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marknee · 1 year

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bts fanfics i personally think shakespeare would lose his job over in the 1500’s.

chapter i. ✷ chapter ii.

KEYS ON SEVERITY OF SHAKESPEARE’S STATE:

( ✮ ) — poor sod is on the floor. perhaps it’s shock?

( ♬ ) — he’s jealous he didn’t write this himself. well, it sucks to suck, mate.

( ✎ ) — currently handing him a tissue. give him a second.

( ♛ ) — both him and i lost our jobs. her majesty is ruthless.

THE SHAKESPEARE SERIES.

WARNING: keep in mind, some of these authors are very strict on the rule that no minors should read their work if they’re underage, and i will honour that. but, at the end of the day, i am not your parent. so, there’s that. but heed my warning wisely. any smut or 18+ content is highlighted in bold.

NOTE: without further ado, this are the fanfics that i think would cause shakespeare to lose his job: the first of many essays. let’s bring the guy to his knees. metaphorically.

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( ♛ ) THE BODYGUARD — by @rmnamjoons

!! bodyguard!namjoon x reader | 62.9k !!

bodyguard au, romance, smut, fake dating, slight angst if you squint, lil bit of violence.

firstly, we’re starting off strong. i present to you, the mother of all namjoon fanfics. and she’s a bad bitch. tbh, i feel like this fic needs a moment of silence just to relish in her glory. soak it all up. it’s essential.

this fic genuinely had me gobsmacked at how incredibly written it is. it delves into every detail and no aspect of the story is left dry. you can tell the author put their everything into creating this world you just submerge into. and it shows.

the world building is amazing, the characters are so thought out, and it feels like you’re just on this adventure with them and discovering their story as it plots out.

also, the build up to the smut? out of this world. that’s one thing i love about this fic: it doesn’t feel rushed. everything is very spaced out and takes it’s sweet time, so when you get to the chocolately nut of the ferrero rocher, it’s like gold and well earned. and you can enjoy it.

honestly, it’s been months since i read this and i think about it every day. i did do some research (for my own peace of mind) and this fic is longer than the perks of being a wallflower. and is it better? yes. sorry not sorry.

this work of art deserves to be read and loved. and i rest my case, your honour.

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( ✎ ) UNTIL THE LAST STAR FALLS — by @minniepetals

!! underworld lords!bts x shield!reader | 44.4k !!

reincarnation!au, poly!au, gods!au, unrequited love, minor character death, car accidents.

quick question — for science — how does one happen to lose all their memories without any sustaining any internal or external injuries? because the things i would do to read this again for the first time. and i do not use those words lightly.

this was my first ever ‘longer’ written fic. and if i’m being honest, i never really liked to read them because i have the attention span of a goat. but this fic lures you in from the very start and time slips away like smoke. to say, it definitely left its mark on me.

it’s so brilliantly written and you feel connected to the characters both mind and soul. you want the best for them, you want to save them, you actually want to crawl into the pages (or screen) and fucking help them out. and that sold it to me, i think. just the sheer love for these characters.

i balled when i read the last few sentences. i didn’t want it to end. i think i finished it at three in the morning and sent a voice note of me crying to my friend. tmi? well, now on my christmas list is 7 hot boys in the underworld who would risk their everything for me. and i, them.

worth every single second. trust.

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( ♬ ) WARM THIS WINTER — by @jamaisjoons

!! seokjin x reader ft. ex-boyfriend jungkook | 51.6k !!

christmas!au, vacation!au, angst, fluff, smut (18+).

one thing about solaris, is she never misses. if i could, i think i’d recommend every fanfic she ever put out, but that’s too much effort for me when you could simply click her masterlist. so, i’ll wait here for you to do that. make sure you come back though.

love. sure, there are hundreds- perhaps, thousands of fics on this app about it. so what makes this one different? well, that’s just it. the sorrowful honesty of love. knowing when it’s over, and when it’s blooming in the midst.

i’ve never been in love, but frankly, this fic really spelt it out for me. the pain, the joy, the lingering memories after everything is said and done. it’s all there. and it really settles in your heart as you near the end.

this work pulled on every single heartstring of mine, stamped on them, and then proceeded to sew anew for the future to bring its own miseries. and i enjoyed it more than i can say (or type).

give this a read if you need just that bit of spark in your life. and that bit of sadness, too.

⠀

( ✮ ) STRIKE A CHORD — by @snackhobi

!! yoongi x reader | 15.8k !!

smut (18+), pianist!yoongi.

i don’t know what it is about this fic, but i come back to it whenever it pops up in my mind during my day. i’ll immediately unlock my phone and open this app, knowing i’ll feel better when the last word is read. and i feel content.

the atmosphere in this fic, if i may, feels as though you’re trapped in a warm, safe bubble with hazed music in the distance and soft light spilling through the thin layer of the bubble— not too dark, but enough to make you feel drowsy and peaceful. perhaps that’s why i return to it so often. i like how it makes me feel.

yoongi as an artist is already enough to make a person swoon, but as a pianist? i need a lie down. a cold towel to the head. just the whole characterisation of him in this fic needs a whole separate essay in itself, but you’ll understand my point when you read it.

forever a comfort fic, i think. and forever a comfort person. double whammy. case closed.

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( ✎ ) THE END — by @jimlingss

!! seokjin x reader | 31k !!

fifty percent fluff, fifty percent angst, loosely inspired by to all the boys i’ve loved before.

i say this with my whole chest: i have never underestimated the amount of emotions you can experience during a fanfic, until i read the end— both literally and metaphorically. shock horror.

this fanfic takes you through the adventure of the reader learning of what her future would commence if she were to marry either one of the six members. best part? she’s led through this rollercoaster journey by the ghost of kim seokjin.

first impression to such an offer? sign me the fuck up. i mean, what more could you ask for? however my final impression went a bit more on the lines of what the fuck just happened. very different ends of the spectrum, if you ask me.

i decided to hand both shakespeare and i a tissue after this great piece of art was finished because not only was i sobbing, he was on the floor knowing his romance play of pericles could never live up to such an incredible story.

this fic was a rollercoaster i would be delighted to get onto for another ride.

⠀

( ✎ ) A UNIVERSE TO YOU — by @readyplayerhobi

!! soulmate!hoseok x reader | 41k !!

fluff, angst, smut (18+), soulmates!au.

shakespeare once said (according to google), “it is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves,” and if this fic wasn’t a soulmate!au, i think i would’ve agreed in some sorts. but as it is, in fact, a soulmate!au, i’m obliged to disagree. it was destiny i read this fic, hand on heart.

i was not expecting this fic to hit me in the feels as hard as it did. as you can tell by the other works listed in this essay of recommendations, soulmate!au’s come up a lot. and with a lot of the same plots flying around on this app, it’s hard to make one stand out. but this author definitely has a gift.

everything was so richly created it made you feel full. of wonder, of love, and of want. it made you crave it for yourself. and that’s what i love about this fic. it just makes you feel… good. and with the unfortunates of life currently, it’s one to get your head stuck in for some temporary relief.

dream soulmate? he’s right here, people. just enjoy the story and all the feels that float around your body. go on.

⠀

( ✮ ) BUNNY — by @btssmutgalore

!! jungkook x fem!reader | 46.5k !!

non-idol!au, camboy!jk, friends to lovers, smut, angst.

let’s start here: never judge a book by its cover. a quote by george eliot going all the way back to the 19th century, and one i would use to describe this series as a whole, and my first impressions towards it.

this series, although unfinished (i think), has exceeded my expectations of a good smut outlined by a good plot. the best of both worlds, if you might. i came out of this series deeply in awe of the writing and the clear imagery the author manages to create within your own mind.

additionally, bunny was the beginning for me in learning about the world of camboys and camgirls(?), but i was greatly surprised. often, people are unkind to the new and stick to what they’re accustomed to, afraid of what the unknown might bring — me, included.

but, i’m glad i took the risk because i received three great things in return: a beautiful fanfic, knowledge of something that was foreign to me, and an author whose work i admire and shall be returning to in the future.

perhaps what i’m getting at is this could be a lesson to all. take a risk of something unknown because who knows? maybe something great will come out of it, and you’ll learn something. i did.

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( ♬ ) SEOUL UNDERGROUND — by @hunniejimins (ao3)

!! namjoon x jungkook x f!reader | 300k !!

mafia!au, enemies to lovers, violence, slow burn, love triangles, mob boss!namjoon, smut, heavy angst.

it’s ironic really. i found this work by someone else’s recommendation, and now i’m passing on the favour and recommending it to you, dear reader. it’s funny how the world works.

this work is the perfect balance of fantasy and reality and i love it. you’re hit with the beauty and clouded haze of love before being smacked back into the world at the realisation the very person you’re in love with, is a mafia mob boss and his killer mate. a real fun-sponge, i tell ‘ya.

nevertheless, this book kept me up early morning and late evening reading. it keeps you hooked, wanting, and hungry for more.

it’s nothing less of a masterpiece.

⠀

( ✎ ) CREAM AND SUGA — by @snackhobi

!! yoongi x barista f!reader | 14.8k !!

coffee shop!au, barista!au, fluff, nfsw (18+).

@snackhobi is mentioned twice on this list. though, can you blame me? it’s just a good thing shakespeare and this author don’t exist in the same century. it would be absolute carnage but nobody is ready for that conversation.

this author has a talent of portraying yoongi in the most irresistible way possible. i swear, i fall in love with him all over again reading. i wish you understood.

the whole misunderstanding section made me laugh because haven’t we all been there? the crushing pain and overwhelming guilt of having a crush on someone you can’t have. it’s all too real, seriously. been there, done that (unfortunately).

especially having the holidays just past, this is a perfect fic for a warm evening in, while the coldness of winter storms past outside. such a cute fic. love, love, love!

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( ♛ ) LOST AND FOUND — by @taleasnewastime

!! seokjin x reader | 21.2k !!

strangers to lovers, fluff, angst, sfw.

everyone says they have a fanfic that changed them, whether they’re being hyperbolic or brutally honest. and in my case, it’s a matter of both latter and former.

a couple months ago, i reached what i thought was rock bottom regarding my mental state and i took to my imagination to save me from the daily hell of my own mind. and this book was one i never really forgot about.

everything this author wrote within this fic was honest, heartfelt and very, very real. from the way you don’t just go up after going through something, but fall occasionally and sometimes feel as though you’re back at square one, to the way that there definitely is hope in the dark moments, and a light at the end of the tunnel. albeit a very faint one.

it comforted me in a way and reminded me of what i thought to be lost. fruitless, even. but sometimes, it’s books like these that open our eyes to things we’ve forgotten during times of turmoil: the simple goodness of life. and of people.

“if you’re going through hell, keep going.” winston churchill.

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( ✮ ) CANDYLAND — by @honeymoonjin

!! seokjin x reader ft. elf!jk | 13k !!

thriller, angst, fantasy, husband!jin, some cursing.

my mother is the biggest thriller fan. not that you needed to know that, but she is. and she’s not ashamed of it either. she’ll let you know if she’s reading a really good thriller in the moment. trust me, you’ll know.

me? not so much. i’m more of a sappy, hopeless romance, happy ending kind-of-sod — if you haven’t already guessed from this list. but there’s a reason this fic is on the list, too.

this fic genuinely kept me on the edge of my seat- uh, bed. the secrets of what darkness lingered behind the happy exterior of this adventure trip gripped my eyes to the screen, and lord, was it worth it.

throw a bit of husband!seokjin in there too? what more could you want! and written by @honeymoonjin? what a win.

let’s just say after this fic i added a few other thrillers to my basket. and happily reported to my mum i was a changed woman. okay, i’m exaggerating, but you get my point. it was incredible.

⠀

( ✎ ) LILY LUCK — by @gguksgalaxy

!! yoongi x reader | 10.7k !!

soulmates!au, angst, fluff if u squint, very slight implicit sexual content, anxiety.

although this fic may be the shortest on the list, do not underestimate its power. it is still as mighty as the others— perhaps, even more so.

i think the main emotion i want to hone into concerning this fanfic is compassion. it sinks into your bones and surrounds your entire being like a unwanted hug. and you can’t even stop it.

the author does a good job of making you feel intense compassion for the reader — who so desperately wants to meet her soulmate. which makes the ending that much more satisfying.

this is for those who’re lonely, need a pick up, or those who’re hopeless romantics and believe in love belonging to fate, such as myself.

“expectation is the root of all heartache.” william shakespeare. talking of the devil, he would definitely cry over this fic. either of bubbling emotions, or the fact he didn’t write it himself. sucks really. for him, not for me.

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oopsdevil · 5 months

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COD + AUs

which alternative universe they would fit in (f!reader)

SIMON GHOST RILEY + APOCALYPSE!AU

(full fic here)

in another lifetime, the worldwide zombie apocalypse saved simon's life. with no one to fight for, simon felt like himself for the first time. a world where hiding his face is the last of everyone else's worries, a world where he gets to be violent for a good reason against those flesh eating things, a world where he gets to live without needing anyone. that until he met you. if anyone told him he would end up surviving the streets of manchester with a girl half his height and a backpack bigger than her, whose first words to him where "what's with the skull?", he would have laughed. but here he is, watching you go crazy at an old, dark clothing store, forgetting for a second that the world around you is dying. simon didn't care before, but now reminds himself the reason he wants to keep going, is you.

SIMON GHOST RILEY + TATTOO ARTIST!AU

in another lifetime, simon gets to combine his favorite things and make a living out of it; pain, art and ink. gotta admit, it was intimidating meeting him for the first time. 6'2, quiet, blonde, heavy accent, covered in tattoos and attached to his black surgical mask. surprisingly, he is a very patient tattoo artist. the fact that he understands the significance behind your tattoo, or that you need breaks, or that he offers you water many times, makes you go back to him for more ink. you remember the first time he took his mask off, with a couple scars around his face and a killing smirk, simon asked you out on the best date he could think of; hanging around his station while he tattoos strangers. or how you call it now, years after that first date, saturday afternoon.

KYLE GAZ GARRICK + COLLEGE!AU

in another lifetime, kyle persuaded his talent in history knowledge. top of his class and with intact kindness (even after meeting very pretentious and competitive classmates), kyle offers his help to the girl in the library who doesn't seem to understand what the hell her book's about. you both knew, the second you locked eyes. not gonna lie, he makes your college experience better just by existing. yes, you stay up all night studying and fail to answer his calls. but he knows you, and he is outside your dorm at 3 a.m with the best pizza on campus. and yes, he will wait outside class when you take your final exam. and yes, he always knew he wanted to marry you, but waits until you get your degree to propose.

KYLE GAZ GARRICK + PRIVATE DETECTIVE!AU

in another lifetime, the sense of justice got to kyle in a cold, cheap apartment in the city, and working at night. he got really confused when a girl with kind eyes like yours approached him for his services. used to working with cheating men and sketchy women, kyle begged for you to drop whatever weird problem your boss got himself into, is really not you business, but he respects your contribution to the employees your boss is basically robbing. he really didn't expect to get so attached to a case, even less to a client. but there you are, sleeping on his bed after many nights protecting you, after you didn't drop it. you couldn't, and it made him fall in love with you even harder. he felt his heart go soft and his stiff shoulders drop when you graved his arm in your sleep. kyle always protected himself, but after finding you, he has new priorities. he also never considered himself impulsive, but look at him now, living in a new warm city with his lifesavings in a backpack and your hand in his.

JOHN SOAP MACTAVISH + SOULMATES!AU

in another lifetime, johnny checks the mark in everybody's wrist, hoping one will match his. his is rather particular, and earned his nickname since childhood, a small but obvious mark shaped as a soap. turning 30 (and hiding it with humor) soaps heart breaks a little more when he realizes he hasn't shared the first thirty years of his life with his soulmate, the one who at this point, john doubts even exists. he takes a walk around the streets of glasgow to clear his head, and walks into a coffee shop. he reaches for his cup in the multitude, and hears from the barista something he heard his entire life "your mark looks like a soap! how funny". his stomach dropped when a girl next to him goes "yeah, i know". it took him a second, but he looked. and yeah, he burned his hand with his coffee when he introduced himself, and got embarrassed when the entire staff realized a couple of soulmates met at their shop, but johnny's coffee never tasted better knowing that was his last birthday alone.

JOHN SOAP MACTAVISH + BOXER!AU

in another lifetime, a cocky boxer winked your way in the middle of his fight, and your face got red like the blood in his gloves. your friends warned you, what can an amateur boxer with a mohawk offer to you? surprisingly, a lot. when he's with you, he isn't the soap mactavish, just johnny. johnny, who looks handsome even with a black eye when he asks you out for breakfast. johnny, who is bulking and eats like an animal on your first date, but god, he is so charming. your johnny, who runs every morning and comes back with a hot coffee for you, and accepts the fact that sometimes you can't watch his fights. johnny, who thought fighting was all he was good for, but gained so much peace when he met you. with ups and downs, he is convinced that having a reason to fight for is the reason he won the championship.

KÖNIG + BODYGUARD!AU

in another lifetime, you yelped when you woke up to a 6'4 man in your kitchen, wearing a suit and a intimidating black hood. he is not surprised by the reaction. being the bodyguard for a girl who saw too much is not his ideal job, but you became so much more. so brave and witty. he is obsessed with the way you aren't scared of him in the slightest. könig swore to protect you by a contract, but it became his whole life. no longer a job, but his reason. the nicknames that slipped out when the situation became to much for you, and the time he saw a suspicious face and had a hand on your hip the rest of the night. but you falling asleep in his shoulder after a storm was it for him, he had to tell you he loved you. but könig's heart breaks when his contract is over and you are officially safe. after a long, heavy fight about your "relationship", könig confesses he can't sleep now that he is not around you, that he needs to make sure you are safe, forever. and fuck, the kiss he gave you. könig swore to protect you by a contract, but met the other half his cold heart never knew he needed.

KÖNIG + GROUP THERAPY!AU

in another lifetime, könig healed in so many ways. its hard to take this much time off work at mid thirties for any human, but imagine for a soldier. the only condition favor his superior asked was "please, go to therapy". very skeptical, könig tried a place where the attention wasn't always on him, group therapy. talking isn't his favorite, but he met amazing people, and yeah, he wasn't in the best place to meet the love of his life, but how can you not look at that beautiful girl who picks up her marine dad from therapy? after very hard months talking about things he swore to never think about again, you were there for him the entire time. könig healed in so many ways. könig cried for the first time in decades when he left you, thinking he is too broken for you. könig asked for forgiveness for the first time in decades when he got you back. könig giggled for the first time in decades when your dad caught you two making out in your porch (and boy, did your dad make him run home). könig went back to his job about a year later, and became the best soldier he ever was. the talk of the base is now how the colonel keeps recommending therapy to everyone.

JOHN PRICE + LAWYER FIRM!AU

in another lifetime, john price is a fucking asshole. or so everyone thinks. you have never felt this nervous about a job interview, and by that cold look mr. price gave you, you were sure he would hire another secretary. but maybe his eyes are just like that, because why else would you be taking the bus at 7 a.m in these fucking clothes? you hear it all over the building, mr. price can be difficult, serious, boring. but they never danced to head over heels by tears for tears in his office while barefoot. they never ate chinese food totally sleep deprived while going over a case over and over. john never grabbed their hand while walking the busy streets of london in that suit he looks way too good in. john's reputation really changed through the years. "he went soft when he met his sweetheart at work". he laughs, no one who ever saw him in a courtroom would call him soft.

JOHN PRICE + ARRANGED MARRIAGE!AU

in another lifetime... john is difficult. you get it. he is an important man, a business man. a man who has no time to meet women, specially a wife. everything in his life is a transaction, including his business partner's sister. you two got married at a small ceremony and he didn't even kiss you. it took him 5 months to sleep in the same bed as you, and thats when it all started. that night john made sure you knew he didn't hate you, he was trying to give you space. but you don't want space, you want to peel all those layers and really get to know him. now you know why he is the big man, one of a kind. who knew a man so brilliant and cold could be so... him. john. protective, faithful, touch-starved, sweet-tooth, the smiths enthusiast, twin girls dad, belly laugher john.

•

inspo and recommendations;

zombie!au: the last of us + the walking dead (joel miller + daryl dixon)

detective!au: jessica jones + the girl with the dragon tattoo (jessica's life style + the protagonists relationship development)

boxer!au: warrior + southpaw (tommy conlon + billy hope)

bodyguard!au: literally any frank castle and bucky barnes bodyguard fic you can find

lawyer!au: daredevil + suits (matt murdock's personal life style and the shows aesthetic + suits workplace and aesthetics)

arranged marriage!au: peaky blinders marriages and alfie solomons personality

#cod mw2 #cod hcs #cod mwii #cod #task force 141 #cod x reader #ghost x reader #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #john price #john soap mactavish #kyle garrick #cod au #cod fic

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lovebugism · 7 months

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Spoooooky request, what if the gang went to a haunted house and everyone made fun of reader for being scared, but Steve holds her hand and walks with her 👻

thanks for requesting angel! i switched it up a bit and did a sort of second part to this fic! you def don't have to read it but it'll give some context :D — you're still getting used to the world post-vecna, but it's easier with steve holding your hand

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

The haunted house off Fifth Street looks strangely familiar. Two stories, faded cornflower paint job, boarded up windows. It looks like a dollhouse from hell. It looks like the goddamn Creel House. It’s like some kind of sick joke.

It didn’t take Hawkins very long to recover from last spring. Mostly because it was just an earthquake to everyone else. No one died, nothing was ruined beyond repair. To the rest of the town, it was just a minor natural disaster — an inconvenience more than anything.

No one knows that a thirteen-year-old girl killed the monster trying to end the world. No one knows that the local freak nearly died saving a bunch of teenagers. No one knows that one song, one heavy metal guitar, and one good memory just narrowly saved your life.

It’s secrets all of you are gonna have to keep for the rest of your lives. It weighs you down accordingly.

“Am I crazy, or is that…?” Robin trails off, freckled chin tilted towards the velvet blue sky as she gapes at the artificially rotted house. It glows a sickly green color on the outside. The windows light up red every now and then, in time with the screams echoing from the upper story.

“Yeah,” Nancy answers, breathless and equally dumbfounded. “I think it is.”

A beat of silence falls over the group of you. It doesn’t feel so heavy with the surrounding chatter. The crowd continues to bustle around you on the street, falling over themselves with laughter and lingering fright. They have no idea the ghost story they grew up with nearly destroyed the world.

The bitter realization makes your chest ache. Steve seemingly understands this and gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. You wonder if he can feel the way you tremble.

Eddie scoffs a cynical laugh from the other side of you. A pink, sadistic grin tugs at his lips, almost as wild as his curls billowing in the autumn breeze. “It’s basically kismet then, huh?”

Steve shoots the boy a half-hearted glare, then deflates because he realizes he can’t really be mad about it. Those damn demobats might’ve taken a pound of flesh from his stomach, but it’s nowhere near the feast they made out of Munson.

“C’mon on, dude,” he murmurs quietly with a subtle nod down at you.

“What?” Eddie snorts. “If I don’t laugh bout it, I’ll start crying, so… Take your pick, man.”

Steve wants to tell him that there’s no shame in crying. That he’s done it plenty of times since the fall of ’84. He’s cried for you, for himself, for the kids who will never get to be kids again. He figures it’s better than letting it all build up until you damn near explode.

But now’s probably not the best time for that talk. Or any time, really. He’ll get you to get all serious and sappy with Eddie about that another time, just like you did for him.

“I’m gonna, uh— I’m gonna go get the tickets,” Jonathan murmurs with his usual Byers mumblings.

He wasn’t around for the whole Vecna ordeal — just the weird shit in California and the secret lair thing in Nevada. He feels like he can be a bit braver about the whole thing for the four of you.

Nancy brushes a kiss to the boy’s cheek before he leaves. She does that a lot now, with Jonathan and all the rest of you. She always feels like she needs to say a proper goodbye and I love you whenever someone leaves. Just in case the world decides to end again.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Steve mutters to you, gaze twinkling with sincerity but stern still. “You know that, right?”

He knows that you know, but he feels the need to say it anyway. Mostly because he knows you were already scared of most things before everything went to shit. You’ve always been delicate, tender, like an open wound. Now, you can’t step outside without shaking. You’re always shuddering with the distant fear that the curse might return and no one will be there to save you.

Steve knows this, too. That’s why he holds so ardently to your trembling hand. It’s a silent reminder that he’s there, that he won’t let anything happen to you again, that he’ll always be around to save you when you need him.

“Oh, my god,” Robin groans, eyes wide and head tilted back. “Leave her alone, Steve! She’s fine!”

You know she’s just trying to be supportive. She thinks Steve’s coddling you because you’re quiet — that he’s sticking up for you because he thinks you can’t stick up for yourself.

He is. And you can’t. But still, she’s only trying to help.

Steve looks to his left to glare at her. They seem to communicate telepathically for a moment. His eyes soften again when he turns back to you. His deep cinnamon gaze swims with a honeyed concern, a silent “Are you fine?”

You nod. “I’m okay,” you tell him, mustering a soft smile that wavers at the edges.

He doesn’t believe you, not completely, but he doesn’t press it any further.

Jonathan returns with the ticket stubs. They’re black and blood red. You take the one he gives you with hesitant, clammy hands. He seems to notice how terrified you are without you having to say a single goddamn word.

“I’m not a huge fan of these things either,” he confesses with a thin-lipped smile. A light-hearted way of telling you that you’re not alone in the fear you keep hidden (very poorly hidden, you figure).

You smile back at him, but it doesn’t quite meet your eyes.

Your fingers fidget with the paper stub — maybe a distraction for yourself or maybe to hide how you’re too anxious to stay still. Steve figures it’s a bit of both. ‘Cause he knows you too well and not a thing gets by him. There’s nothing about you that he doesn’t notice.

He turns to face you completely while everyone else gets their ticket. He keeps his wedged between his middle and forefinger as his hands curl around the outsides of your elbows. He’s serious, but still soft — gentle, but still firm.

“Babe—”

“Stevie,” you interject with a similar tone. “I’m okay.”

“You heard her, Stevie. She’s fine!” Robin retorts, curling her maroon-tinted lips into a smirk. She scoffs out a laugh and gestures up to the fake haunt across the street. “This shit is basically for kids. No one’s dying here, alright?”

You know what she’s doing. She’s sticking up for you and taking the piss out of her best friend at the same time. It’s nothing new — hell, it’s her favorite hobby. She’s got your back now the same way she had it in that house last spring.

But still, her words sting a little.

Because she’s right. This place is for kids. And you still feel a bit like you’re dying.

Steve knows this, too. He knows everything about you. Even the stuff you wish he didn’t.

His sneakers scuff against the pavement when he turns to Robin. His eyes narrow in a challenging squint as he crosses his arms over his chest. He doesn’t look quite as intimidating as usual in his fluffy, cable-knit sweater.

“Well, you know what? I’m scared, actually. I don’t wanna do it, okay? You got me, Rob.”

The girl grins something cynical. She shakes her head all slow, like she’s just caught him in some kind of lie. “I knew it. You little baby.”

Steve lets her tease him. It’s not like he isn’t used to it by now. He just rolls his eyes and bears it, lets her laugh about it with the rest of the group as they head towards the haunted house.

You watch with an attentive gaze while they head inside, flinching softly when you hear a thunderous boom and the sound of their screaming a second later. It leaves you secretly grateful that you hadn’t gone in behind them.

A wavering sigh tumbles from your lips, a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Steve exhales a gentle laugh from beside you. He smooths a wide palm up your spine and down again. He leans over to press the side of his hip against yours.

You cross your arms over your chest to make yourself as small as possible while you glance over at the boy beside you. You look at him so far beneath your lashes you’re basically peering at him from the corner of your eye.

“Thank you,” is all you say. It’s all you need to say.

Steve shrugs with a plush, crooked grin. “’S okay. I know you’re too sweet to say no, so…”

“I wanted to do it,” you confess, clearing your throat when your voice breaks.

“I know.”

“I guess I’m not… as used to everything as I thought.”

“I know,” Steve repeats. His hand curls around your waist and makes a home in the very center of it. He pulls you closer with the urge to melt into you. His brows raise, eyes sparkling when his smile widens. “But that’s why I’m here, though, right? We’re gonna get better together.”

You nod up at him, smiling more sincerely now.

Arms still crossed, your hands ball into fists to fight the urge to smooth a hand through his hair — to push back the rogue chestnut strands hanging over his forehead.

You hesitate, so he beats you to the draw. He swipes a golden hand over his head right before he leans down to kiss you.

He smacks a sweet peck to your smile. A bright light flashes with another thunderous boom a moment later. You flinch and pull back. You swear you hear Eddie screaming, “jesus fucking christ!” from the upper story. You forget to be scared.

You didn’t think it was possible. The whole getting better thing.

Steve makes you feel like could be.

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fic #st drabbles #stevie drabble #event: fictober!

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miyacults · 3 months

Note

begging on my hands and knees for a sequel to the daddy gojo fic but w sugu please please please

a/n: my dear nonnie this is less than u actually deserve but i hope it fuels the stsg daddy agenda im pushing here.

violet, blue, green, red to keep me out… i win.

( ft. suguru geto. )

Suguru’s nowhere near salvation—soul too damned to expect something else—yet his heart aches, breaks, and cries blood at the mere thought of not deserving you. He might have made a path down the cursed side of being a Sorcerer with Satoru next to him, making the best of his efforts on keeping you away from that devilish facade of his you haven’t seen yet, and although he’s the one to blame when you finally do, well—he can’t hide anymore. That’s the price that comes with being one of the Strongests.

< part one.

wc: 3k (proofread? probably not)

cw: [ 18+ explicit content minors dni ] technically this is part two of a gojo fic (linked above) but can be read individually so no biggie. fem reader (female bodied). teacher!suguru meaning he did not deflect here okay, we’re living a happy life away from the pain. first one was gojo action so this is for geto action only but poly satosugu is clearly implied, that’s the whole point of this basically hehe. daddy kink and daddy dynamic so be very careful! minimal to no prep. unprotected sex. p in v sex. mentions of blood. mentions of death. these two pamper reader too much so reader’s a little spoiled but in the good way. geto is a sweet pretty much. if i forgot anything to put here lemme know. enjoy! <3~

From time to time, Suguru wonders about his soul in genuine distress. Perhaps out of guilt and worry and only in moments like these—well past midnight with bloodied nuckles and heavy footsteps echoing through thin walls, dragging himself up the stairs of the palatial home he and Satoru bought together, with nothing but a familiar sense of anxiety building in his chest. But it’s not like his personal cup of remorse is filled with all the haunting thoughts of the bad things he has done and seen in his life thanks to his sinister line of work, or as if such awful thoughts could actually pull some strings within his untainted heart—because that’s far from being the case.

It’s just—it’s just who he is. The blessing and the curse of being a Sorcerer, of swallowing venom as a whole to save the lives of those who live an ignorant bliss.

White marble stains in scarlet as he approaches his bedroom in silence, mind reflecting on the fact that things should be good now, that everything’s fine and danger has been erased. Any man in love would have handled the situation in the exact way he did, wouldn’t they? He wonders about this, too, quite frequently, and he hates to admit that the question lingers on his brain for far too long for his own liking. It makes him dread the fact that he’s not doing a good job in taking care of you.

Yet it doesn’t matter, as Suguru already knows the answer better than anyone—and he doesn’t qualify much for the kind-hearted-person term (or so he’s been thinking since the last blossom of his youth and the tragedies that showered his naive teen years catches him off guard). But he really doesn’t want to either, because then that would mean that he can’t successfully protect the thing he cares about the most in the world. And he can’t let that happen.

But the look Satoru shoots at him as soon as he opens his bedroom door and finds him sitting comfortably in the wide couch—awaiting his return, as usual—has him breathing correctly again, mind turning back from unwanted ideas that bother him to no end.

“You got busy tonight, huh,” Satoru murmurs quietly, head lolling to the side while scanning his best friend’s tired figure.

“I took care of the scum,”

“And didn’t invite?”

Suguru’s lips turn into a devious smirk, heavy body finally falling between the many soft pillows his large bed has.

“Princess was so upset, needed you to stay by her side,” he resolves quite calmly, dried blood forcing a horrid contrast to his charming features. “If I’m not there to hold her, then you must,”

There’s a silent warning to his words, and Satoru doesn’t have to make an effort to catch it immediately. He already knows it by heart, he always has—he always will.

“She couldn’t stop crying for over an hour anyway,” he ends up retorting sharply instead, hoarse voice weighing a tone of suppressed anger. “Hope you gave the bastard a merciless death,”

How couldn’t he after what he did to you?

The day had started quiet, tranquil—the week itself abnormally peaceful for them. Maybe it was the fleeing summer coercing the unpleasant job of Sorcerers into days of calm, long work hours slowing down and making them believe they couldn’t relax a little bit. So they decided that it would be a good idea to take you to that new coffee shop in Shinjuku you were dying to go lately. And it was fine, of course, you were incredible happy to be outside the walls of home as you hold hands with both them in a sea of smiley people.

Until it wasn’t.

That desolated look on your face when you found yourself trapped into the arms of some Curse User seeking vengeance towards them—Suguru memorized it, because it caused him some undescribable pain he couldn’t possibly explain even if he tried to. His heart shattered into a million tiny pieces at the sight of gleaming tears drying in your cheeks and the sound of broken sobs, garbled whimpers of their names coming out of parted lips as you held onto nothing for balance, unable to stop yourself from breaking down at the fear, the horror, the trepidation it forced your body into a shock.

He couldn’t prevent what happened after they took you back and he tried to calm you down by placing you in Satoru’s lap, hurriedly murmuring something about making it right. It’s gonna be okay, princess, you’re gonna be okay. He won’t hurt you ever again. I’m here to protect you.

Maybe—just maybe—you heard the strained tone that bathed his words in that moment. And maybe you didn’t understand it right away, or maybe you didn’t want to.

Because Suguru has always been there to make things right, and nothing else has to matter when he and Satoru are there to protect you from the dangers of the world.

Like they have devoted themselves to do.

Suguru doesn’t remember the exact time you came into his life—he doesn’t really care to, because he knows you’ve pretty much always been there. He has no idea where do his memories begin or end at, but the teary-doe look of your face has been plaguing the tissues of his brain for so long now he can’t find himself to remember a time where it hasn’t been there.

He remembers his first day at Jujutsu High, during the spring of him being fifteen and you a little less than that, when he saw you adverting everyone’s gaze as you walked behind your mother (an assistant director, of all things) towards the offices in silence—floral dress wrinkly as you seated in some chair and patiently waited for your mom to finish off her work. No complaints but with a huge pout, bored to death.

He remembers the first time Satoru made you cry by telling you you were a weak nuisance (and how he shortly laughed at that), and he remembers the sickening feeling of nausea that infected his stomach shortly after—and he remembers how it didn’t disappeared until he handed you a beverage from the machines and you smiled at him like none of them ever harmed you in the first place.

He remembers you admiring your mother’s ivory dress the day she married principal Yaga, and he remembers the way he took your hand into his to give you a little bit of courage as you and Satoru walked down the aisle side by side, carrying the rings of the newlyweds.

He remembers the winter of Satoru’s eighteenth birthday, when the white-haired man accidentally dropped a box full of the school’s Christmas decorations over you, making you trip down the stairs and hurt your ankle. He remembers the tears that stained his posh pajama pants when you shouted at him—immediately, instantly—crying out his name and seeking comfort. He also remembers the way Satoru moved around you like a lighting bolt, reaching and lifting you up in his arms before Suguru could arrive. Soothing sweet words into your ear, kissing your cheek as he darted a glare in his direction.

He remembers that they both shared the same thought at that moment, even though it was never vocalized.

He remembers how you have always made him feel this sick—as if you’re infesting his body and refusing to let him cure himself off you at all. He remembers because the feeling doesn’t really stops, never has, probably never will, and he has now grow a little too familiar with the lingering explosion of things that do make him feel alive bubbling in his chest. He’s now used to you setting his soul on fire and making him sick.

But it’s special, nonetheless. A sugary sweet method of inflicting pain—as Satoru likes to say.

Because Suguru Geto is not exactly a good person by his own perspective—but he likes to believe he’s a good man to both you and Satoru, for selfish that could be. The kind of man that puts your safety and well-being on top of anything else, the one that ensures both of your happiness above his own. He’s the type of man that allows some of his darkest desires to die in a fire, following what he believes is the right thing to do.

“Sugu?”

He can hear it clearly, so vivid and bright and sweet it makes him terribly sick all of a sudden. Singsong and gently voice, coated in saccharine sugar echoing through his ears as the most enthralling tone wraps around his name like a prayer, the deliberately long uttering of ‘Sugu’ forcing the curves of his lips to fall abruptly, his heart stopping without notice and an invisible punch to the guts knocking all the air out of his lungs.

“‘Toru, Daddy, where are you?”

Suguru waits—pretends he doesn’t really care as your footsteps sound closer, closer, closer, and his posture maintains, seemingly calm, apparently unbothered, somewhat bored. But, oh, Satoru knows.

Satoru knows as he sits by his side on the obsidian sectional sofa, with legs crossed and arms splayed over the border, that his best friend’s mind is going on a haze, a brand new sense of anxiety crawling under his skin like a thousand bugs eating him alive. Satoru’s almost certain, he’s sure that if he gets a little closer, the violent sounds of Suguru’s heart pounding in alarming violence against his ribs would cause him physical pain. It puts him on edge; the mere thought of his best friend’s reaction at what’s about to happen now.

If it were him, he wouldn’t care. He hadn’t care in the past, actually. Satoru has always been more than happy to let you near the side of him that glows closer to hell than heaven itself.

But Suguru is different, he thinks.

“She’s supposed to be sleeping,” Suguru stares at him blankly, a hint of irritation in his voice. “It’s long past midnight, and she gets all cranky in the morning every time she stays up,”

“She was sleeping,” Satoru stands up, a sigh sliding past his lips while moving to the bedroom door. “But you already know how she gets if she wakes up for water and is all alone in bed. She gets all needy,”

Suguru raises an eyebrow.

“And who’s fault is that, huh?”

“It’s not polite to finger-point, Suguru.”

Both of them stay silent for a bit, carefully paying attention to your sounds. Suguru tuts his tongue when he hears you calling his name near the bathroom hall.

“I’m too bloodied for her to see me like this,”

“Clearly. Just stay there, lemme—,” Satoru scoffs, opening the door and then closing it behind him swiftly before you can catch a glimpse of the inside. “Oi, sweets, what do you think you’re doing out of bed?”

“But ‘Toru,” you complain in a hushed whine. “You left me alone, you know I don’t like that. It didn’t felt warm anymore,”

Suguru can’t see you—all he has is a muffled sound of your distorted voice, and he swears he knows exactly the way your lips are pushing the loveliest pout to ever exist, the way you’re looking at Satoru through sleepy eyelashes as you put your little complaint out.

And he also knows Satoru might have rolled his eyes playfully at the sight, pulling you closer to steal a kiss from your frowned lips.

“So needy, my baby is so needy,”

“Is Suguru not home yet?” you ask slowly, perhaps setting your groggy eyes into Satoru, staring at him with that enamored look they both know too well.

“Do you want Daddy?”

“Yeah, I do,” you snort.

“I’m your Daddy and I’m home, so,”

“I want both,” you giggle softly, so sweetly Suguru can feel his insides melt at the sound of your bubbling laugh.

He’s sure Satoru has you entangled in a hug, probably sneaking his hands all over your body and tickling your sides to pull a smile.

“Oh, your dumb Daddy, too. Alright. I dunno where he is, sweets,” Satoru states, as if.

“How mean, ‘Toru.”

“Excuse me? What did you just call me?”

“Mean. You’re lying to me.”

Suguru smirks at that. He stands up from the bed and walks towards the door to open it and find you both in the exact position he predicted.

And the look you shoot his way, the frown that forms in your face and your pretty features contract in sudden worry when his frame appears in front of you—it all has his heart pounding like crazy, he feels so loved, he feels so full of you. He feels insatiable.

“Oh,” you let out a little squeal as you shift from Satoru’s embrace and into his, “Sugu, you—”

“Don’t worry much about this, princess,” he mumbles, catching you inside his arms like the world depends on it. “I’m okay.”

But he’s sure you’re crying anyway.

And you don’t even stop to think about the blood. You don’t even care that he reeks of death and violence and Curses as you hold onto him for dear life, with arms that wrap tightly around him and pull him closer, closer, even closer; as lips caress the skin of his neck and little mewls echoe softly against his throat. Pants of I love you, I don’t want anything bad happening to you, I love you, fueling his mind like a bomb ready to launch.

Satoru laughs it off with a devious smile.

“Poor baby, you have her worried sick, Suguru,” he falsely chides. “Guess you gotta make it up to her.”

“Uh-huh,” Suguru nods. “My poor princess, do you want Daddy to make it alright?”

You nod in between heavy breaths, head still buried in his neck. Satoru gives a soft slap to your ass whimsically.

“So needy,” the Strongest murmurs, but he rapidly turns away and aims for the stairs. “I’m gonna go find a snack though, I’m starving. And then I’m gonna prepare a bath so you both can meet me there in a bit,”

Suguru nods.

“Go on. Let me take this princess to bed in the mean time, then we meet you in the bathtub,”

Suguru takes you to his large bed and places you in the middle of many soft pillows cooing in your ear to wash the concern out of you, but you’re reluctant. You cup his face and scan him looking for wounds, soon realizing the ugly streaks of scarlet that stain his face are, in fact, not his. But even then you don’t flinch. Instead, you let your hands wander all over his chest—desperate to pull him into you, to merge your bodies and never letting him go, never separated.

“Oh?” Suguru smiles at your scattered words. There’s still blinks of sleep tugging at your tired eyes, and he can’t help but fondle your face cautiously. “Are we merging with Satoru too, hm?”

You nod, sulky little look fighting sleepiness with all you got.

“Of course, Daddy, always with ‘Toru,”

“That’s right, princess. Always with Satoru,”

You inhale a deep breath. It’s easy for Suguru to notice every little thing about you, so he caught up on your train of thoughts before yourself. You were struggling with some words, biting your lip, eyelashes fluttering, thinking hard about something.

“What is it, baby?” He wonders carefully, hot breath colliding with your face, nose caressing the soft skin of your cheeks as he inhales your scent.

“Did you do a bad thing, Sugu?”

The question lingers on his brain for a few seconds, mind resisting on reflecting such thoughts. Yet his expression doesn’t change, he maintains serenity as the brush of skin above yours doesn’t stop. He holds you like a priced possession, like your mere existence could ever absolve the decaying all Sorcerers are damned to. Like you could kiss him and save him, like you could hug him and guard him—as if you could turn blood into holy water or death into salvation.

Maybe you can.

“Will you still love me if I did?” He asks, not dreading the answer.

“I will never stop loving you, Daddy,”

It ignites his body. Fire burns at his fists and he kisses you deeply, mouths meeting around a new heat, with tongues slipping and teeth clashing desperately. He has no intention of letting you catch a break, mouth falling to your neck where he bites at the sensitive skin and causes you to mewl.

“Ow, Suguru, that’s mean,” you grumble, but you part your bare legs anyway when his hands drop and brush at your thighs.

“Can’t help it, princess,” he press a chaste kiss to your lips once more. “You gonna let me play a little with this pretty pussy, yeah?” The words flee his throat in a raspy tone, and his hands don’t stop. He hikes up that oversized cashmere sweater, that can only belong to Satoru, barely above the line of your lacey black panties, enough for him graze it and get a glimpse of your puffy lips against the fabric, awaiting for him. Suguru traces a finger along your cunt, causing you to shiver at the cold digits. “How gorgeous,”

You pant. “But—The bath, Sugu,”

“He can wait a little,” he says into your mouth “Gonna make you feel really good, princess,” he breathes heavily, rocking his hip a little as a thumb strikes tenderly your cunt through your panties.

And he notices right away—in the way you shiver under his touch when he hovers completely above you, how a breathless sigh escapes past your parted lips and your fists grab a handful of his shoulders to attach yourself onto him and make his bulge nudge your cunt. He repeats the motion a few times, mouth leaving stray kisses in your neck and already throbbing cock humping your covered pussy through his pants.

“Sugu,” you whine at one particularly hard thrust of his hips, involuntary loud moan reverberating from the back of your throat. “‘Toru,”

“Shh, princess,”

Suguru is fast at parting your panties to the side, and he says there’s no need for prepping you tonight, says it’s gonna be real quick so you can both go back to Satoru—with his cock an angry shade of red as its released free from his trousers and it aims for your tiny hole fast, thrusting in one go. You’re whimpering at how fast it happens, cunt burning at the sudden intrusion since he is usually the one that takes his time to properly prep you to take his cock.

You guess he’s feeling off, so you happily comply if that’ll help him.

“Want you, Sugu, I need you,”

“Ah-ah, my good girl,” he grunts lightly, hands steadying you by the ass as he finally bottoms out. “Can you keep doing that for me? Can you be a good girl?”

A loud hiss vibrates through clenched teeth as you wrap your legs around his hips, head nodding many forms of yes as you inch closer to him in distress.

“That’s it baby, take it pretty,”

“H-Hurts a little, Sugu,” you murmur softly, eyes glued to where he’s slowly sliding in and out.

“I know princess,” he pants. “Give it a minute,” He’s practically caging you shortly after, thrusting up roughly as stretched out walls wrap him and suck him deeply. You’re not given a chance to recover or adjust properly, but the burning does start to fade away. Discomfort grows into pleasure and whimpers turn into soft moans as you bury your face on his neck and his hot breath collides sharply against the shell of your ear. “You’re so brave, my good girl. So pretty, my princess,”

You lift your hips to meet his thrusts, dainty fingers digging the flesh of his shoulders when he grunts. And it doesn’t take long for tears to collect in your eyes as heat floods your body once again, the familiar throb of your clit making you aggravate the hump of your hips so your swollen bud finds a little bit of friction. Suguru doesn’t fail to turn you into a needy mess, strong hand coming to cover the cries emitting from your mouth.

Muffled chants of Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, alongside his hoarse grunts and the lewd slap of skin against skin are the only sounds that fly the room when he cums—bruising fingers grasping your flesh harshly as he paints your walls white, and nearly immediately you’re creaming all over the tip of his sensitive cock firmly pressed against your cervix.

“Not leaving you baby,” he pants out. “Not leaving you at all.”

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agustdiv1ne · 6 months

Text

❦°｡9:51 p.m. (m) — choi soobin

genre: dark content, mdni!!! ageless blogs dni!!!! serial killer!soobin, fem!potential victim!reader, thriller, light smսt

wc: 3.5k

warnings: talks of murder (but none actually occur), slight coercion, oral (m receiving), drugging, violence, weapons, blood, general insanity....

this fic contains dark content. please heed all warnings above and read at your own discretion.

soobin’s favorite color is red.

he’s quite obsessed with it, really. his favorite shirt is a maroon button-up, his phone case has crimson details…he tries to look for it everywhere when he’s out and about, he surrounds himself with it at home. his favorite time of year is when the humid summer fades into mild autumn, as the change in seasons brings with it ruby leaves and dying trees — oh, death. in addition to the fiery shade, soobin finds himself enamored with eternal rest. it’s just oh so freeing, an end of a cycle, a path to purity. there is nothing more pure than the act of shedding the mortal skin to find a higher meaning — to be reborn.

soobin likes helping people be reborn just as much as he likes the color red.

but only people he finds worthy: the innocent ones, the ones who have placed too much trust in a world that is wrought with cruelty and had their hearts ripped out in the process. those are the ones who need saving, he thinks, and he finds great happiness, an overwhelming sense of pride, in being the one who can save them. it’s fate that brings him into these people’s lives, after all. something has chosen him to guide these people towards a greater path, to help the weak and downtrodden, the ones looking for betterment. there is no doubt in his mind that would cause him to think otherwise.

he adores helping people, but he wishes that they were just a bit more sympathetic to his cause. it’s not as if he enjoys hurting them, but his methods are the only way that any of this can be accomplished. no matter how much he tries to explain, they always scream and cry and beg to be let go, they always try to run away even if they’re bound…they don’t understand that all he wants to do is take them to a better place, yet they make it so difficult for him to be nice, to keep his composure. they always make him resort to extremes — but at the same time, he can't be too disappointed when they struggle.

blood is unequivocally beautiful to him, after all.

the city has faded into darkness since he’s begun unwinding from the work week. soobin’s office job provides him with little joy and nothing to look forward to, so he often spends his nights taking walks about the city. sometimes, he’s looking for something, someone; and sometimes, he simply allows the cool air to soothe him, wandering without a particular goal in mind, just living. breathing. being.

tonight, however, the former rings true. it’s been too long since he’s last aided a stranger. his previous succor occurred over three months ago, and the empty, unfulfilled feeling within his chest has chipped away at flesh and bone until nothing but a gaping cavern remains. it’s time to fill that aching void up again. he loves people, he loves helping them. it’s the only thing in his life that makes him feel truly alive. doing this is as vital as his need to breathe, to eat.

as he continues to stroll along the fog-shrouded road, he eventually spots his next potential project: you’re stumbling along the sidewalk in front of him, sobs ripping themselves from your throat so loud that he can hear them despite the significant distance separating himself from you. dressed in a creamy white coat and light wash jeans, you look like an angel from behind. he wonders what your face looks like, fresh with tears and red-rimmed eyes. where are you headed at this hour — alone, no less? more importantly, what’s gotten you so worked up? do you need his help? evidently, you might. it wouldn’t hurt to check on you.

quickening his pace, his long legs begin to close the distance between you and him. despite his intentionally loud footfalls, you do not seem to acknowledge his presence behind you as he approaches. you should be more careful; you never know who could take advantage of your vulnerable state, although he is grateful that he is the one to find you. he has only your best interests in mind, unlike the rest of the selfish population of this city. you don’t turn around even when he’s finally a mere few feet away, so lost in your own little world that its real counterpart has all but fallen away.

“miss?” he calls, deep voice ringing out into the chilled air. an air of friendly concern is apparent in his timbre, and it’s not a lie. he really is concerned for you. “are you okay?”

your entire form jolts, feet coming to a halt as you spin around to face him — and oh, you poor thing. streaks of watered down mascara mar your cheeks, eyes round and bloodshot and glinting with tears beneath the streetlight above. your hands come up to wipe under your eyes in a weak attempt of hiding your current emotional state. evidently, it fails, gray spreading further across your face as he blinks at you, wrinkles forming between his brows while he waits for a response.

“i’m— i’m fine, thank you.” while your words are meant to placate his worry, your quiet, warbly tone is less than convincing. he decides not to pry too hard — you look halfway ready to flee as it is — instead opting to remain in place as he drinks you in. indeed, you look like an angel. even with your puffy eyes and kicked puppy expression, he finds you lovely, your voice soft and delicate like wind chimes. the overwhelming urge to wrap you in his arms, to keep you safe from the world, flashes through his body. he pushes the feeling away. he can’t scare you away if he wants to learn more about your situation, whether or not you are worthwhile.

“are you sure?” he gently asks. for a second, your eyes blink up at him, less guarded now. soobin is well acquainted with his effect on women, the softness he holds in his voice and gaze, the openness of his features that must scream trust me. he can tell that he’s got you when you toy with your bottom lip for a moment, gaze trailing off towards the side of the side as you decide to continue this conversation with him. you easily could have walked away, or even told him to leave you alone, but you don’t. you don’t, and he feels his heart pound in excitement because of it.

staring down at his shoes, you murmur, “yeah, it’s just— it’s stupid, actually, nevermind.”

“well, it surely can’t be that stupid if it made you cry.” and your upset mask cracks just the slightest bit. so pretty. so, so pretty. your smile causes every single nerve ending in his body to tingle. a smile forms on his own face, and something in the air between you changes in that moment. a mutual understanding that you won’t be explaining the reason behind your tears right now, but some company would be nice.

a convenience store lies maybe twenty feet up in the road, and he falls into step with you once you ask if he’d like to grab something to eat there. he quickly learns that you prefer the veggie triangle kimbap over any other flavor and that you have a borderline strange obsession with banana milk, but he still hasn’t learned your name. as you continue talking, the realization eats at him. he likes you, he thinks that you’re sweet and kind — too kind for this world. you deserve better. if he continues to get close to you, maybe you’ll be understanding enough to accept what he’s trying to do here. soobin can be quite patient, after all, and you seem more than worth his time. however, his first step in this plan is to learn your name.

leaning against the counter next to him, you beat him to the punch. “i never got your name.”

fuck, your voice sings so prettily in his ears, and you look so shy, so demure just asking that. how sweet you are. all he wants to do is wrap you up and protect you, hold you close and shield you from everything terrible. instead, he swallows down a mouthful of ramen and gives you a charming smile. “soobin. choi soobin.”

“that’s a nice name,” you say, innocent eyes peering up at him. the redness has receded to the edges of your scleras, the puffiness of your face slightly calmed down. he’s made you feel better, but he knows he can eliminate all sorrow from your life, if you’ll allow him to.

“i’m sure yours is prettier,” he says, voice trailing off at the end. with a playful roll your eyes, you provide your own, and his grin grows wider. “ah, i was right.”

the flustered press of your lips is enough to tell him that his plan is working so far. your naivety is endearing to him. it makes everything easier — even better, when he asks to walk you home after citing potential danger, you accept without a single hint of doubt, eyes wide as you comment that you hadn’t thought of that. so sweet, so trusting. no one else will be able to hurt you now that he has set his sights on you.

“would you…like to come in?” you ask as soon as you reach your building, shyness returning in full force. hope drips from each word, your fingers nervously fidgeting at your sides. he can’t help but accept your offer. he’d honestly be a fool not to.

your apartment is a modest one-bedroom with a small living room, a living room in which he finds himself in as you busy yourself in the kitchen. trying not to stare too hard at your form over the small island that separates the two rooms, he busies himself with picking at a loose thread on the couch. for some reason, nerves eat at his stomach, festering there like a swarm of wasps. he’s never had someone invite him into their home so early on. this is new, different — he’s not sure what to do with himself.

“could i offer you some water? or tea?” you call. he swivels his head to find you looking at him while waving a teapot in the air. the moment you realize what you are doing, you drop your arm, your free hand coming up to scratch your cheek.

holding back a chuckle, he offers a kind nod. “tea sounds wonderful, thank you.”

this seems like the correct choice, if your wide grin is anything to go by. would you look the same if he tells you what he plans with you? would you understand? he’s not sure yet, but he will learn with time. so far, you’re his favorite, even if he’s known you for less than an hour. you are the closest to being untainted. perhaps it’s a selfish desire, but keeping you around for a bit longer than the others wouldn’t be so bad. he ponders if he should just take you with him now just as he did with all the others. he’s got a packet of pills in his trouser pocket waiting to be used, it would almost be too easy to slip one into your drink given your acute lack of awareness. at the same time, he has learned from his past mistakes; patience will bring his plan to fruition. this is just the beginning.

a mug of tea appears before his eyes, and he swallows down a flinch before he’s reaching out to take it from you. your fingers just barely brush against his, nearly making him drop the mug. your skin — it’s soft, warm. he wants to feel it more, have his palms run over every one of your curves, feel your chest against his as he takes you…he swats those thoughts away as he shifts uncomfortably.

silence fills the space between you, a blanket over his head meant to suffocate him. he takes a sip of the steaming hot tea, a dark, cloudy amber in a pompompurin mug that just seems so you. the tea itself blooms sweet on his tongue, notes of honey and lavender coating his taste buds, his muscles relaxing into the couch as he continues to sip the liquid, eventually downing the rest. he glances over to find that you have shrunk into yourself, sock-clad feet curled up onto the couch while your hands grip your own mug close your chest.

“i’m going to go to the bathroom, i’ll be right back,” you say suddenly, placing your mug on the coffee table before scurrying off. the bathroom door slams shut, the lock clicking immediately after, leaving him alone. he stares at your mug. the item taunts him. come on, put something in there. mix it up and take you now.

he shouldn’t. he should be patient, but the opportunity is right here for him to take. you’ll be understanding once he explains everything to you. you’ll be different from the others.

so he slips a pill from his pocket and drops it into your mug, watching the capsule dissolve into the transparent liquid. the slight change in color and opacity doesn’t worry him — it’s not as if your perception is that acute. when the sound of your approaching footsteps forces him back to his side of the couch, his heart begins to pound against his ribcage so hard that he fears it may burst. keep it together. you won’t notice.

instead of plopping onto your original seat, you make the bold decision to sit down right next to him, facing him. biting your lip, your eyes flit to the floor, then back to him. an invisible magnet pulls you closer. once mere millimeters separate your faces, he pauses, staring down at the way your chest stutters, so close to his own. he should stop this — he just met you, but the way you trust him so easily is doing things to him that he’s never felt before. this twisting feeling in his stomach…it’s so sweet, and you’re just so cute. he wants to protect you. he wants to use you.

it’s unclear who commits first, but his lips are pressed against yours. softness is the first thing that he registers, then the uncertainty that freezes you against him. a hand moves up to cup your jaw, holding you close to him as he moves his lips gently against your own. slowly, you begin to reciprocate, lips parting to allow his tongue to slip into your mouth. slow, soft...it’s everything soobin has wished for in his lonely life. this kind of connection, this gentle intimacy that is now filling that empty hole in his heart that has always yearned to be filled. he has kissed others before, yes, but he’s never felt like this.

the feeling is quickly becoming too much for him, especially now that your hands are sliding their way towards his waistband. pulling away, he grabs your hands, holding them as holds your gaze. “you don’t have to. i know we just met—”

“but i want to,” you pout, wide, pitiful gaze burning through his as you slip off the couch and onto the wooden floor, your hands leaving his to rest on his thighs. “don’t you want it too?”

he shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, but the sight of you on your knees between his thighs with a cute little pout gracing your lips makes him wonder what you would look like with his cock shoved down your throat, tears streaming down your face as you choke on him.

pawing at his thighs, you plead, “please, soobin? you helped me feel better, i want to make you feel good too. please?”

you might just start crying if he doesn’t let you — and he would hate to be the reason why, so he gives in with a nod, helping you unzip his trousers and shove his boxers down his thighs, revealing his hard dick to your eager eyes. your hand looks so small compared to him, barely able to wrap around his girth as you begin to pump him, lips wrapping around his cockhead and your tongue slipping into his slit to taste the salty precum gathered there. he groans, head thrown back against the couch as he resists thrusting up into your mouth.

“so good, fuck,” he groans, his voice trailing off into a moan as the pleasure begins to build, your hums against his cock sending him straight towards euphoria. suddenly, your head lurches forward, taking as much of him into your mouth as you can, your hand pumping what you are unable to fit. his eyes roll back into his head, staccato moans leaving his lips while you bob your head up and down, your throat contracting around his cockhead before you’re pulling yourself off with a cough.

he tries to move his hand to caress your hair, to give you some semblance of comfort, only to realize that he can’t. his arms won’t move, nor will his head, or his legs — or anything. wait, what the fuck? what’s going on with him? all he can do is sit there and watch as you continue to pump him faster, licking up his precum at his tip until he cums in weak spurts into your mouth. he can’t even cant his hips, and he can barely feel his orgasm wash over him, numbness spreading across his body. humming, your eyes flutter shut as you swallow his release. when you look up at him again, the glint within them has changed. darker, cunning.

“i know your secret.”

when he doesn’t respond — his mouth won’t move — your smile grows sharp, predatory. moving to stand between his legs, you lean down to his level, brow raising when his attempt to speak results in unintelligible groans. “aw, cat got your tongue? that’s fine, makes all of this easier for me.”

all of this? what the hell are you talking about? why can’t he move?

you seem to recognize the confusion swirling in his umber irises, booping his nose with a manicured finger before you’re turning around and reaching for your mug. inspecting it’s contents, you take in the cloudy liquid before your focus returns back to him, amusement apparent in your tone. “you tried to drug me! that’s so cute!”

setting the mug back down, you slink back over to him.

“y’know, soobin, i thought you’d be smarter than this,” you pout, sitting next to him and throwing your legs over his lap. no matter how much he wills himself to move, he’s frozen. all feeling has left his body, not even the sensation of your nail gliding along his cheek registers. “drank all that tea and didn’t even notice, you poor thing. can’t speak, can’t move, whatever are you going to do now? can’t kill me like the rest of them now…”

oh, fuck. you know — you’ve known this entire time. you’ve lured him into your trap, and he fucking fell for all of it, didn’t even question why you invited him in so easily, why you weren’t worried about a complete, potentially dangerous stranger being in your home. he couldn’t have planned for this outcome if he tried.

“you got too cocky, baby,” you giggle, right hand reaching between your legs and into the cushions, coming up with a large knife. “never thought someone like me would pull a stunt like this, did ya? isn’t it exciting being the victim for once? i just love the thrill.”

“and you know what else i like, binnie?” you coo, tracing the silver blade against his jawline. muscles melted into the couch, soobin can only emit fearful grunts as you dig in and break skin. blood bubbles up to the surface of the wound before spilling down his neck. fuck, you cut him deep, but he can barely feel the pain.

a snap of your fingers guides his attention back to you. “i love red, just like you.”

swiping a finger through the blood dripping down his neck, you bring it up to your lips and suck, moaning at the iron-rich taste. you’re the farthest thing from the innocent lamb he painted you as. you’re fucking psychotic, pupils dilated and grin so wide your lips may split at the corners as you climb into his lap, knife now pressed against his throat. he’s completely at your mercy — your prey. cornered, nowhere to go.

“i think we’re gonna have lots of fun together,” you coo, pressing a venom-laced kiss against his lips, the bloody blade cutting into him once more. “don’t you think so too?”

masterlist

#txt smut #soobin smut #txt x reader #soobin x reader #txt x you #txt x y/n #soobin scenarios #txt scenarios #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #soobin hard hours #soobin hard thoughts #agust.nsfw #💌 — soob

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bardic-inspo · 2 months

Text

Blood in the Mortar

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Vampire Bride Tav

Rating: Explicit (Smut!!)

Key Tags: Vampire/Blood Bride Lore, Service Dom Astarion, Sexy Use of Telepathic Bond, Evil Power Couple, Torturing a Captive, Choking, Biting/Blood, Masquerade, PIV, Cunnilingus

Summary:

“I wanted to see you right where you belong,” Astarion whispers, the sound as sheer as the lace he wrecked. “So beautiful on your throne.” It started on Naomi’s knees, this new life of passion and pleasure unbridled. Astarion didn’t know he’d be hers, just as much as she’d be his, when he bit her thrice, bled her dry, and gave her just one drop of his ascended blood.

Cross-posting from my AO3 account. This is my first BG3 smut fic. If you like it, I'd love to know! Click here if you'd prefer to read on AO3.

“To whom can a vampire bare its soul and admit its fears? From whom can it receive consolation for the past, comfort for the present, and hope for the future?...The vampire is drawn emotionally to a mortal and decides, because of the strength of this emotion, to make her his bride…The happiness of the vampire becomes tied up with the prospective bride, and its well-being depends on hers.”

-Van Richten’s Monster Hunter’s Compendium, Vol 1

Astarion twists the stem of his wine glass, idly tilting the contents within. His assorted guests warp in the bulb of it, swaying between rosy red and clear crystal.

A gravelly voice interrupts his game. “Quite the menagerie you’ve gathered here, Lord Ancunín.”

Astarion doesn’t bother to stifle his sigh. There’s no mistaking him as the lord of the house, even masked as he is. Astarion’s ensemble this evening is pitch dark velvet swirled in crimson thread and snaking silver. His mask glimmers in the same shade of scaled metal, set to complement the curve of his cheekbones, with only miniscule, twinkling rubies encrusting the edges. Nothing meant to outshine the searing color of his eyes. The mask might be silver, but it’s a red dragon Astarion embodies for this particular masquerade.

This party’s for more monstrous company, after all.

No expense was spared for the ‘menagerie’. A grand piano, polished to an opalescent white, plays under spectral hands at the heart of the ballroom alongside a string quartet. A starlit Baldur’s Gate glistens outside the windowed east wall, framed in gold drapery to match the shimmering flecks in the white marble floor. Lavish wine and better blood pour freely; his guests have only to lift their empty glasses to have them brimming again.

Even with all the ornate masks, in the shapes of creatures exotic or fierce, none of the fangs in the room are fake. All the titles are, save for his and his consort’s. Astarion’s lip curls with distaste.

This masquerade was meant for nobility of a supernatural stature. Vampires, warlocks, lycanthropes. Those who lead them. But what his doors received were lowly spawn. Servants sent in their masters’ stead to get just a glimpse of the one and only vampire ascendant, and then to scurry back and tell tale of him. Cowards.

There’s only one human here who’s just human.

Astarion offers him a well-practiced shrug of a laugh. “I do hope you don’t feel out of place among us more…colorful sorts. Lord…? Forgive me, what was it again?”

“Isn’t the point of a masquerade not to bother with such trivialities?” The stranger chuckles hastily. “In any case, I am not lord. Only a humble apprentice to the most renowned wizard Waterdeep has to offer.”

Ah, yes. The invitation was sent for the newly named archmage, filling the god-shaped hole Gale left behind in the wake of his own ascension. Astarion’s eyes flit over the lanky, unkempt apprentice who addresses him instead.

His hair hangs in honey blonde waves past his shoulders, like the mane of the beast he seeks to imitate. It’s a lion’s mask the apprentice wears. Perhaps a poor attempt at humor. The effort would’ve been better paid towards penance, and a sheep’s head would’ve suited him far better than the guise of a predator. Anything would’ve been more fitting than the baggy business he calls a shirt.

Astarion clicks his tongue. “That still doesn’t give me a thing to call you.”

“I am Enrik, if it pleases you.”

“No surname?” Astarion asks with an arched brow.

“None of consequence, my lord,” he replies with the uneasy edge Astarion’s entitled to.

“Well, Enrik, I hope you find our masquerade pleasing.”

“It has certainly been enlightening thus far.”

“And how’s that?” Astarion asks brusquely. He never did like wizards.

He doesn’t like the look on this one’s face, either. The lion that should be a sheep surveys the room with a pitying expression, like he’s watching some petty amusement. A zoo. Gods, or a circus. And what would that make him, Astarion the Ascended, if not a clown? Astarion’s fingers tighten on the stem of his glass, an imperceptible change to any eyes not keen enough to catch it.

“Why, it’s been only a year since your ascension,” Enrik says. “You’ve accomplished much in short order. It’s quite remarkable.”

Astarion’s nose twitches. Praise. From cattle. How quaint, and ill-fitting.

His expression abruptly eases. A refined, familiar scent carries to him from across the crowd. A note of lavender, twined with his favored bergamot.

“And you’ve already enthralled some truly magnificent specimens,” Enrik carries on, oblivious. “Take this fine creature, for example. What a pretty thing to have strung along on your leash.”

Astarion feels her before he sees her. She wipes a palm down the sheath of her skirt, smoothing out some infinitesimal wrinkle. The music smooths, too. With that one simple motion, it bends and blends into something deeper, fuller. All of the lesser spawn of Astarion’s making straighten their slouched shoulders.

He feels the tug of her in his head, and then the cool stroke of her hand to his back, the soothing feel of her fingers combing through his hair, and the gentle scrape of her nails against his scalp. It takes a concerted effort to suppress the pleased groan that bubbles in the back of his throat. All this from across the room, without so much as a glance, let alone a touch.

Hello, darling, he thinks, and she hears it just as if he’d spoken aloud. Aren’t you ravishing?

Her skirt is snow-white crepe that clings taut to her shapely hips before fanning out at her feet. It’s the same lovely shade of ivory as her hair, twisted in a braid like a crown around her head, with the rest falling sleek down her back. A black lace bodice sets just off her lilac shoulders, with gloves to match. Floral stitching vees down from her waistline. The same embellishments decorate the skirt’s edges.

His dark consort, his Naomi once-Tavriel-now-Ancunín, weaves leisurely through the partygoers. The thorny prickle of Astarion’s irritation inspires a little lift at the corner of her mouth.

I’ve been called so much worse, she thinks. It sounds suspiciously like a laugh. I think you called me ‘creature’ just yesterday. Should I not have taken it as a compliment?

Astarion’s scowls. He should be grateful to have your name in his mouth. To even set foot in our home. Let alone speak to me like that. Or at all.

But think of how much fun he’s started, she answers, chipper. You were so bored before.

She’s not wrong.

If they’re not the guests you wanted, Naomi continues, cool and calm, then they’re intruders, aren’t they? Whatever should we do with them?

A slow smile steals its way onto his lips. Just when I thought I couldn’t love you more. Miracles never cease.

“Do you know what they call her?” Astarion says aloud, to worse company. “Other than mine, of course.”

“She was the hero of Baldur’s Gate.”

Astarion waves a manicured hand irritably, as if swatting away a stray fly. “One of them, true, but isn’t there another name that comes to mind?”

The man swallows thickly. “The Siren of the Sword Coast.”

"And yet here you are," Astarion sneers, "ready to dash yourself upon the rocks like a little ship blown astray. I can hardly blame you."

His eyes soften, just past the shoulder of Enrik’s gaudy doublet. In the low flutter of candlelight, he spies the sheen of amethysts set among delicate feathers wrought from silver. He'd had the mask made for Naomi with the likeness of a swan in mind.

Still, as pretty as it is, his favorite gleam is those eyes. She still kept the kiss of violet in them, even in death. It mingles with the red in her irises, like a rich, dark wine.

"She is captivating, isn’t she?" Astarion sighs, a faint smile grazing his lips. "My beautiful bride."

“Forgive me my lord, I meant no offense,” Enrik says, eyes down with deference. “I’m merely an admirer of fine things. And a messenger for my fine master.”

“Do your duty, then,” Astarion says tersely, his smile evaporating.

“My master understands that power is the only currency that holds any weight for men of your making. He has much of it to share, if you're likewise inclined.”

Astarion laughs coldly. “And what does your master wish for me to share with him, exactly? I don’t bite just anyone, after all.”

A swallow bobs in Enrik’s throat. “He only means to make mutual use of your shared arsenal. Like you mean to make of his, my lord. He could work wonders with even just one scream. He could bottle it--”

Astarion clenches the wine glass in a chokehold. He could kill this wretched cretin here, now, bare-handed. Or have him drawn and quartered. Or--

No one knows their manners these days, Naomi sighs inside his head. But if you want to play along and see what this archmage would pay, I’ll--

Astarion’s jaw clenches. You won’t be screaming for him, little love.

It earns him an eyeroll. It wouldn’t be like that--

It won’t be at all. Astarions sends his answer with the weight of a stone.

He sips his wine, boring into Enrik with a hard stare. “Don’t you know swans make the most achingly beautiful music?”

Enrik’s eyes dart anxiously over Astarion’s burning ones. “Only just before they die, so the stories go.”

“Before someone does,” Astarion drawls, as the vintage seeps sweetly down his throat. “You see, my beloved, oh, she’s a monster, too. She so does love the taste of blood in her mouth, now that she’s supped of mine.”

Enrik edges back, shoulders hunched small like the prey he is. “I-I’m just a messenger my lord. Killing me after you’ve so graciously offered your hospitality would be the same as breaking a mirror. It would only cast ill luck on you and your house.”

A gloved hand wraps Enrik’s shoulder. He shirks from that delicate grip like it's scalding. At long last, he finds the decency to shut up.

Naomi’s fangs gleam like the bottle in her hand. “More wine?”

The white marble of the ballroom shimmers like freshly fallen snow. All the curtains are drawn back, cinched aside for good measure. Shadow and sunlight slice the floor in slanted strips. Gritty ash piles where the light lies, coils of rope strewn among the gray dust of guests gone for good.

Only one remains.

Sprawled motionless across the floor, Enrik lies nose-to-nose with the knife edge of day and darkness. It’s only a silhouette that keeps him from being swallowed by the glow. Only Astarion’s grace shades him.

The vampire ascendant cuts a sharp shadow before the arched windowpane. Brightness clings, soft as clouds, to his curls, his lean edges, and his jaw. His velvet coat crumples at his heels as if it were nothing more precious than the ash heaped around him. He’s blessedly bare from the waist-up, resplendent in the sunlight while he surveys his domain awash with it.

It calls to mind the man who took Naomi out into the woods all those months and nights ago. What he looked like when she woke and found his back arched, chin tilted skyward. What she’d do, and what little she wouldn’t, to see Astarion slip into bliss every day as easily as slipping out of a coat.

It’s Naomi’s grace that finally rouses their disheveled company. A rolling melody, played on piano, pours from her fingertips and crests with the morning birdsong drifting in. Enrik groans against the grain of it.

At once, the music cuts to quiet. Naomi’s hands hover over the keys, knuckles twitching in faint longing. Then, she turns on the bench and turns her attention towards her restless audience.

“Good morning,” she says brightly.

Enrik squints up at her. His brown eyes leak with the light, even though he’s sheltered from it. They dart across the room, skimming like stones over water, before they sear into Naomi.

“You.”

“Who else were you expecting? You’re in my home.”

Rope binds Enrik’s hands and heels. He tugs at the ties, or tries to. He hasn’t yet figured out it’s all for not.

Naomi stands, her heels clicking staccato to the tile. As she goes, she paints a palm over the piano keys, stroking each octave from root to rise. Music flows freely again all on its own, even when her hand falls away.

She comes to loom over her captive, lips pursed. “I hear you said some very rude things to my husband.”

Enrik folds against the floor, panting for breath.

“You should be so grateful for our hospitality,” she says. “Should have been. That’s all behind us now, isn’t it?”

Feral noise rips from his throat. Like a dog, he lunges, snapping for her ankles. She side-steps into the light, not bothering to flee any farther than an inch. He freezes, ogling the shiny toe of her shoe now parallel to his nose.

“You don’t fear the sun?” he gasps, quivering.

“I need not fear anything.”

Naomi lifts her head, meeting a scarlet stare brimming in equal measures affection and amusement. Sunlights melts over the bare of Astarion’s chest, spurring her tongue to wet her lips. He leans against the glass, head angled back, eyes slitted in satisfaction. A slow smile unfurls on his face.

“You should be grateful, too,” Naomi says with a sneer, “to lay here and not just a little to the left.”

“W-What do you mean? What did you do to me?!” Enrik’s eyes bulge. He squirms in a sudden panic, to no avail.

Naomi tilts her neck to the side and taps at the scar Astarion’s teeth marked her with. Her fingers fan down on her own throat, savoring the shape of that succulent memory. Of the last bite he gave her in life. Of his lips swirling comfort into her skin before sucking her down to the last drop. Of the look on his face, the awe he had, when she next woke.

The faintest leak of breath, soft as down, passes from Astarion’s mouth.

“You--you--! You turned me!” Her hostage sputters. Naomi frowns darkly.

“Oh not me,” Naomi snaps, incredulous. “I’m only a weak little spawn puppet, according to you. According to you, the only good thing I can do is scream. How could I manage to turn you without choking on my own leash?”

She gags for good measure. He doesn’t get the joke. He hasn’t caught on to the other joke yet. Which means she’s safe as can be, even this close. So long as she stands on the other edge of Astarion’s shadow.

Astarion turns. His silhouette twists with his movement. Enrik shrieks like a swine.

“Oh, that wasn’t good at all. You can do better.” Naomi presses out a strained sigh, crouching down to fist a hand in his hair and yank his head upright.

Enrik bares his teeth as if they aren’t dull and flat. “Filthy bitch!”

The insult doesn’t so much as chip Naomi’s serene composure, but it puts a twang in her head, along the invisible string that links her and Astarion. His anger lashes in her mind like a restless tail.

“What a vile little ingrate,” Astarion snarls.

She lets her hostage’s head roll from her palm, cheek smacking the tile. Enrik writhes against his restraints. Naomi clicks her tongue in reproach. I’ve barely even touched you yet.

Green magic threads between her gloved fingers, glittering. She snaps them and says, “Scream.”

And he does. Loud enough to drown out the crescendo coursing from the grand piano. Inside of Enrik’s skull, the song isn’t nearly so sweet. His back jerks up and away from the floor, head bent back, eyes torn wide in terror.

His cries pitch with the slink of Astarion’s shadow stretching nearer. Sunlight clings close behind his heels. Naomi’s fingers flex and the spell recedes.

Her magic leaves Enrik sniveling, inching like a worm away from the slice of light between Astarion’s legs. Astarion huffs softly. With a wave of his hand, a ghostly one apparates behind him and snags the curtains closed.

Astarion’s scent sweeps with his sleeve -- the sweetness of brandy, mingled with the woodsy smell of rosemary. His knuckles gently brush the side of Naomi’s cheek. Instinctively, she leans towards the touch.

“Precious thing,” Astarion chides with a pout. “You’re being far too sweet to him. Here I thought you only had room in your heart for me.”

Naomi inclines her head, eyes narrowing by a hair. “My sire would see me be crueler?”

Astarion’s thumb grazes her lips. At once, she parts for him, teasing the pad of it with her tongue while he toys with the tip of a fang. He presses in, watching his skin bend to near-breaking, as if to test her sharpness. Before any blood’s drawn, he draws his hand down to cradle her chin. His voice is smooth as satin, though his stare is a hardened one.

“Your sire would see you spoken to with the respect you’re owed. And he needs you to kneel, dear one.”

The words are a weight to her shoulder, easing her down. But the heft is a comfort, not a compulsion. He could compel her, if he wanted to.

He hasn’t yet.

One day, she thinks, he will. And he’ll feel the weight of whatever chains he’d wrap her in through the bond that binds them tighter than the tadpole did. He won’t do it without good reason. Naomi doesn’t need a reason to kneel for her lover. That he wishes it is enough.

When her knees meet the ground, she feels the shape of Astarion’s smile pressed against their bond like it’s pressed, wet and wanting, against her mouth. She feels the dainty tug of his teeth coax her lips apart. Tastes the coppery tang of her own blood and the velvet undercurrent of his within her veins. The heat of him, still such a novel thing in his ascended body, bleeds from his skin to hers, fanning the newfound ache between her thighs.

In her mind, and his, his lips pour down her bare shoulders. His fingers fist in the fine fabric of her dress, ripping it to ruin. He leaves none of her untouched. To anyone else’s eye, they’re not even touching.

Naomi’s eyelids flutter. She downs a hard swallow. Good girl, he says, just for her.

To their captive audience, he spares no such kindness. Astarion raises his foot above Enrik’s ankles, letting it dangle for a moment. It drops like a hammer to an anvil. Enrik bucks with a fresh scream and a sickening crack.

“I’d never give a miserable little wretch like you the gift of immortality,” Astarion spits. “You wouldn’t know how to appreciate it.”

Confusion flits between the pain and panic in Enrik’s eyes.

“That’s right,” Astarion seethes. “You’re not a vampire. You aren’t worth my consort’s teeth. Or mine.”

Crunch. Another ankle shatters. Another shriek claws the air. Astarion strolls, leisurely, to Enrik's hands next. He grounds his heel into the pop of fingers breaking beneath his boots. Their hostage heaves a broken sob.

“Sh, sh, sh, oh, it’s all right,” Astarion croons. “I happen to have just the knife for you.”

Astarion crosses back to his coat piled near the window and draws a dagger from its folds. Rhapsody. Cazador’s blade. Naomi hasn’t seen it since they claimed the Crimson Palace for themselves.

Brightness glints off the twined edge, a match for the harsh and singular focus gleaming in Astarion’s gaze.

So that’s what Astarion was smiling about, as he basked by the window. What had him so peacefully quiet and content. Murder was on his mind, even then.

Not the only thing on my mind, little love. She feels the slant of his smirk in her head, as if it ghosted past the hinge of her jaw. There’s no trace of it on Astarion’s stony exterior.

He plucks the crystal wine glass from the sill while he’s there, rotating the stem as he saunters back over. Blood flecks the fine leather of Astarion’s shoes. He plants them on either side of Enrik’s torso. He seizes Enrik’s collar, yanking harshly until he’s kneeling, too.

“Fuck you,” Enrik spits. “Fuck you both! My master will--”

“Darling,” Astarion trills, grip unwavering, “Would you..?”

Magic swirls sticky across Naomi’s tongue. “Ad Lapidē.”

Violet runes blaze to life beneath their captive’s knees, capturing him in perfect stillness. His mouth hangs agape with unspent vitriol. Astarion’s hands recoil, twisting the dagger in one, and the glass in the other.

“Your master,” Astarion sneers with a dark laugh. “Too much of a coward to show his face, so he sends you. His sacrificial lamb, sent to speak to me about sharing my dearest treasure, like he isn’t the scum beneath her shoes. He had to know I wouldn’t hear of it. But he didn’t care enough about you to even taint your blood. That’s right. My lesser spawn sampled you just like they would any cattle. But my beautiful bride hasn’t had one bite, not yet. Not until I was sure you were sweet enough for her palate.”

Astarion strokes Rhapsody down the man’s outstretched neck. The barest streak of blood leaks from the scrape. Astarion’s eyes skate over the ash piles around the room, wistful.

“All it took was a sleeping potion,” he muses. “Just a few drops. Now all of the spawnlings sent by all of my lessers are dust. You’ll wish to join them, before this is done. And you will. When I decide we’re done.”

Naomi’s eyes fasten to the blood beading down Enrik’s pallid throat. Astarion digs in ever-so-gently with Rhapsody’s tip, just enough to start a stream running. He presses the cup beneath it. Slowly, the crystal fills red to the brim. Her mouth waters.

Astarion looks up abruptly, eyes wide and soft as his malice dissolves to fondness. “Darling, you do look famished. Open up for me, dear.”

Naomi’s chin lifts, lips parted. Astarion tilts the glass to meet her with the utmost care.

“I won’t have your grime and sweat on her lips,” Astarion hisses in Enrik’s ear. “Only your blood. You don’t deserve that…” He sucks a sharp breath in. Naomi watches with rapt attention as it stutters through his chest. “...pretty little mouth.”

Blood, rich and smooth as cream, slips across her tongue. Her eyes slip shut with it. With each swallow, syrupy warmth spreads slowly through her chest, down her legs, through arms, to her every inch. Too soon, it’s taken from her. Naomi’s eyes flutter open. She’s taken all of it, already.

“More, my love?” Astarion hums happily. “You only have to ask.”

“More,” she says at once, lips still wet.

Astarion carves. The insolent apprentice bleeds without a sound. Again and again, the cup fills. He tips it to her lips, and Naomi drinks until her eyelids grow heavy.

Her body thrums like it remembers the pulse that used to play through her veins. She’s warmer than a dead woman should be. Even the air itself feels like the kiss of steam tingling against her skin.

It’s then that Naomi feels Astarion’s lips in her head again, sucking little marks down her throat that match the rosy flush heating her cheeks. She pants out of habit, out of instinct, and not of need. Out of want for him to watch what he does to her. As if he doesn’t already know.

One twist of Astarion’s wrist turns the little leak of blood from Enrik’s throat into a fountain. Naomi’s spell dissipates in violet sparks. His body slumps over, lifeless. Blood runs from him in little rivers, rushing to fill the grout lines between the tiles.

Astarion cradles one last glassful in a delicate grip. His face clears of any clouded rage as he gives the glass an experimental swirl. Wordlessly, he tilts the cup to her mouth once more.

Naomi gasps. Wetness paints her chin. It streams down her neck, drips down her sternum and between her breasts, still bound in lace. Astarion drips with it, down to his knees in fluid motion. Somewhere behind him, the wine glass shatters. In her periphery, she sees the shards glitter like frost.

“Oops,” he says, low and shameless.

Barely any blood made it to Naomi’s mouth this time, but she doesn’t mind one bit. Astarion crawls to her, catlike. She’s only spared a moment to admire the lithe muscle flexing through his naked chest before he leans into the hollow of her throat. Silver curls brush soft beneath her chin. And then, she feels the tip of that devilish tongue take a tentative lick of the mess he’s made.

And gods, what a mess she must be. Blood smears from her neck to her navel, near-black on her blue-gray skin. Dark like Astarion’s eyes, with pupils blown wide and hungry. A flare of heat twists low in Naomi’s stomach. Her thighs shift, wet with it.

Thread rips in her ears. Rhapsody drags delicately down her side, scratching faint like a quill. The lace of her gown splits without resistance. There's none to be had against that mouth of his, just as busy as his nimble hands.

Astarion laps, dainty, down the path of her swallow. His coy smile curves with a petal-soft laugh against her collar bone. Naomi laughs, too, breathless as his tongue chases lazily after the spill. Breathless as the day he took the last breath she needed.

Ever since, Astarion’s given her everything she could want, without leaving her wanting for more than a moment. Now, her knees will never grow numb, no matter how long they bend against the marble. The chill of it can’t phase her, either. Even if it could, Astarion’s drawn the curtains wide. When she kneels for him, it’s only ever on sun-soaked stone.

Astarion treasures her. Cherishes her. Lavishes her with love and pleasure and wealth and power. Preserves her like prized silver, polished with such devotion so she’ll never know the tarnish of time. She’s his spawn. His wife.

But above all else, she’s his pride. The very thing that rules him. The only thing that still does.

Naomi wants to be in ruins with him. To be the last pillars of a broken world already so far beyond repair before they were dragged through it. Aeterna amantes. Until the fall of everything.

Until then, this, the low groan he gives her while her fingers stroke red through the plush white of his hair, the heady hum in her blood, the bloom of someone else’s waking color in her cheeks, the way Astarion looks at her like there’s nothing else at all, the way he tears into a dress he paid a fortune for, the hand he knots through her braids to wreck them -- this is everything.

Astarion tosses Rhapsody over his shoulder to join the broken wine glass, just like any other worthless trinket. His deft hands curl into the tears in her bodice and tug. At once, it gives way to his grip. She would, too, were it not so binding. Naomi grounds out a gasp. Her skirt pools at her knees, leaving her bare but for the warmth of Astarion’s roaming hands and the daylight pouring over them both.

“Do you know why I wanted you down here, pet?” He asks softly.

Astarion’s eyes latch to hers while his teeth toy at the curve of her breast. His tongue slicks over to soothe where his fangs grazed her, and then it melts against a pert nipple, taking it in with a lewd suck.

Naomi paws for a coherent thought, but all she finds is a pleading hum. He nips her again, just enough to see her tit tremble from the pull when he draws away. He leaves her nipple glistening and the underside of her breast peppered in pink before moving on to the other.

“To torture me, clearly,” Naomi pants. Her hands still tangle in his hair. Amusement glimmers in his gaze as he plants a chaste kiss to the inside of one of her wrists and sets them both back at her sides.

“Oh no, my sweet. I would never,” he says, chin resting flat against her navel. He looks up at her with wide, doey eyes, full of faux innocence.

He slinks lower, laying a line with his tongue that ends in a kiss just above where her skirts still shield her. He shifts them aside, ripping where he needs, until it’s only one little piece of black lace covering her cunt. Astarion growls against it, nosing at its edges, his back bowed, stomach brushing the floor. His teeth find the waistband and tear that, too.

Hot breath fans across the other mess he made. Naomi wavers on her knees. From that minute motion alone, she can hear how he’s soaked her.

But Astarion doesn’t disprove her theory; he leans back abruptly, straightening up to his knees again. An arm loops slack around her waist as he circles around to her bare back. Naomi’s lips twitch. If this is the game he wants, it’s too soon to beg. The thought inspires another needy flex through her cunt. His other hand slides to cup the heat of it, and Naomi whines. Reflexively, her back arches. Astarion pulls her still.

He catches the side of her jaw, angling her back into a biting kiss. It’s over before she wants it to be, his lips red and glistening with what he stole from her. Without him, her mouth burns from the cut.

“I wanted to see you right where you belong,” he whispers, the sound as sheer as the lace he wrecked. “So beautiful on your throne.”

For a brief moment, he draws away entirely, leaving her with nothing but a lonely chill. And then, his back comes flush to the floor beneath her. His body splays behind her. The heat of his mouth crests against the heat of her cunt, his face fitted between her thighs, his lips hovering so close, but not close enough. His breath alone snags the one halfway through her throat.

“Oh,” her realization comes out quivering.

The tip of his nose nudges, just barely, against her clit, spurring her hips to roll. But all she gets from that mouth is mischief and a quiet snicker. He shifts his cheek, laving a long stroke of his tongue to the tender crux of her inner thigh before sealing it over with a tight suck. When he bites down, he draws out her blood with a rough moan.

Astarion pulls back, his smirk glazed in her, his eyes aflame. “Oh, darling, I’ve barely even touched you yet. And you’re so very wet for me.”

“Touch me, then,” she hisses between her teeth, raking her hands through his perfect curls and fisting them there.

His eyes spear into hers, hard like the way he clenches her ass and pulls her hips down. Even as it sets her on fire, his mouth gives her mercy. Astarion’s tongue melts hot across her cunt, swiping slow and dexterous. Not for the first time, Naomi thinks she might like to die like this.

It’s not so different from how she died. It started on her knees, this new life of passion and pleasure unbridled. Even then, Astarion already knew the shape of her body like he knew his own hands. Every curve, every intimate bend, how to make her speak in noise instead of words. The hidden language behind every whimper she makes, every shiver.

So he knows exactly what he’s doing while his tongue teases gentle circles around her clit. He knows, by the time his timid little laps blend into a needy suck, that she’s so, so sensitive. Astarion’s hungry groan seeps into her slickness. She feels him like a current and clenches again, just as hungry.

Every feeling he gives her gives him an echo back just as strong. Every thought in her head is in his head, too. He eats her cunt and feels fed by her pleasure curling in the tips of his toes. He didn’t know he’d be hers, just as much as she’d be his, when he bit her thrice, bled her dry, and gave her just one drop of blood back.

But Astarion knew her body before she was his bride. Now, he knows her mind. A part of him lives there, as she does in his. As he drags his pale, elegant fingers between her folds, he drags her head through a dozen depravities. Filling her with nothing but thoughts of how he’ll fill her properly.

He could have her against the arched windows lining the east wall, body pressed so pretty to the glass so he can see the imprint of it even after she peels away. She could feel the heat brimming off the sun outside, washing over their empire. He could taste her sunbathed shoulder while he fucks her senseless. His little love, dipped in honey. So what if someone else sees. Later, he’ll see to them not seeing anything ever again.

He could take her here, on the ballroom floor. Pull her down just as she surfaces from the pleasure he’s paid her, and roll her beneath him to bury her in it all over again. Make love on the marble streaked with the blood of their enemies, where hundreds of dignitaries have danced and dined on countless evenings before. But none of them were ever blessed with such a fine feast as he. The stone would be hard and unyielding against her back, and he would be just the same, driving into her, relentless. At least it’s far prettier than the dirt they used to fuck in.

Or--

A new picture snaps from Naomi’s mind to his, with the dip of his tongue to her entrance, a staggering spike of pleasure, and an unbidden whimper.

The piano. Pearly white with jet black keys, so pristine, so gorgeous with blood spilt red down the sides. Naomi poured over the side, ivory hair tinged with crimson, cascading over her bare, bent back. Astarion’s fingers buried in her hips, planting the promise of bruises, his body bucking wildly into her as he finally--

Naomi’s moan hits the high pitch of the ceiling. She grinds, needy, against the pair of fingers he crooks inside of her. His thumb spreads her slickness back and presses to the pucker of her ass.

So eager for me to fill you up. His voice in her head is a caress. Her hips roll with the sound. His thumb dips inside her ass with the motion, and Naomi gasps as she eases into that delicious stretch.

But darling, I haven’t fed all night, Astarion pouts, mouth moving with agonizing slowness as his eyes flutter shut beneath long black lashes. Naomi’s eyelids grow heavy, too, as she’s lost to that lovely, slick click of his lips. A meal like you is meant to be savored.

He fucks her holes leisurely, with the air of someone who knows he’ll be back for more before long. It brings to mind those long, lithe fingers, folded between the pages of a book to mark his place. All it takes is an effortless flex of them to keep her coaxed open like this. Her body draws taut as he leans her over the precipice of her own pleasure.

If you need more, my dear, by all means. Take it.

He growls into their bond like he’s the one devoured. Like he can plead ignorance to how he’s taking her apart with his hands, his mouth. Naomi catches a whine between her teeth. Astarion’s free hand cups her ass, urging her into the thrust her body bends towards. She parts a hand from his hair to brace flat to the floor beside his face, the other knotting anew in his silver curls.

Desperately, she rides against the flat of his tongue, against that long, refined nose, fucking herself back into the curve of his fingers. Every pull of them pulls her under, deeper into her own ecstasy. Her body grips him back like she means to drown him, too. The tip of his tongue flicks her clit in relentless rhythm, starting off a shudder she can’t stop.

“Don’t stop,” she begs within and without, the jerk of her hips growing frantic.

His mouth is mercy. When she comes for him, she’s wreathed in heat, slick with sweat, every nerve in her body alight with the most blissful burn. A strangled cry breaks in her chest. It buries the song now trembling from the piano. Naomi shivers out a sigh, and the keys shiver with her.

Astarion wraps his arms tight to her thighs, anchoring her through the aftershocks. When she stills again, her body throbs with a heady rush of blood, pleasure, want. Every part of her is limp with it, save the pulsing, rigid press in her mind and in his trousers. She’s putty in his hands even as his fingers leave her. Naomi twitches back towards the touch he takes away, body aching with his absence.

Naomi’s knuckles unfurl, stroking soft through the tangles she wrought. What a sight he is, his hair in utter disarray, his mouth a mess of blood and lust and her. An ease settles into his graceful features, not so different from that quiet contentment he wore while leaning into the light by the window. His eyes simmer with it, lips drawn in a soft smile.

Without warning, his grip tightens. Naomi stifles a huff of surprise as she’s taken down, marble kissing smooth to her spine. A pale hand cradles her head, cushioning her fall. In a blink, he’s hovering over her bare body and dipping down to catch her in a fever of a kiss. It’s a needy, sweltering latch of lips, tangy with her own sweetness as much as his.

“Here?” She purrs to the seal of his mouth.

She lets him feel the way the word alone makes her body tense. Waiting. Wanting. Their bond curls with it, crooked and beckoning in his head. The way his fingers bent a few moments before, buried in the heat of her.

A long breath passes out through his nose, his eyes sliding half shut. A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. But his cheek turns by just the barest hair, and Naomi’s attention follows after his.

Music flutters, breathy, off the black and white keys. The piano stays a pretty picture of perfection, among the deaths little and large they’ve littered throughout the ballroom.

His teeth trace the angled edge of her ear. Naomi keens with the sting of it as she’s swept from the floor.

“There.”

She’s caught in his kiss again as he carries her. One swipe of his tongue to where he bit her lip before has her quivering. Has her a world away from the one still around them. Vaguely, she’s aware he’s somehow rid her of her gloves and shoes. She hears a dull, wooden clatter, and then a resounding thud. The piano plays on, but it's muted.

Astarion doesn’t bend her over the way she mused. Instead, he seats her on the polished wood of the piano’s closed lid. His hands leave her back to push her knees apart, scoop beneath them, and pull her spread legs to the strain trapped in his trousers.

Naomi grins, her fangs snagging his lower lip as he tries to part from her. Astarion’s answering groan is rough like a scrape of sandpaper. It leaves her mouth raw, tingling, alive with a pulse that plays to the tune of his pleasure. She wants more of that noise. More of the happy purr it pours into her head from his. One drink of that sloppy, slap happy look on his face sates her more than blood ever could.

You’ve given me everything, he told her, once. But now, all she can think is more. Take more. Take everything.

Astarion grinds his hard length against her in answer. The sweet friction makes sweeter music in their mouths as Naomi moans with the motion, too. Still, there’s far too much fabric for her liking.

Astarion’s fingers make fast work of it. He unlaces his pants only enough to free his cock, parts from her only enough to push her back and clamber up after her. Then, he’s on her again like a second skin. Her cunt throbs with the press of his cock, the tip of it wet and seeping against her thigh. She tries to fit a hand between them, to wrap her palm around his girth and feel with her hands, not just her head, how badly he has to have her. Astarion doesn’t leave her space for it.

It’s not his hands that put her flat on her back, against the body of the piano. It’s the sudden swell of his adoration ballooning from his brain to hers. The weight of his affection pins her there beneath him, utterly paralyzed, as the music flows on under both of them. He’s brimming with it, and it washes over her in a wave, a cup overflowing.

His curls hang down in his eyes, wild with the look of a man starved. “You’re going to scream for me, little love,” he says with the slightest slur. The thought smears from him to her, burning in the back of her mind like a pull of liquor. He brushes her snarled hair back until it tumbles over the piano’s edge, white over white. “I’m going to make you. And I want to see that beautiful face when I do.”

“Please,” she starts to say.

But barely any of it makes it past her lips. Astarion never leaves her wanting for more than a moment.

“O-Oh,” she stammers instead, as her soaked cunt splays to his cock sliding home. Astarion pushes out a moan as he pushes into her. He hooks her legs with his arms, folding them up and back.

“That’s my girl,” he pants, forehead heavy against her own. His thumb circles her cheek, a feather-light counterweight to the thickness he seats inside her. He watches her intently, fixated. Hypnotized. “My good, good girl.”

Kisses and praise tumble from between his teeth, down her cheek, to her throat. Naomi’s head rolls back while she relishes the wet, smacking mantra that’s the mess of them. He’s not tender with his tempo. He doesn’t have to be. You could ruin me. I’d let you ruin me, she thinks again.

And how beautiful he is, in ruins with her. No more composure. No more restraint. Sweat streaks his brow as it bends beneath his focus. All there is is the blend of them, the slow rock of the piano underneath them, and the scattered, stranded pieces of a melody left in their wake.

It could break. The thought cracks through her, through them, with the wooden whine of the piano legs taking the shift of their weight. Astarion crushes her worry beneath the thrust of his hips, any notion of it lost to the head of his cock pressing just where it needs to make her see stars.

Naomi bites down on her own lip, grounding herself in fleeting pain and the tang of blood. He’s not even touching her clit; he doesn’t have to. He floods her with how it felt when he did, when his tongue rolled against the swell of it, just the tip of it teasing that sensitive little bud. How she felt to him, so silky and slick in his mouth. How amazing it feels to finally fuck her, to take what’s his and have her take him so, so tightly.

He could ruin her. Snap her like the creaking legs of this instrument, not long for this world. It would be almost as effortless as the way she spreads for him. But instead, Astarion fills her. Every shift prods the crown of his cock against the sweetest spot inside her cunt.

Naomi’s fingers claw into Astarion’s back as he bucks wildly. Tears sear in her eyes. The tell-tale pressure in her pelvis builds near-blinding.

“Scream for me, darling,” he growls against her neck, out loud this time.

Her cunt throbs with his command. But she doesn’t heed it. Astarion lets out a low, steaming hiss.

“I said scream, dear,” Astarion says, his velvet voice edged in warning. The sparks of his indignation spit flinty in her head alongside a flicker of excitement at her defiance.

He wants to feel the rush of her own power with the spasm of her cunt as she comes undone. He wants her magic to spill into him as he spills his seed inside of her. Wants to taste it with the rest of her. If Naomi was nothing to him, she’d still be the siren; it’s not a power Astarion gifted to her. It was hers without him. It is her. And she’s his.

“I might break the glass,” she whispers, wary of anything louder.

“Oh, my love,” Astarion says tenderly, a husk in his throat as his hand wraps loose around her neck. “You can break everything.”

Astarion kills her hesitation. She’s never felt more whole. She feels holy, feeling her own perfect squeeze around his cock, feeling herself fucked in his body and her own. Feeling what she does to the man who already has everything, but will never have enough of her.

When Naomi screams Astarion's name, it’s everything else in the room that shatters.

Glass crashes from the windows. They burst one after another in quick-fire succession. Astarion buckles against her body with the sudden, decisive snap beneath them. His hips jerk, rutting erratically. Warmth spurts into her with every shudder down his spine, every pulse of his cock.

He cuts her cry with his teeth buried in the crook of her neck. Naomi clings to him as her cunt convulses. It’s the bite that takes her apart, knowing he tastes his own name in her throat and thinks--

Mine, mine, mine.

Naomi’s head drops limp. Astarion’s grip on her neck gives way to soft circles stroked against her cheek again. Mine, she thinks, as his ruby eyes watch her keenly, awash in the soft glow only she knows.

Even after Astarion stills, the room spins dizzy from her upside-down view. She blinks it all back into place, but some pieces won’t fit together again so easily. They’re far closer to the floor than when he slipped inside of her. The piano legs splay at odd, splintered angles. The floor glitters with glass like crystalline teeth, ready to bite the heels of any who dare tread their hall.

Astarion slides out, and she shivers with the fade of his warmth. He sits up, his gaze sweeping the shattered windows, his smirk smug and wet with her. “Perhaps all of the Gate heard you. The gardener did for certain.”

Naomi sits up, too, leaning forward and letting his shoulder take her weight. Her forehead comes to rest against his collarbone. She finds an easy smile while relishing the way his heart still hammers his chest. She did that, in multiple senses. Absently, he tucks the hair sticking to her cheeks back behind her ears.

“I guess I’ll have to kill her,” he adds, chipper. “I suppose, for now, we can spare all the others.”

“She’s already dead enough, dear,” Naomi sighs.

A tiny, discordant note of sadness plucks in her chest, among the pleasant haze settling over her. Astarion stiffens against it, as if she reached out and pinched him. She doubts he’d be so eager to slay one of his spawn for the same crime of hearing her come for him.

The gardener is hers, of a sort. Not a vampire -- Naomi can’t make those. Before Naomi sang her awake again, the gardener was just a sad stack of bones collecting dust in a closet. Now, she rattles along to Naomi’s tune, keeping the flowers trimmed to her liking.

“I suppose you’re right,” Astarion murmurs. His expression softens with fondness, the sort that’s rare to surface unless they’re alone, but never fails to make her chest light and fluttery. “Are you tired now, pet?”

“We stayed up all night,” Naomi laughs faintly.

“Hm,” he nods with a pitying frown. “Let me see to you, my treasure. Don’t you move.” His lips curve, coy, as his eyes flicker back to the wrecked windows. “I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself.”

He saunters back to where his coat lays, now tattered. He returns to settle it around her shoulders, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead.

“You’re such a staunch defender of my honor,” Naomi says dryly, even as the leftovers of their lovemaking start to seep down her thigh.

“Ha,” Astarion shakes with a rolling laugh. “I rather think I’m the thief of it. You were quite the heist. It wouldn’t do to have some debaucherous upstart happen by and think they can make off with what’s mine.”

“I wouldn’t let them live through it.”

“Aw,” he clicks his tongue, “you’re such a romantic.”

Astarion leaves her with her legs strewn over the broken piano, relacing his trousers as he goes. Glass crunches beneath his heels. He stops to ring the bell near the door. A few seconds later, it creaks open a hair. She catches his curt commands to the servant she can’t see on the other side.

“...yes, here, in the ballroom. My consort and I wish to take in the view, and see none of you.”

His lesser spawn are quick to make good on their orders. The door swings open once more a short time later, and in floats a claw-foot tub without another soul to be seen. Magic clings, cloudy, beneath the porcelain belly of it. A pleasant, floral scent curls with the steam from the water within. The tub drifts to the heart of the ballroom and settles with a soft thud before the yawning window panes.

Astarion returns to her as her toes touch the ground again. He frowns tightly, eyes narrowing.

“There’s debris scattered everywhere, my sweet,” he says, saccharine even in reproach. “I wouldn’t want to see you hurt.”

Naomi sniffs a laugh, picking her path carefully. “If I can’t handle a little sharpness here and there, it’s a wonder how I’ve managed to handle you.”

“Oh, it’s simple,” Astarion says, catching her wrist with an effortless flourish. “We were made for each other. By each other, really.”

And Astarion’s made up his stubborn mind that she’s not to take another step, it seems. With a soft huff, he sweeps her off her feet all over again, strides to the tub with her legs dangling over his arm, and delicately deposits her there.

Water laps at the tub’s edges, splashing as she situates herself. She shrugs from Astarion’s coat, shucking it away to join all the other debris they don’t have use for. Heat tingles across her skin, like little, loving nips of Astarion’s teeth. Naomi eases back into the burn of it as the sting settles sweetly.

Astarion rids himself of his shoes and trousers. He dips a foot into the tub, bidding her to make way for him with a gentle nudge. The water ripples as he settles in behind her. With a satisfied sigh, she sinks back against his chest and deeper into the furling warmth.

The ballroom overlooks the well-kept gardens behind the estate. The hedges are high enough, only a spyglass might have hope of spotting them both bare. Under Cazador’s reign, the garden was little more than a sprawl of weeds and webbed ivy. Now, fountains babble between the blooms of pink and blue and violet. If she strains, she can catch the weave of music in the trickling flow, like tinkling wind chimes.

A soft breeze tickles her ears, sending gritty glass and ash scattering over their floor. Astarion clenches a soft sponge in his grip, wrings it out, and starts to scrub her skin in slow, deliberate strokes. Naomi’s head tilts back beneath his tender care, every rub taking the tension from shoulders.

She turns after a time, and he starts to wash blood from her front, while she wets her hands and works the redness from the white of his hair. Her fingers linger along the slants of his ears, rubbing delicately, until she catches that satisfied hum in his throat that leaves her lifted, floating on the buoy of his happiness.

The water never cools or clouds; magic still swirls in the steam, even long after they’re free of blood and grime. Astarion rakes hand through her hair, his fingernails digging pleasantly against her scalp.

“You are divine as ever,” he rumbles. “Rest now, pet.”

And she does, slipping soundly into a trance, soaked in sunlight and lavender oil with her lover wrapped around her. Only Astarion sends her to the sort of rest that reaches her soul. His presence is sanctuary.

It’s his disquiet that wakes her suddenly. He still strokes her hair just as gently, but he levels a hard-cut stare out over the garden, his lips set with the same stoniness.

“No one will ever take you from me,” he murmurs, as if to himself.

“As if they ever could,” Naomi whispers back, reaching up to graze the edge of his jaw.

Heavens help the fool who tries. Any who dare to hatch such plots, to harbor such ill will in their Crimson Palace, will find themselves laid to rest with all the others. Their enemies’ gravestones are just bricks in their empire, every one of them laid with blood in the mortar.

Astarion dips his head down, the hint of a smile curling at the corner of his mouth. “I suppose it might be fun to see them try. In the meantime, my love, I’m of a mind to keep you spread for me for the next tenday.”

Naomi laughs. The sound echoes around the otherwise vacant room.

Astarion’s grin only grows, the tips of his fangs sharpening his smile. “Did I say something funny, dear?”

His lips crush down against hers in a kiss consuming.

#ascended astarion #astarion #astarion ancunin #tav x astarion #astarion x tav #tavstarion #vampire ascendant #vampire lord astarion #bg3 #astarion smut #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfic #my writing #naomi tavriel

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necroflame · 2 months

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Hell is Other People – Dark!Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: As the night draws to an end, so does the last semblance of your freedom.

Warnings: Implied dv, possessive behaviour

🦇gill – "Wanted to post a little something so this drabble is a filler between my next longer fic hehe, happy valentines! 💘 (or not if you're in the same boat as me lmao)"

Why are you still here?

It was well into the evening and the venue only continued to grow more compact and cacophonous. The hors d'oeuvres now lay cold and discarded atop the piano case and the fizz of your drink was reduced to a dull static that weighed heavily on the base of your stomach.

By now you should be retreating to someplace quiet. Preferably four white walls where he could do as pleased without the watchful eyes of Kildare and you could finally drop your shoulders and rest.

A phantom ache blossoms throughout the ligaments attached to your wrist as his grip tightens elsewhere.

Rafe hated these gatherings, so then why are you still here?

As if the cloud of your confusion drifted over to him, he glanced down at you with a small smirk – knowing – rubbing his thumb over your waist. He smelt nice tonight, a faint musk that reached some deep, primal part of you. As his dynamic maw descended upon your neck, you resisted the urge to nuzzle into those well-built arms, capable of much more than lifting heavy weights and rocking your feeble body to sleep.

Had it always been this hot?

“What's that look for?" His derisive tone was buried beneath a playful lilt. There was something unspoken, a cryptic message for you to decipher; 'you're much prettier when you smile.'

The man he was speaking to now shifted his focus to you. He looked to be in his mid-fifties, suit tailored to accommodate an impressive beer gut that threatened to pop the seams of his taut trousers. He took your hand, sincerity flashing across his muddy irises. His fingers were soft and unmarred in comparison to Rafe's calloused skin.

You did not recognise this man at all.

“Charlotte and I were worried when Rafe told us you’d been unwell," Why didn’t you reach out, then? "But I must say, you look rather radiant tonight."

“That’s very kind of you.” A squeeze, warning. “I’ve been feeling much better recently, Rafe always takes such good care of me."

You patted his lapels, glancing up in search of approval. He simply pursed his lips– a promising sign –and his chest rumbled in praise when you planted your supple lips to the corner of his mouth.

Something was very wrong.

This was confirmed by Topper and Kelce who were acting just as strange as the man beside you. They remained seated at the round tables adjacent to the polished floor, mingling with a few Kook women you knew had a penchant for trouble and powdery substances. When his piercing blue eyes pinned you from across the room, Topper sent you a wink.

"Rafe—."

You were cut off by the echo of a silver colliding with glass. Ward made his way onto the small podium, garnering the attention of the entire room.

"Rafe," Your voice reduced to a whisper, desperate for him to assuage your brimming anxiety, but even still he shushed you, gaze not once faltering from his father.

"Now, I'd like to applaud everyone in this room for a fantastic effort tonight," Your glossy eyes flitted around desperately. It was as though everyone was in a trance, and a sheen of confusion ebbed over your frame. Could they not sense something was wrong?

"With your help, we were able to raise just under five hundred thousand dollars for the Safe Horizon Foundation, which is just outstanding."

The room erupted into applause.

"Think about all the women and children, potential victims of the future, you have helped save!"

Another wave of claps, this time more ferocious. Rafe's grip tightened, hauling you into his side. Your hip made contact with the jagged edge of something– sharp and painful – and you hissed.

"But there is another big announcement to be made,"

A twisted grimace contorted your features as you glanced up at the blonde who was now staring right back at you. The glint in his eyes was a familiar one; haughty, revelling in victory and gloating in his ownership of you.

“My son…” Ward's speech was drowned out by the stutter of your heart as it did frightened little flips beneath your ribs. It was as though your blood had mimicked your state of shock, frozen in panic and struggling to course through your veins.

Rafe reached into his pocket, removing a sleek black box. It was simple in its design, not overly flashy but very telling.

“I’ve been thinking…it’s about time we got married.”

All focus shifted to you – don't forget to smile – and he tore himself from your desperate clutch. The crowds parted for him as he trekked toward the podium.

“Come up here, son.”

He threw one last look over his shoulder, a final dig at your impending defeat. I won, it said and you'd never been much of a believer in fate until it stared right back at you.

#dark rafe cameron #Rafe Cameron x reader #dark!rafe cameron x reader #dark!rafe cameron #obx drabble #rafe x reader #Rafe Cameron drabble #dark fic #obx #outer banks x reader #dark obx #dark rafe thoughts #dark rafe x reader

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emberfrostlovesloki · 9 days

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Baby Fever [Emily x Reader]

Photo Credits Left and Right (@meditando-en-paris) Center (@emily12o1970)

Prompt: The reader asks Emily if she wants to have a baby together. While this is a surprise, Emily has a little question of her own for the reader.

Pairing: [established relationship] Emily x Non-BAU!reader. The Reader uses she/her pronouns

Category: fluff/comfort

Word Count: 6.8K

Content Warnings: Slight angst, talk of getting pregnant, food and alcohol are mentioned, implied intimacy, discussion of politics. If I missed any, please let me know.

A/N: Hi all! I’m so sorry it’s been a while since I’ve posted any fics in a while. The end of the semester has been wildly busy. However, I return with an Emily fic for @imagining-in-the-margins March and April writing challenge. I made my own prompt that is, a member of the couple isn’t sure they’ll make a good parent; they are reassured by a friend that they will be perfect. This is a continuation of my Moschino and Muddy Water series. You can find parts one, two, three, and four here (linked) You can read this as a stand-alone as well, you just need to know the reader works for a senator. This story kind of humbled me and challenged me as it took a long time to write and I needed to do lots of edits on it. But that is a good reminder for me. Writing can be hard, but it is worth the result to see you can come what you can come up with. If you enjoy this fic, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! Love Levi - ❤️

List with all stories

y/n = your name

y/s/t = your skin tone

_y/f/s_ = your favorite scent

Emily walked into the living room of her apartment. y/n and she had recently repainted it a neutral beige that Derek had described as “sad sand” at brunch with Penelope, Spencer, JJ, and Will last month. y/n had nearly choked on her drink as he made the remark. It had been y/n’s idea to repaint their space to a more relaxing color. When y/n had suggested it, Emily had said, “Oh, what brought this on lover? Wasn’t it you last week who mentioned the security deposit on this place?” Em liked teasing y/n about these things because y/n was always a little more impulsive about things. Their dynamic remained light despite the hectic nature of their jobs. The ability to relax and joke in their off time kept both y/n and Prentiss sane. However, they were good at reading each other, most of the time. When things felt heavy or the job was pushing them to the edge of a breakdown, the jokes and teasing went out the window.

Only once had y/n made a joke in poor taste about a case that Emily had not yet fully described, and the tall brunette had snapped. y/n had looked at her girlfriend with shock. Prentiss never spoke to her in this tone nor with the angry expression she had on her face. The silence in the room after Emily's outburst was deafening. Emily instantly felt guilty for how she had reacted. Prentiss cleared her throat and tried to apologize, but y/n said, “Save it. I need a minute.” y/n had moved back to their room and closed the door, and burst into tears. ‘A minute’ turned out to be a long sleepless night for the couple. y/n tossed and turned and wondered if she was overreacting and what she had missed about Emily when she came in with her go-bag. She had seemed fine to y/n as she came in with a smile and normal attitude. Meanwhile on the couch, Emily wondered why she had reacted with such venom. y/n was only trying to lighten the mood, and she hadn’t said how horrible she felt. If she had, Emily knew y/n would hug her and kiss her and make her feel better inside of cracking a joke. Prentiss sat up and looked out the open window onto to the street as a few cars drove by. Emily wondered what brought those driving out so late. Who were they and where they were going? She wondered if they were happy. She slumped back into the couch cushions and missed the warmth of y/n’s snuggled up in front of her and the cool feel of their sheets over them.

In the morning, both Em and y/n had gotten up at the same time. Prentiss moved into their room which she found unlocked. y/n looked up at her. Em could see that she had been crying and the lack of sleep on y/n’s face. Before Prentiss could say anything, y/n stated, “I’m sorry, Emily. I’m sorry for how I acted. Immature and like a child. You didn’t deserve that.” Emily dropped her head and replied, “I’m sorry too. It was wrong of me to shout at you like that. You were just trying to make me happy.” y/n swallowed and said, “I was, but I must have been missing something. Would you tell me about the case, or what caused you to act like that?”

Prentiss nodded and sat down on the edge of the bed taking y/n’s hand in hers. “Yes. Let me explain. Thank you for giving me the time and care to listen.” After a long conversation, the pair set up some boundaries about not keeping things inside after cases for Emily and taking time to check in after she got home for y/n. y/n knew Emily had been acting okay, but in reality, she wasn't. y/n noted that if she was in Emily’s shoes, she might want to laugh after work and a case and y/n thought Emily might feel the same way. So after they had talked and kissed and made up, they both felt a bit crusty and decided to take a shower together.

It felt wonderful as Emily’s strong hands moved down her y/s/t’ed shoulders and back. The soap suds moved down y/n’s back and Prentiss rubbed them over her lush behind and thighs. y/n sighed into the touch. When Emily had finished rinsing y/n off, y/n turned and had Em face the water. y/n placed a dollop of her shampoo that smelled of rose and juniper berry in her palm. Prentiss smiled as y/n’s fingers brushed through her silky dark strands of hair massaging her scalp and then making sure that all of her locks were coated in shampoo before turning Em to rinse off her shoulder-length hair. After a few more minutes the water started running tepid, and y/n and Emily got out and dried off. They spent the rest of the Saturday morning lounging around and getting coffee from the fancy place two blocks over. It felt lovely to be back and not have an argument hanging over them. As y/n opened the door for Prentiss, she thought about how they worked together. They had their moments and arguments like any couple, but all in all, they were steady. It seemed that steady was something new to both of them, and it made them happy and secure in one another. It had made y/n so happy and secure that it had got her thinking about roots, about the future.

A few weeks later, y/n woke up early and realized that Emily was up. She snapped her laptop shut. The sound had Em turn around and look at y/n with just a hint of concern in her dark eyes. y/n smiled and got out of her seat saying, “Good morning, baby. How did you sleep?” Emily’s face broke into a soft smile and she replied, “I slept well. I love it when you’re the big spoon. It makes me sleep like a baby.” y/n got up and wrapped Em in a hug and whispered in her ear, “Well, I’ll have to do that more often then.” y/n inhaled her smell and tried to hide the blush on her face before pulling back and saying, “Do you want some breakfast and coffee? Or maybe a mimosa. I feel like cooking something if you want.” Prentiss nodded and said, “I think I could go for some blueberry or chocolate chip waffles if you’re down to make them.” y/n nodded and replied, “Of course. What are we feeling for drinks?” Em let out a small laugh and said, “Well, how about I make us lattes and you pop open some prosecco? We’ve still got juice in the fridge too. I’ll get the glasses.” y/n nodded knowing that Emily didn’t like popping corks -- a quirk that y/n thought was so cute. Em turned away to get the fluted glasses for the mimosas and while her back was turned she considered how y/n had been acting the last few days. It was like she was holding some secret. When y/n’s computer was in front of her, y/n always seemed to close it quickly or move it so she couldn’t see the screen. It wasn’t only that. Sometimes she was on the phone and talking quietly to someone she didn’t know. The pit in Emily’s stomach grew. And yet when she looked back at y/n who was humming her new favorite song while pulling eggs out from the middle row of the fridge.

This was so unlike y/n to hide things from her. When it had first happened, Emily thought that maybe y/n was cheating but that wasn’t something that y/n would do unless she had really misread her girlfriend and their relationship wasn’t going anywhere. This bothered Prentiss because she was planning on asking y/n to marry her in a month on their second anniversary. Even if things weren’t good with them, which y/n’s behavior indicated otherwise, Prentiss was uncomfortable with y/n hiding things from her. Em had a good way of feeling out people, and y/n had seemed more excited to be with her recently, so all of the messages both verbal and nonverbal were throwing her for a loop. Prentiss was going to talk to JJ and Penelope about it on Monday to see if they had any insight into what was going on. At this point, y/n and the rest of the girls on the BAU were thick as blood. Em took a breath and decided to not let her self-doubt ruin their relationship. She had let that happen before, and even though it had turned out to be a good thing, Emily didn’t want to do that here. She loved y/n, and she knew y/n loved her. If y/n needed to tell her something, Emily knew she would, even if it was something difficult to hear. Prentiss fixed her face and took a breath before setting the glasses on the counter for y/n who leaned in and gave her a kiss before she moved to the coffee maker.

y/n started mixing up the waffle batter. y/n didn’t like keeping things from Emily, but this was such a big subject to even bring up, and she wanted to have all of the facts beforehand. Not so that she could try and argue her point with Emily, but so she was sure it was what she wanted. But the more y/n looked at their options of getting pregnant, the firmer y/n was about her desire to start a family with Em. It was a conversation they had had before. A shared desire to have kids and raise them in a house full of love and tenderness that neither y/n nor Emily had had as children growing up on opposite sides of the globe. So the topic of wanting kids wouldn’t be a shock, just how quickly y/n was bringing it up. And if Emily said she needed more time, y/n would wait, but she couldn’t deny that her baby fever was growing thanks to JJ’s pregnancy and some recent laws passing. The whole idea made y/n’s stomach flutter in both delight and worry. Thankfully y/n was almost ready to tell Em, and again there would be no secrets to hold, just a future to plan, whatever that looked like for them.

The following Monday at work, Emily found Penelope in her office with its room full of screens and trinkets. Prentiss smiled at how Garcia’s personality shone through wherever she was. Em found the tech whizz inspirational in that way and many others. Garcia was busy typing something on her laptop and Emily had called her name twice already. Without any other options apart from pulling the plug on one of Penelope's babies, Emily tapped her on the shoulder instead. The genius shot out of her seat and Prentiss was eternally grateful that Gacria wasn’t holding one of her large cups of soda. “My God Emily, are you trying to get me out of my skin?” Penelope retorted when she had caught her breath. Em smiled and said, “It was that, or pull the plug on your computer. I thought you’d appreciate the latter. I did call your name twice.” Garcia let out a shaky laugh and said, “Okay, well lord, I have to stop listening to music so loud when I’m at work. Hotch got mad at me for it once already and somehow he’s always right because I don’t want to be scared like that again. So what brings you to my cave today dear? Need me to cast a love spell on you?” Prentiss laughed and replied, “Well I’m okay on that front. A clarification spell might be more in order. Are you back on the RPG game again?” Garcia blushed and said, “Maybe, maybe not. Anyhow, does the team need my presence?” Em nodded her head no, sat down on the ledge of Penelope's table, and said, “Not right now. I was just wondering if y/n had talked to you recently. She’s been acting kind of strange in the last three weeks and I just wanted to know if she has something planned?”

Penelope was buzzing in her seat because she had an answer but had promised y/n that she wouldn’t say anything to Emily about it. y/n had discreetly asked around the office if anyone knew someone who had IVF treatments before and would be willing to talk candidly about the process, how much it cost, and the pros and cons of the procedure. The only other person who did know someone who had gone through In Vitro Fertilization was Rossi, but Dave didn’t think that person would want to discuss such an intimate part of their lives with a stranger, even if it was a friend of his. However, Penelope had a good friend named Shayla back from her college days who was now a happy single mom and had moved to the Virginia area last year for a new job with her little boy. y/n had met Shayla once before, and when Garcia brought her up as a possibility, y/n almost begged her to ask Shayla if she was comfortable talking about the long process. When Pen brought it up in their next catch-up call, Shayla happily agreed to share her knowledge. She had done plenty of research before deciding to move forward with having a child on her own, understood the great sacrifice and fears that could come with it, and was happy to give any helpful information she had. Of course, this conversation had prompted Penelope to ask y/n why she was asking and y/n had revealed that she was thinking of asking Emily to have a baby with her. Garcia had freaked out, jumping up and down in excitement. y/n had to stop her from running out of the room and shouting at anyone that her friend was getting pregnant. Once the blonde analyst had settled down, y/n took a breath and said, “Now Penelope. I know you’re excited but I’m just in the research stage which sounds calculated when I put it like that, I haven’t told Emily about this yet and I need to be sure I feel confident before I spring this on her. Could you please please, please not tell her?” Garcia nodded seriously and said, “My lips are sealed. I pinky promise.” y/n let out a sigh of relief.

But as Garcia was faced with Emily now, it wasn’t as easy as telling y/n her secret was safe. It was threatening to burst out of her seams and she needed to come up with an excuse fast or risk losing a dear friend in y/n. Penelope cleared her throat and said, “Hey, Em. I kinda stayed up all night playing that game and well as you can see I’m running numbers for Stan’s team….” She gave her best pleading eyes that seemed to work on everyone. Prentiss let out a soft laugh and replied, “Alright, What flavor do you want grape, Cola, or orange?” Pen smiled brightly and said, “Orange, please. You are a lifesaver!” Emily patted her on the top of her blond head and said, “Well just hope Hotch or JJ doesn’t call a new case while I’m gone. You should get someone to install controls or something on your system at home to stop you from staying up twenty-four-seven.” Garica scoffed, looked at Emily’s retreating form, and said, “Baby, if anyone could crack into my harddrive, I’d let them.” As Emily moved out of the office and toward the 7-11 to get Penelope’s soda, she felt relieved. Not that she fully believed nothing was happening with y/n, but if the team hadn’t noticed anything, then, it made her feel better. Once Emily was out of sight, Penelope whipped out her phone and texted y/n: “Emily is asking questions, baby girl. I’d start thinking about asking her soon or she might find out what you’re doing.”

The week moved by quickly with lots of paperwork for Emily and the start of a new campaign cycle for y/n who moaned about it as much as possible without being annoying to Em. It didn’t help that the senator y/n worked with had gotten themselves into another scandal that was rocking their office and party. When y/n was going on a rant about corruption on Friday night Emily hugged her from behind, kissed her temple, and said, “I’m sorry sweetheart. I know it’s annoying, but you're good at your job even if it’s a bad system. But that doesn’t make you bad.” y/n relaxed into Prentiss’s embrace. y/n let out a sigh and said, “I’m sorry for going off. I know it’s annoying.” Emily nuzzled her face into y/n’s neck to relax her further as she whispered, “Don’t apologize y/n. Work can be agonizing sometimes, I know that as much as anyone. If it bothers me I'll tell you. Now, how about we do something fun tomorrow? We could get brunch at that place we like in midtown. You know the place where you asked me out officially?” y/n’s face broke out into a smile and she said, “I’d love that Em. Sorry if I’ve been a little distant right now. I’ve been thinking about some things and I want to share them with you in the morning. It’s nothing bad or anything, but something I just want to discuss with you. You’re everything to me love, and I’m so happy we’re together.” Prentiss’s heart fluttered knowing that y/n was finally going to tell her what was going on. Her words were reassuring, that it ‘wasn't’ bad’ or ‘anything bad about her,’ but even so, her nerves sang inside as they both headed to bed.

In the morning, y/n woke up slightly early for a Saturday and got into a hot shower. She washed her body in _y/f/s_ed body wash. She then moved to her hair and shampooed and conditioned it. Lastly y/n shaved so her legs were smooth. When she stepped out of the shower, Emily was up. y/n walked into their room in a towel, and Em looked up from the bed, Her brown eyes got wider and she said, “Well, good morning, love?” y/n smiled and said, “Morning sweetheart.” y/n dropped her towel, and lazily crawled on the bed. Emily followed her with her eyes and her tongue slipped out of her mouth and wetted her lower lip subconsciously. y/n grinned and moved over Emily’s body and kissed her gently at first and then with more passion. Em snaked her hands around y/n’s hips. Once y/n’s tongue was slipped into Emily’s mouth, her fingers moved to y/n’s hair and tugged it gently at the root. After y/n and Prentiss were desperate for air, y/n pulled away and moved onto her knees before saying, “Maybe we should get dressed or we’ll miss brunch sweetheart.” Emily whined and said, “Do we have to?” y/n laughed and replied, “I think so. I’m in need of a good mimosa and waffle. Plus, we can get right back to this when we get back if we want.” Emily sat up and brushed her thumb over y/n’s jaw before saying, “Alright love. Give me a few minutes to get ready and we can go. It’s good if we go sooner though because you know how crazy that place gets after 11:00.” y/n nodded in agreement as she moved to the closet to pick out a spring dress and some matching jewelry while Emily used the bathroom and vanity to get ready. Emily chose a pink jumpsuit that fit her curves perfectly and was strapless showing off her lovely shoulders and neck.

y/n and Emily got to the restaurant before the big rush and were seated outside at a quiet corner table surrounded by a fence and hedge that gave the space a cool and calm feeling away from the bustle inside and the rush of cars outside. A waiter came and got their drink orders and while he was there, Emily and y/n also ordered pain au chocolat. Emily got a glass of white wine and y/n got a pomegranate mimosa, and they both got coffee. The lean man noted what they wanted and moved away. The wait time at this spot was longer giving people time to relax and talk. y/n looked at Emily wondering if she should start the conversation. Emily returned y/n’s smile, her face looking radiant in the glow of the midmorning sun. Prentiss shifted in her seat and said, “You’ve been looking so happy the last few days. Whatever it is you have to tell me I just want to say I’m so happy to see you like this. I wish every day could be like this. That there wasn’t the stress or worry of our jobs looming over us. But you make me feel safe and seen every day, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Once Emily said the words aloud, the idea in her head sprang so full and bright that she felt like she might be bowled over by a small breeze. The idea had been there for a few months but she hadn’t planned it. Certainly hadn’t even dreamed of it being like this, but it felt so right. When she looked over at y/n who was clearly saying something, Emily thought for a brief moment that she might be looking at the sun, blinding it it’s light and radiance. Prentiss cleared her throat and mind and finally heard y/n repeat, “Are you alright darling? You were in your own world there for a second.” Emily nodded now knowing what she was going to do and said, “Yeah I’m good. I just had an idea. So I suppose I have something to tell you too. But you go first. What was it you were wanting to tell me today that you’ve been so secretive about?” y/n blushed and felt better now that they both were going to say something, though she had no idea what Emily had up her sleeve. y/n replied, “Well why don’t you go first.” Prentiss shot back teasingly, “No you first.” They repeated this one more time before they both blurted out at the same time:

“I want to have a baby with you.”

“I want to marry you.”

When Emily and y/n both registered what the other had said they were stunned into silence. y/n felt her chest tighten with emotions that threatened to bubble over. She composed herself first and asked in awe, “Emily Prentiss, are you proposing to me right now?” Emily took a shallow breath in at what y/n had said about wanting a baby and y/n’s question and, she said, “I am, sweetheart. It just felt right right now. I don’t want to spend another day without you being mine in the most real way possible. Time just goes by so fast and as soon as we know it we’ll both be grey and have bad knees. We’re both gone so often from each other so I’d like you to be mine if you’re willing to be. y/n, will you marry me?” Emily got out of her chair and onto one knee. Again she was glad they were in a quieter part of the restaurant. y/n nodded her head yes and fell to her knees next to Em embracing her in a hug and saying, “Yes, Oh of course I will. I love you so much, I want my whole life with you.” They both stayed there for a moment on the brick floor before Emily raised her head from y/n’s shoulder wiping her own eyes of the salty liquid at her corneas before pulling back and helping y/n to her feet. They hugged properly with a tight embrace that said they would never be apart for longer than they had to be, and even when they were apart, they would still be together. Em pulled back and said, “I’m sorry I don’t have a ring for you, but it just felt right to ask you now. I promise I’ll get you one that’s just perfect.” y/n smiled and said, “I know whatever you pick out will be perfect love.” She leaned in and planted her mouth on Emily’s and they both let go of each other with a feeling of lightness and ecstasy that neither had expected this morning in bed. Just as they both sat down, the waiter returned with their pastries and drinks on a tray. He set all the plates and glasses down and said he’d be back in a bit to see if they needed anything else.

Once he had gone, y/n and Emily raised their glasses to their engagement and y/n said, “To the best fiance I could ever ask for!” As they clinked glasses Em added, “And to my favorite person in the whole world.” They both took sips of their drinks and what y/n had said resurfaced to the front of Prentiss’s mind after the euphoria of y/n saying yes to her proposal dimmed slightly. Em leaned forward and asked, “y/n you want to have a baby?” y/n flushed and nodded sheepishly. Suddenly talking to Emily about this made her feel nervous. With a steadying breath y/n replied, “Not just a baby Em. I want to have your baby. I’ve been researching reciprocal IVF. Looking up what the procedure is like for both parties, how expensive it is, and where there are clinics nearby that we could visit and consult with. I even went as far as talking to some people who’ve done it before to see how their experience was for them. That’s what I’ve been researching for the last few weeks. And I know this sounds so fast. Like I’m rushing. I don’t mean to pressure you into making a choice now or next week or month or even year. I just want you to know that I’d love to build a life with you. A life that might include children in the future if that’s something you're interested in. I just wanted to have all the facts I could about what that would possibly be like before springing something this big on you” Emily absorbed the information and took a sip of her drink. She said with a smile, “Look at you doing your research. Not that you don’t research, but I think we’re rubbing off on each other. You’re making me more comfortable in making big moves like proposing while I’m making you research a topic as much as possible.” y/n laughed and said, “Well, I guess that makes us pretty compatible, huh.” Emily chuckled and continued to think about what y/n had just said.

It wasn’t something they had talked about recently, but children was a topic of discussion they had had and it made Emily relieved to know that y/n left that secure in their relationship that it was something she was seriously thinking about. Now that they were engaged, it only made more sense, even though y/n couldn’t have known that coming into today. For a moment Emily pictured y/n cradling their baby, and then a toddler running around their apartment, and the child grown up and going off to school. Prentiss pulled herself from the film playing in her head. As lovely an image as it was, it was a lot to think about. She lifted her eyes up to y/n’s nervous gaze. Prentiss moved her right hand to y/n’s and held it across the table saying, “I think that’s a beautiful idea y/n. It is a lot to think about. I do appreciate that you’re comfortable enough to tell me something that’s really important to you. Would you mind if I give it some time to think through?” y/n squeezed Emily’s palm and replied, “Take all the time you need love. There’s no rush.” Prentiss felt a surge of warmth move through her not associated with the fact that she was sitting in the sun. Having someone as passionate and who understood her so well was the best thing that could have happened to her. Emily did wonder if something had prompted y/n into her desire for children. She’d never been one to have baby fever before now and the shift was interesting to her.

Emily watched y/n sip her drink and relax in her chair a bit. Prentiss asked, “Sweetheart, what sparked your desire for kids if anything? Or did it just sort of happen?” y/n sighed and said, “It’s been coming for a while I think, but things have made it speed up for me I suppose.” Emily nodded her head as if to say, “Keep going, love.” y/n placed her palms flat on the table and continued, “I guess that so much crazy stuff has been happening in the country recently. I know you know that. We both do as we work in the government, but the upturning of Roe V. Wade and all the crazy abortion bans popping up all over the place. I suppose I just don’t want to be too late. Like one day we both decided it was time and by then we didn’t even have that option. I don’t mean to sound melodramatic or to push you in any way, we have time, it’s just made me prioritize some things in my life that I hadn’t given too much thought to before now. I mean if Alabama can almost stop IVF then I’m afraid of what might come after that. I suppose having a child became more important to me the more things like that happen here.”

Emily gave a soft smile, she could more fully see where y/n was coming from and it made sense with her personality. Em moved her hand across the table and stroked her cheek gently before saying, “That makes sense darling. I’m going to have to think about it for a while before we do anything, but maybe when we get home, you can tell me a bit more about the process, and the cost. If we commit to something like this we’re going to need to be saving for some time.” y/n chuckled and said, “Take all the time you need darling. We can save money for that and a wedding too.” Emily paused and said, “Do you mind if I don’t tell the team right away about the engagement? I just want to get a ring and have it be a bit more put together because once I tell them, we’re going to be swamped with questions from JJ, Garcia, and Rossi.” y/n snorted and covered her mouth at how accurate Emily was. She could picture that conversation happening and how Garica would pounce on Em and then how she’d get ten calls for Penelope and then some texts and another call from Dave congratulating her. Since y/n had gotten to know the team more, Rossi had become a father figure which made her heart warm. y/n replied, “Yes, of course sweetheart. That will be a day to remember. Almost as exciting as getting to say yes to you Mrs. Prentiss.”

Shortly after this their waiter came back and got them a second round of drinks and they ordered some plates to share. The weekend flew by as always, and Emily showed up at Quantico with an excited air about her. The team slowly rolled into the bullpen on work days like they normally did. Em and JJ passed through security at the same time, and JJ who was now very pregnant asked Prentiss, “You seem preoccupied today. Is something up?” Emily tried to stay cool and said, “Nope, well apart from the fact that y/n and I had a late night last night.” Em gave JJ a wink and JJ shot her a sly smile replying, “Well that would make you pretty tired I suppose.” Emily laughed and the two women moved up to their floor. Prentiss hadn’t been lying about y/n and her last night. They’d spent a few pleasurable hours both in the shower and the bed solidifying their bond. Telling one truth and omitting two others felt better than a flat-out lie. Emily was a mix of emotions today and it did make her feel and perhaps look different which she was trying to hide. She was incredibly happy about the unofficial engagement but nervous about y/n’s question. It was more than a question, it was a whole new part of their life if they pursued it. Emily spent a good deal of the morning telling Spencer and Penelope that nothing was wrong and that she was fine but tired. Even Aaron gave her a look saying that he knew something was up. But Hotch didn’t always have the time for gossip and he trusted and knew Em enough that if she was having a serious problem, she could come to him anytime night or day. By lunch time, Prentiss felt a little bit more emotionally drained than she had coming into work. She hardly noticed Derek sneak in behind her to use the microwave when her leftover pasta was finished reheating.

Morgan said over the hum of the microwave, “So you told Spence and Garcia everything is fine and you gave Hotch that look that it’s all cool and they left you alone, but you're one of the most put-together people on the team and something is off. Keeping secrets is a burden and I’d think you’d like at least one person to know what’s playing in your mind on repeat. Listen if we go on a case or something then it might make you slower. Would you please tell me what’s going on? I won’t tell anyone else. You know I’m also good at keeping a secret.” Derek’s appearance startled Emily, and she jumped at his first few words but calmed quickly as she listened more intently to what he was saying. She bit the inside of her lip. The problem was she knew Derek was right and somehow that bothered her. However, Morgan would be as good a person to tell as any. Their bond was strong, but not as interwoven as the rest of the team. And he was good at keeping quiet. Prentiss deflated slightly and decided to be honest with Derek saying, “Okay but this stays between us, please?” Morgan nodded his consent and indicated for Em to continue. Emily thought of the proposal but knew the issue that was bugging her was what she should say. Finally, she stated, with a slow caution, “y/n wants to have a baby with me.”

That response was far from what Derek had been expecting, and he blinked a few times just to ensure he’d heard correctly. Slowly a smile crept to his face replying, “That’s amazing, Em!” Emily nodded lightly and Derek was confused as to why she wasn’t showing the same joy he was. He cleared his throat lightly and asked, “Do you not want that Emily?” Prentiss let out a long sigh and said what she’d been thinking about since last night: “I do think I want kids in time. And y/n and I have talked about that before now. We talked about it before we became serious.” Derek was confused by her hesitation and asked, “Is y/n like, rushing you into this?” Emily nodded no and replied, “No not at all. She knows me too well for that. She did a bunch of research beforehand and told me there wasn’t any rush. And also that if kids wasn’t something I was interested in she and I could talk about it.” This reply left Derek even more confused and he scratched the back of his head. Finally, Morgan asked, “So, why are you upset exactly?” Em came out with it and said, “What if I’m a bad mom? I can see y/n being the most loving and caring parent in the world, but my track history with my mother just doesn’t indicate that I’m going to be that competent a parent.”

When Emily got to the point of contention, Derek couldn’t help but chuckle, and Prentiss lightly slapped his board arm and said, “Don’t laugh at me, Morgan.” Derek managed to stop his chuckling and say, “I’m mainly laughing at your wording, Em. I don’t think any parent would say they are ‘competent.’ And if you’re going to question me on that, ask Hotch if he thinks he’s a competent parent with Jack or JJ with her baby. I swear no one has it all figured out.” Emily was still hesitant and Derek continued, “Emily no matter what you decide it’s going to be the right thing. I know you and y/n won’t jump into anything, but if you ask me, I think you’ll make a fantastic parent.” Emily could tell that Morgan was no longer joking and she asked, “Why do you say that?” She was genuinely curious to hear how he would answer. Morgan leaned against the wall and replied, “Well you could just call it intuition, but the other sign to me is how in tune with yourself and y/n you are. You notice things about everyone, especially y/n. If you decide to have a kid together that will be the most loved child ever. You may not have it all figured out, but with how much you care about each other, I know you and y/n will figure out the rest. You’ll be a great Mom Em.” Emily felt her heart warm slightly and the original image of a child running around her and y/n’s apartment, or the park, or a variety of other idyllic scenes came back in a rush. She knew this wasn’t always going to be the reality, but she felt encouraged and replied to Morgan, “Thanks, Derek. I appreciate that. And thanks for letting me ramble.” Derek smiled again and was happy to see Emily happy. He said, “You got it Em. And my lips are sealed.” Emily felt much better the rest of the day having one person know what she was thinking about. It helped so much that after she had talked about it, she found it much easier to work.

It was a few weeks later as Prentiss had found the right ring for y/n, and she and y/n had talked about breaking that set of news to the team that Emily came up behind y/n who was standing at the kitchen counter. Prentiss hugged y/n gently from behind and said softly in her ear, “y/n, I want to try. I want to try for a baby with you.” y/n froze and then turned around slowly in Emily’s arms and said, “Really?” Emily nodded and replied, “Really baby. I want some time before we go for it, but I want to be with you.” y/n felt her eyes well with tears of happiness. Her life had felt so empty and barren before she met Emily. Now life felt so full. She was getting married to the best woman ever, and they were planning a family. A lot was yet to come in their journey, but for now, everything was perfect. As the tears started rolling, y/n mouthed, “I love you so, so much Emily,” as she leaned in with her tear-stained face and kissed Em with all the love she could give. Emily wrapped her arms around y/n and kissed her back. Yes, time went quickly, but together they would make the most of every minute there was between them and the family they were planning.

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gatorbites-imagines · 4 months

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I recently started reading about werewolf stiles and I was wondering if you could do a werewolf stiles x male reader, please and thank you

Werewolf Stiles Stilinski x male reader

Headcanon

Ive never read too many werewolf Stiles fics, as I mainly read Spark Stiles stuff, but its an interesting idea, so I hope you enjoy this.

It’s been a while since I watched the show, so there might be parts about werewolf culture I forgot.

There are many ways Stiles could have been bitten, but lets assume its later on after everything with the Nogitsune and the chimeras. Its most likely Scott that bites him to save his life or something like that.

Because he killed people as the Nogitsune, and maybe other times I can’t remember, he would have blue eyes instead of yellow. Since he has so much experience with other people being bitten, he’s probably more on top of his own transformation.

If it was in the show, there would probably be a whole plot about Stiles becoming something else when he was bitten, because its Stiles, why wouldn’t he. But let’s just say the transformation went as it was meant to go.

Hes still is loud sassy self, but with a lot more wolf and dog jokes. You have to expect to hear the joke about you putting him in a collar at least once a week, or making him sleep in the doghouse.

Stiles struggles with his new urges and senses for a while, especially how much how loves your scent and can’t seem to get enough of you. Even before his bite, Stiles was a clingy lover, but afterwards it gets even worse.

He doesn’t even seem to notice he does it. Stiles will hang out at your place and splay across your bed, burying his face into your sheets and pillow and roll around. Or you go to his place, where he absentmindedly makes you wear his clothes to get his scent on you.

Stiles notices how he wants you provide for you more, it starts out small like bringing you small snacks or letting you borrow his jacket, but it becomes bringing you a whole ass deer after a full moon, much to the pack’s entertainment.

You are his person, if that makes sense. If he’s losing himself during a shift, he thinks about you to get himself back under control. Just the idea of hurting you makes his entire body and soul ache, and it’s the last thing he would ever want to do.

That might also result in Stiles hiding away from you the days before a full moon, just in case, as his needs and urges get stronger and stronger. Let’s just say he’s had to buy a lot of new pants as his claws keep tearing holes in his usual ones, as he has to grip his thigh from doing anything.

Has caught himself almost biting you on multiple occasions, like if you guys are cuddling or getting a little more intimate and Stiles finds himself scraping his teeth across your neck. His instincts howl for him to bite and mark you, but he’s so terrified of the idea that he almost falls out of the bed.

Stiles being Stiles would bury himself in research to try and understand why his urges are so God damn strong, as other wolves he’s met haven’t been so bad when it comes to their lover.

He ends up having to tuck his tail between his legs and go to other members of the pack with more experience, most likely Derek, or Peter, as his research doesn’t end up with much.

Peter would have a good laugh at his situation, and Derek would just raise a brow with a small “huh, makes sense” much to Stiles’s annoyance. He ends up getting the werewolf version of the birds and the bees, and the whole talk about true mates, and he ends up sitting in his car just thinking this all sounds like one of those trashy werewolf romance books.

Assuming you are an average human, it would take a bit for Stiles to tell you, and you probably have to force it out of him cuz he’s avoiding you. Stiles again being Stiles, would feel like he doesn’t deserve you or that you can do so much better, so he doesn’t wanna force a bond on you.

He needs reassurance that you still love him, especially after he’s become a werewolf. After a long talk, Stiles returns to his lovable clingy self, but he won’t allow himself to bond you until you guys get older, even though he truly wants too.

I can imagine it gets so bad that he wears something like a tooth guard so he can’t accidentally bite your neck in the heat of the moment, cuz he wants you both to build your careers or educations before you get “wolf married” as he calls it.

During a full moon, he also always finds himself by your place, be it crawling in through your window or just hovering in the shadows nearby. You gets used to the feeling of him watching you when he’s wolfed out, and you’ll easily find his glowing blue eyes when you learn where to look.

Like I said earlier, a scent beast. You’ll cat him snuffling and sniffing you on the regular, and it probably reaches the point he can smell the changes in your hormones, so if you ever feel a little hot under the collar you just know he’s gonna smell it too.

After being bitten he also gets more comfortable with his body and appearance, since running around during the full moon ends with him naked more times than he doesn’t. The bite also made him muscle up, at least somewhat, which he appreciates too.

When his old flannels don’t fit on him anymore cuz of the sudden growth spurt, he gives them all to you to wear or do with as you please. If they fit, that’s the easiest way to make him buckle for you.

All in all, he’s still as much of a sweetheart as if he wasn’t a werewolf, now he just has a lot of new urges and instincts that catch him off guard every now and then. Stiles would always carry some guilt for mixing you deeper into the supernatural world, even if you were already part of it, but he also can’t ever imagine living without you.

So, make sure to reassure him that you love him and will stay by his side. If you end up some kind of supernatural being too, the guilt lessens, but its Stiles were talking about, he’s always got some kind of thing going on.

#male reader #stiles stilinski #teen wolf #Mieczyslaw stilinski #werewolf stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski imagine #stiles stilinski headcanon #stiles stilinski x male reader #stiles stilinski x reader #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf headcanon #teen wolf x male reader #teen wolf x reader #Mieczyslaw stilinski imagine #Mieczyslaw stilinski headcanon #Mieczyslaw stilinski x male reader #Mieczyslaw stilinski x reader #werewolf dynamics #werewolf culture stuff?

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babygirl-riley · 8 months

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Can we get a little pt 2 to the breakup fic? Maybe even just a small Drabble of when Simon finds out what she did?

Hehehe you asked for it ❤️

Haunted Pt.II

Simon messaged you 2 days after the break up to talk things through. Only to find out that won’t be the case.

“I just wanna hear you. Saying, "Baby, let's go home" Let's go home. Yeah, I just wanna take you home.”

Warnings: mention of suicide, swearing, LITERALLY DEPRESSION, angst, drug mentions, alcohol consumption

simon x reader guide

simon x reader fluff/angst

Previous part

Alternative Ending

0300

Simon sat on a chair with bourbon sitting next to him and a cigarette in his fingers, in a broken apartment glass everywhere, holes in walls, broken chairs, tv. It looked like someone broke in and just destroyed everything. Simon had a rage fit, tears falling down his face, screaming till his throat felt raw.

Why the fuck would you do this? Why would you…You couldn’t. You wouldn’t. He felt numb as he sat there drinking his life away, filling his lungs with cancer. Nothing won’t take this pain away. God you were alone. By yourself. Only if he didn’t kick you out, only if he was there to save you. To hold you. He sat there thinking how those days went, where he could have done something.

0800

Simon was upset the fact that you didn’t text him back. It’s been almost two weeks since the break up, usually when both of you would take a break, you’d come back and talk things through. Toxic? For sure but you are always on his mind, even the bad times.

He wished everything was handled better that night, maybe he should have sat with her and explained that he just hadn’t felt anything emotionally. That he didn’t mean to push her away. But that would be opening scrapped up wounds. Reopening them like a child playing with their scabs.

He didn’t know the events that happened after the break up. Simon just moved slowly, getting back to the single life scene being alone. It wasn’t until Soap brought up a news article.

“Aye have you heard about the police findin’ a body in the car last night? News been sayin’ it’s a druggie.” He said looking down at his phone.

They were waiting for a meeting, they just got back from a mission last night, and needed to go over somethings that happened during it. Simon was looking at his phone periodically.

Buzz buzz buzz

Unknown number popped up, he denies it as he listens more. “Did they say who they were?” Gaz asked leaning back in his chair.

“Nah, just says that the body is a week or more old. Poor thing.” Soap said putting his phone down.

Simon always remembered how scary it was to find his brother all fucked out by drugs. Helping his mother through the process of getting him clean. It was a fucking nightmare. He felt bad for the poor bastard’s family.

Buzz buzz buzz

He picked his phone up again with the same number. He denied it once more, as Price walked through the door. He should have answered. He should have left it alone at the same time.

1900

The number didn’t call back again after that but left a voicemail. He waited till he got home, pour a whiskey out for him as he stared at the voicemail. He grumbled under his breath as he pressed it, putting it on speaker.

“Hey son,” His heart dropped, he knew that voice. That was your father. He hated Simon, that was one of the many other reasons why they stopped talking to you. Simon felt his blood boil. “I-,” It went quiet for a moment before he heard a sob in the background. “You need to meet us at the hospital in downtown. As soon as you can.”

He snatched his phone and dialed his number. The ringing kept going. His heart racing. What happened to you? What did you do? Are you alive? Please be okay. He thought of the worst of the worst. Maybe you were kidnapped? Maybe you were assaulted?

“Simon?” Simon froze as he gripped the glass.

“Where is she?” Simon asked making it to the point.

“You should just come here son,” He responded his voice trembling. “We will talk here.”

He sighed and agreed. Maybe you drank too much, got back into that habit. You both will figure it out together, it is fine, you’ve done it before you can do it again. The drive there made his heart thump, your parents were always disappointed in your drinking. That was the second reason. You were not a nice drunk for sure but Simon knew the real you.

“Why do they hate me?” You cried as you threw the last tequila bottom across the room. Simon stood still as he watched you pace back and forth. “They told me to never come back home. They don’t like the fact I am with you OR my drinking. I don’t have a problem Simon.”

He knew why you drank, the depression, the PTSD, the pain of your surgery. It was too much for you beautiful brain. You took pills for depression but it seemed to not help lately. Simon shouldn’t have let it go this far. He has seen it with soldiers, being discharged because of the problem.

“Little one,” He said walking cautiously to you. “Maybe we should come up with a plan.”

You scoffed. “What plan?” Your eyes were wet, not all there, distant.

It reminded him of his dad, not that you were beating him just the face. Face of anger mixed with sadness, you were in pain. His sighed cupping your face. “To stop drinking,” You were about to object before snapping your mouth closed. “Doing this to yourself isn’t gonna work sweetheart.”

“Are you gonna leave me?”

2000

That rang through his head as he stood in front of your dad. Confused. No you wouldn’t. “Where is she?” He said looking up at your mom.

She was a mess, sat in the room that were for patient’s families when their loved ones pass away. Your mom had tissues in her hand as she kept sobbing. He snapped his head over to your brother. “Where is she?” Simon asked again.

Your father placed his hand on his shoulder. “Simon,” Simon brushed his hand off. “Simon listen. Did she stop taking her pills?”

Simon laughed genuinely laughed. “No I made sure she took them every day.”

“Did she act different,” Your mom stood up. “Did you notice ANYTHING different with her?!” She rose her voice which made Simon’s blood boil. “All her things were in her car! What did you do?”

Then it hit him. Not the last couple of weeks did he make sure. He kicked you out that night. His heart stopped. “We fought that night, nothing crazy.” He mumbled looking away.

“Nothing crazy!” Your mom yelled. Your brother walked to her whispering to her. Trying to calm her down.

“Allison,” Your father whispered. “Enough, son take her outside for a moment.” Your brother nodded walking her out as she sobbed. It was eerie quiet. He killed her. Simon killed her. If he didn’t kick her out she would be here. She would be in bed with him. Not being examined by strangers. “Simon,” Simon didn’t look at him. He couldn’t. He killed his baby girl. His child. “Simon this isn’t your fault.”

Simon scoffed. “I kicked her out.”

It was quiet yet again. “We disowned her for stupid reasons.”

2200

It was a few hours before a doctor came in, letting them know that it was a drug overdose. Irony. This was irony. Your mom sobbing harder, brother holding her, your father now crying, and Simon still as a rock. You were gone.

The doctor mentioned that they were aloud to see you. That you were cleaned up enough to say their goodbyes. Simon wanted to scoff at that statement. He let your family see you first, he didn’t think he could see you. Or deserve to.

He watched as your mother and brother walked out, your father walked to him. “You should go back there. She looks…” His lip trembled. Simon looked away and nodded, your father patted his shoulder.

2243

The nurse took him back to the room you laid in. They haven’t covered you yet, he stood in the doorway as the nurse walked in. You were pale, your skin having no color. The color that brought you life, the lips that once was moving and smiling.

He walked all the way in, feeling his skin tingle, his heart racing, his chest tighten. Simon swallowed the bile quickly before it came back up. The nurse stood on one side of you as she looked at the taller man. “We are going to have to take her in less than an hour sir. Police want to look more into the toxicity.”

Simon wanted to throw the small lady, she was doing her job for sure. He just didn’t want her to take you away, secretly he would hope that you would take a quick breath and say jokes haha. But you laid still.

Simon walked to your side and placed a hand on your cheek. “I will leave you alone.” The nurse said as she walked out.

Why did you do it? What were your last thoughts? “Come on sweethear’, just open them.” He whispered running his finger down your cheek.

It was his fault. He kicked you out. He pushed you away. He left you alone knowing damn well you had nowhere else to go. Was it because he didn’t believe that you would leave? That you would be home waiting for him begging to talk about it?

Simon knelt next to you and placed his head on your hand. You can’t be gone. Please. Please don’t be gone. “Let’s go home baby. We can forget all about it. I know you didn’t mean to, I know you love me,” He looked back up to your face. Unmoving. Pale. Cold. Alone. He felt the sting pinging his eyes as water started to blur his vision. “I need ya, please just wake up. I’m sorry. ‘m so fucking sorry.”

The nurse found him laying next to you holding you as he sobbed. Combing through your hair, whispering sweet things. Begging for you to come back to him. The nurse left him alone with you for a few more hours, letting the cops know that your family was still saying their goodbyes.

0304

Simon sat there numb. Tears still spilling. He just wished you were here instead of being alone. He wished he never kicked you out. He wished that he would have been able to tell you his emotions. He wished for you to be here, in front of him.

None of that was going to happen. Simon won’t be able to make you laugh one last time. Simon won’t be able to laugh with you as you made a competition of you can stuff more grapes in your mouth. Simon won’t be able to feel your warm skin against his. Won’t have the chance to talk about children. Marriage. Fuck even retirement with you.

And it was his fault. It was his fault that you took your life and the last thing on your mind was that you were unloved and alone.

He wished he could go back to when you were here. Alive. Maybe in another life you two were happy, alive, and not fucked up. But that wasn’t the reality. Reality was that you were gone and he was here. Alone.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ‘ghost’ riley #ghost #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley x female reader #simon ghost x reader #simon “ghost” riley #simon riley cod #simon x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x y/n #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon riley x you

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seresinhangmanjake · 1 year

Text

Daddy Knows Best

Dad!Jake “Hangman” Seresin x female reader

Summary: Jake is very much against having his daughter in daycare, but his baby saying her first word might just make it a little better. (sorry to those of you who read the title and thought this would be smut 😁)

Notes: Suggested by a couple of people. / Part of the Oh, Baby Universe.

**This is a jump forward; Eve is nine months old. It's not the next part in the main series or anything. There's technically still a lot more to happen there first before the events of this fic. It's just a little add on**

Warnings: none, I think.

Words: 1200

---

Jake hated dropping his little girl off at daycare. Hated. It. But after you went back to work at the bar four days a week, there’d been no other choice. The schedules didn’t allow it. For those four days, you got home at three a.m. and he was up at the crack of dawn. He got done with work at four, and you were off for your shift at six. It was complicated. It required some difficult rearranging of the perfect system you’d developed during the first months of your little family coming together.

But Jake could accept that part. He could accept that Eve was getting a bit older and you wanted to go back to work. You wanted your independence and asked for Jake's support and he gave it. The daycare element, though, despite you mentioning it in the past, was the one piece he still struggled with. He couldn’t stand leaving Eve to mingle with germy rugrats and strange adults. In a room full of toddlers whining for attention, it was impossible for his daughter to be a priority to the women who worked at the center, and as far as Jake was concerned, that was unacceptable. He’d never speak it aloud, but his girl was the princess among those tiny commoners, and that was that. How you had no issue with letting her in such an environment he refused to understand.

Every morning it was a debate in his head as he took Eve from her car seat and walked her to the door of the daycare. Should he take her and run back to his truck? Decide to introduce the concept of ‘bring your daughter to work day’ to his superiors and team? He created a lot of possibilities, but then he’d remember that you would arrive to pick her up at two and he'd face an inevitable scolding if you found out she was never dropped off.

He really didn’t want to upset you. You didn’t let him so much as kiss you when you were irritated with him and that was not his idea of a good time. But even having that motivation in the back of his mind didn’t ease the pain of letting Eve go. If she would just give him a sign, something to prove she wanted to stay with him that he could relay back to you, he’d feel significantly better when arguing his case.

But no such luck.

—

"Baby girl, you don't want to go to daycare, do you?"

Jake shook his head in answer for his daughter. He didn't care that she didn't understand him—that she could only stare up at him with her big green eyes—he knew what was best for her and daycare wasn't it. Plain and simple. He had no alternative solution to present, but he figured that was a problem best saved for later.

"No, you don't," he continued as he carried her through the front door of the building. "You want to stay with Daddy. I've told your Mama but she refuses to listen. And I love her, baby girl, you know I do, but she can be so stubborn."

Walking down the cream-colored hallway toward the third door on the left, Jake heard the noises of small children babbling. But they were quickly drowned out by a shrill shriek of excitement once he stepped into the room.

"There's our favorite girl!" the source of the ear-splitting sound said.

Jake frowned. Eve was his girl. His and yours.

She cuddled closer to him as a young woman jogged over and reached out to try to pull the girl from his arms. When Eve made no move to wiggle free from her father, the woman made a pretend face of disappointment.

She put her hands on her hips. "Now, Evie—"

Evie? Jake's brow furrowed. When the fuck did his daughter's name change?

"Don't you want to play with your friends?"

Jake glanced at Eve. Like the many similar features of their faces, they shared matching frowns, hers just a tad more pouty from the fuller lips you'd passed down.

"Someone's a bit grumpy this morning," the woman teased, poking at the girl's little arm. "Did we not get a good night's sleep?"

"She slept just fine," Jake said.

The woman looked up at him and blushed under his stony stare.

"Of course," she replied, bubbly nature still intact. "Well, we're going to have a fun day together, sweetheart." Her hands reached towards him again. "Ready?"

Eve's eyes peered up at Jake and he sighed, shoulders sagging. "Alright, baby girl. Daddy's gotta go now."

She made a little noise that he swore was in protest, but he handed her over nonetheless. Each day he approached it like ripping off a band-aid—an industrial strength band-aid. Quick and, well…extremely painful. But even after months, it was the only way he knew how to do it.

Reluctantly, Jake gave a wave and turned for the exit.

"Say goodbye to Dada," he heard.

Then, "Da–Da."

He stopped in his tracks, bracing himself with a hand on the frame of the door.

"Oh, how sweet!" the woman squealed as Jake whipped around.

He paused for a moment, replaying in his head what he thought he heard, but when he decided he wasn't in need of a hearing check, he chuckled and walked back over.

"Ok, give her back," he ordered despite the smile on his face.

"Wha–"

Eve was pulled away and returned to her father's arms before the woman could finish.

"What did you just say? Did you say Daddy?" He asked as he bounced her once on his hip.

"Da–Da," she repeated, clear and loud and completely unmistakable in her beautiful little voice.

"Oh my god." He kissed her on her forehead and ran his knuckle down her plush cheek. "You are so perfect, baby girl. Do you want to stay with me?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Jake could see the woman start to fidget where she stood. "Um, Mr. Seresin, your wife said that if Eve isn't in daycare to call her. Should we—"

"I'll take care of it," he said, refusing to take his eyes off his daughter. "Have a good day."

He hurried out of the building to his truck and strapped Eve in her car seat. She stared up at him as he worked on cinching the belt just right.

"Don't look at me like that, baby girl. Mama will forgive Daddy…I think," he said. "Either way, she's going to be so proud of you when we tell her."

He hopped in the front seat and as he started up the truck, he was hit with the realization that, one, he was about to wake his very exhausted wife, and two, he was still expected to work for a living.

"Daddy's gonna have to come up with an excuse to miss work today, too," he mumbled to himself and shifted the gear in reverse. "That'll be fun."

But he didn’t care. He had to tell you what happened, and there was no way he was taking his baby girl back to daycare.

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sunshine-on-marz · 5 months

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WOOP WOOOP ILY

reader x spencer where Spence comes home after a tough case and the reader’s there to comfort him and listen to his rants about it, the reader just holds him and lets him talk

TY<3

Hard days

6 days, 2 hours, and 17 minutes. That's how long it's been since you've seen your boyfriend. 2 minutes ago is when you got the "pulling onto your street now honey❤️" text. That means he should be knocking on the door right about.. now.

"Knock knock"

he said softly from the other side of your apartment door. He barely finished his breath before you'd swing the door open and hugged him. "Missed you" is all you mumble into his neck. He lifts you up by just under your hips and steps into your apartment, shutting the door behind you. "I missed you too darling, more than you know"

As he sits down on the couch, arms still firmly around your torso as you sat in his lap, you notice something is up. "What's wrong Spence?" You ask, hand lightly cupping his cheek, his head dips slightly to the side for a moment as he kisses your plan."Stressful week" he says softly, his voice slightly rasped from a mixture of stress and tiredness.

"Wanna talk about it?" He smiles a bit at the offer, his lips pursing into a line. "No, honey, I couldn't put that on you." He whispers back. "I want you to tell me Spencer" he sighs, he knows you're worried. "I suppose I could just leave out the stuff I don't want you to worry about" he chuckles at your sad attempt to hide your pride at getting him to open up.

"It's just a lot." He mumbles into your hair, his lips pressing against your head in a small kiss. "I bet it is Spencer. You do hard work. And you're good at it" you say, he laughs "I suppose that is a lot harder than being bad at it, granted I don't think the people who are bad at it make it to the BAU" his reply was so refreshing. Full of those little chuckles you always miss so much, the phone speaker doesn't pick them up the same. "They also don't have the world's highest IQ Spence" you meant it to be sarcasm "well actually, the world's highest IQ is currently held by-" you've triggered a rant. "Spence, baby, you know I love your ramblings more than life itself, and I'd usually never cut you off, but you need rest. Let's go get ready for bed and I'll rub your back while you tell me about the case, yea?" He nods "yea, that sounds nice.. sorry". Your heart always breaks when he says sorry for rambling to you "don't be sorry Spencer, I wouldn't trade your little rants for the world". He smiles and kisses your cheek

A few minutes later, as you climb in bed next to him, you’d taken the second shower, he put his hands on the small of your back, pulling you down onto his chest and into a hug.

“Hi Spence” you say, amused at his actions. “I missed you so much” is all he says back, he sounds almost broken up about it. “I know Spence, I missed you too, but I’m not angry, and I’m not upset, because you’re back now. You always come back home after, and that’s what matters.” He nods into your collarbone, where he’d placed his head, his hand cradling the back your head, like you’d disappear if he let you go. He was usually not this upset, unless the worst happens. “You guys couldn’t save everyone, is that it?” I you say, your voice gentle. He nods again. “Spencer Reid that is not your fault” you say, still gentle, but also stern. He lets out a shakey breath. “We were right there” he whispers, voice quivering. “I’m so sorry Spence, I’ve got you, you’re home now” you say, and you repeat it “I’ve got you Spence. I’ve got you”. Eventually his crying becomes small sniffles. “Better?” You ask, guiding his chin up so your eyes can meet. “Yea” he whispers. “I think it’s time for bed” he nods, pulling you back against him. “Night, I love you” he says, sleep evident in his voice. “Good night baby, I love you too”

SPENCER!!! Believe me there will be more Spencer fics wether you like it or not (pls like it)

Send me some Spencer asks babes

Remember to reblog if you enjoyed!!!!!

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #criminal minds x reader

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soralymystaken · 3 days

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I think a lot about Lloyd and Harumi, solely because they have one of the most unique yet complex relationship dynamics in all of Ninjago, and it’s something I don’t feel like we talk about enough.

So often I see online that their dynamic is overly simplified. I so often see people arguing between them being “true-love” or “friends to lovers to enemies,” but stating it’s just one of those is overlooking all of the complexities. Even stating it as a one-sided thing from Lloyd isn’t looking at the whole picture. Of course, there can be many interpretations of how they interact. Again, that’s the reason I adore this dynamic so much. This, however, is my personal interpretation:

Also, warning, spoilers plus some swearing.

At the beginning, we see Lloyd have the whole “love-at-first-sight” trope, and we learn that Harumi invited him into the castle. While, of course this immediately is seemed as a positive interaction, later events reveal otherwise. It continues like this: Lloyd falls deeper in love with Harumi whilst she continues manipulating him to keep him on strings. She eventually realizes his feelings, and wants plays on that, making the process work exponentially better. Finally, we learn Harumi’s motives and her reasoning, and, in the episode, Lloyd is devastated. However, I have some additions on this, but I’m gonna finish up my review of canon before getting to that. We do also know that Lloyd still has feelings, though. We primarily see thing from Lloyd still trying to save her from Garmadon’s grasp along with his sadness from her death.

The next time we see her and Lloyd’s dynamic (at least as far as I want to mention,) is Crystalized. When Lloyd is captured, he apologizes. He still clearly has feelings for Harumi, and, in a turn of events, it seems that Harumi does as well, as she convinces the Overlord to spare him and to try to get him on their side.

Okay, enough about prior knowledge, lets discuss headcanons. So, firstly, I’m 100% sure that Lloyd was tormented by Harumi’s origin story. We know how high of a standard he holds himself to, and we also know how morally-driven he is. Him learning about the real stories of the real people who he had really hurt couldn’t have been taken easily. I’ve actually written a whole fic that revolves on that fact, and how Lloyd’s lingering feelings would have amplified that feeling to oblivion. Also, for people who assume he would immediately drop his feelings when he learned Harumi’s true motives, literally just look at how he talks about Garmadon and you’ll see he can’t exactly move on that easily. Things like this take time, and, again, he has guilt because of this whole thing. Moving on from a relationship when you believe you were the reason the person tried to destroy the entire world and subsequently died isn’t the same as a high school breakup. That’s fucking devastating, and especially for someone who hasn’t had the best relationships up to that point.

However, this dynamic really starts to become cloudy when you look at Harumi. Now, look: I’m like 90% sure she only had feelings for Lloyd in S15 as fan-service, but, fan-service or not, it’s canon, and therefore I’m still gonna cover it.

So, first off, when and how did Harumi develop feelings? Personally, I think there could be three main reasons. For one, gaslighting. The whole time, she was gaslighting Lloyd into loving her. Sometimes, when you keep up a lie like that for so long and with that level of commitment, you can convince even yourself of these feelings. Do I think this is the case for Harumi? Well, it depends. If you truly do believe there is a spark between them, then no. However, if you really don’t like the fact that they were given a romantic storyline in S15, then this is a totally valid reasoning.

The second reason that comes to mind is Lloyd’s persistence. Now, just to cover all our basis, reminder that “being persistent” and “never giving up on a love that could be” are not cutesy tropes and relationship goals, and no means no. I see too much stuff online saying shit like “I never gave up on her and, even though she said no 20 times, she gave in in the end.” This is not something to romanticize. If someone rejects you, fucking respect that and move tf on. That being said, though, I think that could actually be the case in this dynamic, albeit in a much less creepy way than some fuckers online do it. Lloyd clearly, even after all of the shit Harumi pulled, still has lingering feelings: a mix of platonic and romantic. I truly believe Lloyd is someone who believes that anyone can change for the better, and applies this to Harumi. The fact that, even after all the pain Harumi caused, he still searched for her in the rubble could be the reason she developed feelings. In my opinion, this is the most likely option.

The final one is a bit colder, and is for y’all who believe Harumi is evil through-and-through. Lloyd is fucking overpowered. Harumi’s reasoning to the Overlord could be just that: the reason. I personally don’t love this one as much, but if this is something you resonate with, I would totally understand why.

All of these factors strung together make Lloyd and Harumi one of my favorite dynamics. There is so much more that I didn’t even discuss here. Is it romantic or platonic or just romantic for one of them? Did Harumi develop feelings even sooner yet denied them solely because of her hatred? Is Lloyd’s relationship with Harumi less to do with Harumi herself and more-so to do with trying to rebuild a relationship with his father through her to prove he can hold onto someone he loves? All of these are questions I’d love to dive into but simply do not have time.

Hopefully you enjoyed my little rant. I love overthinking stuff like this and also love chatting about over-the-top headcanons. If you have any thoughts on this (or other headcanons you want to share), please do!

#ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago headcanons #ninjago lloyd #lloyd garmadon #lloyd ninjago #ninjago harumi #princess harumi #harumi jade #harumi ninjago #llorumi

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m1lflov3rrr · 6 months

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Hi hiiiiii! Firstly, lemme just say I absolutely ADORE your fics on wattpad and im SO thrilled you're also here on tumblr now??!?!? An absolute treat, this is <3

Anyways as for requests— can I request Larissa and/or Marilyn dealing with Y/N who's got a really bad sleeping schedule thanks to having the WORST case of insomnia? (fluff most appreciated, but IF you want somth more spicy to deal it, I wouldn't say no to it hehe 💕 :3c)

Thank you sm <3

Thank you for the request and so sorry it took literally MONTHS!!! But here it is now!! And thank you for your kind words, means so much to me <3 I really hope you enjoy this, I made a few changes to it. I don’t have that much experience with insomnia, but with sleep deprivation so I wrote about that, I hope it is okay!

No Rest for the Wicked

Pairing: Larissa Weems x fem!reader

Warnings: sleep deprivation, health issues, fainting, worrying, fluff

Word count: 2.5k

Summary: Larissa tries to help you when she notices how little you’re sleeping…

You sighed deeply as you raised your gaze from your laptop and looked out the window. A heavy fog had descended on the school grounds, reaching as far as the tired eye could see.

The fog was persistent, it was thick.

You felt like your thoughts were similarly clouded. You smiled at the irony.

Returning your gaze back to your work, you looked at the time, it was way past 4 am already. Larissa would wake up soon.

For the past few weeks it had been like this. You were staying up late, only getting a few hours of sleep a night. And sometimes, like tonight, no sleep at all.

You felt that you didn’t have enough time. The work load you had felt like the weight of the world rested on your shoulders. You had stacks of ungraded papers, lesson plans to finalize, and a curriculum to update.

You were exhausted.

You tried your best to hide it, you didn’t want Larissa to get worried. Because her concern would’ve broken your heart.

Every day went like this: You ’got up’ at 6, prepared for your lessons of the day and started at 8, taught for 8 hours straight, got back to your shared quarters and spent the rest of the night with Larissa. And after she had fallen asleep, you’d finish your work and prepare for the next day.

You didn’t have the heart to tell your wife how much workload you’d had recently and how overwhelming it was for you. You had had difficulties in the past finding time to spend together, and after months of you both trying to work it out, it was, indeed, working.

But lately, it had become too much. With the work, of course. You knew that Larissa would get concerned and start panicking and rushing things to make it better. You didn’t want that. She had her own job to do, which definitely had a workload twice as big as yours was. You felt pathetic. Your wife does three times the work you do in a day and you’re still stressed? Yes, pathetic.

You finished your lesson plans for the day, just to save yourself some time later.

It was 5:13 am when you were done. You rubbed your temples to ease your already growing headache as you got up from the desk, swayed there for a bit before making your way to the bathroom.

You winced at your reflection in the mirror. Your dark and puffy undereyes were still there, if not even more bad and noticeable. This was the first time in your 25 years of living that you had had eye bags. You knew it was bad.

You hopped in the shower to keep yourself up and maybe gather some energy to get through the day. At first the cold water did wake you up a bit more. Then, when you turned it a little bit warmer, you realized how bad of an idea it was. The warm water relaxed all those tense muscles in your body and you closed your eyes to enjoy the feeling.

And your eyes stayed closed for a bit too long. If you weren’t so tired, you would have laughed at yourself. The image of you half asleep, standing in your shower. What in the actual fuck, really?

But something made you jump and push your body’s cries for help and sleep to the back of your mind.

”Darling?” You heard Larissa’s hoarse morning voice call out to you from the door.

”Mhm?” You hummed as you turned the water back to cold to not almost fall asleep again.

”Nothing, just wondering how you’re up so early every morning this week, usually it’s a task itself to get you up,” She chuckled at her own words.

You smiled to yourself and turned the faucet off, stepping out of the shower so you could see her.

You noticed how she was checking you out, biting her lip as her eyes roamed across your body. You smirked at her as you took your towel and dried yourself, about to wrap it around your bare body.

She quickly snapped out of her trance and stepped forward, taking the towel in her hands and unwrapping it, causing it to drop on the floor.

”I don’t think we’ll be needing that.” She said in a low tone as she pulled you flush against her body by your waist, attacking your neck with her mouth.

You hummed in delight and closed your eyes in satisfaction at the sudden move, wrapping your hands around her neck.

You let out little gasps, you couldn’t even let out a simple moan because of your sleep-deprived state.

And it felt so good, feeling your wife’s lips on your neck, still keeping your eyes shut, leaning into her, maybe leaning too much, starting to drift off, losing your balance…

Your eyes snapped open when your heard Larissa’s sudden, loud gasp, as she had her arms tightly wrapped around your torso to keep you from falling to the hard floor.

”Darling, what on earth just happened here?!” She asked in shock as you stood up.

You took a moment to process what she just said, just because you couldn’t think as fast as usual.

”What? M’sorry, just got a little.. distracted there, I think..” You responded hazily, trying to focus your eyes to look into hers.

She ducked her head a bit, trying to get a closer look of you and inspecting your condition. ”Are you alright? You had me worried there, are you sure you want to go to work today? You can take the day off, okay?”

Your eyes widened in panic, ”No, no, Rissa I am absolutely fine, and I will not be taking the day off. You shouldn’t be concerned, I am okay.” You said hurriedly and walked away, leaving your wife standing in the bathroom, extremely confused and concerned.

”Okay, I think it’s time we all head for lunch, see you guys tomorrow!” You announced the class with a smile, packing your things and leaving for the dining hall. As you entered the hall, you seached for your wife with your eyes, as you always ate lunch together. She wasn’t there.

You yelped loudly when you felt someone grab your shoulder from behind, causing some people nearby to look at your weirdly. You turned around, ”God, you scared me, Rissa,” You breathed out.

She just responded with a laugh, sliding her arm to the small of your back and guiding you to walk together to get the food.

As you sat down, you began eating in silence. You opened a can of energy drink, something that you’d been drinking a lot these days. You didn’t usually even drink those that often, but you needed something to keep you up and awake.

Larissa sent you a scolding look, a frown tugging at her lips. ”Y/N, what’s this?”

You widened your eyes, you didn’t want her to find out like this. Or any other way. ”Oh, that’s just an energy drink. Thought it might give me a little boost.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly, ”A boost? Y/N, darling, this isn’t healthy. Are you not sleeping enough?”

You smiled, but it was forced. ”Rissa, I’m fine. It’s just been a busy week.”

She sighed, looking at you with worry-filled eyes. ”Y/N, I can see something is going on, don’t shut me out. Whatever it is, I’m here to help you. We’re a team, remember?”

Your gaze softened, you were really lucky to have her. But you didn’t want her to know. You didn’t want her you worry about you, because when Larissa got worried, it was all she could think about. She couldn’t work, rest, do anything. She’d have to get to the bottom of it.

You pursed your lips and took her hand in yours, ”I know, and I appreciate that. But I’ve got this, Rissa. Trust me.”

It had been a few days since that, and your condition and fatigue were only growing worse. Your work load seemed to have doubled since that day. You were trying (and struggling) to stay awake with the constant consumption of caffeine.

The fog was growing thicker and thicker. You barely could see where you were walking.

Larissa had had enough. She had been watching your extremely concerning situation unfold in the past few days into something much more worrying. She couldn’t bear seeing you suffer like this for a moment longer. This had to end now.

You were sitting in your classroom, head buried in your hands as you tried to take a deep breath so that the pounding headache you had recently gotten would go away. You’d taken more aspirin than you probably should have, but it didn’t do anything. You were feeling miserable, physically, and that way, emotionally, too.

Your eyes began to feel heavier and heavier, and you almost didn’t hear the sharp knock on your classroom door. You flinched harshly at that, squeaking a quiet, ”It’s open.”

You heard the door opening and the familiar clacking of heels filled the room.

”Darling?”

Her voice was soft, almost a little wary.

You raised your gaze to meet hers, ”Yes?”

Her eyes were filled with concern, barely hidden. ”I’m worried about you. I can see that something’s going on, and if you’d just please, please let me in, I could help you. Okay?”

You pursed your lips. You knew this was coming. ”Larissa there is absolutely no reason for you to worry. I am fine, okay?” Your voice was a mixture of frustration and exhaustion.

”No, you’re not.” She snarled, her tone of voice contrasting the one she had just moments prior. ”You’ve been running on fumes for days! Darling, this… this can’t go on any longer.” Her voice broke as her eyes held a silent plea.

Your jaw clenched, eyes fixed on the floor. ”I can handle it.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, and it was becoming harder and harder to keep convincing yourself that.

”Y/N you almost collapsed earlier! This can’t go on.” She stepped closer, reaching her hand out to touch your shoulder.

You shrugged off her touch, ”It was nothing. Just a moment of dizziness.”

Larissa scoffed, her patience was wearing thin. ”And what happens when it’s not just a moment? What happens when you can’t get back up?”

Something in that comment did it. Your eyes flashed with fury as your tone of voice turned into one laced with venom. ”You just don’t get it, Larissa! I can fucking handle myself!”

Her brows furrowed and you could’ve sworn you almost saw her flinch a little. ”Look, I am not trying to belittle you. I just want and need you to take care of yourself.”

Your head tilted as your eyes held nothing but defiance in them. You felt your breathing pick up, uncontrollably, and how that pounding headache seemed to double, you started feeling a little lightheaded. But you chose to do what you’d been doing for god knows how long now. You ignored it.

”I don’t, I don’t need you constantly watching over me.” You said, out of breath.

Your wife’s expression dropped as she realized your condition and what could be happening next. She approached you cautiously, attempting to try and calm you down. ”Y/N, darling, this is not about control. It’s about caring for you.” She told calmly, cupping your face with her soft palm.

You shook your head, ”You suffocate me, Larissa! I can’t breathe with you hovering over me all the time!”

Larissa’s heart sank at that. She never meant for it to come to this. She only wanted the best for you, to protect you.

”Y/N, please, I…”

Your breathing laboured and before she could finish, your legs gave way and you collapsed on the cold, hard floor.

”Y/N!” Larissa’s voice came out as a terrified cry as she rushed forward to try and catch you, but she was too late.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she knelt beside you, shaking you gently and trying to wake you up. ”Y/N, can you hear me?! Please, say something..”

Your eyes fluttered open, but you couldn’t focus on anything. Your breathing was still laboured and the words you tried to speak came out as a strained whisper.

”Y/N, I’m taking you to the infirmary.” She breathed out as she scooped you up in her arms and rushed out the classroom.

Since then, you and Larissa made an agreement. Well, you didn’t have much say in it, since Larissa demanded it.

Larissa began monitoring your schedule, making sure you were following the new schedule she had made for you. And there was no room for negotiaton, absolutely no exceptions.

Larissa also began cooking more, preparing the meals with care and love, making sure each one was balanced with important nutrients to get your energy levels for the better.

Bedtime was the most strictly monitored. As evening approached, Larissa would guide you through a calming routine. She’d prepare a warm bath with your favourite scents, she’d slip in as well and wash your hair for you, massaging your head to calm you down. Then, she’d dress you into comfortable pyjamas and lead you to bed, prepare you a nice cup of tea and dim the lights.

And she’d lull you to sleep with soothing caresses and words of affirmation, telling you how much she loved you, again and again, kissing your whole body as she did so.

And it worked perfectly. You were feeling both, physically and mentally better. The dark circles under your eyes were slowly fading away, your energy starting to gain back. You also growed to appreciate your wife a thousand times more.

One evening, you were sitting in your shared bedroom, by your desk. Your laptop was open and you were determined to finish grading some papers for your students. Then, Larissa entered the room, the stern look on her face telling everything. ”Darling, it’s time for dinner.”

You sighed, closing the laptop as you didn’t want to argue about it. And you were starving too.

You ate in silence with her, you occasionally stealing glances at her. The way she fussed about your portion sizes, making sure you got the right nutrients for your health - you heart warmed as it was all an expression of love.

Once you were finished, she led you to bed, undressing you and helping you with your pyjamas. I could’ve done that myself, you thought.

”Now, off to bed. You need your rest, dearest.”

You smiled as she laid down next to you, caressing your hair and kissing you softly. And you kissed her back, again and again. Soon, you fell into a peaceful slumber, under Larissa’s loving gaze. She laid a final kiss on your forehead, ”I love you, my darling.” She whispered before drifting off as well.

And if you looked outside, you’d have noticed that the fog had finally cleared.

#larissa weems #wednesday #principal weems #larissa x reader #larissa weems x reader #gwendoline christie #larissa weems x female reader #larissa weems x y/n

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blooming-violets · 1 month

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Saints and Sinners || Under the Banner of Heaven

[Jeb Pyre x fem!Reader]

Summary: Jeb falls prey to his darkest temptations while working a case.

Warnings: adult graphic smut, a cheating fic, heavy LDS religious themes and traumas, brief mentions of the murder of sex workers, light fem!dom/male!sub roles but nothing too crazy, brining it back to the religious trauma stuff - a lot of strong feelings of being trapped in a family/religion you don't feel like you belong in, if you are someone who feels offended with merging religion and sexual themes then this is not the fic for you

Note: "Reader" is nicknamed Daisy as her stage name as a stripper/sex worker. She has no physical descriptions apart from having female anatomy/a human body and wearing a sun dress. She can look however you'd want her to which is what makes her a reader character. Apart from that, she is her own character.

Jeb Pyre considered himself to be a decently good man.

He was well groomed. He was respectful. He loved his family. He gave his job 100% and loved his neighbors.

He was a devout son of the Heavenly Father.

Or, at least, he used to be.

He had been hiding his true self for his family's sake. He was trying, but failing, to keep up his appearance of perfection. Every day was a new struggle to keep up his flawless Latter-day smile. Docile and submissive. Never making waves. Never voicing questions. Day after day, trapped in his own mind, slowly being eaten alive by his ever growing doubt. It was only a matter of time before he cracked.

She was his forbidden fruit. The temptress sent straight from the devil to corrupt his soul. The snake in his garden.

His latest case had led him straight to her doorstep. There were sex workers in the city being murdered. A killer who vowed to cleanse his city from their filth. Jeb hadn’t even known there were sex workers living in his area. He’d never even seen a strip club before he was forced to step inside one to investigate. It was a terrifying world he wasn’t sure how to navigate.

She had taken his hand and led him through the darkness.

Daisy. That’s what she called herself. Her stage name. She had told him it was after Daisy Buchanan. The paragon of perfection for men to lust after but hiding a sardonic, amoral soul. It seemed to fit. She was the kind of woman he’d leave a green light on for but never be able to obtain. He knew her real name for his investigation but she refused to have him call her by such. She claimed only the people who truly loved her were allowed to utter her true name. To everyone else, she was just Daisy.

He used to believe that all sex workers were women who needed saving. They had lost their way from God. They were impure. Drug addicts. Abused. Lost souls desperate to be saved.

But she fit none of those roles.

She was strong and sure. A business woman. A homeowner. She didn’t need a man to provide for her. Everything she owned was achieved through her own tenacity. When he looked at her, he saw someone who truly enjoyed their job. He struggled to wrap his head around that fact. A woman shouldn’t enjoy having sex for a living. She shouldn’t enjoy selling her body to perverted men. She should remain pure and devout until marriage. He often wondered what her future husband would think of her lewd, depraved acts.

And then he remembered that she never wanted to marry.

What an absurd thought. A woman with no desire for a husband? Utterly bizarre.

She was unlike any woman he had ever met and he was tempted by the wickedness of her world. He knew he shouldn’t be. He knew better than to dance with the devil. Yet, here he was. Allowing her to occupy every existing thought in his brain. She was the one he thought about late at night. She was the name he moaned into his pillow in the early hours of the morning while his wife slept beside him. She was the one he dreamed of being able to touch.

The one thing he couldn’t have, was the one thing he truly coveted. For Jeb Pyre was a sinner. He wasn't a devout man. He didn’t believe in the Heavenly Father.

And he hated the life he was forced to be living.

Everything was an act and he was tired of playing his part.

So, when a killer murdered two of her work acquaintances, and put her in his targets, Jeb decided to personally oversee her protection. After all, she had been such a help to the investigation thus far. He needed to keep his best informant alive.

Even if that meant risking everything he had to spend the night in her arms.

Jeb parked his car on the street directly outside of her house. From out here, one would never know what kind of person she was. It looked no different than any other house on the block. He wondered if her neighbors had any idea. He couldn’t imagine if they knew, they would let her stay in the neighborhood without a fight. They’d blame it on the guise of protecting their innocent children from the evil whore but the truth was that they hated anyone who dared to step outside their carefully crafted circle. They hated those different from them.

But who were her clients then, if not the men who claimed to hate everything about her?

Everything was a facade. He was so used to hearing people say one thing but act the opposite. The men who would run her from their neighborhood if they knew the truth, were the same men who would cash out their family’s credit card to spend a night with her. Publically, they would denounce her. Privately, they would take whatever they desired from her.

He was no different from them. The perverse thoughts inside his head were just as bad, if not worse. He had seen too much in this job. It had twisted his core. His mind was polluted. He was lusting down paths he could never travel.

Jeb rapped three, strong knocks on her door. It was later in the evening. He knew she wasn't at the strip club because he had a copy of her schedule in his car glove box. There were other women he had to keep an eye on, too, but she was the one he chose to personally protect. She was the one he feared to lose the most. It was irrational, he knew that. She had no notion of his fantasies keeping him up at night. To her, he was just the lead detective on a case.

He caught her peeking out the top window of her front door, standing on her tiptoes to reach, and he gave a friendly wave. At least she was smart. She wasn’t opening her door to just anyone.

He listened to the clicks of two different locks and smiled as she opened to him, “Good evening, ma’am. Detective Jeb Pyre, remember me?”

She forced a tight smile in return, “Of course I remember you. Do you think I have the memory of a goldfish?”

He let out a half hearted laugh. She was beautiful but she was scared. Women she had worked with were dying. It was supposed to be his job to keep them safe.

He tried to take a subtle glance down her body. She was wearing a sundress and nothing else. Warm yellow with tiny white flowers dotting the sleek fabric. One of the thin straps was sliding down her shoulder. The dress clung tightly around her torso to highlight her stunning cleavage and flared out over her hips whenever she moved. Women around here never wore clothes like that unless they also donned a buttoned up cardigan and tights. To see her display her body so openly caught his breath in his throat. He had to shift on his feet to readjust himself. He refused to allow her to see how excited his body was reacting to hers.

It was unprofessional. Wrong.

“Not at all. Do you have a moment to chat?” He asked, doing his best to keep his voice level.

She gave a sharp inhale, “Is everything okay? Did someone else get hurt?”

Jeb shook his head, “No, no. Nothing like that. I just wanted…”

What did he want? He wanted to commit a sin. He wanted to see her naked. He wanted to kiss her entire body. He wanted to slide his cock between her beautifully plump lips. He-

He was going to hell.

“I just wanted to stop in and let you know that I’ll be stationed outside your house for the rest of the night. With everything going on, I thought it would be best to station some people at various hot spots around town to keep an eye on things.”

Her eyes narrowed, “My house is a hot spot?” She shook her head in disbelief. “I’m sorry, Detective Pyre, but I don’t do business out of my own home. No one knows where I live. I use a stage name at work. No one there knows my real name. I’m not a street walker, I’m a stripper who occasionally takes up extra clients in the vip rooms when the money is good enough. My house isn’t a revolving door for men to come and go whenever they please like some brothel. I’ve taken some time off work for the next week to lay low, anyway. A lot of the other girls are doing the same. I think I’ll be alright.”

Jeb chewed awkwardly on his bottom lip, feeling like he had offended her, “I didn’t mean to imply…anything…”

This was not going how he intended. He wasn’t used to women talking back to him. He wasn’t sure how to respond.

“You being stationed out in your car all night, in front of my house, is only going to cause more eyes to look at me. My neighbors already think I’m some crazy heretic for not attending their church. I don’t need them looking further into my life. Thank you for stopping by and offering your support but I don’t need it.”

As she started to close the door, Jeb stuck his foot between the crack, wincing as it slammed into his shoe. He felt immediate guilt for doing such a strong handed act with her. He just couldn’t bear the thought of being turned away. He couldn’t spend another night laying in a bed next to a wife he no longer loved.

“I’m sorry,” he quickly added when he saw her look of outrage. “I don’t think you understand how dangerous the man we are hunting is. He could have already followed you home. He probably already knows where you live. I wouldn’t put it past him to break in. I’ve seen it before.” He gave a quiet sigh, nearly begging for her approval. “Please. Let me watch over you tonight. I won’t be able to live with myself if something happened while I was supposed to be here.”

Her shoulders dropped in defeat. He watched her peer side to side down the street, taking in her surroundings for anything unusual.

“Fine,” she huffed. “But do you have to be parked in the street? Can’t you pull your car into my garage so no nosy neighbors will see and spend the night inside? I have a perfectly adequate couch for you to hang out on.”

Jeb smiled, relieved, “I can do that. Thank you.”

He shouldn’t be this excited about being inside her home.

As he slowly walked through her place, he took note of the items she owned. Her house looked like any others he might enter. There were pictures of her with friends hanging on her refrigerator, a television in the corner of the living room, a brick fireplace with a little ceramic frog on top of the mantle. A cozy, hand knit blanket was draped over the back of the couch. Everything looked normal. He felt stupid for imagining her living inside of sex dungeon. Whatever that might look like. He still had a lot of biases he had to work on.

She walked into the living room after him with a glass of ice water, offering it to him, “The bathroom is the first door on the left down the hall. My bedroom is the last door. There’s a spare room to the right where I do my step aerobics. I have a basement with some empty rooms down there but I don’t really use them. Then there’s the kitchen and, obviously, living room. The front door and the basement door are the only doors into the house besides the garage. It’s a pretty small house with thin walls so you should be able to hear anything if there’s a break in.”

Jeb smiled politely in thanks. He knew what he was doing would be considered nefarious in his community. A married man spending the night in a single woman’s home, a stripper, no less, would be the gossip of the town. It wouldn’t matter if he was a detective keeping watch on someone who could be in danger. He was still a man alone with a woman. The first night he was ever alone with his wife was their wedding night. It was no wonder Daisy wanted him to park in the garage so people wouldn’t talk. She probably had a hard enough time as it was.

“I won’t take up much room,” he said. “I don’t want to be a burden. Only trying to help to keep everyone safe.”

“Isn’t this usually the type of job you give to the rookies?” She asked, taking a seat in an armchair across from the couch. She crossed her legs at the ankles like a respectable lady should and, somehow, she still looked like a seductress doing so. “Does the lead detective usually make overnight house calls?”

The skirt of her dress was short. It bunched up around her thighs as she sat. He willed himself to only look at her face and keep his eyes from wandering.

Jeb blushed and perched on the edge of the couch cushion, “We don’t have too many men at the station. I volunteered to lend an extra hand.”

She leaned back, eyeing him up with a type of bold, observant intelligence he wasn’t used to seeing, “What does your wife think of you spending the night with a whore?”

He anxiously twirled his wedding band around his finger. She spoke with such brashness it caught him off guard.

“I told her I was spending the night at the office,” he wasn’t sure why he willingly answered so honestly and without hesitation.

She had that kind of spell over him. He wanted to protect her. Wanted to give her things. Wanted to tell her all his secrets. She was a siren luring him to his destruction and he was willing to sail his ship straight into the rocks if it made her happy.

A smirk tugged up the corner of her lips, “Ah, I see. So you’re a liar. What else are you lying to her about?”

Jeb choked on the water he was sipping. His eyes widened.

“I’m not-what-I’m not-” he sputtered out.

She laughed quietly to herself, “Calm down, detective. I was only joking. An LDS man telling his wife a lie? That’s never been heard of before.” Sarcasm dripped from her words.

He ran the back of his hand over his lips to hide his smile. He liked her. He liked her sass. She didn't care what he thought of her. She wasn’t playing a game like everyone else he knew. It made him want to tell her the truth. Every truth. Everything he had been holding in for the past year.

He hated his wife. He didn’t just not love her anymore, he despised her.

Her words had been echoing in his ears for over a year now, “I love you but I can’t struggle through this with you.”

She had left him when he needed her the most. She chose her faith over him. He should have known. He had married her because of how devout she was. Her love for Heavenly Father was what drew him towards her in the first place. Now, it’s what cast him away.

If he didn’t pretend, Rebecca would take everything from him. She would leave him for nothing if he didn’t keep on impersonating a saintly man. As if they hadn’t spent an entire lifetime together. As if he hadn’t devoted everything to his family. She would rather jump ship than dare to stand by his side when he needed her most. He would have never left her if she had been in his place. He would have held her hand and walked her through her doubts but she couldn’t do the same. Her love was conditional.

He hated her for that.

He hated himself for hating her.

Rebecca’s faith was what kept her moving forward. It was all she ever knew. She lives in the LDS belief that Jeb, with his priesthood, is the one who must usher her through the veil when she passes so she can enter the highest form of heaven. Without him, without his beliefs, she was fucked.

Jeb smiled to himself. He liked that word.

Fucked.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

That was his life.

A big fucking lie. A pile of steaming bullshit.

He had just met Daisy five days ago and she had already pegged him for exactly the kind of man he was. A liar. A stripper knew more about him than his own wife. She could see straight through the fabricated, bullshit act he put on and he had only been inside her home for five minutes. Five fucking minutes and she could already see the depravity leaking out of him.

God, he was pathetic.

“I don’t believe in a God,” he blurted out, shocking even himself with the outburst.

She gave him a few, stunned blinks in response, “...Okay.”

Jeb cleared his throat, his face heating with embarrassment, “I don’t know where that came from. I deeply apologize.”

If he was with anyone else, his confession would have been met with gasps of horror. With her, it was nothing more than a passing sentence.

She was perfect. He wanted her. Badly. That sundress was only working to fuel his indiscretion.

She leaned her head into the palm of her hand as she rested it on the arm of the chair, “Is this…something you’d like to discuss further, detective? Men seem to enjoy emptying their traumas onto me. I’ve consoled many men over the years. I’ve been told I’m a very good listener.”

“I-” he stammered, his ear heating up in shame for his actions. “No. I’m sorry. Again.”

She wasn’t his therapist. He didn’t have a therapist. Only crazy people had therapists. And he wasn’t crazy.

Or maybe he was.

Life might be easier if he was crazy.

“I love my wife,” he stated. He only said that to try and convince his brain to stop lusting after the woman he was meant to be protecting. He was here to make sure no one broke in. He was working a case. He was not here to turn to sin.

She nodded her head, pretending to follow along with whatever obvious breakdown was going on inside his mind, “That’s good. A lot of men love their wives. A lot of men don’t. That’s a part of life.”

“I love…no…” Jeb sighed. Fuck it. The rant was coming out. He couldn’t stop it. He was already too far gone to keep it repressed any longer. “I don’t love my wife. I hate her. Every time I look at her, all I feel is animosity. I think she’s the dumbest woman I’ve ever met and I know that’s wrong to think. I know that makes me a terrible man. I’m an awful husband. It’s just that she blindly follows whatever the profit says. Whatever a bishop tells her to do, she’d do it without a second thought. They could tell her to get on her knees and suck them off because Heavenly Father commanded it so and she would do it. She doesn’t see anything further than her own nose. She follows and never questions. And, I understand, because I used to be the same. I used to believe because that’s what I was taught to do. Blindly believe. That’s all there ever was.

“She’s never seen true evil. Not like I have. Because she refuses to look even though it’s all around her. I see it everywhere. She puts on her little Mormon blinders and never dares to take them off. So, she follows. And she makes my girls follow. And she makes me follow or else she will take the girls away from me. I am raising my daughters in a world that hates women. My wife is letting them be preyed upon. She’s happy to let them be squashed into submission. Keep sweet. Pray and obey. Learn to worship your future husband. Never think for yourself.” He closed his eyes and took a deep, shaking breath, feeling himself losing it. His voice cracked. “If I give up, is there no hope for my daughters? Who will protect them if not me? My wife would marry again, quickly, so she can still get into the celestial kingdom when she dies. She’ll marry someone who won’t waver in their beliefs. Another man would raise my girls. He won’t care about them. Not like I do. They’ll be sold off to the first Mormon boy they fancy. They’ll be married at 18. Never attend college. Never think for themselves. Never get a job. Because I won’t be there to inspire them to reach for more. I’ve seen what kind of men are out there. My daughters won’t be safe unless I play the part my wife created for me.”

He opened his eyes to look over at the woman across from him. Her face was neutral but her eyes were burning with an eagerness to know more. His sudden outburst of lament had stricken something deep inside of her. He had captured her interest like he was a strange bug forced under a microscope that she wanted to dissect. His spiel may have exploded out of nowhere but she was already on board to follow along. She seemed like someone who enjoyed a feisty debate. He needed someone who wouldn’t hold back.

“You claim your wife is the dumb one, yet, here you are, spewing a load of shit all over my living room,” she mused, giving him a snarky grin.

Jeb’s jaw dropped. He forced himself to quickly regain his composure and took another swig of cold water. The fire behind her eyes was enticing. He desperately wished his wife could show that kind of passion once in her fucking life. He hated the docile, sweet act. He craved raging forest fires not babbling brooks. He licked his lips, ready to swallow anything she threw back at him. This is what he wanted. Someone to argue with. Someone he could express himself with without fear of rejection. He wanted this fierce lioness to eat him alive.

He just wanted something that felt real for once.

She stood up to pace around the room in front of him while she spoke, “Do you realize your wife is like that because she knows nothing else? That is her way of survival. She chooses to believe instead of question because questioning is terrifying. Questioning means losing everything and everyone you’ve ever loved. Your entire world crumbles under your feet if you dare to question. Want to ask me how I know?” She stopped her aggravated pacing to shoot him a look of annoyance. “You’re a man. You have so many options still available should you fumble. If she were to question her faith, she would lose her family. Her mother, father, sisters, brothers, cousins, aunts, uncles, friends. She loses them all. And then she is left with what, exactly? I doubt your wife works? Does she have her own career? Skill sets? Does she have her own income? Does she have her own car? Bank account? She dares to question, she is left with nothing. But you know that already. Obviously. Because you are just as scared to speak your truths out loud. You’re no better than her.”

She stopped momentarily to catch her breath, flipping a strand of hair from off her forehead. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the way her hips swayed when she walked. He adored her temper. It felt so natural. Real. She wasn’t holding herself back to placate him. She acted on her own accord without worrying about how others perceived her.

He wanted to toss her onto this couch and take her right here. He could only half listen to her rant through his ever growing desires.

“How do you know your wife doesn’t think the same thoughts as you? How do you know she doesn’t hide her truths locked up deep inside her mind and never dares to speak them? It’s fine to voice your opinions when you’re in the safety of my house. To you, I am nothing, I’m just a stripper. A prostitute. Hooker. Harlot. Whore. Whatever you want to call me. I pose no threat to you because, to you, I am so far below you that my voice does not matter. You feel safe to speak freely inside these walls because you face no real consequences here. You’ve seen evil? Well I’ve lived evil. You’re here because of the evil that wants to be inflicted upon me. Because I think differently from you. Because I use my body as a tool. Because I don’t subscribe to your values. Someone out there thinks I deserve death simply because I exist in a way he doesn’t approve of. You want to blame your wife for your problems. Blame yourself because you’re no better than her. You’re all a part of the same system.”

Jeb sat there in silence. The condensation from the glass of ice water clutched in his hand dripped down his wrist. His heart thumped wildly in his chest as he took it all in. He was torn between fully digesting her words and imagining her naked, writhing body under him as he dragged the ice cube from his glass down her stomach.

“I don’t,” he whispered. “I don’t think you’re a whore.”

He didn’t even like saying that word out loud. He felt a dark cloud of shame rain down around him. But was she wrong?

He had never imagined his wife in the scenario currently playing in his head. He saw Daisy as a sex object willing to be exploited to his darkest temptations.

She stopped in front of him. She placed her finger under his chin and lifted his head up to look at her. His wide, pleading, brown eyes took her in, silently begging for some kind of clarity to fix his entire life.

“Tell me what you think of me, detective. Tell me the truth. When you look at me, what is it you truly see?” She murmured down at him. “Why are you really here? It’s not to discuss your lapse of faith, or your wife, and it’s not to keep me safe. I can see it in your eyes. Tell me what it is you truly want? Don’t you lie to me.”

The way his world saw it, Rebecca was pure, because she had remained a virgin until marriage. She lived and breathed by the Book of Mormon. Daisy was a condemned sinner, because she sold her body for sex. She was beyond saving. Even the outfit she wore was considered taboo. Modest clothing was the foundation stone to sustaining abstinence. She was the sinner.

But so was he.

Jeb was no saint despite the role he was trying to play.

He took a deep breath and recited the scripture, “He that looketh on a woman to lust after her, or if any shall commit adultery in their hearts, they shall not have the Spirit, but shall deny the faith and shall fear.”

Her eyes flicked with curiosity and a smile tugged at her lips. She caressed her thumb over his cheek, “You lust, Jeb Pyre? For me?”

He licked his drying lips, gently pushing her hand away from his face, “Yes.”

She nodded, knowingly, “You don’t know what you want. Your mind is in one place but your actions keep you in another. I am not the answer to your problems. Many men have tried but all have failed. The answer is never found between the legs of a whore. Unless, that is, what you say is true and you don’t think of me that way. Something tells me, though, that you’re lying to us both.” She gave him a wink, turning on her heels with her dress spinning out around her, and swayed down the hallway towards her bedroom. “Have a good night on the couch, detective. I’ll be retiring to my bedroom should you decide you need me.”

She let those last few words linger in the air, the weight of them settling down around him, as the door closed behind her.

The cuckoo clock hanging on her wall let him know that midnight was here. The sudden sound breaking the peaceful silence had caused him to jump up from his spot on the couch and reach for the gun at his hip. Jeb rolled his eyes in the clock's direction and lowered his hands back to his side. He might still have some residual PTSD from his former cases…

Her house was dark and quiet.

He liked it that way. Sometimes he missed the quiet. She hadn’t left her bedroom since she entered. Without her in his sights, he could better attempt to control his impulses. He was too weak to be trusted around her. If she hadn’t left when she did, he would have given in. It had taken everything in him to not follow her blindly into that bedroom like a dog on a leash.

Jeb ran a ragged hand over his face. He wasn’t tired. Late nights were where he thrived best. He hadn’t felt this alive in a long time. She’d awoken his mind in a way he thirsted for. Even just being in her house, prowling silently down her hallway, gave him a thrill. He felt like a naughty school boy getting into mischief after class. He longed to feel something more. His life was full of boredom and she offered him the keys to adventure. He longed to find solace in the arms of a stripper.

A soft light illuminated from under her door to let him know that she was still awake down there. He wondered what she was doing hidden away out of his sight. She had invited him to join her. She had invited him to relish in his sins. It would be a line that, once he crossed, he would never be able to erase. The second he gave in to her, he wouldn't be able to stop. He was already past the point of saving. One little push was all it would take for him to delve into the madness. That glowing light under her door beckoned him to her like the light of God calling him home.

He slipped into her bathroom instead.

He ran cold water out of her orchid pink sink to splash over his heated face. His eyes sought his reflection in the mirror to stare deeply into his own battered soul. This was his crossroads. Whichever path he took would alter the rest of his life. He had already committed adultery in his mind. It was now the act to see if his body would follow or not.

The sight of a black and golden lipstick sitting on the edge of her sink caught his eye. Jeb reached for it, popping off the cap, and twisting it up. A deep, berry red. A color housewives wouldn’t be caught dead wearing. He brushed his thumb over the top to coat his skin with the color of her lips. The bottom of the stick was engraved with the name of the shade. Walk of Shame. He smiled a wicked smile to himself.

He knew what road he was going to take. He would take that walk of shame.

Jeb placed the stick back where he found it. He twisted his wedding ring around his finger, mulling over his decision, then carefully plucked it off his body. He placed the ring around the lipstick, listening to it rattle against the ceramic sink, and gave a long, soft sigh. A weight had been lifted from him. He quickly exited the bathroom and allowed his feet to lead him straight to her door. He stood outside, silent, listening.

Soft moans floated under the door. Little whines. Whimpers.

His eyes slipped closed and his lips parted. He knew those sounds. She was putting on a show for him. All he had to do was raise the curtain and let her perform. His hand hovered over her door knob.

It was okay. She had invited him in.

“-should you need me.”

He needed her. He hadn’t engaged in sex with his wife in over eight months. He needed her now more than ever.

He slowly and silently turned the knob. Inch by inch. Until he was able to push open the door. Just a crack. Just enough to peek through. He had to make sure she was safe behind those walls. After all, that was his job.

She laid across the bottom of her mattress. Her sundress was gathered around her hips. Her legs were parted wide, aimed straight at the door, as if she knew he would show up. He was that predictable. Through her half closed, dreamy lids, her long, elegant fingers drew delicate circles through her glistening flower. His breath caught in his throat when he watched her dip a finger deep inside of her. His cock sprang to life, begging to be touched, pushing at the loose fabric of his dark gray suit pants.

He should close the door. He should leave.

This was wrong. He needed to repent.

“I see you watching me, detective,” she whispered to him as he hid away in the dark hallway, lurking in the shadows like a predator. She let out a soft whine, dragging her soaked finger in circles around her clit. “I know you’re there.”

Jeb swallowed. She was the devil. A demon. He had no power over her. Heat flushed through his veins. His breath was already coming out in heavy pants. He was chained to the doorway, captivated by her seduction. He couldn’t move away even if he wanted to.

“Have you ever seen a woman masturbate, Brother Pyre?” She moaned. “Have you ever seen a woman touch herself like this?”

His fingers wrapped around the edge of the door, gripping tightly onto the wood for support. No. He hadn’t. It would shock him if he found out his wife secretly masturbated in private. She was so well behaved. Masturbation was a sin. She would never dare allow anyone else besides him to touch her, not even herself.

“Do you like to watch me?” She whimpered, sinking her finger back inside of her. “I was hoping you would come. I know you, detective. I see through you. Your mind is just as perverted as the rest of us. You want to give in. You want to taste what is forbidden to you. It’s okay. I won’t tell.”

She looked hotly up into his eyes, staring straight into his corrupted soul. He was too weak. He had no resolve. The devil looked too appetizing. The sins of the flesh were tempting him forward as he let the door push open to reveal himself in all his shame.

She gave him a warm smile, taking in the sight of the bulge below his belt. Her fingers swept through her folds, slippery with her arousal. With the expertise of someone with diligent practice, she used two fingers to part the outer petals of her womanhood to reveal to him the hot, sinking abyss he craved to explore.

Enraptured, he could not tear his eyes from the slender digit plunging into her soaking depths. His mouth opened and closed, silently, begging to seek a taste of such a treasure. He watched in a starving trance as she anointed her needy pearl, bathing it in her honey, tending to it like a precious garden. Her eyes locked with his, burning, tempting him to join her in her display of debauchery.

Oh, lord, he was tempted.

Through heavy, ragged breaths she spoke, “Watch me, detective. Gaze upon the kind of life you were kept from. Look at what you could have been given. See what you missed out on.”

He was watching. His eyes were padlocked to her dancing fingers. She was beautiful. His heart sought to hold her in his arms while he touched her with a wild abandon.

“Do you like what you see, Jeb?” She moaned out his name extra low and tantalizing.

He almost came in his pants at the sound of his name in her mouth. A shudder ran through his tightly wound body.

“Answer me!” She demanded from him.

He gasped, “Yes.”

A smile spread across her lips, “Good boy. Men like you work so hard, don’t they? You give and give and give but who ever takes care of you? Let yourself relax, detective. Let yourself give in. Let me care for you. Let someone else take control for once.”

Her eyes closed, lost in the rhythmic tones of her own words, casting her enchantment over them both. She had known he would come seek her out. She had known he would watch. She wanted him here. All he craved was to feel wanted again.

He took a tentative step into her bedroom, closing the door behind him, and sealing his fate with the click of the lock.

“That’s it, baby,” she cooed. “Come a little closer. Take a look at your new toy. All for you.”

Jeb held his breath, shuffling slowly forward a few more paces. His heart was racing. His skin was on fire. His mind was made up.

“Why don’t you let Daisy see what her Gatsby is working with, hmm? Take your belt off. Unzip your pants. Show me.” It wasn’t a request but a demand.

He swallowed, his nerves sending him into a frenzy, as he undid his belt, lost in her trance. His eyes stayed glued to her hypnotic fingers casting circles of magic around her clit. Subconsciously, his tongue dated out to lick his lips, desperate for a taste.

His hot, heavy cock fell out into the palm of his hand. He listened to her sharp inhale at the sight. It was followed by a purr of approval.

“I want you to touch yourself but keep your eyes on my pussy, detective. Watch what I’m doing. Watch how wet you’re making me. Listen.” Two fingers sunk into her, squelching and sloppy, as she pumped them in and out.

His eyes rolled into the back of his head at the sound and a growl rumbled in the back of his throat. With the tip of his thumb, still stained with her lipstick, he smeared around his own wetness leaking from his tip. He worked it down his shaft, slowly pumping himself through his fist.

“I’ve been dreaming of this moment since the day I met you,” she breathed, keeping him in her watchful sights, each of them working to build their own pleasure. “I saw you then like I see you now. A lost man in need of guidance. I dreamed of you touching me. That first day, when you called me into your office. I imagined spreading my legs for you as I sat on top of your desk, throwing papers to the floor, while you ate me out in front of the large window. I dreamed of you finding me at my work, paying extra to take me to the back rooms, making me suck your cock while you grabbed my hair and prayed to your pathetic God.” He wanted to eat that arrogant smirk straight off her face. “You like watching me, don’t you, pretty boy? You like hiding here, away from the world, where only you and I can bear witness to the blasphemy of your true self. Show me who you really are.”

He whimpered, tugging on his cock a little harder. He was a sinner. An adulterer. A pervert. A heretic. A liar.

“Tell me what you want to do to me, detective? Tell me all the ways you’ve dreamed of fucking me while you slept next to your frigid wife.”

Jeb stuttered over his words, trying to force them out his tightening throat, “I’ve-I’ve…dreamt of dragging you to temple, b-bending you over the sacrament table, and fucking you in front of the congregation so they could all see what kind of dirty whore you are.”

Tears pricked in his eyes as the shame battled it out with the unbridled lust. He had never spoken like that in his life. A sense of vitality flowed through him. It made his cock twitch in his hand and he stroked it more fervently.

She licked her lips, letting out a light, amused laugh, “Such a naughty boy, detective. I know there’s more darkness in you. I want to hear it all. What else do you dream of?”

“Taking you into my home. F-fucking you-” he stumbled over the word “fucking” as it still felt so forgein on his lips to openly talk this dirty. “In my bed. On my wife’s side. Forcing her to watch while I make you unravel on my tongue. Showing her exactly what she is missing out on. Showing her what kind of man I could be if she’d only open herself up to experiment more.”

He couldn’t believe the filth he was allowing himself to admit. These were his private thoughts. They were never meant to be exposed to anyone. She had that effect on him. His skull was cracked open and his most shameless self was laid bare.

“You’re poor, poor wife,” she mewled. “She deserves to have someone tend to her needs, too. I know she wants it. All women do. You’ve just never pushed her far enough because you’re weak, Jeb Pyre.” She removed her fingers from her pussy and sat up, letting her dress fall back over her hips. She stared him down with her possessive gaze. “Get on your knees,” she ordered.

He didn’t even hesitate. He released his hand from his cock and knelt down before her. She slowly got to her feet to take a stand directly in front of him. She was so close he could smell her sex clinging to her skin.

“Men like you are always searching for something to worship.You told me you don’t believe in God. You told me you’ve lost your way. You have nothing to hold onto.” She trailed her finger, still glistening with her slick, over his bottom lip. “If you’ve lost your God then worship me instead. I’m your new God now, detective. Open your mouth and worship me. Cleanse my fingers with your tongue.”

His lips parted and she slipped two fingers over his tongue. He closed around her, bathing her clean, tasting the remnants of her devine pussy. She slid her fingers down his throat causing him to gag.

“Good boy,” she murmured her praises to him. “Sing me your devotions. Relax your throat. Soften your tongue. Take it like a man.”

Jeb reached up to gently take hold of her wrist. He showered her hand in soft kisses, trailing up her arm and back down again, lapping at the tips of her fingers with his tongue, sucking them into his mouth, moaning as she glided down his throat.

“Look at how hard you are. Desperate to be touched. Desperate to follow directions. Desperate to pray to anything that will have you.”

She jerked her hand away from him, leaving him feeling empty and cold. She grabbed his chin in her grasp. Her nails dug into his cheeks.

“Who’s your God, Jeb Pyre?” She asked.

“You,” he replied.

“Prove it. Pray at your altar.”

She lifted the skirt of her dress to expose herself to him. Her foot rested on the edge of the mattress so he could get an eye to eye look with his new lifeline. Jeb let out a shaky breath. His hands extended to wrap around her waist, drawing himself closer to her. He tilted his head to bring his quivering breaths to her heated core. She draped the hem of her dress over his head to curtain him the darkness where he belonged. In the dark, he could worship in secrecy.

His head pushed between her thighs to force her legs to widen for him. Her salty musk filled his senses, hooking him in like a drug. His eyes slipped closed at the first taste of the almighty. She was the bread of life. Honey flowed from the darkness and he relished in every drop. His tongue probed at her entrance, burying between her warmth, reaching deeper depths with lapping rolls. Teasing. Tantalizing. Tasting. He suckled at her clitoris, nibbling softly at the sensitive flesh, swirling her with his tongue. The sounds of her coos were all the praises he craved. He didn’t need practice to know how to please her. Surrendering to her was as natural to him as breathing.

“A virtuous woman is the crown to her husband,” she moaned, quoting the scripture. “And, yet, your sinning whore is the one who sits upon your head like a crown.”

He shivered at the debauchery of her words. He smiled against her pussy and took his time to savor his meal. She was a blessing bestowed upon him. A crown upon his head. His tongue thrust up inside of her, fucking her slowly and tenderly. He tightened his grip around her waist to hold her closer, a desperate man clinging to his lifesaver, moaning against her heated skin. The way she ground herself against him, thrusting herself deeper against his tongue, was enough to trigger his own needs. He humped his hips into the air, thrusting into nothing.

“Oh, sweet thing,” she hummed. “Is my favorite detective in need of some more attention? When was the last time you’ve had that gorgeously thick cock buried inside someone’s cunt?”

He whimpered, not letting up on his assault of her pussy, and clung tightly onto her waist. Eight months. Eight torturous months.

“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” she murmured, her voice thick with lust from trying to control her building orgasm. “I’ll take good care of you. I don’t want you getting too drunk off my pussy. Can’t have you completely let go before I’ve had my fun. Come here.”

She slid out from his grasp by pulling herself up onto the mattress. Her eyes were glazed over with a needy passion. Glassy and wet.

“Take your pants off,” she ordered. “I want to see you fully.”

They were already half way down his thighs. With a little push, they pooled around his ankles, pulled down quickly by the weight of his gun belt. He kicked off his nice dress shoes and stepped out of his pants to leave only his temple garments.

She smirked at the sight and hopped off the bed to take a step closer. Her hand wrapped around his tie to pull him down to her level. Her lips trailed over his as his eyes fluttered close. She glided her tongue across his lips, cleaning herself from them, with a gentle hum of approval.

“Who tastes better? Me or your wife?” She asked.

Jeb flustered in her question, “I-I wouldn’t know. She won’t let me. She believes it’s a form of sexual transgression.”

“Did you think about her?” She questioned. “When your tongue was buried inside of me, did she ever cross your mind?”

Guilt filled him, “Not once.”

She smiled, releasing his tie from her grasp, and began to work on extracting him from his perfectly crisp, white button up until he was left in nothing but his sacred garments.

She slowly eyed him up and down, “Keep the top on. I want you to remember exactly what your betraying as you fuck me.”

She sank to her knees, pulling down his underwear with her. His cock sat against his left thigh, hard and in need of attention. Her nails dragged along his sensitive, delicate skin. When she reached the tip of his cock, she carefully pushed a nail into the soft flesh while he hissed in pain. She left a crescent moon imprint behind which she quickly leaned down to kiss better. It was her harsh reminder that even if she was on her knees for him, she was still the one calling the shots.

He quite liked how the pain made him feel but he was too nervous to ask for more.

Her throat relaxed as she slipped him between her lips. He skimmed over her warm tongue with little jerking movements from his hips to push himself deeper into her. He wanted to reach out and grab her hair but was afraid to touch her. Instead, he balled his hands up at his side, digging his nails into his palm to try and elicit a bit more pain. It wasn’t the same as when she inflicted it.

Her head bobbed with an expertise that could only be brought from years of practice. It made his own oral skills seem novice and weak in comparison. His head leaned back as he stared at the ceiling, looking straight through it, and up into the heavens. There was no celestial kingdom up there. There was no God looking down on him. His heaven was right here in this room. His God was on her knees with her lips wrapped around his cock. This was the true meaning of life.

Jeb moaned out her name. Not Daisy. Not her stage name. Her real name. The one he kept locked up in a file in his desk. The name he would slowly stroke his finger over as he spent his late nights searching through his notes. The name only people who loved her were allowed to use.

She froze.

His cock fell from her lips and she stared up at him with a playful vengeance.

“What was that, detective?” She asked, her voice low and dangerous, but hiding an impish undertone. “I know I didn’t hear what I think I just did.”

He ran a hand over his face, too overwhelmed to be thinking straight, “Daisy. I meant Daisy.”

“You think you know me?” She got to her feet, wiping her bottom lip with her thumb. “You think you know the real me? Because I know the real you, Jeb, but do you know me?”

A heated red tint blushed across his cheeks, “I…don’t know…”

“Of course you don’t. Are you ever sure about anything in your life?” She raised a curious eyebrow at him. “I’m sure of most things that I do and say and believe. Can you say the same?”

He shook his head, “No. I can’t.”

She flashed him a poignant smile, “Name one thing you are 100% sure of right this very second.”

Jeb licked his lips. He knew.

“I am certain that I want to kiss you. Certain that I want to tear that dress from your body. And I’m certain that I want to throw you over this bed and fuck you like you deserve.”

“Then let go, detective. Give in. Become the animal you’ve always repressed. What are you waiting for?”

It was all the release he needed.

His fingers wrapped around her wrist to drag her against his body. His lips crashed down onto hers as he held her in his arms with a steellike grip. She didn’t kiss him back, so much as, surrendered her mouth to him. Her body went nearly limp and he kept her on her feet with his own strength. Her surrender brought forth a rush of devoted emotions and blind, sexual desire turning him into the beast he longed to become. He seized at her hair, tugging, pulling, wildly gripping, and attacked her mouth like it was the holy spirit he sought to believe in. She shuddered before his onslaught and melted into him. The more he reached for, the more he stole, the more she wanted it. She was driving him insane with an unrestrained passion of pure lust. He pitied any man who didn’t fall to his knees to worship her like the goddess she was. Her mouth was a sin that he wanted to violate.

Jeb violently grabbed at the straps of her sundress, nearly ripping them off, as he tore them down her body. The dress thumped to the floor to leave her completely naked and exposed. She didn’t flinch away. She didn’t try to hide and play with her coy modesty. She stood proudly before him exactly how a goddess should hold herself before a mortal man.

He slid his hands up her sides, grazing over the swell of her breasts, feasting on them with his eyes. He ran his thumbs over her nipples, pinching and flicking, while he attacked her mouth once more. She parted her lips to submit his tongue into her depths, sucking on it and twirling it around her mouth. Whenever he pinched her gorgeous nipples between his fingers, she would let out the most delicious moan and thrust her chest against his palms. His heart was racing with a pace that might kill him if he didn’t force himself to breath. His head was spinning in a dizzying whirlwind of thrill.

Jeb sank down and lowered his head to capture her nipple between his teeth, lashing at it with his tongue, listening to the gospel choir of whimpering moans coming out of her. She had shoved her nail into the head of his cock so he took a mouthful of her flesh, just under her beautifully darkened areola, and bit down hard. He had never bitten his wife in his life. He liked the way it felt as he tumbled deeper into his own carnal depravity. He wanted to defile her body and join her in their mutual corruption.

She arched her back, letting out a gasping shriek and letting it tumble down into a slurry of cooing whimpers, “Oh, Jeb. Yes. Yes.”

A circle of intended teeth marks, glistening with his saliva, shone proudly back at him. He liked marking her skin, claiming her as his own. It felt animalistic. Primal. A growl ripped from his throat, he was sick with lust, feverish and sweaty, panting with need. He grabbed at her hips and spun her around, pushing his hand between her shoulder blades to shove her face first into the mattress. Her ankles spread wide to allow him to have easy access.

He took a stumbling step back to admire the sight. Her pussy was glistening and spread open in wait for him. Beads of sweat dotted along her back down her spine. Her ass was sticking upwards, parted, so he could see her tight, little hole. She looked more ready to be fucked than anyone he’d ever seen. His wife had never presented herself to him like this. He imagined her splayed out in this same position and gave a breathless laugh. He could hardly even create a mental picture in his mind, it was so improbable.

“Something funny back there, asshole?”

Jeb gave a dark laugh in response, “Just the neverending joke that is my life.”

He lined the head of his cock up to her pussy, coating the tip in her slick, and bumping it back and forth over her clit.

Murder. Denying the Holy Spirit. Adultery.

Three of the worst things a good Mormon man could ever commit.

He’d already knocked denying the holy spirit off his list…might as well add another.

He sunk his cock into her. Steady and true. She let out an exhale and he watched her head tilt back to enjoy the sensation. So hot. So tight. Perfection. She was here to be fucked. Here to take his cock.

“That’s it,” he breathed.

He felt no shame. It was unusual for a Mormon not to feel shame but, tonight, buried balls deep in this woman, he felt nothing but relief. This was everything his body needed. He wanted fast and rough. He wanted to take her from behind with a feral abandon. He wanted to do all the things he wasn’t allowed to do until he was gripped with satisfaction.

Jeb grabbed her hips for leverage and began his awakening. Tonight, he was becoming a new man. He fucked her with quick, short thrusts that slammed into her. Her ass slapped against his stomach with each pound. She filled the room with the sounds of her gasps and erotic moans. Depending on how hard he rammed into her, she’d even let out little shrieks. He liked those sounds best. They made him fuck her harder, dragging out his full length, then smacking back into her. Possessing her body. Over and over and over.

He didn’t even care that he wasn’t wearing a condom. Those were problems for later Jeb. Present Jeb had everything he could ever need.

Sweat dripped down his forehead. Ragged, heavy, heaving breaths tumbled from his lips. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, jerking her upwards, so he could feel her body against his. She arched her back with her head rolling against his. He inhaled the scent of her hair fusing with the musk of their sex. He fumbled his hands around to capture her breasts, feeling the weight of them in his hands, her rock hard nipples dragging across his palm. She reached an arm around the side of his head to hold her steady from the onslaught of vigor his hips were causing her.

“Oh, fuck, Jeb!” She cried. “You needed this, baby. You needed this to happen. Let go. Let it all out. Give me everything you’ve got. Don’t hold back.”

Jeb whimpered out a sob in response, sounding pathetic even to his own ears. All he wanted was someone to listen, someone to take care of him, someone to understand.

He tumbled them both against the side of the mattress, falling on top of her. Her head turned, leaning against the covers, so he could shower the side of her face with wet, tear stained kisses. He nibbled on her earlobe, lapped his tongue at the corner of her lips, and dragged his teeth along the edge of her jaw. She was made to be devoured. His hips hammered with an agonizing precision into her heat. They were trapped in a hurricane, holding onto each other for dear life, as the maelstrom of building emotions swept them away.

He could feel her clenching down around him. He knew she was close. He was, too, but he wanted her to cum first. His goddess deserved to reach euphoria before he did. His hand slipped down her side and wedged itself between her hips and the mattress to find a home between the slick fire of her lips. She whined, bucking her hips, the moment he found her clit, tormenting it with his fingers.

“Cum for me,” his raspy, lust drunk voice growled in her ear. “Let me feel you unravel on my cock.”

Her body shook. Waves rippled over her skin with each hard pound of his cock into her. He could feel her tightening. Clenching. Gripping. A mangled yelp tore from her throat. When she orgasmed, she gave him everything. Her entire body surrendered to him. It burst from her with everything she could give. Her eyes widened, her mouth parted in a silent shriek, her spine arched. Like a demon possessing her body, she writhed under him with jerking, frantic thrusts. He wrapped his arms around her, collecting her tightly against him, to try and hold her together so she didn’t combust into the flames of Hell.

He let out a whimper as he desperately tried to hold off his own orgasm. He wanted to let her ride out her ecstasy on his cock without him cumming inside of her.

Her legs gave out and she sunk onto her knees, letting him slip out of her, “I got you, baby. I’wan’taste you. Use me.”

Without missing a beat, she ushered him straight out of her pussy and into her wet, waiting mouth. His eyes closed as his head fell back. He let out a long, drawn out moan. His hand found her hair, no longer feeling nervous to touch her or manipulate her how he pleased. He helped push her forward to take more and more of him. He wasn’t going to last much longer.

She let him slide down her throat, relishing his cock with her tongue, tasting herself on his tender flesh. He balled a fistful of her hair into his grasp.

“I’m-I’m-I” he stuttered out, not able to finish the sentence, but she got to the hint.

Her pace quickened. Her suction around him tightened. He felt himself tense up before an explosion of dopamine flooded his brain with a loud cry of pleasure.

She straightened her back, moaning softly, as she swallowed down the hot spurts of his semen. Her fisted hand continued to massage his shaft while her mouth tended diligently to his crown.

Jeb’s mouth hung open, tears flowed freely down his face, and he eventually managed to stumble backwards away from her. He crashed into the back wall and slid down to his ass, shaking.

She crawled across the floor to drape herself into his lap. His arms snaked around her, thankful for having something to hold onto. His mind felt like he was floating away. His body felt amazing but his emotions were in turmoil. She stroked her fingers through his hair and left soft kisses along his neck.

He had done it. There was no going back now.

“It’s okay, baby,” she murmured against his sweat stained skin, as if reading his mind. “You did what you had to do. Sometimes your body knows better than your brain. It was telling you what it needed. It’s just like taking a spoonful of medicine to fight off a cold. There are times when you need to give in and give your body what it craves.”

He craved her. Daisy. And everything that she represented. Even at this moment, after he had already had her, after he had given in, he should be feeling horror, disgust, shame, but he only wanted more of her. That’s why the tears were freely flowing. Not because he was humiliated by his sins but because he wanted more.

This was the life he wanted to live. He had gotten a taste, a spoonful, of the other side. A side he could never have. A side he would always be reaching for but never able to obtain due to the religion he was trapped in. His priorities had to remain elsewhere. He had family to care for. Children to raise. He was their only hope for a different future. He would never allow Rebecca to take his kids from him. He would do whatever he needed to keep her docile and oblivious. He could save his children from the inside, even if that meant selling his soul to a God he didn’t believe in.

Everything was so clear to him now. There was no more confusion. No more doubt.

Daisy and his green light.

The inability to ever reach what he truly desired.

A/N: If you dare to ask me to write a part two and you don't reblog detailing in great detail everything you liked and enjoyed about this story, then I will curse your entire family and block you. No one gets to ask for a part two without doing their damn part and reblogging first xoxo

Tagging some people who seemed like they might be interested in this smutty lil fic: @moonyslove78 @raindropsandteaandtears @withahappyrefrain @lxinesux @liz-allyn (i dont care if youre hardly on tumblr anymore liz i will tag you in everything i do until the end of time deal with it)

#andrew garfield #andrew garfield fic #jeb pyre #jeb pyre fic #jeb pyre x reader #jeb pyre smut #under the banner of heaven #utboh #utboh jeb pyre #jeb pyre imagine #blooming violets fic #blooming violets

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