“We’ve got 15 minutes to save Dragos, that's what I'm focused on,” you dismiss his attempt at an explanation.

Natasha begins laying out a plan, “ We don’t know who in this building reports to Fisk, so we have to be careful if we go in. Dragos is supposed to have security at his door, I don't think the guards there would be ours if Fisk is in the room.”

“We need a deliberate distraction,” you open the car door and reach into your bag.

You bring out your laptop and hook your phone to it. You knew what room Dragos was in with Fisk’s call you should be able to ping how many devices were around him.

“3 guards, outside the rooms. These are the phone numbers, names, home addresses, close family,” you memorize the information.

You see a group walking into the hospital and figure its your best chance to blend in, “We’ve got to go now.”

Wanda and Natasha hold frustration about the way you’re moving, but they follow you nonetheless.

“We don’t have a plan for this,” Wanda argues.

“Blend in get to the floor they’re on and then I’ll handle the guards. Once they’re dealt with Natasha will go in and disarm Fisk,” you say straying from the group you walked in with to another group heading for the elevator.

Once you're in the elevator you speak to Natasha, “Send people to these addresses make sure they get pictures, the quickest means please.”

When you step off the elevator you spot the guards. You send them individual text messages, with their names addresses and a threat to their loved ones by name.

You see 2 of 3 panic while the other one believes it’s a bluff. Natasha sends the pictures of their homes to you, and you forward them to the guards.

You see them pale instantly, the look at each other and bicker lightly. Wanda wants to go forward and strike, but you shake your head. You wait as one of the guards takes off running from the room. The other follows not even a second after. The third looks at his phone and then in the direction the others had ran before doing the same as they did.

“Natasha, we’ll be on the other side of the door one steady knock when he’s disarmed so we can get in,” you instruct her.

She doesn’t hesitate to nod at your orders. Before she goes Wanda squeezes her hand in a pleading manner, but Natasha reassures her with a soft look.

You wait with baited breath when Natasha enters the room. For a moment it’s silent, no struggle can be heard, but then there’s a gunshot.

Wanda’s the first one rushing to the room door, with Pietro and yourself directly behind her. Her hand is on the handle as she attempts to yank the door open. You move her out of the way, and open it first.

Instead of a cool metal, you feel a searing hot metal burning your chest.

“Why don’t you all file in, so we can talk,” Kingpin rests the gun on your chest and you shuffle into the room, eyes shooting across to where Natasha grips her bloody arm.

Wanda and Pietro shuffle in, the red head immediately going to her wife’s side.

“Isn’t this a lovely little family affair?”

“Wilson, take the gun off of her. Your problem is with me, my family, they’ve done nothing wrong,” Dragos tries to reason with the man.

He digs the butt of the recently fired gun further into your chest and you grit your teeth, but refuse to break eye contact with the bald man.

“She is your strongest solider Dragos, she can take it. Y/n’s not even your blood, she’s your orphan project and you’ve raised her better than your incompetent children. She’s quick witted, brilliant, useful. I want her on my side,” Fisk eyes you with a shark like grin on his face.

“You’re out numbered,” Pietro reminds the man as he stands tall in room.

Fisk scoffs, “ Bed ridden patient, shot Russian, and girl with her gun to her chest. You and your sister aren’t enough to stop me, you could barely even run the business when I took your father out. None of the Maximoff’s have been running anything as of late. It’s all been Y/n, even before Wanda came back. She’s been the brains of this whole operation for a while now.”

“If you feel that way, then why would you go after Dragos first and not me?”

Fisk chuckles, “This information isn't something I've always known. I only had this epiphany a small time before I had an example made out of you.”

“I’ll never work for you,” you stand your ground.

“Then I’ll drop you where you stand and then I'll kill everyone in this room and own this cit-”

The gun was in your hand before he finished the sentence. You place it under his chin before cocking it back.

“Do it, kill me then sweetheart. This wouldn’t be your first time killing someone who just wanted to help you right? Poor little Lucas, didn’t even get the chance to grow up.”

You pull the trigger and instantly your face is covered in the mans blood. No one in the room saw it coming. You were usually better at not acting irrationally, but this time you had met your limit.

The gun drops from your hand and you rush out of the hospital without a single clue to where you were going.

“Go, someone go after her,” Dragos yells at his children and soon Wanda is on her feet.

“I will take care of it go,” Natasha reassures her.

Wanda’s eyes linger on her wife’s injured arm, “Wanda now.”

Taglist: @natashaswife4125 @autorasexy @alexawynters @blkmxrvel @toouncreativeforausername @likemick @sgm616 @bstvst @dorabledewdroop @sapphic-simp4015 @natty-taffy @justarandomreaderxoxo @mmmmokdok @tarathia @bgwlsmahf25 @lezzylover @og-kxsh-420 @vanessashands @untoldreader @sxlfishbrokenheart @marvelgirlx @elle161989

[swanscript]

in which you're aegon's legally-wedded and never-bedded wife - who cares so little for him that even he's noticed.

It is the hour of the bat, deep into the velvety night, and you'd had it all planned out. Your sheets are fresh. You've bathed in lavender scented water, and spent half the day drying your hair carefully by the fireside so it won't become ruffled. You've just slipped on a rose-coloured robe of the finest Dornish silk, and wriggled delightedly into bed when it happens.

The door to your bedchambers explodes open, and Aegon staggers in, roaring a drunken sea shanty.

Oh, how you hate men.

"So hey, the bonny sailors go

To Sothoryos with a rising 'ho'!"

"Aegon," you start, pushing yourself up on your pillows with the air of someone explaining something to a very stupid child. "It's late. I'm tired."

Aegon stops dead when he sees you, sitting prettily in his bed with your arms folded in bemusement. You don't think he expected to see you here. You often sleep in a different room, and when sharing his bedchambers you make it a point to keep him firmly on the other side of the mattress.

Aegon and you both know the castle staff whispers rumours of your strange and sex-less relationship. You don't care.

Aegon might, but you've decided not to care about him either. He's aware of your cold indifference - which is why he's so surprised to see you here.

"....well," he says, swaying where he stands. "If it isn't...my frigid lady-wife. Here to ice me out again?"

You don't rise to the bait. "I'm here to sleep. You're welcome to do the same."

"Oh, I'm welcome, am I? Welcome in my own bed?" Aegon hiccoughs, slowly undoing the clasps on his velvet jerkin. He lets it thud to the floor (you can bet a hundred gold dragons he'll trip over it first thing tomorrow) and begins to traipse your way. "Am I permitted to finally lay a finger on my lawful wife, or will she only let me hold her hand for appearance's sake at banquets?"

Hackles rising, you bite back at once. "Am I permitted to have a husband who doesn't fuck a different whore every night? Who doesn't reek of of alcohol? Am I permitted to not be abandoned each day for taverns and brothels? Am I permitted to sleep or must I take your leave for that too, lord-husband?"

If Aegon were sober, he might have a scalding remark in response. But the ale has filled his mind with mush, and all he can do is scowl and sulk. It doesn't please you to see him so miserable. Your heart isn't in the fight either.

Your husband thuds onto the bed with a heavy sigh, narrowly missing squashing you.

"...help me with the clasp then, if nothing else," he mutters, pointing at his bejeweled belt buckle.

Sighing, you concede, reaching forward and undoing the cool metal. It clicks apart under your deft hand, and you steal a glance up at your supposed husband.

Months of marriage, and the times when you've ever really looked at him are few and far in between. After a disasterous bedding ceremony and so many days of neglect, the two of you have learnt to not acknowledge each other's presence. As a result, Aegon's face never fails to stand out as unique to you.

Soft cloud of wispy silver hair. Eyes of pale amethyst. The classic Targaryen look - striking colour palette, ghostly shades of old Valayria. The hint of feminine features from his mother softens him. He looks lost now, his pouty mouth softly sagging with defeat. A little verbal joust with you has leeched all the revelry out of him. Right, now, soundly beaten as he is, Aegon is difficult to despise.

You tug the belt out of its loops and he mutters his slurred gratitudes.

"Can you do the rest on your own?"

He grunts in affirmative. You retreat back to your side. Both of you feel the invisible wall being drawn up between once more.

You know, when you really think about it, you suppose Aegon is a handsome man. When he's not drunk. Or bothering you just before you sleep with sappy, obnoxious questions.

"Do you love me?"

You stop in the middle of adjusting your coverlet. "What?"

Aegon is looking at you with not a hint of a joke in his eyes. He repeats the impossible possibility. "Do you love me?"

In daylight, you would have sneered at his question and swept off in a swirl of silk skirts to resume your royal day. Now, with moonshine softening the need for sharp exteriors, you decide to humour his question. No one is around to use your words against you, at least. You feel your guard lift an inch.

"Love you?" you ponder, leaning back against your richly embroidered pillows. "...I think I would be...distressed, if you died. But love you- I don't even like you." You glance his way, contemplating. "Yet."

Aegon looks at you with doubtful lilac eyes. "So there's hope?"

"Don't be too optimistic."

His face, already miserable with the weight of alcohol and fractured familial relationships, turns slightly more sour. You're not foolish. Aegon's agonies don't have much to do with you. His mother, hell-bent on making him king, and his brother, hell-bent on undermining and embarrassing him at every opportunity are his chief worries. You've never seeked to hurt him politically. But you've always remained distant, watching him carefully like a narrow-eyed cat and hissing if he gets too close. There's only so much your pride can allow after being man-handled into a strategic marriage so roughly.

But right now, weak and addled as he is, you can afford some kindness.

"Don't look so down, Aegon," you say softly. "Perhaps I'm Dorne. Eternally un-won by Targaryens."

The gentleness works - Aegon unticks like a clam and lets words come pouring out.

"I keep thinking... really feeling as though you would prefer my brother Aemond over me. Or that he would like you, at the very least. And that grasping bastard, Jacaerys." A flash of anger splits Aegon's face. "I see how he moons over you across the dinner table. Like he'd like you lay you out on his dinner plate and take bites out your skin. Take what's mine. My wife, by law if not by her own will. Mine. My skin. My soft, soft skin. I should kill him. Cunt."

Weak, you think, watching his messy torrent of emotions. Your father would have flayed you living for such risky honesty in a world so tightly controlled by reputation. Always say less than necessary. Never trust anyone, ever.

As it is, you carefully file this new information away in your head. Aemond desiring you in a marriage seems in line with his ambitious nature - your family's legendary wealth would serve him well. You doubt he cares for you as a person.

And Jacaerys.... you've seen him ogling at you a couple of times when you're really dressed to the nines, but you doubt it's anything worth thinking about. Men have always watched you in that hungry way. You have genetics to thank for that, nothing more. It doesn't aid you, ultimately.

Aegon is still muttering away darkly. "I should kill him. Cut off his riding chains so he goes screaming into the sea the next time he mounts his dragon. I think that'll fix him-"

"Don't think," you interrupt, rolling your eyes. "You're not particularly excellent at it, from what I've heard. I heard you thought Sir Arryk was a particularly buxom woman from behind."

Aegon sniffs. "An engraved band in his hair. What was he prettying up for, the flagstones in the corridors? I don't fancy a preening peacock guarding me."

"See, Aegon, you're lying again. And it's unneeded and strange. You were only drunk and made a wine-swayed misjudgement," you say wearily. "And you don't think he's a peacock. You think you're a peacock. You've been matching your socks with your shoes since the day I knew you."

Aegon laughs, soft and bitter.

"If you know me so well, why do you pretend your dislike is only from distance? ...you hate me because you know me. You've always...always hated me."

In sulking speech, Aegon has slowly tipped in your direction, his head inches from yours. He's too drunk and too non-commital to rearrange himself. You allow his hair to touch your silk sleeve. Pink fabric, his ash white hair fanning across it.

Then, without even really thinking or caring, you sigh and pull him onto your chest to hold him there like a babe.

"I've already said, I don't hate you."

Aegon is too drunk to jab or pull back. He lays there. You run fingers through his hair, smoothening the scattered strands into place, sorting his thoughts into neat furrows. Sleepy tears spread a wet spot onto your robe. You allow it, even through fuzzled bafflement at such weakness. What does he want, to suck on your teat? He's older than you, yet you're centuries harder. Aegon - too soft a boy for his over-reaching mother - falls asleep in barely sated turmoil, on your chest like a barely grown child.

You allow it.

[chairofchaos]

Even In the Dark

Pairing: Cassian x You (Y/N but no Y/N use! Uses she/her pronouns) Summary: Cassian comes home to a mate in pain, and does everything he can to help. Rating: Teen Word Count: 3.7k Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, heavy emphasis on the comfort for those of you who have been burned by me one too many times, mild sexual content and discussions (I think that covers it but as usual, if I have forgotten anything please let me know!) A/N: Happy Cassian Appreciation Week! @cassianappreciationweek Shoutout to @tsunami-of-tears for the lovely Illyrian wing dividers. Enjoy!

Something was amiss in his home. Cassian noticed it the second he opened the door, stomping and wiping his boots on the doormat before stepping inside.

Your boots were there, dry and untouched, exactly as they had been this morning. As the day was coming to a close much like its stormy beginning, it surprised him to see the umbrellas showed no sign of use.

There was silence. Cassian’s brows furrowed. You spent rainy days singing. You liked storms, would dance and sing in the rain when it wasn’t too cold (and even, on occasion, when it was).

He bent to untie his boots, nearly ripping at the laces in an increasing worry. If he wouldn’t have been worried about dirtying the floors, he would have forgone the step all together. He worked in the darkness, his last clue that all was not as it should be.

No candlelight flickered against the wall. No scent of vanilla, or cinnamon, or mahogany swirled about him. Mahogany. The scent you had proclaimed was your favorite because it reminded you of him.

You saved it for days like this, days when you would be inside more than you liked. You told him it meant none of its light or scent would be wasted. That you would be able to sit in a reminder of him all day.

“I’ll buy you a hundred. Light them every day,” he had told you earnestly.

You had laughed. “Once I finish all the rest that you’ve bought me, I’ll let you buy me as many as you wish.”

He hadn’t argued. You had a rather impressive collection spread throughout the home you shared. It would be a shame to let it go to waste.

Boots finally off, he placed them next to yours, the appearance of his large muddy boots striking against the considerably smaller, clean pair beside them.

He walked down the hallway, peering into room after room, but knowing somehow that he would not find you on this level, in the kitchen, or the dining room; the living room or the office, no matter how much he hoped he would. When there was no sign of you, he wound slowly up the stairs at the end of the hall.

There. The bedroom door was shut. It solidified his concern. No light crept from beneath the door; no sound of your movement reached his ears. He ignored the open doorways to other rooms and strode quickly to enter yours.

Darkness met him. The room was as dark as it could be, given that the little light the storm might have allowed to filter through the window was blocked entirely by the heavy outer curtains.

On good days, those stayed open. The typical curtains before the window were a light gauzy material through which sunlight could flow. On the bad days, Cassian knew, the heavy curtains would close with a flick of your hand. They were a wall of thick fabrics to keep light and sound from your presence.

The tonics you took daily helped keep the episodes at bay, but not always. He stepped inside quickly and as quietly as his body would allow.

“My love,” he whispered. You gave no answer. He prayed you were asleep. It was often the only respite you had on days like this.

But that was too much to ask of the Mother, apparently. As he waited, a broken sob wrenched from your body followed by a whimper of pain. Whether it was from the movement the sob required or the sound itself, he didn’t know.

That was enough. He crossed to you slowly, trying to keep his footsteps from making any noise. The faint light of the bioluminescent clock hands reflected in the bottles beside your bed. It was the only light you allowed, its presence necessary to keep track of the hourly doses of pain relief you could take. He counted those bottles quickly, bit back a snarl of anger, then swore at what he found.

Six empty bottles. Six full bottles sat beside them. His anger wasn’t at you. The amount of pain you were in scared him. Twelve doses of tonic were all the healers would allow you to keep on your own. For mild episodes, one to three bottles sufficed. Six was pushing it. If this episode lasted beyond eight doses, Cassian would have no choice but to summon the healers for more help.

Your breath trembled from your lungs, shuddering on the shallow inhale and measured, calculated on the exhale. Nausea. He would bet anything you were trying to temper it with as steady breathing as you could manage. That was one symptom the tonics could never address, as you were allergic to the one herb that wouldn’t interact with the ingredients for pain relief you so desperately needed.

A faint rustle from the bed drew his attention. Your hand, extended to him. A request.

He placed his hand gently over yours, palm down so you could fingerspell your request into his hand. You had learned together, needing a way to communicate when you were in too much agony to speak.

H-E-A-L-E-R, you spelled slowly. He stiffened, his eyebrows raising. You had half the doses left. A quick request, ‘Lie w me’, followed. You never asked for him to send for the healer. Not until you had finished every single tonic.

Cassian waited until you withdrew your hand, tucking it back under your pillow to support your head. Quietly, he stood to fulfill your needs, walking around the bed before disrobing to his underwear. His clothes were cold. It would not help you, and he should let his skin warm a tad before joining you. But first - Cassian reached out in his mind to his brother.

Rhys.

Yes?

She needs help. She asked, this time.

It's that bad?

Yes.

I'll send them. Let me know if there is anything we can do.

I will. Thank you.

Of course. Good luck, Cassian.

No response would come until help arrived, one of three healers he, Nesta, and Feyre had vetted and assigned specifically to help you through these episodes when they had become more frequent a few years ago. The healers kept keys to your home so they could come and go as needed without making any more noise than was required. One of them was always on call.

Climbing into bed was always the hardest part. He had a choice. Do it quickly, and your pain could be sharp but brief. Do it slowly, and he may drag out your agony.

You had told him once after an episode that the shifting of the mattress beneath you caused your head to splinter into pieces. He had said he would sleep on the couch, a chair by your side, even the floor if it would keep you from pain. You had shaken your head.

“What I need most in those moments is you beside me. The warmth of your body in the blankets is soothing. Hearing the steadiness of your breathing gives me something to cling to, a standard I can use to measure my own breathing; to measure the passage of time without having to open my eyes.”

But he would not touch you. Not unless you asked. That was your one request, that he lay there, close enough for you to hear, but never to touch you unless you specifically requested it.

“My body often feels as if it’s on fire,” you responded when he asked about the experience after the first time he witnessed it. “It’s agonizing. My head feels as if it’s being wrenched in two or more pieces, my skin is aflame. My stomach roils, and I cannot seem to breathe without complete concentration.”

“And with me beside you?” He had asked.

You had managed to squeak out the request that first time, though it led to you throwing up beside the bed not two minutes later. He had cleaned it up, and then joined you, lying as far from you as possible as you choked out the need to have him there, but away.

“It centers me. Gives me something to focus on other than the pain.”

“But if you feel like you’re on fire, wouldn’t a cold compress help? Some ice, perhaps?”

You had sighed. “In my experience, it only causes a different sort of pain. I know for some it helps. In my case, I find it forces my body to fight harder against the sensation and drains me more quickly. I wish it did, but it never seems to help as much as it hurts.”

That first episode he had witnessed had terrified him. He had spent the night with you in his room at the townhouse, the both of you tangled in each other for hours before sleep caught up to you both. He was in heaven. But as he woke, he had been thrust into his own personal hell.

He hadn’t realized how much he loved you until he saw you with sweat beading at your forehead as your whimpers woke him. The panic that filled him immediately flowed in perfect synchronicity with the knowledge that he would do anything to help you.

The light flowed freely through his windows. The sounds of the city filtered in freely. He had curtains, but they were not designed for the kind of darkness you needed. They quenched no sound. It was not enough.

And you lay there, crying, as he sat up. He remembered it with horror now. He could recall it all, including all the things he had unknowingly done wrong.

“What’s wrong?” He had asked. You had whimpered, tensing. He sat up entirely, reaching to stroke your arm. You had only cried harder, tears streaming from between your tightly closed eyelids.

He had sat up quickly to analyze you better. He had kept asking you questions at full volume. He remembered how he hadn’t thought to block the light with his wing. How he had tried to reach for you, leading to your agonized words begging him not to, pleading with him to get a healer. He had jumped from the bed to do so, hearing your retching from behind him a minute or so after. He had spun back to you, but you waved him off, tearful eyes pleading him to do as you had asked.

So much had gone wrong that time.

He was fortunate he knew about your allergy, glad you had mentioned it offhand at dinner three weeks previous. It had only been your third date, but it had come up somehow. Had he not known, you could have died from the tonic the healer brought for you. In the end, Rhys was summoned in the early afternoon to push you into unconsciousness and put you out of your misery. Nothing else had helped. You slept for over a full day, not waking for anything.

He had kept vigil over you in his bed, not knowing how to help. Rhys had come and gone, checking in and bringing food and water for both of you, though your tray was exactly the same on the way out the door as it had come in.

You had awoken at dusk the next day. You had stretched with a groan which startled Cassian from his fitful dozing.

“My love,” he had whispered incoherently.

You blinked with a little yawn as you looked over at him. It took you a minute to orient yourself and frown.

“Cassian.”

“Sweetheart,” he said in response, eyes filling with tears at the ease with which you spoke his name. “Are you okay?”

You nodded. “I am,” your nod turned into a shake of your head. “I am so sorry.” He tracked each movement, but no wince or whimper followed. There was no visible indication of pain.

He was so lost in looking for any sign of your discomfort that it took him a few moments to respond. “Don’t be sorry. Are you certain you’re alright?”

“Yes,” you gave him a shaky smile. He wanted to crush you in his arms but had learned through your words and your pained cries that any contact would hurt, so instead he gripped the arms of his chair.

While you didn’t look as though you were in pain, embarrassment was written all over your face. Still, discussion needed to wait. He got you food and water, and a fresh shirt of his to change into.

Once he had taken your empty tray away, he looked inquisitively at where you sat propped up in his bed. “What happened?” He asked quietly.

You had indulged his question. Some things you knew could trigger the episodes, so you avoided them. Bright lights or loud noises for long periods of time. Sleep deprivation. Cassian had held in a flinch at that, knowing he had kept you up until nearly three in the morning.

Stress, built up over a period of time, was the most common instigator. He recalled your words from dinner the night before, about the hard deadline you were facing for an investigation into a trading company that had seemingly been avoiding tariffs. He had reached for your hand unthinkingly when it had clenched on the bedspread beside you, unable to withhold the only comfort he had to offer.

You had sighed and gripped his hand gratefully. “Can I hold you?” He had asked, stroking his thumb slowly from your wrist to your knuckles. Your nod was the only assent he needed before scooping you gently up from the bed and climbing in, settling you in his lap with your head tucked under his chin.

“I’m sorry for causing you trouble,” you whispered, tracing a hand lightly across his chest.

“It was no trouble.”

“I took away half your weekend. You had plans.”

“They weren’t anywhere near as important as this. I rescheduled.”

“Still -“

“No, my love,” he shook his head, the endearment slipping from his lips without thinking. He hadn’t notice you tense up at the words, and continued, “You needed help. I wasn’t leaving you.”

“Cassian,” his name fell like a breath from your lips.

“Hmm?” Now he noticed. You sat still as possible in his lap. Your hand had stopped its gentle tracing. He dipped his head to look at you, but you didn’t meet his gaze.

“You called me ‘my love’.”

“If it upsets you, I am sorry. But it is the truth.” A flush settled across your cheeks, and he continued, “I love you. Your pain felt like it was a part of me. I began to love you weeks ago, and I knew this morning... I love you.” His words were cut short by the quick raise of your head and the settling of your fingers over his lips. Your cheeks flushed, lower lip rolled between your teeth.

“I love you,” you said quietly. “Very much.”

He laughed softly at that, loosely grabbing your wrist to press kisses against it. “Well. Thank the cauldron for that.”

It was your turn to laugh, and you wiggled to face him. The darkness had truly fallen, stars glimmering through the still uncovered windows.

Cassian lay beside his love, watching the pained breaths, the occasional twitch of spasming muscles causing the quilt to shift.

The door opened slowly, letting the tiniest sliver of light in as a short male stepped into the room. Mirvyn, the head healer on your team. The light glimmered against his glasses before he shut the door again. He moved silently with the practiced footsteps of a cautious male.

Cassian knew the healer recognized his presence. They didn’t acknowledge each other in the darkness. Your hand reached for Cassian’s, gripping it until your nails bit into his skin.

The healer began to work, administering a more potent treatment that could be injected into your arm. You hated it, every second, but it was the only thing that seemed to help you.

You had lay like this for hours. Cassian knew the pain you must be in to have asked for the healer when you had taken only six vials of tonic. When you didn’t respond to the prick of the needle in your shoulder, he knew getting the healer been the right call.

You were asleep within minutes. The healer began to check you, your breathing, your heart, anything he could learn from your pain signatures. He sighed.

Just like every other time, Cassian knew. Nothing to be done. That was the most frustrating piece. Aside from avoiding the things which could trigger the episodes and taking your daily tonics, there was nothing you could do. None of the healers could find a single thing wrong with your body, even as you fell to pieces from the pain.

The healer walked around to Cassian’s side of the bed and bent to whisper, “I'll return in an hour to check on her, then stay in the guest room if you need me for anything else."

Cassian whispered his thanks in return. All they could do was wait. A silent vigil for the love of his life to return to comfort in her own body. A silent sorrow for the pain she must feel.

It was his greatest sorrow, that he couldn't share the pain. He didn't even know its extent. You were not his mate. You were beloved, but he could not understand or protect you. Hours, you would lay, knowing you could call for help. Struggling to decide whether it was bad enough.

A little over six hours, and a healer. Today was bad. He would wait.

Cassian quietly asked the healer to sit with you for a little bit when he returned. He went downstairs, made two sandwiches, and ate one as quickly as possible. You had told him once that him not taking care of himself did you no favors. He had promised he would not neglect himself, so he ate. He did it quickly, because he would not leave you longer than he had to.

The other sandwich he left on the counter with an empty glass. This healer liked the sandwiches, and he knew where you stored all your drinks. He could help himself.

He filled a large pitcher of water and walked up the stairs once more with the pitcher and two glasses. If you got thirsty, there would be water for you. It was the one thing he could do that he felt in control of. He didn't like how insignificant it felt. Still, you told him waking up and seeing a pitcher of water there, the one thing you usually forgot, always made you feel cared for.

Mirvyn had heard Cassian coming, and met him right outside the bedroom door.

"She's still asleep. Her vitals are steady, but for her to have called, I am concerned. Be careful. Sleep. The spell will let you know if anything is truly amiss, but if you sense anything out of the ordinary, come get me," the healer cautioned. "Often your senses will kick in before the spell will recognize it as an issue."

Cassian nodded. "I know. Can you tell how this compares to her last bad episode?"

The healer sighed, pulling his glasses off to clean them before replacing them on the bridge of his nose. "Cassian, it's about the same this time. I'm still surprised she hadn't passed out already, but by my measurements it's about the same."

"She seemed..." Cassian shook his head with a grimace. "It seemed even worse. She's everything to me, Mirvyn. If anything happens to her..."

"I know. We all know. Take care of yourself, Cassian. If either of you need anything, I'll be down the hall."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Sleep. He would sleep, and more importantly, you would sleep. In the morning, you would be alright. He had to believe it.

Cassian woke first, approximately twelve hours later. It was unsurprising. He woke before you on the good days, too. So he waited, his hand in the space between you in case you decided in your sleep that you wished to hold it. You would wake soon enough, if you felt better. Cassian wouldn't let himself think of the alternative.

"Cassian," you whispered.

"My love," he greeted you quietly.

"May I have some water?"

He smiled. "Of course."

You sat up while he retrieved your glass, filling it with careful precision in the darkness.

"Here."

You gulped it down before handing your glass back to him. "Thank you."

He nodded, replacing the glass and the pitcher. "How do you feel?"

"Well enough," you sighed. "A bit of a residual headache."

"That's good," he smiled.

"Yeah. Hold me?" You asked. After the first time, you always asked.

"Of course. Always." He climbed into bed beside you, scooping you into his arms as he sat against the headboard. Once you had sat up, you often didn't want to lay down again. Changing from laying to sitting to laying again so quickly had seemed to do odd things, and now you avoided it at all costs.

"Thank you," you whispered, settling your head against his chest.

"You're welcome."

"I love you, Cassian."

"I love you, too," he hummed. "Mirvyn is here."

"I know. I remember him coming in last night."

"Remember anything else?"

"Other than you coming home, not really. Everything else is blurry."

"That's alright," he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "That's everything important."

You laughed. "Oh? the important things, you coming home, and Mirvyn showing up?"

"Yeah," Cassian couldn't help but laugh.

"I heard that swear, you know. When you saw the tonic bottles."

"I was worried," he protested. "I'm always worried when you're sick."

"And? Foul language," you teased in return. "Ghastly, nasty language. You kiss me with that mouth, you know."

"And you love the things this mouth does," he teased in return. You were happy. You were fine.

You hummed your acknowledgement, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "I do. I love the male its attached to more, though."

Soon, you were both quietly laughing, intermittently interrupting each other for gentle kisses. It was the best ending for what had been unbearable just hours before. This was Cassian's favorite. The calm between the storms, when you were yourself, in his arms.

You deserved this every morning, every day. This peace. This lightness of heart. In the meantime, he would love you, even in the dark.

A/N: I am by no means a definitive authority on migraines or chronic illness. I do, however, suffer from migraines. This is based largely on my own experience, though I've never had the benefit of a Cassian in my life and frankly, even if I did, the last thing I might want is someone anywhere near me.

All that aside, I wanted to explore what Cassian the Lover might feel when his beloved was in pain. And what better way to do that than with an indulgent fic?

Additionally, I felt it was important to acknowledge that it takes a village. Sometimes, the best thing your person can do for you is to be there and help you ask for help. I may not have a Cassian in my life, but I have many a Mirvyn, and many incredibly supportive people. I am very, very grateful for every single one of them.

I hope you enjoyed the fic, and that you enjoy the rest of your lovely Cassian week! Don't forget to give cassianappreciationweek and maased-out a follow so you can stay up to date with future fandom events for your writing and reading pleasure!

All my love,

Chaos

P.S. I reblog a lot. Want to see the fics without any chaos? Totally cool! @fictionalchaos is the place to be!

Permanent Taglist: @ninthcircleofprythian @c-starstuff-man0 @dusk-muse @lilah-asteria As always: If you want on or off of the taglist, let me know!

[thecuriousbeauty]

Traitor-The Present (Harry Styles au- Mafia!Harry)

Chapter Six

A/N:- Hold on tight cause this is going to be a roller coaster kind of chapter. If you haven't read the other parts, I suggest you read them cause this chapter holds important details. You can find the other parts here.

Series Synopsis:- y/n is a hard working painter, trying to make the ends meet. She lives with and takes care of her sick Uncle, the only one she has for a family. She has dreams to make it big, and when the desperation for money strikes, she has to make a choice. Walk away after listening to an incredible deal that would fix all her problems, or take up the deal. A top secret, risky deal, which involves meeting Harry Styles.A man once rumored to be a dangerous secret weapon of a leading mafia.

Warnings: Violence, use of guns, physical assault, mentions of nightmare, killings. Some smut and a lot of angst.

Word Count: 8k

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y/n jumps as she hears the sound of the glass window breaking. Someone's blood was splattered on her hands, and on the walls. Then she flinches as she hears the gunshot.

y/n wakes up with a gasp, and sees Harry's green eyes staring back at her.

"W-What?", she whispers, hand on her heart.

"You okay?", he asks, hand reaching to stroke her hair and move it away from her sweaty face. "Same dream again?"

"Yeah..", she sighs, taking a deep breath. "I-I'm sorry for waking you up.."

"No, I wasn’t sleeping.", Harry runs his hand down y/n's bare back as she curls up to him, placing her head on his chest. It was around midday and y/n had fallen asleep after their mind blowing sex and a nice relaxing shower. She thought Harry had too. 

She looks up at him, noticing how his eyebrows were furrowed, and his soft lips laying in a straight line. “Were you thinking about Reagen?”

Harry nods, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “You should figure out what those nightmares are about, love. You’re getting them more often.”

Yes, she had to, but that wasn’t the most pressing matter right now.  "If Reagen’s alive, why is she not searching for you? What was she doing all these years?"

Harry shakes his head, bringing a hand up to rub his eyes. "I don't know. Maybe she's planning something, like she was that night. She was hiding something from me. I can't remember what.."

The thought of Reagen being alive opened up many more questions in y/n's head. If everything Romania, Hans and Oliver told her was true, Reagen was capable of anything. She was the best in their gang, and the only one who came close to her capabilities was Harry. Did something happen in the gang? Did she find someone doing something they weren't supposed to be doing?

She knew Reagen was friendly, happy and treated everyone nicely. Hans said they were her family. Then why wouldn't she come back to that family if she was alive? Unless, she wanted everyone to think she was dead while she was secretly plotting something.

What if Reagen wasn't the kind of woman they thought she was? What if she had another face? One that they didn't know existed.

"We had a fight...", Harry’s voice wavers as he tries to remember. "T-That's all I can remember now..I'm getting glimpses back, can't piece it all together yet."

"A physical..fight?", y/n asks.

"I think so..yeah.", Harry closes his eyes, letting out a slow breath. "My head hurts.."

"Okay, it's okay..relax.", y/n doesn't hesitate to pull him into a hug. She couldn’t imagine what he must be going through as he remembered those glimpses. "Shh..it's okay, you're okay.", she whispers, scooting up on the bed so he could bury his head in her chest. 

y/n had also thought about it, and she came up with a lot of evil Reagan possibilities as well. But one thing that drowned out all those suspicious was the fact that they were in love, and they were going to get married. Harry was going to propose to her. They were soulmates.

"I want to go back.", Harry whispers to her. "I don't feel good about this, we have to go back y/n."

She wanted to agree and go back to San Francisco, but they had about a day and a half left.

"W-We've come so close. We'll go back soon babe. I promised Sania I'd drop the car off..."

"Fine. Let's get going then.", he sits up. "Did you get his number?"

"N-Number?"

"Your friend's, who told you about my story?"

"I um, no, he hasn't gotten back to me on social media yet.", she lies, looking away from him. Harry suddenly grabs her face, fingers around her jaw as he lifts her face up so her eyes look into his deep green ones.

"I believe it's the truth you're telling me, sunshine.", he says softly, his tone wasn’t rough at all. That's what made it more scary. The usual tone of endearment didn't sound so good now. Harry was remembering things and she was scared. Will the person whom everyone fears, come out? Will the Harry she loves disappear to become the one he used to be?

"I-It is.", she whispers, goosebumps starting to creep up her arms from the coldness of his fingers. Why was he so freezing cold? His eyes studied hers, and she was tempted to yank her face away from his hold, but she stayed still. He wouldn't hurt her, he said so himself.

But he admitted that he had a physical fight with Reagen. What if Harry was the one who was hiding something and Reagen found out.

She resists a flinch as Harry lets go of her jaw and his hand moves to her head. But it was to check on her bruise. “Mm, that’s healing up well..”

She tries for a smile as he kisses the skin right above the wound.

She needed to know more information now before it was too late. They hit the road after getting some tacos for lunch, and drove for a straight two hours before stopping for a tea break.

"Let me make a few calls, be right back.", she tells Harry as she gets up from the seat next to him, and he nods, continuing to drink his tea silently.

She walks away, making sure he wouldn't hear her, before calling Romania.

"Hello, Romania isn't here, what's up?", it was Hans who answered.

"Hans..this is important."

"Duh, do you think I can't take important news? You will freak out if you know what my everyday job is-"

"-Fine, stop boasting.", she cuts him off in annoyance. "What has Harry done? Has he k-killed anyone? I need to know."

"Why do you need to know that, y/n?", Hans sounds more serious.

"Because..he's getting things back and I need to know who I'm traveling with!"

"And having sex with.", Hans adds, with a little chuckle. "Wait. You said he's remembering things, what did he say?"

"Hans, answer my question first-"

"-I make the rules y/n, tell me what you know and I'll tell you what you want to know."

She groans, she really hates him. She tells him everything.

"Wow..that is great progress. I'll tell everyone. Great talking to y/n-"

"-I will stop this right now and tell him everything if you don't tell me what the fuck I'm dealing with.", y/n snaps, and lowers her voice when she realizes it was loud. "Hans, please."

"Okay.", Hans sighs. "Yes, he has killed. Everyone in this gang has killed somebody, y/n. Harry shot his alcoholic dad before joining. He has planted microchips for spying on our enemies, hacked into their accounts, blew up their cars, hotels, houses, along with them and their family. He has led bombing missions along with Reagen, everything they both led was a success, until that gold smuggling mission. Anyone who crosses Harry is pretty much dead."

Harry killed people. The kind Doctor she knew used to kill people. Probably with that same gun he had in his bag. She couldn’t even start to imagine Harry doing all that now. No, he wouldn’t. That was in the past. She frowns as she realizes something, "Y-You didn't sound surprised when I told you that Reagen's alive."

"Um.."

"W-Were you all lying to me?", y/n gasps. She blindly trusted their dumb story.

"You wouldn't agree to do this if you knew the truth about Harry and Reagen. She is alive, but we don't have any information about her. Our people search for her every day. I do miss her, I didn't lie about that, y/n."

"What else are you hiding from me?", y/n asks. "Hans, I'm putting my life in danger here, for you guys."

"I know, y/n, and we're so grateful that you're doing this. Listen, it's just one more day. Tomorrow, we'll meet you at the location. Romania will call later to tell you all the details. Please, hold on for some more time."

She hangs up, and sighs. There was too much going on, she was going to go crazy if she continued talking to these people. She had to talk to someone normal. The only normal person in her life. 

"Hi! I just finished baking some cookies.", Uncle Luke answers, making her smile. "Cookies? I wish I could have some of those right now."

"Aw, what happened? You sound tensed.", Uncle Luke says.

"I-I don't know what to do, Uncle Luke. Things are a bit confusing and scary..I'll have the money and I'll be back to you on the first flight tomorrow once everything is over, but..I don't know what'll happen in the next few hours."

She didn't know if Uncle Luke remembered where she was or why she was doing this, but she just had to tell him that.

"Trust your gut.", he replies. "Your instincts are always right, y/n. Do what you need to do. I'll be waiting for you."

She closes her eyes, taking in a fresh breath of air. It smelled like rain. The smell of the soil and the air when they’re preparing for the shower from above. She looks up at the sky as the gray clouds gather and little droplets of rain fall in crazy chaotic drops. The gusting wind carrying them in wild vertices one moment in diagonal sheets the next.

"Thanks Uncle Luke. I'll call you later! It's raining!", she covers her phone's speaker from the rain.

"Yeah, don't get sick in the rain! I love you!"

"I love you too, bye!"

y/n feels someone come up behind her, and turns around but it was only Harry. He held an umbrella, and his arm quickly ushered her to his side, so she was under the umbrella. She looks at him as he wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her close. He had human blood on his hands in the past. y/n wondered why she didn't feel disgusted, or why her feelings for him didn't change after what she had learned about him. Maybe it was because she always suspected it.

"Come on darling, rain's getting heavier.", Harry brings her out of her daydream with a gentle kiss to her cheek, and they start walking to the car. Harry gets her in, before going to the other side.

"You okay?", the beautiful green eyes looked at hers.

She smiles and nods. "Thank you."

"Of course.", Harry smiles back and leans forward to cup her cheek with one hand, the other hand going to her hip. "I-I have a feeling things are going to change between us.", y/n can't help but voice her concern.

"Why do you feel so?", he asks, pressing his forehead against hers.

"I don't know, Harry.", she whispers, her arms wrapping around his neck and her hands interlocking at the back of his neck.

"I know I've done things, y/n..but it doesn't change my love for you. I fell in love with you since the day I met you.", he whispers. "You're so full of sunshine, maybe that's why I was attracted to you. You're the light to my darkness. I will burn down the world for you, baby. I can't explain how much I love you. You know I'm bad at expressing my feelings. I..I'll always have your back, and I wish things weren't like this. I'm so sorry."

"I-It's not your fault..", y/n whispers, stroking the hair at the back of his head. "I knew everything and I still fell in love with you."

"I never want to lose you.", Harry closes his eyes, pressing his lips to her forehead. "I can't live without you. I love you so much, sunshine."

It was like he was holding back something he really wanted to say.

"I love you too, Harry." She hugs him tight. "When you remember it all, will you go back to your old life or will you come back home with me?"

"I'll go where you go.", he mumbles. "Wasn't my speech clear enough?"

She laughs, throwing her head back as his lips attack all over her face, leaving gentle little loving kisses on her skin. She couldn't change his past, but she could change his present and the future. She didn’t know what was going to happen in the next 24 hours, but at least she has something to hold on to. She has Harry.

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Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice. But what does the end of the world really mean? If all human beings die, does it mean the world does too? y/n wanted to ask what Uncle Luke thought about the end of the world. He usually had the right answers and the right thoughts. 

y/n woke up that day with a feeling of dread hanging in the air. She felt like it was doomsday.

She knew that she would be on a plane back home by the end of the day, and even though Harry had said that he would go where she goes, she had a few doubts. Romania and her gang clearly want him back in their gang and they will go to any extent for that. What if they grab him and shove him in a kidnapper van and tell her to get away? No, she chides herself. Harry's strong and they're all scared of him, that can't happen.

The only bright side was that she would get her money, and she would be done with all this. She still felt bad for not telling Harry the complete truth. She would today, she would tell him everything.

Harry didn't look nervous, unlike y/n. Why would he? He didn't know what was going to happen. But he did seem to be deep in his thoughts that morning.

If nothing ended well, she would still cherish whatever memories they made.

Harry kisses her sweetly for a few minutes, running his hands all over her body, like he had it memorized. Every curve and every dip. y/n kisses his lips passionately. She couldn't stop, she needed it. His lips were softer than anything she's ever known, soft like a first snowball, like biting into cotton candy, like melting and floating and being weightless in water. He was so effortlessly sweet.

y/n and Harry loved having rough sex, and completely ruining each other, but that morning? That morning, Harry made love to her until she could call out his name in her dreams and reach for him in her sleep. Until she could think of no one and nothing beyond the touch of his hand, the caress of his lips. Their bodies intertwined and souls entwined as they drowned in each other. 

It was like he knew this wasn’t going to happen for a while.

Later, they took a walk around the streets of Lupton, Arizona, where they had made their stop last night. They walked hand in hand, looking at the different shops on the streets, people going to work in their morning rush and children boarding school buses. They got some delicious chilaquiles for breakfast. A dish consisting of corn tortillas that are fried, cooked in salsa and sprinkled with cheese. They were served with eggs and beans.

Three hours and thirty minutes would be the travel time today. y/n thought this road trip idea would be horrible at first, but now, she didn't want it to end. Traveling to different places with Harry was so much fun.

"Are you remembering things?", y/n asks Harry as she sees him look outside the window, observing every little stall and the streets.

"Yes.", Harry replies, and she nods. "Where..where exactly are we going y/n?"

"Um, there's a great coffee shop on the way, just twenty minutes before New Mexico. I thought to make a stop there."

That was the location Romania had told her to get him to.

"Coffee shop..", he mumbles. "These roads seem familiar. I think we took it quite often."

"Yeah?", she asks, even though she had that information already.

She stays quiet, letting Harry put all the pieces together that were slowly coming back to him. 

When they were near the location, y/n thinks Romania sent her the wrong address or something, because all she could see was an empty huge ground.

"Let me see, maybe I got the directions wrong-"

"No, you're right. There's the coffee shop." She looks up as Harry points to a distance. She squints and sure enough sees a small shed. It was a short walk away.

"Oh, great. Let's go get some coffee if it’s still open.", she mumbles nervously, and gets out before Harry studies her face. They start walking towards the abandoned shop, and she lets Harry walk forward, lingering behind him so she could call Romania.

She didn't answer the call, and she rolled her eyes. If her idea was to throw them in the middle of nowhere, it was working. Harry was standing a few feet away from the shop, staring at it.

"Harry?", she asks, coming up behind him. "What happened?"

"I remember everything.", he whispered, and turned to her. "This was where we had the accident and the fight."

y/n nods, eyes moving to the shop, and something strikes. The windows. They were broken, and stained. Wait..was that blood? She steps closer to look at it. Sure enough there was shattered glass falling inside the shop, and blood stained the walls. She takes a step inside, feeling shivers climb up her spine. She gasps when she realizes.

This was the exact same place in her repeated dreams. 

She grabs Harry’s arm, heart hammering in her chest. "H-Harry, this is the place in m-my dreams..", she tells him, frantic.

"Yes, it is. I know.", Harry had no surprise. "Everything looks the same from five years ago."

"Why did I see this in my dream?", she asks him, confused. Harry's eyes ran over her face. "You tell me, y/n."

He said her name like he was mocking her.

"Harry.", she squeezes his arm. "W-What’s going on?”

He said he remembered everything. Did he remember something that suddenly made him change his tone towards her? Was he the old Harry again? She tried to figure it out through his eyes and demeanor, but he remained calm, and expression neutral.

"It's not me who has to remember.", Harry speaks and his eyes were staring at hers like he could read her soul. "Please stop playing this game."

"W-What game? Harry.", y/n gets scared now. "I-I'm not your enemy, I only tried to help you remember, and now you do. I-I know what you are capable of doing, but you wouldn’t do that now. I-I know who you are."

He cracks a smile, which soon turns into a grin and then he bursts into laughter. "You realize how silly you sound?"

y/n didn't understand what he was doing. "Harry, some people made me befriend you to get you to remember the things that happened five years ago. I-I did this for them, they agreed to give me money that I needed for Uncle Luke's treatment and a better home, and-" She takes in a breath, feeling her heart race at abnormal speed. "-I shouldn't have done it, I-I didn't mean to do this to you Harry. But whatever we had is true-"

"Shut up!"Harry spits out, his voice echoing through the empty ground and her lips pressed together as she takes one step away from him. She deserved it. He has the right to be angry at her.

"Whatever we had, huh?", he mocks. "I was blind. I was blindly in love with you and you betrayed me."

"I didn't betray you-"

She watches as a bunch of cars enter the ground. All the same. Black SUVs. There were five cars, and a white sedan behind it all. She figured it was Romania.

"See, those were the people who made me do this. I only followed what they told me to do, this trip, everything.", she tries to explain to Harry. People step out of the car. Men in black suits, each having a rifle. She recognised some of the men, they were involved in the fight that day. From one of the cars stepped out Romania and Oliver.

"R-Romania tell him, tell him you told me to do everything.", she tells her. Romania walks to stand in front of the men, folding her arms and looking at them. She didn't speak.

"Why did you do it?", Harry talks, making her look back at him. His eyes were blazing. "Why did you go behind my back? I was with you through everything. We were partners. I know you didn't do it for money, I know you didn't do it to become the number one. All of the memories we had..what was everything for? You were just a traitor in the end, Reagen."

Reagen? Why did he call her Reagen?

"I played this fucking game for you! It was killing me inside, acting like I don't remember anything, acting like I just met you for the first time in my life!", Harry shouts, tears clouding his eyes. "I-I believed there was a reason. There had to be something. You wouldn't have done that to me for nothing. T-Tell me why, Reagen, please. Why did you want me dead?"

She realizes everything with a chill. R-Reagen? Did they think she was Reagen? They were out of their minds. Harry played the game? He knew everything that happened five years ago. He was acting to get her..to get her to remember?

All the small hints he had dropped came to her mind. Since the very first day she saw him. He had known who she was the moment he saw her in that bar.

He lifted his head up suddenly and looked straight at her, like he knew she had been watching him. Their eyes connected for a second, before he looked away.

He knew how she painted, because he had seen it before.

The colors.", he answers, looking away from her again. "They have a hidden meaning, most of the time. The artist might not even have an idea when they start, but it turns out beautiful when they're done. Like they gave life to it."

The familiar feeling of his hand, of his arms, the feeling of safety and warmth.

He chose her drink in the bar because he already knew what she liked.

"I do like it.", she decides, taking another sip. "How did you know?"

"Just like that.", he shrugs.

All the times he asked her about her dream, trying to get her to figure out what they were about. He already knew what they were about.

"I-I..I don't believe in it."

"In love?", y/n asks, and he nods, bringing his hand back and looking at her with those beautiful eyes. "Do you believe in love y/n?"

y/n nods. "Of course. Love is like this overwhelming sentiment that keeps you up all night and makes you feel like a little child waiting for Christmas day. The feeling of having a soulmate and a place you can really call home, that sounds promising."

Harry's eyes ran over soft features, as he spoke, "You sound like you have been in love."

y/n laughs, biting into a cookie. "Nah, me? I talk too much, and I'm weird. Who would want to love me?"

"There might be someone.", Harry whispered softly.

All the times he got things right about her. She thought he was just very observant. But no, he had known everything about her. She had been his once before.

She remembers all his words. "You drive me fucking crazy. Why are you doing this to me? You’re mine, you've always been mine. 

“You're mine and you'll always be mine."

"I've always loved you and I'll always love you."

"I'm so sorry."

She didn't even know who she was. She sees the hurt in Harry's eyes. She hated to see him like that, but she didn't know how to fix it.

"I'm not R-Reagen.", y/n cries, shaking her head. "Harry I'm sorry, I-I'm not Reagen. I'm y/n."

Harry closes his eyes, looking away. "You are Reagen. Y-You have no idea what I've been through in these five years. I..I'm done, I can't anymore."

She didn't understand anything. "H-Harry, I-I don't know anything..I don't know..", she cries. She wanted to cry into his chest, wanted him to pull her into his safe arms and console her. Tell her it was all just a bad dream.

A man walks up to Harry with a tray. It had a few rings, a chain and a few cigarattes. Harry takes the rings and puts them on his fingers. H and S.

Harry Styles.

He put on the chain, it had a silver cross pendant, much like the cross tattoo he had on his hand. He took the cigarette last, keeping it between his lips. The other man puts the lighter to it, and Harry takes a blow.

"Your time is up, Reagen. Four weeks is over.", Romania says, taking a step towards her.

"You bloody bitch, you did this to me-" She raised her hand to slap her, and someone grabs her wrists, pinning it to her back, and she yelps in pain as the person behind her kicks her behind the knee, making her drop to her knees.

"Don't make it worse for you.", she hears in ear and recognizes the voice. "S-Sania?”

Was she in on it too? The person she thought was her best friend? What were these people going to do to her?

Harry turns back to her, and pulls out the small velvet box.

"You already saw what's in this, right?", he asks her, and she sniffles. "It was for you.", he says, and crouches down to her. He opens the box, showing her the beautiful ring he had bought for Reagen, five years ago. "You ruined everything for what? Why did you try to kill me? You have one final chance to remember and spit out the truth. I have been so patient, but a man runs out of patience."

She sobs, shaking her head. She tried to remember, she only got glimpses of her dream. She didn't know anything else.

"Harry, please believe me, I-I don't know anything.", she whispers, and he throws away the ring and the box.

"Don't do this to me, Reagen.", he said in his deep voice, coming closer to her and she gasped, trying to pull her head back but Sania grabbed her hair. "Don't move.”, she snarls in her ear. 

She was shaking. She was terrified. y/n didn't even trust her own thoughts at this point. She was going to die. If she was Reagen, they were going to kill her. That was what Romania told her, if Harry didn't remember, we would have to kill him. They were fooling her by mentioning Harry, it was herself they were talking about.

She feels her heart shatter as she identifies the man who gets out of the wide sedan. He wore an expensive black suit, his beard was trimmed, hair was kept. He stood tall and straight, not at all looking sick and frail. 

"U-Uncle Luke..", y/n looks at the person she thought was her Uncle Luke. He gives her a sad smile. "I tried to warn you, darling."

“You know, while I was making tea yesterday, I put in salt instead of sugar?"

"Oh god. That must have tasted horrible."

"My point is, y/n, don't trust everything you see or hear. You can't even differentiate salt from sugar if you don't look carefully."

He knew everything. Sania knew everything. Everyone she ever knew in her life was involved in this game, or whatever this was.

She was the clown.

"Y-You're all fucking evil.", she says in spite, and groans when she feels Sania’s grip on her hair tighten. 

"Sania, step away.", Harry snaps at her, crouching down, and she immediately releases her, making her fall into Harry's arms. "She's mine to ruin."

"Harry, please..", y/n whispers to him. Why did she think that Harry could save her from this?

"You think I wanted it to end this way?", Harry asks her, holding her face and brushing her hair back with his gentle fingers. "I tried everything for it not to."

She sobs in his arms, and he reaches a hand to his back pocket, pulling out something. A gun. y/n shook with fear as he moved his other hand to the back of her head, holding her there as he pressed the gun to her forehead. The cold metal of the gun grazed her skin.

"You should know what it feels like to be betrayed by people you love.", Harry whispers. "Everyone told me to let it go, to kill you and bury you and forget that you ever existed. But I refused to believe it. I didn't want to believe that you were just a traitor. But I guess I was wrong, I've failed."

She closes her eyes as the gun presses into her head. "H-Harry.."

"Friends also betray you.", he grumbles.

"Have you been betrayed by a friend or a close one?", y/n asks.

"I don't remember.", he snaps, motioning for the bartender to fill up his drink.

This is how she's going to die. One shot to the head. She would be shot to death by the person whom she thought she loved. Her whole life was a lie. y/n didn't know how to feel. She didn't know her own identity. She felt lost in this world. She was already dead inside, he might as well just pull the trigger and end her misery. There was nothing she cared about anymore. She wasn't even sure if her name was y/n.

Was she really Reagen?

y/n waited for the sound of the gun when it cracked open her skull. Would death hurt?

No, she didn't think anything could hurt her more than everything she's just been through. Her heart was already bleeding and her brain was fried.

Harry couldn't pull the trigger. As he saw her shaking in front of him, tears running down her cheeks, escaping her closed eyelids and despite everything she's done to him in the past, despite her trying to kill him, Harry couldn't even hurt her. Then how could he kill her?

He pushed her away with a grunt, and y/n falls on the ground, bruising her elbows on the sand.

 "Harry.", Romania says in a warning tone. 

"Get her inside.", Harry gets up and turns away from her.

Romania and Sania look at each other at Harry's mood change.

"Want me to kill her for you boss?", one of the men asks.

"No.", Harry's voice was deep and clear, like anyone who dared to question him would be dead in one second.

"Harry, we agreed on this. You cannot fall for her stupid act, did you forget what she's capable of?", Romania grabs his arm as he starts to walk away.

"I know very well, Pelt. Do you have a problem following directions? Get her inside the car, Oliver. Take her with you.", he looks at the man standing with Luke. y/n thought Oliver was the only one giving her a sympathetic look. But she couldn't believe that either. He probably didn't care about her.

Oliver nods, going to y/n.

Romania gives the others a look behind Harry's back as he walks to the white sedan parked for him.

"Can we have our way with her back in the quarters? She might confess something-”

y/n shrinks into herself as she hears the shot. Harry had shot the man who said that, straight in his heart. He falls with a thud, blood oozing out of his chest. No one dared to speak again, or go close to the fallen man.

"New recruitment?", Harry looks at Romanina who nods. "You're getting sloppy. Another one like that and the bullet will be through your head."

"I'm sorry.", she mumbles, embarrassed and looking down at her feet.

"Get up.", Oliver grabs y/n's arm and pulls her up. She watches as Luke opens the door for Harry and he gets in. Everyone else starts getting into their cars too. 

"Hands behind your back.", Oliver tells y/n, and she doesn't protest. She had seen enough. He kept her wrists together behind her back, and handcuffed them. "Walk.", he nods to one of the only two cars left.

"Keep a hand on her Olie, she'll make a run for it.", she hears Sania. y/n was going to open her mouth to tell her something in a very colorful language, but Oliver beats her to it. 

"Enough Sania, clean that up.", Oliver grumbles to her, pointing to the dead body.

"Of course, I get all the dirty work.", Sania sighs, and waves to the two men remaining. "You heard the man."

Oliver opens the door for her, and ushers her inside his suv. "Don't try anything.", he warns, warm brown eyes looking into hers. One side of y/n's face was covered in sand, her bruise had opened up and was bleeding lightly again. Her head was pounding and her knees were aching.

"Do you think I can?", she scoffs, uncomfortable with the handcuffs. "Can you take it off?"

"No.", he simply says, classic Oliver.

She sighs as he slams the door and goes to the driver's seat. y/n looks outside at the unfamiliar streets. She had to be living in a dream, or an illusion. This couldn't be true.

Every time she thought about Harry, her chest burned. The hurt in his eyes was real, the sadness in his eyes as he begged her to remember was real. She knew that wasn't part of the act. Why would she ever try to kill him? She closes her eyes, trying to go back to the bits she remembered from the dream.

The blood, the broken windows, the gun shot. It hurt too much to think about the last four weeks. No, scratch that, her whole life. Now she wondered how long she was living in that play? Was it her whole life really? Or was it five years? Was it lesser than that?

Oliver looks at her from the rear view mirror. "Stop crying, it's not going to help and it's annoying."

y/n stares at him. "Nothing's going to help, so let me at least cry before you're going to kill me."

"You won't be killed if you remember what happened and tell Harry what he needs to know.", Oliver mumbles, eyes back on the road.

"I'm curious to know too, I'll let you know when it strikes.", she mutters, sniffling. Oliver sighs. "Sorry. For the acting."

"Fuck you."

He cracked a smile to her surprise. Oliver had the ability to smile?

"Enjoying my misery? You're all a bunch of sadists.", she tells him.

"I smiled because that sounded like the Reagen I know.", Oliver explains.

She remembers the emotion in his voice on their first morning. When he told her to bring his best friend back. 

"You were my best friend? Not Harry's?", she asks, and he nods.

"Then why are you doing this to me, Oliver?"

Oliver doesn't answer immediately, he takes a deep breath. "What did I do? I never lied to you, neither did Hans. I said I want my best friend back, and that was about you. Too bad you didn't understand. And now, I'm just following Harry's orders. I have to."

"Why?"

"I owe him, he saved someone I love.", Oliver grumbles. "He's a bastard. We had a deal, and I can't do anything but listen to him. I liked you, you were the only one who understood me and you tried to help me."

"You know things.", y/n says, studying his face. "Do you know why I tried to kill Harry?"

"I'm not sure, but you did talk to me the night before that.", Oliver says. "You were angry. You never told me what was wrong, but you sounded strange. I remember. You were scared."

His eyes meet mine. "And Reagan never got scared."

"E-Everything you told me about Reagen and Harry..it's true?"

"Yes.", Oliver nods. "You were there for him when he was lost, you taught him a lot of things, Reagen. He's a dick, but I don't think he'll ever put your life on line. He didn't want to be the best, he didn't want to lead the gang. He was forced to, after your accident. He liked being the secret weapon. He looked up to you. So I have no idea why you wanted to kill him. You could have been blackmailed. I don't know, you have to remember that."

"I-I remember glimpses of the fight, but nothing more, Oliver.", she whispers. "I really can't."

"It'll come back, it has to.", Oliver takes a sharp left to wherever they were going. "You have time. Harry's not gonna kill you..yet."

"That's very reassuring.", she says sarcastically. "Where are you taking me now?"

"I'm following the car in front of me, but I think we're going to Marco's. One of the gang's um..let's say inside source. Harry has some information."

"Is he going to kill me there?"

"No.", Oliver smiles. "He's too emotional right now to make a decision, he'll take some time."

"S-Sania and Unc-", she cuts herself off. "Luke. They're your people?"

"Yes. He isn't really your uncle."

“And Hans? Is he also mean like Romania and Sania?”

“No. You were like a sister to Hans. He’s holding the fort down at the headquarters right now.”

Oliver pulls up with the other cars and jumps out to open your door. "Sorry about the handcuffs, they're all too scared of you. Reagen can still kill all of us and get the hell out of here if she decides to, handcuffs or not.", Oliver tells her as he looks at her.

"Are you telling me to try and make a run for it?"

"Not now."

Not now?

"Bring her out Oliver.", she hears Romania's poison-filled voice.

"Get out.", Oliver yanks on her arm roughly, and she whimpers as he pulls her out of the car. Romania was giving her a disgusting look. She was jealous, y/n confirms. She probably loved Harry but he clearly hated her.

Some of the men immediately filed on the sides, guns drawn out and eyes on her back, like they were waiting for her to make a move.

"All those for me?", she whispers to Oliver.

"Reagen would need more.", he whispers back, and clears his throat when Sania joins her other side. "How was the ride?", she asks.

"You fucking bitch, don’t talk to me.", she says through gritted teeth and Sania chuckles. "You thought I was the easy one, huh? I played my part the best, Olie here couldn't even look at you."

"You don't know shit, Sania.", he said back. Sania just grins, and they enter a big house. It was like a palace. y/n sees a massive pool right in the front. She would have loved to take a dip, under normal circumstances. She saw Harry marching up first, into the house. The other men again stand in two lines beside them.

"Why are you dragging me inside?", she asks Oliver.

"Quiet.", he said in return and she rolled her eyes. Sania stood outside. Romania went in behind Harry, Oliver by her side as they walked in too.

Harry was already sitting on the big white couch, talking to another man. He was shirtless, his big belly resting on top of white pants. He had a woman by his side. She was just in a lacy black bra and thongs. She sat next to him, hand rubbing up and down his arm.

Gross, y/n thought.

"Nice to see you again, Romania, Oliver. Oh my god, is that who I think it is?", the man looks at her with a gasp, his Mexican accent thick.

"Harry, you didn't tell me! Reagen Jones, it's been a while.", the man says to her with a big smile. She couldn't bother to smile back.

"She lost her memory.", Romania explains to him with an apologetic smile.

"Oh! I thought you can finally pick up your business now that Reagen's back. You know she's the real backbone Harry.", he tells Harry who swirls the drink around in his glass. "You're all roughed up Reagen dear, why is she in cuffs?"

"She's a threat to everyone until she remembers things.", Harry answers.

"I've rumors that you tried to kill Harry. You're the woman, Reagen.", Marco tells you with a grin.

"Wouldn't that be convenient for you.", Harry leans forward. "Why did you call us here?"

"I had a lead for you, on Tony.", Marco says.

"Where is he?", Harry asks, taking a puff from his cigarette. His shirt sleeves had been rolled back so his tattooed arms were visible.

"He's in Italy, here’s the exact location.", Marco passes him a piece of paper. Harry takes a look at it, smirks and hands it to Romania. "What do you think Romania?”

"Give me one minute to cross check, Boss." Romania pulls her phone out.

"Cross check what? It is the right address!", Marco said, and y/n could make out a little panic in his voice.

"Yes, it’s the same one.", Romania tells Harry and Harry laughs, making Marco frown. "You already knew?"

"You think you're so clever, don't you?", Harry asks. "I found out that you switched to Tony's side when he offered you a better deal. To spy on us. You think you can outsmart me?"

Marco gave him a sly smile, but there was a bit of fear behind it. "I don't know what you're talking about, Styles."

"Sure you don't. I know what's waiting for me if I believe you and go to find Tony. They've sprung a big trap there for me. My men have already checked it all out. Nice try of killing me, but you knew better than to try, Marco.", Harry snarls.

Marco chuckles, patting the girl's thigh and she gets up, going inside. "You're already dead inside, Harry. I hoped that you would end in the accident, I wasn't happy to hear that you survived. But then I got to know that you weren't the same. You died the day that Reagen betrayed you."

Harry moved, sleek as a panther as he grabbed the knife the girl was using to slice up the apples, and he moved behind Marco, arm wrapping around his head in a headlock, as the other hand held the knife to his throat. "You do talk a lot, Marco. That's what always got you into trouble. Do you know what we do to traitors?"

Harry looks straight at y/n, and she watches in horror as Harry stabs the knife in his throat. He didn't so much as flinch. Harry's eyes burned into hers, and she imagined herself being in Marco's place.

Marco's men immediately pointed guns at Harry.

"Drop your weapons or you'll all have the same fate as poor Marco here.", Romania orders. She, Sania and Oliver pulled out their guns too.

Harry breaks eye contact with y/n finally, pushing Marco down from the couch so he falls on the floor, red coating the white tiles. He was dead. Harry storms out, looking like a lion who just had his prey.

y/n flinches as shots are fired, and Oliver ducks her head down, quickly pulling her outside. He drags her back to the car. Harry was washing his blood stained hands.

"Stay here.", Oliver tells her, leaning her against the car. He went to talk to Harry, giving him a towel to wipe his hands. Harry nods and says something to him before getting in his car.

He was a monster. 

y/n saw him kill two people in less than two hours. This was the same man who cuddled her when she had a nightmare, kissed her ever so sweetly, made love with her, treated her injury and held an umbrella for her so she wouldn't get wet in the rain.

He looked so fierce, and so angry, he could do anything. Only a matter of time before he slices her own throat. She wasn't very scared though. Maybe death will treat her better. 

She remains quiet as Oliver drives her somewhere else. The sky was painted in hues as the sun set. She leaned her head on the window and shut her tired eyes.

"Reagen! Stop it!", she hears Harry as she pushes him to the wall. Harry had a cut on his cheek, blood flowing down from his skin. "Why are you doing this? We have gold in our car, Reagen, we have to go. Why are you fighting me?"

"Shut up!" She punches him square in the jaw. Harry groans, bringing a hand to his nose. "Fuck. What happened? Did someone tell you something about me?"

Harry still didn't make a move as she kneed his abdomen, making him bend over with pain. "I-I trusted you Harry.", she whispers, tears falling out of her eyes. Another kick to his stomach makes him fall on his knees. "You're j-just a liar."

"I never lied to you about anything baby please-" His head falls to the side as she punches his jaw.

"I-I have to kill you, Harry.", she whispers, taking her gun out and pointing it at him.

"You h-have to?", Harry looks up at her, blood oozing out of his nose and his lips, but his eyes held hope. "That means someone is forcing you, isn't it? Reagen, we'll take them down. Who are you doing this for? I'm y-your partner, why would you kill me?"

She lets out a sob, pressing the gun to his throat as she kneels down to his height. "S-Stop talking."

"Put away the gun Reagen.", Harry whispers, taking her hands with his shaking ones. "I-It's okay, I've got you."

"I-I trusted you.", she repeats, and before she could pull the trigger, Harry flips her so she lies on the ground, and he disarms her gun, twisting her hands behind her back. "I didn't do anything, Reagen, please. Stop whatever you're doing."

"Let me go!", she screams, and Harry pushes her head down further, applying pressure to her lower back. "Not until you tell me what this is about. Who’s threatening you darling?”

"W-We're gonna die if we don't get out of here.", she strains out.

"What do you mean?"

"T-There's going to be an explosion, to kill you.", she cries, not being able to do it. She couldn’t just lead him to his death.

"Fuck.", Harry curses, and gets up, pulling her up. "Let's get out of here."

"N-No, I can't. You have to d-die or t-they'll.." She pushes Harry to the small stall, she was supposed to get him inside it.

"They'll what? Reagen, please. We'll figure it out. You don't want to do this.", Harry resists, and she gets dragged with him to the stall. There were people going after the gold in their car, she could hear them arguing and shots being fired.

"I love you, I'll kill whoever’s making you do this, sunshine, let's get out of here.", Harry croaks as she pushes his collar towards the entrance of the small stall.

"I-It's too late Harry, I'm sorry-"

Everything blew up. The bomb went off and everything went black.

__________________________________________

Taglist: @harrydeary, @harryswifee, @harrysbxtchh, @gracelovesethan

Let me know if you want me to add your names to my tag list! There will be a last chapter to Traitor-The Present and that's going to keep you at the edge of your seats as you read it. Please ask away if you have any questions about this fic, or anything else, I'd love to talk to you guys. Thanks for reading!

[shadowsandjasmine]

———

i’ll be honest. i never thought they’d get to the point of calling us anti-azriel for shipping him with the woman that he canonically wants to be with. so let’s dissect that a bit!

(i’m not going to even bother with the “his shadows hide from elain which is bad!!” take because at this point it’s obvious that is willful misinterpretation and we’ve beaten that dead horse long enough, i think.)

but let’s go through this point by point;

“want him with someone who has seen his darkness and can accept it”

did i miss the part where gw*n sees his darkness and accepts it? or where she really sees anything of him at all, especially when it feels like it’s pulling teeth for her to get him to open up to her in the first place?

Elain, on the other hand;

She seemed so small before him, so fragile compared to the scales of his fighting leathers, the breadth of his shoulders. The wings peeking over them.

But Elain did not balk from him, did not shy away as she nodded—just once.

Azriel, graceful as any courtier, offered her an arm. I couldn’t tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, “Beautiful.”

interesting, that she does not balk from him and even finds the scars on his hands from his childhood to be beautiful.

let’s not forget him giving her truth teller to defend herself with;

Azriel, still limping, merely nudged aside Cassian and extended another option.

“This is Truth-Teller,” he told her softly. “I won’t be using it today—so I want you to.”

“It has never failed me once,” the shadowsinger said, the midday sun devoured by the dark blade. “Some people say it is magic and will always strike true.” He gently took her hand and pressed the hilt of the legendary blade into it. “It will serve you well.”

Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hand still lingering on the hilt of the blade.

I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection … that knife.

doesn’t seem like she’s scared of him and his darkness at all in this scene, even when presented with his shadows and his weapon of choice while on a battlefield.

on to the next point

“someone who makes him feel relaxation and joy”

aww, this one’s easy!

“Az, this one’s for you.”

“Elain turned from where she’d been speaking to Nesta. “Oh, that’s from me.”

“I had Madja make it for me,” Elain explained. “It’s a powder to mix in with any drink.”

Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. “It’s for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often.”

Silence again.

Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed.

I’d never heard such a sound, deep and joyous.

Elain smiled again, ducking her head.

Azriel mastered himself enough to say, “Thank you.” I’d never seen his hazel eyes so bright, the hues of green amid the brown and gray like veins of emerald. “This will be invaluable.”

seems pretty joyous to me!

another one;

Elain sat silently at one of the wrought-iron tables, a cup of tea before her. Azriel was sprawled on the chaise longue across the gray stones, sunning his wings and reading.

how lovely and relaxing!

as for the last part;

“someone who sparks goodness in his heart”

while i would argue my previous examples show her sparking goodness in his heart, that’s more my opinion/interpretation rather than irrefutable fact. i’m going to take a guess this is in reference to that lil spark he feels in the bonus chapter, and while i disagree and interpret it differently i don’t mind giving this one a pass (even though it’s under pretty suspicious circumstances, i don’t mind letting y’all have this one, even though it still doesn’t make sense pertaining to gw*nriel, because it’s about the only thing y’all have going for this ship at this point.)

all this is to say; if you’re going to make so bold a claim as to say elriels are anti-azriel for shipping him with the woman he wants to be with, at least try to use examples that can’t be directly refuted with canon text from the books, especially when you hardly have any examples for your own ship. it does not help your case.

[aehtery]

please could you do gojo kink hcs like you did for nanami?

Satoru Gojo kink headcanons!!

[Authors note: Hii anonnie, tysm for ur request!!! I hope I did it justice!]

suguru ver here

nanami ver here

dom!character & gn!reader

cw: NSFW, choking, anal & spanking.

My requests are currently open, if you have any hc rqs please send them in! [Do read my rules though.]

18+ mdni, i will block you if you don't have your age on your profile.

BLINDFOLDS

Satoru Gojo wears that irritating blindfold constantly, hiding his mesmerizing eyes from the world, this annoyed you to hell and back in the first few weeks of your relationship.

However, this changed when he decided to use it for more.. intimate purposes, having you bent over the living room table while fucking the soul out of you, hearing a bit of rustling behind you between your whines.

You cocked your head back to the best of your abilities, seeing the white-haired man remove his blindfold.. seemingly struggling a bit causing you to giggle.

Once he had finally undone it, he swiftly tied it around your head instead, your eyesight now completely obstructed.

'Be good f'me, alright?' he mumbled out, suddenly speeding up his thrusts as he grips onto your hair, causing you to let out a loud whine.

ANAL

Gojo had to coax you heavily into this, you being too afraid to even think about taking him into your ass given his obscure length.

Eventually you did fold, he did promise to be gentle after all.

Yet here you were, legs resting atop his shoulders as he relentlessly pounded into you, his gaze stuck on your pretty face, savoring every loud cry you let out.

IMPACT PLAY (spanking.)

His go-to punishment for whenever you decide to act up or do something out of line, having you bent over his lap as his massive hands repeatedly strike your behind.

'Not gonna do that again?' Was a common sentence whenever you were getting punished, the only response you managed to muster up was a silent nuh-uh, followed by a loud whine as he struck yet again, humming as he did so.

Often times he would also feign compassion for what he was doing to you; 'Hm? Does it hurt? Want me to stop?' Honey-coated words capable of making even the strongest of people melt, you never learned your lesson and always eagerly nodded resulting in him reminding you of why this is even happening in the first place.

ASPHYXIATION (choking.)

Satoru Gojo has a massive thing for seeing his partner writhing under him, struggling to breathe and gripping onto his muscular arms.

'Ahh– You're fine, doing so good f'me..' Such cruel words given the fact he's ruthlessly rearranging your insides, fast-paced long thrusts as he attempts to stay focused on his hand clenching around that pretty neck of yours.

[autumnmobile12]

Villain Deku AU

Most of the time when I see the Villain Deku AU, he's often crazy, and while I do love that concept, I really want to see more sarcastic, cinnamon roll 'Moxxie from Helluva Boss' vibes.

Shigaraki: And that's the plan, any questions?

Deku: Uh, yeah, what was that?

Shigaraki: That wasn't a question, Deku.

Deku: That wasn't a plan.

...

Remember my League of Morons vs A Summer Camp post?

Deku can fix that.

Shigaraki: All right, smart ass, you think you can do better?

Deku: I actually can. Your first mistake is attacking the second night of the camp. Let them all have their summer camp fun. By the end of a single week of non-stop, hardcore training, they'll be exhausted and less likely to fight off a surprise attack efficiently. Now, before the camp begins, we'll need Spinner to drive out there. You're the only one of us who hasn't committed any significant crimes yet.

Spinner: Why is that important?

Deku: *smiling cheerfully* Because you're a civilian. The Wild, Wild Pussycats aren't going to think it's weird if a civilian drives up to their base asking for directions through the mountains. Just make sure you have nice, dead battery for your cell phone. Ooh, or you could park on the road with a low tank of gas and walk up to their base! That'll sell it.

Spinner: Sell what?

Deku: You're getting the exact coordinates of the building for Kurogiri, of course. Once we have that information, he can open warp gates beneath our target while he's asleep and let gravity do the rest.

Kurogiri: You suggest we strike at night?

Deku: Right. You want to kidnap Kaachan, so we do it covertly while everyone's asleep. After that, if you really want to send a message to the heroes, we can always seal up the doors and windows, then Mustard can gas the building. Or Dabi can burn it to the ground. Your choice. Painless death in their sleep or painful death by fire?

Dabi: ...holy fuck, that's insane.

All-For-One: *through the computer monitor* Intriguing proposition, Deku. I suppose you have a back-up plan in case something goes wrong.

Deku: About that, it's entirely possible one of the Pussycats or UA teachers will be on look-out and if that's the case, Eraserhead will be the biggest obstacle. Most of you rely extremely heavily on your Quirks. We'll have to work on that, but in our current time frame, doing so before the summer camp is not feasible. So we'll need to remove the one player who can nullify Quirks. That'll be Mr. Compress's job.

Compress: And how exactly will I do that?

Deku: You'll hit him with a surprise attack. Kurogiri will open a warp gate for you, and the second he does, then you strike. Simple.

Muscular: Yeah, and what about the rest of us?

Deku: You'll be on standby in case Compress fails or draws too much attention to himself. Now about our hostage situation...do we really want Kaachan?

Kurogiri: What do you mean?

Deku: Well I know Kaachan. Despite his violent tendencies, he does have a strong sense of justice and he won't be easy to corrupt. Might I suggest taking the heteromorph students instead? Given society's discrimination problem against what they call the 'non-human' types, they've already got a reason for dissatisfaction with how they've been treated since they were born. Oh, and we should take Yaoyorozu Momo, too.

All: ....why?

Deku: She's rich. Her Quirk is infinitely useful, of course, but even if we can't convince her to join the League, her family will pay us a hefty ransom to get her back. For the record, so will Endeavor if we abduct his youngest son, too. Or we could just ransom the oldest one if all else fails.

Dabi: How the fuck did you know?!

Deku: ...Todoroki Touya allegedly burned up in a massive forest fire and the body was never found. You have a fire Quirk and horrific, full body burn scars and are the age he would have been today. It's not rocket science.

Shigaraki: ...this brat just hijacked my entire plan.

...

He'd quickly become the Bilbo Baggins of LoV, the one who's solving all the problems right up until they get to the fight with Gigantomachia, at which point he says, "No, I'm not helping you this time. He's gotta respect you, this is your quest. I'm not the fighting type, so I'll just sit back and watch." Proceeds to sit quietly and take notes while observing the fight.

Dabi also wasn't helping out with that fight, so every now and then he checks in on their progress. He just shows up, mildly entertained and mostly annoyed by the collective ineptitude (not that he's any better,) and he walks up to Deku.

Dabi: So how many ways have you thought of to defeat him?

Both: *duck as Spinner goes flying over them*

Deku: ...47. How's that recruitment process going? Because you're starting to look way more useful as a bargaining chip for ransom.

Dabi: Says the guy who's just sitting here.

[manicpixiefelix]

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 17.

Summary: Learning little things, and big things, on these summer days. About each other, and how the world sees you all, in the garden, in the family room, in hindsight, in the study late at night.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: reader, felix, venetia, and oliver getting high in the garden together, some degrading language (kind of a given any time venetia and reader are in the same room at this point), heavy discussion about the reader's parental trauma/neglect

A/N: 5812 words. i think i cast venetia in a bad light sometimes which i feel bad about because i love her to pieces, and she and the reader love each other very much its just that she's gotten used to being arguably too verbally prickly with them in order to rile her brother up mostly, and she forgets (and maybe i do too) what that looks like from the outside. anyways, just for absolutely no reason whatsoever, have you ever looked up what different flowers mean in flower language? much to think about.

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

Venetia rolls her joints with little hearts at the end where the filter would go if it were simply a cigarette. It's a trick she learned during what she calls her 'gap year', what Elspeth calls her 'grand wine tour of Europe', and what Felix and Farleigh have recently started cruelly referring to as 'the year Venetia inspired a TV show'. While you do think it's mean, you also quietly agree that Billie Piper bares a striking resemblance to the young Catton woman in the ads you'd seen for Secret Diary of a Call Girl. Cruel implications is all you would say on the matter, not that either of the boys had been game enough to say it to her face.

But the thought floats through your mind in this moment, taking just a moment to admire the way she's expertly curled the paper before you bring it to your lips. She watches you with that smile that tends to intimidate others, sharp and mean and hungry, sharp gaze on your lips as you inhale, lips remaining sealed as you offer the next hit to Felix on your right. Venetia's focus follows the joint, straying from you to admire the way her brother takes a hit before he too passes it on to Oliver.

Felix muses to no-one in particular about how long it's been since he'd been out here to the Fairy Ring Garden, but only gets a response from Oliver, and a strained one at that as your guest holds smoke in his lungs as long as he's able, muttering that it's beautiful. Sitting on the grass in the morning sun, you squint at the iPod in your hands, trying to choose some music.

Venetia suggests Amy Winehouse. Felix calls his sister tragic under his breath, to which she flips him off. Still, it's the best suggestion you've got so far, so moments later, the singer's rich vocals warble out of the little, portable speaker you'd plugged into the headphone port.

"Good dog," Venetia says with a particularly mean sneer in her brother's direction as she takes the iPod out of your hands to place it on the grass, replacing it with the joint you'd all been passing around once more. Out of instinct, you place your free hand on Felix's chest, telling him that whatever reaction he was going to have really wasn't worth it. Venetia rolls her eyes, "boo, you whore," she snarks, laying back on the grass.

"I'm taking the rest of this as compensation for emotional damages," you hold the joint between two fingers, telling Felix to just roll another from the kit still sitting in the middle of the impromptu circle the four of you had made. Much to both yours and Felix's surprise, Oliver moves too quickly to let him, rolling with the air of someone who'd seen it done often without having done it himself.

Both you and Felix watch him for quite a while as he stumbles through the task like a baby deer taking it's first steps. Things are getting fuzzy and warm around the edges already, and you're caught up in watching the way Oliver's hands work.

"Why 'd you put up with her?" Oliver asks bluntly, frowning at his work. Venetia's indignant 'hey' goes otherwise ignored by the three of you and it takes a long moment for Felix to respond.

"She's my sister?" But in his confusion it sounds more like a question, talking about Venetia like she's not even there. But Oliver stops, and finally looks at him; he offers a rather sad looking, clearly unfinished joint, not as an offering but as a silent request for help. Felix takes it and tries not to look too endeared by Oliver's failed attempt as he fixes it.

"Not you, Felix," Oliver, after a moment, looks away from Felix, right to you, eyes wide and earnest as he watches you take a long draft of your own joint, now burned well down. His gaze makes his intentions clear, but still he offers, "she's mean to you too." Too, like he'd pointed out about Farleigh all those months ago.

"They like it," Venetia scoffs at the sky dismissively, but Oliver refuses to acknowledge her, even if Felix takes a moment to scowl at his sister and her constant, casual degradation of you. But a slow, amused smile spreads across your lips in the moments that follow, you can't help it.

"I love that you worry about me, Ollie," you sigh almost dreamily. Clearly not expecting that, you have the pleasure of watching Oliver blush with surprise, "you're so fucking pretty, Ollie," you add, though you're pretty sure you couldn't have stopped yourself from saying that out loud if you tried. He blushes harder, while Felix and Venetia both try and stifle their giggles; you take another hit, tilting your head just a little as you look at him, analysing him. Finally, when you ask his favourite flower out of seemingly nowhere, Oliver seems like he can't function under your gaze like this, and chooses to lay back in the grass, mirroring Venetia.

"Darling, you're such a lightweight," Felix snorts, speaking from the corner of his mouth as he holds the rerolled joint between his lips as if intending to light it. Before he can flick the lighter on, however, you take his chin gently in hand, guiding him to you, pressing the still-glowing end of your own joint to his unlit one for several long seconds, until his caught successfully.

When you and Felix join your companions in laying back on the grass, you do so together. His arm is around you, coaxing you to lay with your head on his chest, beside him under this perfectly blue sky.

"Why would you want to know something like that?" Oliver's voice reminds you he's there only moments later.

"Because their robot brain needs to know everything about everyone at all times," at least Venetia sounds fond when she chimes in, even if her words aren't exactly the most complimentary.

"You're lucky you're pretty, Vee," Felix cuts in with a casually cruel tone; you can feel the way he twitches with irritation, "because you have so few other redeeming features."

"I am pretty," Venetia agrees airily, pointedly ignoring his insult, "you're such a darling brother, Felix," she adds with painfully sarcastic faux-sweetness. Felix's only response was to sigh with incredibly loud disappointment, while you tried to stifle your giggling, caught up in the sensation of him tracing abstract patterns up and down your arms, and the idea that you could count on the ever-relaxed Felix Catton to always come to your defence. Had this been the case for years? Over a decade? Yes. Would it always make you a little bit giddy to think about? Almost definitely.

"And it's not like I'm wrong," Venetia finally broached the silence once more, "as if they don't already know our favourite flowers," she points out, before making a rather insistent noise. You bark at her command, it seems - those cheerful little yellow ones on the inner ring of flowers - dismissive, but the sound of her scoff has you correcting yourself, suddenly feeling a sting of shame and not quite knowing why.

"The chrysanthemums." The other three echo the name of the flower, one right after the other, all taking turns to turn it over in their minds and mouths as you almost burn your fingers finishing off your joint. As if trying to prove yourself, you add, interrupting them all, "Fi's are forget-me-nots."

Felix seems surprised to agree, like even he'd forgotten that detail about himself, or perhaps forgotten that he'd shared it with you, while Venetia's laughter has turned fond and knowing; it's a little condescending too, like she'd expected as much from you, but you try not to dwell on it. It's Oliver's voice that you focus on, endeared as he quietly murmurs the name of the flower to himself, like he can't quite believe something as soft as Felix having a favourite flower.

"Now I'm curious, Ollie," Felix finally speaks up, and you hear the grass shift beneath his head. He must be turning to look at the man in question, "do you have a favourite flower?" He pauses for a moment, "or is this one of our weird things, like wearing cuff-links to dinner every night?" He tries to play it off, but there's those notes of self consciousness that you're surprised he often gets when talking about tradition around Saltburn.

The grass near Oliver rustles, but your comfort overrides your intrigue to watch him.

"I think it's fox... Something?" Oliver says after a moment, "my favourite flower," he clarifies, "I haven't put much thought into it," he admits. You hum thoughtfully before asking if it could be foxglove. He confirms as much before going quiet.

There's a lull that follows in which Felix asks after Farleigh's whereabouts. Farleigh should be here, your hazy mind immediately chirps, you love Farleigh! Venetia sighs, sounding incredibly put-upon to be explaining that Farleigh was in the computer room, obsessing over his ex-boyfriend's MySpace updates that he'd missed lately. The ones about the tour.

"The guy from that Broadway show?" Felix asks with vague interest.

"No, his ex-girlfriend is touring with that Broadway musical, that he knows about, that he at least pretends he doesn't care about," Venetia corrected, "the ex-boyfriend is that one from that band, the one who wrote that song about him that got nominated for that award?"

"Grammy," you supplied automatically.

"Right," Venetia barely acknowledged you, "anyways, he's on that big, American tour with all those tragic, emo bands that are a big deal, which is apparently news to our dear cousin."

"Is that the one we were all talking about getting tickets to a few months ago?" Felix asks after a moment of silence, patting you on the arm as if his words weren't enough to get your attention. You hum in confirmation.

"I think so; The Warped Tour, we were going to make a vacation of it in LA this summer," you sighed rather forlornly at how the idea never got off the ground, "it was Anabel's idea -"

"- God, she's always been such a groupie for those kinds of boy-band-types -" Felix mutters derisively under his breath as if he hadn't spent the better part of two semesters inviting her to his dorm to listen to him play guitar knowing full well she'd practically be on her knees at the very suggestion. So of course you ignored that aside to finish your explanation.

"- except she turned around and said she hated the line up, when really she didn't want to admit her passport expired and she couldn't be bothered with the paperwork for a new one -"

"Actually," Oliver chimes in, though you're not sure if he was adding to the conversation, or if he'd even been listening, "when I was a boy I got to go to this botanical garden that had all these fancy flowers usually from the rest of the world." Oh. Flowers again? Sure. "There were these ones that got flown in from Australia, and I couldn't help thinking that they weren't worth it to fly all the way over here from Australia. Too long and curly and pointy; pretty, but not the kind that..." something about the way he speaks about the experience, about the flowers, it catches in your mind; Australian, long, curly, pointy, pretty, you tried to commit to memory, "that's worth spending your time on." He clears his throat and his tone seems almost forcibly lighter, "foxgloves are prettier, wouldn't you think? Yeah..."

Silence hangs between you all for several long, pensive moments.

"What colour were they?" You ask softly.

"Foxgloves?" Oliver knows you don't mean the foxgloves. He asks anyways. Everything always for the sake of the act, the pantomime of propriety.

"No."

"Red."

There is no more that needs to be said in the moment, but later you will be grateful when the details stick through the haze of your memories. Through the quiet, Venetia mentions how she misses the purple pincushions, how sweet and strange they were, and how cruel you have been to order the gardeners to prune the flowers before they can ever bloom.

The mere mention of those purple fucking pincushion flowers sours your mood; your one regret amongst your garden, a conceit to Felix that even he wishes he could take back knowing now how much you'd end up hating them. It's been a year since a single purple pincushion has bloomed in your garden, and you've been down here at least once a day all Summer, meticulous, pruning the bulbs yourself with much malice aforethought. Part of you is so filled with fury in this moment that you consider going over and uprooting the plants by hand right now, but Felix's arm around you, Felix's chest, solid and warm beneath your head, Felix's steady heartbeat in your ear, he grounds you.

For now you must simply remain content knowing that none of Eddie's precious, purple pincushions will ever bloom upon the grounds of the Saltburn Estate again.

"Venetia," expression pinched, you address her with far more coldness than you think you've ever directed towards her before, "shut up."

You don't remember when exactly during the day you asked Duncan to fetch you all the botany-related books in the house that made mention of plants native to the Asia-Pacific region. Knowing yourself, and knowing Duncan, however, you're not surprised by the small, neat stack you find the following evening on your desk in the lilac study.

While you fully intended on continuing your trend of wearing something provocative and continuing the pantomime of propriety with Oliver as the two of you had been doing each night for almost a week, Sir James raises the suggestion of a family movie night instead. Felix whines when Venetia and Farleigh champion the suggestion of a scary movie, and pouts when they bully Oliver into agreeing with them.

"Don't ask them," Farleigh groans when you're called upon for your opinion, "they're just going to say whatever Felix said but in a different voice," he rolled his eyes. You and Felix both choosing to flick little pieces of cantaloupe at him from your desserts does nothing but strengthen his argument.

Nobody thinks to ask Poor Dear Pamela her opinion, sitting at the end of the table, looking less than thrilled by the suggestion of The Ring, so everyone else decides that you and Felix are out numbered. On the way back to your rooms to change out of your dinner clothes, Oliver tries to apologise, and Felix tries to pretend that it's fine and he's just putting it on for Venetia and Farleigh and that he absolutely does not have the temperament of a rabbit when it came to anything scary. He is, of course, lying. But Oliver doesn't realise that just yet.

Venetia, always invigorated by a social triumph such as this, and never one to let a well-earned moment of joy pass her by, tucks her arm in Oliver's as the family meets back up in the living room. The moment is not missed by either you or Felix, who both glower at her bold display of affection as she ignores you and pulls Oliver onto the sofa. The large, plush armchair next to the sofa, with it's wide, low arms almost fits both you and Felix, though it's more of a token gesture than anything. No-one is surprised when he pulls you into his lap less than ten minutes after the film begins, arms around you and watching with his chin on your shoulder, ready to hide his face against your shoulder at a moment's notice.

When the film ends and the lights come back on, Venetia finally notices how you and her brother are sitting, and opens her mouth with malicious intent in her eyes.

"Watch it," you warned her before she could say any choice, disparaging remarks, "remember who's kept you off of What Not To Wear the past six years," you remind her; Felix, giving you a little squeeze, levels a smug smile at his older sister over your shoulder. Venetia closes her mouth, expression immediately turning.

"I can't believe they're still making that show," she spits, stalking from the room. Farleigh, finally getting up and stretching, follows her out at a far more relaxed pace.

"I can't believe they're still fighting Y/N to put you on it."

With those two having left, Elspeth and Pamela both give you curious looks, Elspeth asking if it was true. You confirmed as much with a blithe shrug, finally getting to your feet.

"Years ago one of the hosts was trying to track Ven down after seeing her on a red carpet and word got back to dad - or, well, his assistant at the time - and he remembered that I'm pretty close with the Cattons," you gave a humourless smile, offering Felix your hand to help him up from the sofa, which he gladly took, "however Ven was deeply offended when I asked her if she wanted to be on the show," Felix let himself chuckle at that, while Oliver was taking longer to stand, strange look on his face as he listened to you with surprisingly rapt attention.

"And they've been, what, continuing to ask after her even though she's said no?" Elspeth frowned, but you sighed, shaking your head.

"No, apparently Ven sent in a particularly rude letter despite me informing them of her refusal, and now dad's assistants seem to think I'm her agent and I get a call every time the show is threatening to add her photo to a montage of worst-dressed celebrities."

"Didn't she freak out when you refused to get an episode pulled when they actually did it?" Felix snorts, to which you rolled your eyes.

"That's why dad's assistants keep calling me, because of how she reacted to that episode."

You do feel a little bit bad for Venetia in this moment, when you see the resigned disappointment in both her parents' eyes at the story. The rest of you do finally filter out at this point, all heading back to your separate rooms. The walk is quiet for the most part, except for when Oliver, who'd been looking as though he was ruminating very hard on something, looks to you.

"Y/N, what does your dad do for work?"

You know and hate that Oliver sees the moment in which his question makes you uncomfortable, no matter how much you try to not let it, nor how desperately you try to hide it. Shrugging as you desperately shoot for casual, you sigh.

"I'm pretty sure your guess is as good as his," you say blithely, so casually evasive that Oliver doesn't really think to call you out on it before you get to your room. But after you and Felix wish him good night and head into your room, you close the door and slump against it with a heavy sigh. Felix lets you have this moment of respite to yourself, quietly moving about the room, getting ready for bed.

"Do you think they'll even show up?" Finally Felix breaks the silence, and you just make a vague noise, "to the dinners they told mum they'd be at," he clarified after a beat.

"Probably," you muttered, dejected at the prospect as your mind wanders to the couple who reluctantly created you.

"They asked about you," you admit to Felix quietly. From what you can hear, he stops, "mum, specifically," the memory of the phone call with your grandmother burned bright in your mind; it wasn't particularly recent, had happened at the start of your last semester, but you'd kept it to yourself for so long. You'd tried to disconnect yourself from it, tried to take solace in your grandmother's fury on your behalf, but you feel your face heat up with your own anguish, "asked how you were and if you were still living in 'that beautiful house with the Reubens and all those royal portraits'," voice trembling with both heartache and resentment, you slide down the door, tears welling even as you had your eyes squeezed tightly shut.

"Nan sounded so angry when she told me," you whispered, knees drawn up to your chest, "I've never heard her like that; she made it sound like she yelled at mum for- for- for ages -" you feel when Felix settles down beside you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. This is when you finally break, when you finally let yourself cry, whimpering, "but I bet mum just hung up on her the minute she felt like the fucking victim."

Felix isn't the one who needs to be apologising right now, but part of you knows you'll never get one from the people you crave it the most from. Still, he apologises with his lips against your temple. You know your best friend well enough to know his heart is breaking for you, and fuck you wish you had been strong enough to push back this breakdown, but you couldn't -

"She asked for you by name, Fi, full name," you sobbed curling up in his arms, burying yourself against him in your misery, "they haven't spoken to me or about me in eleven years; they haven't even said my name- they've acted like I don't exist to everyone - everyone - even to my own grandmother for eleven years!"

There's no easy sleep that can be found after a revelation like this, but Felix, even after he manages to drift off, is unwilling to let you go, unwilling to let you feel even the slightest bit alone for the rest of the night. It continues through the next day, even as you assure him you're fine, that you're glad for his comfort but that you've overcome the despair that had hit you so tremendously last night. It's not even much of a lie.

You spend the day with the family who'd taken you in without hesitation, and feel a swell of pride within you as you hear Oliver comment enthusiastically on the Palissy plates Sir James had always loved dearly. You yourself vaguely recall the plates getting a page to themselves in the very book you'd gifted Oliver about Saltburn, so you were glad to see him putting it to good use.

A little white lie about how deep Oliver's love for Palissy genuinely was really wouldn't hurt anyone. Honestly, it was worth it for just how brightly Sir James' eyes shined at one of Felix or Venetia's friends finally taking an interest in his antiquities like that.

But all day, Felix was never too far away. Not that he was incredibly obvious about it, at least not from anyone else's perspective, but you could tell. Quietly, you were grateful, even if you were still trying to convince the both of you that you were okay. Something about being able to just lean back and know he'll be there in times like this, times where you need him to be there but don't know how to say it out loud, is a comfort you never want to take for granted.

You want to thank him but it gets caught in your throat. But standing on his balcony as the sun sets, sharing a cigarette, you take his free hand for this one, quiet moment. Your voice is full of affection, full of thanks, full of love, too much for you to even look at him, focus kept on your hands, your fingers laced with his.

"My Felix."

"Always, love," he kisses your forehead.

That night, the only time you are without him is when you end up in the lilac study, wondering if Oliver will even show up after last night broke the tradition. Either way you'd use the time to continue to go through your botany books on the hunt for red, curly, pointy, Australian flowers. You keep seeing bottle brush but something in your heart said it wasn't right. However long you'd actually spend perusing the books tonight would depend on if you had company.

But eventually Oliver does choose to darken the doorway with that hungry-eyed stare you've never seen in the light of day, and you take your time with noticing him. Tonight you're lounging on the cream sofa in one of Felix's shirts, not even bothering to do the buttons up; you've pulled it mostly close for a pass at modesty, considering the only other thing you're wearing is underwear.

"'re you seducing me?" He sounds amused; you're surprised by how quickly he cuts to the chase, but you try not to let it show.

"Is it working yet?" You turn another page of your book before you finally look up, playing almost at boredom. Oliver, barely visible for the lamp light, the gallery beyond him nothing but shadows, huffs a laugh at that, and for reasons you can't quite understand, he drops his gaze. He breaks the moment, the rules of the game. Oliver doesn't look away, he never has before.

"You trying to get me in trouble?"

"Depends on what you consider to be trouble," your smile grows wider as you carefully set your book to the side, fixing your intrigued gaze upon Oliver properly, "perhaps I'm saving you from trouble." In a sense, the more nights you can get him to spend here with you, the less he's falling prey to Venetia's planting herself beneath his window you're sure she's doing, just as she had with Eddie a year ago. At least this time you've learned.

"I think you may very well be the trouble," Oliver looks up, just in time to see your wicked, delighted grin.

"Then I am definitely trying to get you in trouble," you don't even hesitate before firing off the inuendo, smiling wide and proud at your own quick wit. The sight of Oliver's very genuine smile and laugh catches you off guard too; it'd been so long since you'd seen it, you forgot how taken you were with him when he lit up like that. Then, as the laughter died down, Oliver walks in, he sits with you, lets you lean against him.

"You've been saying a lot of..." he hesitates, turning to you. Oliver wears a strange, lopsided smile, but from the corner of your eyes you see something reserved in his gaze as he takes in the sight of you in this moment, "generous things about me." He's too close to miss the way your breath catches. Venetia and Farleigh are dirty fucking snitches, "'s alright-" he tries, but there's clearly some kind of reservation in his voice as he staves off your stammered apology, "knew what I was getting into, didn't I?"

With Oliver's arm around you, you can't help but wonder aloud -

"Did you?"

"I thought I did," he admitted softly, and you tipped your head onto his shoulder, then you feel him shift, feel his lips on your forehead and voice soft, "I think I thought I'd be alright anywhere if I was with Felix." For reasons you try very hard not to think about in this moment, Oliver's words sting.

"Oh," it almost gets caught in your throat; your traitorous heart sinks in your chest for just a moment. Except Oliver gives you a squeeze, holds you tight as he seems to realise his mistake.

"Of course you're a given," it almost salvages the moment, and of course you feel as though you have to act like it does, but there's something tight and unfamiliar balling up in your chest. "Felix loves you," Oliver sounds almost wistful, words coming out more like a faint breath, but perhaps it's this strange new feeling in your chest that makes him harder to read in this moment.

"He loves you too, Ollie," you tell him, forcing yourself to inject some levity into the moment. This time it's you who moves, who turns your face to Oliver, forehead against his as you muster up the warmest smile you can manage, pressing against him, making a show of overwhelming affection, "we both do," of course, your tone says, obviously.

And Oliver actually giggles at that, so it must work. In the next moment he's pulled you into his lap. It's so easy for you to readjust, to fit in his arms, in his space, against him, like it's where you were always meant to be.

"Is that you talkin' or Felix talkin'?" Oliver asks finally when you've got your arms settled around his neck, "I don't mind, I'd just like to know."

"What 'd you mean?" You ask, curious about the wording and it's implications. Oliver visibly hesitates, though he seems more embarrassed for whatever was about to come out of his mouth than anything else.

"Speakin' with Venetia made me realise how little I actually know about you," Oliver says carefully. Almost immediately your expression sours, and a long, exasperated sigh is pulled from you, "she's a deeply confusing woman, isn't she?" He adds almost like an afterthought, and you barked a quiet laugh.

"That is a very kind way of putting it," you offered diplomatically after a beat, before letting go of Oliver and leaning yourself back against the arm of the sofa, considering your next words carefully. His hands come to rest on your stomach, but you're surprised when he does up two of the buttons of Felix's shirt, providing you with a little more modesty. Then, his hands come to rest on your stomach and thighs, warm and unmoving.

"You're a deeply confusing individual yourself," Oliver pushes softly, "when I think about you too much, I realise there's not much to think about, least nothin' you've told me," and you hum noncommittally, looking up at the ceiling. The next words that escape you are from a script you'd thought was long buried.

"Yeah but that's kind of the point; I'm not really meant to matter, or be looked at, or thought about -" the words seem to shock even you, eyes going wide as you look to Oliver. The intensity of his stare has your heart hammering against your ribs as you try to back pedal, "sorry- that's not- I mean- sorry, that's really not, anymore that is -" you didn't even believe that anymore, right? Your place in the world as impressed upon you by your own parents for the first ten years of your life. Surely having spent more time by now with Felix and the Cattons than you ever had with them was enough to rewrite a good deal of the cruel way in which you'd been hardwired.

Oliver reaches out, caressing your cheek with that confident smile he only ever seemed to wear when the sun couldn't see him. He tells you that you matter, with absolute sincerity. Then, expression lightening to something fond, even teasing, he warns you not to let Felix catch you talking like that, that his love for you was the kind that would have him throwing a parade just to prove that self-doubt wrong. It was a nice mental image, if only for a moment. You, Oliver, Felix, not necessarily a parade for you per say, but a mess of colour and joy and music in the city, together and happy and -

"I don't know if you'd want that," Oliver's grin is fading, and finally you sit back up, let yourself be wrapped up in him as he continues to trail his fingers across the edge of your face, down your throat, across your collar, "but then again Venetia thinks you don't even know how."

"How what?" Voice barely more than a whisper, you know he can feel how quick your heart's beating, his hand flat and warm on your sternum.

"How to want for yourself, 'least not anything outside of Felix," he keeps his gaze trained on his hand, heel of his palm pressing firmer just over your heart, "which is why I asked; you said you loved me, is that you or Felix talking when you say that?" And finally he looks at you. That tight, sharp feeling in your chest spikes when he meets your gaze. He looks so earnest, so open, so ready for either answer.

But you stand, leaving both yourself, and Oliver's lap cold, but hoping your smile is warm enough compensation. Except you can hear in his voice that he believes Venetia; she'd confirmed what he'd suspected, it's what he left unsaid the night you'd slept with each other. The only thing you wanted was so easily met; to be wanted, and seemingly content with nothing more outside of Felix. A contented sycophant, easy to please and happy to be used; you knew the world was happy with this being your place in it.

And the more you think about it, the more you think Oliver is too.

"Of course it's Felix," you tell him what you're almost certain he wants to hear. No need to scare him off with the expectations of your own feelings on his shoulders. Oliver watches you for a long moment, simply observing as you smile wider, and hope that it comes across as adoring, "which means of course I do love you too, that's a given, Ollie." The sharp discomfort is scraping at your ribs, more painful with each word, hollowing out your chest moment by moment, so you bid him good night, unable to bare the conversation for much longer.

"Just one favour, by the way, if you could," you add by the door. He makes a noise of intrigue, but you can't even bring yourself to look at him. It'll be another just person looking at a placeholder while they're waiting for Felix to be ready to love them back. Usually you don't mind. Usually it's enough and you can still enjoy their company and have your fun. But they aren't Oliver Quick, "just... please refrain from properly fooling around with Venetia? I know I sound like a hypocrite but," you take a deep breath, smiling wide enough that you don't even have to see Oliver, "it kind of goes back well beyond just you."

The next morning, stopping into the study before you head down to breakfast, you intend to collect the book you'd finally found those red flowers in. Top of your pile, you'd left it open on the very page. But you find that someone has turned the page. Scabious, in full bloom, mocking you, surely.

The botany book lay like a bitter seductress on your desk, left open, pages spread and staring up at you; purple fucking pincushions.