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mysticheathenn · 3 months

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Hard Messages From Love

Hi, Hexlings!

This pick-a-card reading is all about messages from love itself. If you were looking for a sign from any kind of delusions...this is it. Hopefully this isn't too harsh.

This is a general reading, remember to take what resonates and leave what does not. This reading does not supplement your need to seek professional help. Tarot should be used as entertainment and not a for sure answer to your problems but as a guide, a sense of hope, and amusement.

Take your time when choosing your pile. Ask yourself the question and choose the picture that you can’t stop looking at. Listen to your intuition.

MasterList

Patreon Link

Pile l:

Messages from love? Tarot: 2 of Swords, 9 of Pentacles (reversed), 9 of Swords, The World, The Chariot (reversed), 10 of Pentacles.

Things that may surround your mind about love? Give me a sign if things should end or if I am being paranoid. I can't eat or sleep about a decision. I feel suffocated by this person and I don't want to feel this way or leave them. I need to follow my heart but what if my heart is wrong? I deserve someone who shows and gives me the world. This person deserves the world and more than what I can give them.

Pop Culture Reference: Pride and Prejudice Move (2005)

Message: Someone here has been on your mind for quite some time. For some of you, this is a decision that you need to make regarding breaking up and for others of you this is regarding following your heart. Following your heart can go two ways: 1) breaking up or 2) giving someone you have "friend-zoned" a chance at dating you. Either way, your overall message is to follow your heart. Make the tough decision that needs to be made and stop second-guessing everything. If you haven't been happy in a long time in your relationship then it's time to leave. If you know dating someone would bring you great joy it's either you date them or be upfront and honest by telling them you are either scared or just don't want to be with them. Either way, you need to let that person be free to date someone who actually wants to be with them or has the guts to go after what they want. There is no long-term benefit of stringing someone along. This pile is also about the required action that needs to be taken place. There are so many things in this pile that are impossible to mention, but you deep down know what this required action is. It's the action that will give you freedom from the torment of your mind. This group reminds me of the scene in Pride and Prejudice where Mr. Darcy says "Miss Elizabeth. I have struggled in vain and I can bear it no longer. These past few months have been a torment. I came to Rosings with the single object of seeing you. I had to see you. I have fought against my better judgment, my family's expectations, the inferiority of your birth, my rank, and circumstances. All these things I am willing to put aside and ask you to end my agony." (Yes, I had to put the entire iconic quote in this reading). Do the thing that needs to be done. Have the courage to either go after what you want or end what needs to be ended. No one can make or do these decisions for you. Just do it.

Pile ll:

Messages from love? Tarot: The Sun, Strength, The Tower (reversed), The Wheel, 2 of Swords (reversed), Death

Things that may surround your mind about love? Is this ever going to end? But I can't give them up. They will be back. They always come back. I want to be happy with only them. I need them. Ride or Die. Bad Marriage/relationship for life.

Pop Culture Reference: Round and Round by Selena Gomez, Will and Jada Smith's marriage

Message:

"We're going 'round and 'round, We're never gonna stop going 'Round and 'round, We'll never get where we're going, Round and 'round, Well, you're gonna miss me, 'cause I'm getting dizzy, Going 'round and 'round and 'round" - Selena Gomez. This pile somewhat was attracted to some degree to pile l. This pile is all about prolonging the inevitable when regarding a person. The tower card is in reverse and the death card is also here. There is a change that needs to happen between you and whoever this pile is about. The rain may fall today and tomorrow but eventually, you're going to have to give way and make room for the sun that desperately wants to clear some of the toxic patterns and unfulfilled desires that have plagued you for some time now. Just because someone keeps coming back into your life doesn't mean they are for you. Just because you have been with someone for a while does not mean you have to keep dealing with them because of history. History is great but also lessons are never learned there and you are not learning your lesson from the past history of this person or anyone else you have dealt with that is similar to them that you seem to not being able to escape. It's time to end the cycles you keep repeating. There is nothing romantic about struggling and settling. There is nothing cute about being a "ride or die" especially when that ride or die would watch you die. It's time to pull yourself by the bootstraps and end the cycles. You can't keep wondering why life gives you the same people with different bodies when all you do is continue to go after them or allow them to entertain you. Love wants you to know a change is coming and you're not going to like it. You may be left heartbroken to the point you may be turned off from love or people in general but you forced love's hand to do something you were not willing to.

Pile lll:

Messages from love? Tarot: The Emperor (reversed), 8 of Swords, Knight of Swords, 3 of Cups, Strength.

Things that may surround your mind about love? Speak no evil. See no evil. Hear no evil. Ignorance is bliss. I can fix him/her/them. Misunderstood. Little Red RIding Hood.

Pop Culture Reference: DW from Arthur "This sign can't stop me because I can't read." Link "This is your man. That's mine and I'm going to stick beside him." Link In My Head by Ariana Grande / Papa Don't Preach by Madonna

Message:

This pile might be attracted to pile ll but not all that much. This pile is for those who know someone isn't good for them but keep hanging around them. Your friends and family have told you this person isn't who you think they are or aren't how you keep trying to paint them. It's as if you keep trying to gaslight yourself into staying with this person because of the potential or the made-up version you have of them in your head. "My imagination's too creative, They see demon, I see angel, angel, angel, Without a halo, wingless angel" - Ariana Grande. You have the blindfolds on in this connection or about this person and you refused to take the blindfolds off all because what might either be of three reasons: 1) FOMO, the fear you might miss out on if this person does change or does something spectacular like get a record deal or win the lottery. 2) You have some sort of spiritual tie to this person through sex. For those who don't know yes, you can have an energetic pull or tie to someone through sex. If you find yourself in a dead-end relationship where you can't truly give substantial reasons as to why you aren't leaving even though you know the relationship has resulted in nothing but sex and history....soul tie. Or for most people it can be a codependency. 3) They suckered you into their web of victim mentality where they told you everybody has left them and basically uses the same techniques as an abuser to hook people into them to not leave. You remind me of the story of Little Red Riding Hood where it's quite obvious the wolf is a wolf and not her grandma but Little Red kept ignoring the signs of being in danger of the wolf. It's okay to lose out on someone. It's okay to want to be someone's cheerleader and see the potential in someone. What is not okay is when the person doesn't change or show these potentials that you know are somewhere in them. There is a saying that people change who they want to change for and unfortunately that person might not be you and that's okay because there is better out there who will or can match the person you want in your head and you have to stop to forcing those who don't want to be that person into that box.

Pile lV:

Messages from love? Tarot: 9 of Swords, Hange MAn, 5 of Wands, 5 of Swords, Queen of Wands, 9 of Pentacles (reversed).

Things that may surround your mind about love? They've changed. This time is different. Nobody is perfect. The heart wants what it wants.

Pop Culture Reference: Hanging on by Kim Wilde. Heart Wants What it Wants by Selena Gomez. 27 Dresses Movie.

Message:

It seems every pile might have two piles they may have been attracted to and pile lV you are no exception. You may have also been attracted to pile lll. Instead of having a blindfold on like pile lll when it comes to others or connections, you don't see your worth when it comes to matters of the heart. You constantly allow others to play you and you keep allowing them to because of the kind heart you have thinking that people change and maybe this time is different. It's wild how you would go to bat for people who treat you horribly but they won't do the same for you and for some of you you're okay with that because you feel you don't deserve healthy love or connections. Others of you, you secretly crave wanting someone to show you the same kind of love that you show others but low self-esteem as well as possibly history from dating people who don't speak positively to you have made you to believe you don't deserve that kind of love. You remind me of those who feel that they will always be the bridesmaid but never the bride, similar to 27 dresses. The main character was after a man who didn't even know she existed outside of her job (she loves her boss) and was always there for other people even when they were selfish and weren't there for her. You have such a big heart to give to others, but it's time to give your heart to those who deserve it. Stop allowing those who don't see your worth to treat you any kind of way. See a spade as a spade and not an Ace (again similar to pile lll). I don't know you pile lV but I wish I did so I can give you a big hug because you deserve all the greatness and beauty of this world. You shouldn't have to fight for a spot in anyone's life nor fight to have the love you deserve from others. It's time to pour that love you give to others back into yourself and attract healthy and loving relationships and people into your life.

Thank you for liking and reblogging my readings. I always appreciate you guys on here and on Patreon.

Stay safe and be blessed

#spirituality #witchblr #tarot reading #tarotblr #tarotcommunity #pick a card #tarot cards #pick a pile #pac tarot #pac reading #pick a photo #pick a picture #pick an image

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valkyriexo · 5 months

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You have a Migraine | Seungmin

ᑉ³pairing; Seungmin x Reader

ᑉ³genre; Sickfic, Comfort, Fluff

ᑉ³warnings; Reader dealing with a migraine, Pills mentioned

ᑉ³Authors Note; Other members coming soon! Edited.

The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room as you lie in bed, cocooned in blankets. But despite the peaceful scene outside your window, there's no rest to be found within the confines of your own mind.

Your temples throb with a relentless intensity, each pulse sending shockwaves of pain through your skull. Migraine days are the worst, and today seems determined to be the pinnacle of that agony.

You try to ignore the pounding in your head, focusing instead on the rhythmic ticking of the clock on your bedside table. But even the steady beat seems to mock you, a reminder of the passing minutes that only serve to prolong your suffering.

With a heavy sigh, you reach out for the bottle of painkillers that has become a permanent fixture in your life. You're all too familiar with the ritual of opening its childproof cap, but today, as you twist it off, your heart sinks.

The bottle is empty.

With a groan, you try to summon the strength to get out of bed, but the pain pins you down like an anchor. Frustration, thick and palpable, mixes with the pain, creating a cocktail of misery that threatens to engulf you entirely. Each attempt to rise is met with a wave of nausea, a cruel reminder of the physical toll this puts on you. The room spins, a dizzying carousel of sensations that leaves you disoriented and defeated.

You clench your teeth, willing yourself to push through the fog of agony that clouds your mind.

Every muscle in your body protests as you attempt to sit up, each movement sending shockwaves of pain radiating outward from the epicenter in your head.

With a final, desperate effort, you manage to swing your legs over the edge of the bed, your feet meeting the cold, unforgiving floor below. But even this small victory feels hollow, overshadowed by the relentless drumbeat of pain that reverberates through you.

You close your eyes against the harsh glare of the morning light. But even in the darkness behind your eyelids, the pain persists.

You can't bring yourself to stand, the pain worsening with each passing moment. Doubts gnaw at the edges of your consciousness. Were there even any pills left in the medicine cabinet?

The thought of standing seems utterly futile, a mountain too steep to climb in your current state.

Your mind races, searching desperately for a solution amid the fog of agony. There's only one thing you can think to do. With trembling fingers, you reach for your phone, wincing at the harsh light it emits as you unlock the screen and dial Seungmin's number.

Each ring feels like an eternity, each passing second an eternity of suffering. But then, finally, his voice breaks through the haze of pain.

"Hello?" His voice is filled with concern.

"Seungmin," you manage to choke out, your voice barely more than a whisper. "It's... it's bad. I need... help."

There's a pause on the other end of the line, a heartbeat of uncertainty before Seungmin's reassuring voice fills your ears once more. "I'm on my way," he says, his words a promise of relief.

As you wait for Seungmin's arrival, time seems to stretch into eternity, each moment punctuated by the relentless throbbing in your temples. The minutes drag on, each one feeling like an eternity as you struggle to hold onto a semblance of composure amidst the storm of pain.

Finally, just when you're beginning to fear that he might not come, there's a soft knock on the door. You struggle to open your eyes, squinting against the harsh light filtering through the curtains. "Come in," you manage to croak out.

It swings open to reveal Seungmin standing on the other side. His eyes widen in concern as he takes in your disheveled appearance, and without a word, he steps forward to wrap you in a gentle embrace.

"I'm here," he murmurs softly, his voice a soothing balm against the raw edges of your pain. "Everything's going to be okay."

"It hurts so much, Minnie," you say, tears escaping despite your efforts to hold them back.

"I know, I know," he replies, his voice laced with empathy, his eyes reflecting the depth of his concern.

His eyes scan the room, searching for any way to alleviate your suffering. Spotting the dimmer switch, he stands silently. With a flick of his wrist, he adjusts the lighting, the soft glow casting shadows that offer a respite from the harsh brightness.

Not content with just that, he strides over to the window, pulling the curtains closed carefully. Each movement is precise, deliberate, as he ensures not a single ray of light infiltrates the room. The darkness that envelops you feels like a sanctuary, shielding you from the pain.

As he returns to your side, you feel a sense of gratitude wash over you, a warmth that eases the chill of pain.

"Better?" he asks, his voice gentle as he takes a seat beside you on the bed, resuming his previous position.

You nod gratefully, the gesture feeling like too much effort.

Seungmin reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small bottle of pills. He had remembered your preferred medication, and he always keep it on hand, whether in the dorms or car. With a reassuring smile, he hands you a couple of pills along with a bottle of water from your nightstand.

After a few moments of silence, the medication starts to work its magic, gradually easing the relentless ache in your head.

"I'm sorry," you say softly, breaking the silence that envelops the room.

Seungmin turns to you, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What for?"

"I know you're not really big on physical touch," you explain, your voice tinged with regret. "I'm sorry I bothered you with all this."

His expression softens, and he reaches out to gently squeeze your hand. "Hey, don't apologize. I'm here because I want to be. Helping you through this is the least I can do."

As he spoke, your head pinged with pain, every word feeling like a hammer striking against your skull. You wince, from the noise, the throbbing in your temples growing more intense with each syllable.

"I know noise tends to be painful when this happens, and I just want to let you know that I'm okay with sitting in silence, as long as you're comfortable," Seungmin says quietly.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, both from the pain and from the overwhelming kindness of his words. Despite the agony you're enduring, he remains by your side, offering his own version of comfort.

Seungmin's touch is gentle as he runs his fingers through your hair, his movements soothing against your scalp. His fingertips tracing delicate patterns across your skin as if trying to soothe away the pain with each caress. His kisses are soft and fleeting, pressed gently against your forehead and temples, a gesture of comfort and affection in the midst of your suffering.

"Thank you," you manage to murmur, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I'm sorry for the inconvenience."

He shakes his head, his expression gentle and reassuring. "Stop apologizing. Just rest."

With a nod, you lean back against him and the pillows, finding solace in the silence that descends upon the room. At that moment, despite the pain, you feel a sense of peace wash over you, knowing that whatever happens, you will always have him by your side.

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pandora-writes-one-piece · 29 days

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congrats on 100 followers! :) id like to request kidd + his so getting hurt while protecting him

Hello Anon!! Thank you so much for this wonderful request! I am so deeply in love with Kid and this little drabble almost wrote itself. I love my chaotic Captain! Also, since you didn't specify gender, I kept it gender neutral, I hope it's alright! And I hope you like this, I had a blast writting it! ❤️

Source for pic

My Personal Hell

Word Count: 2093

Tags: gn!reader; Cursing; LOTS of cursing; SFW; Frustration; Care; Comfort; Love; Fluff; Annoyance; one use of the word cock! Tiny angst?

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: You protect Kid during a Marine attack and end up pretty hurt. He has a very weird way to show his concern and affection towards you.

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn

Notes: Gosh, anyone knows who's the doctor for the Kid's Pirates? Damn this information eluded me!! 😓 I'm sorry!

|Masterlist|

“Fucking reckless idiot! Stupid irresponsible! Fuck!”

You could hear the loud crashes and breaking sounds coming from just outside the infirmary door. Even though it was closed.

“Could've gotten killed! What the fuck’s wrong with that fucking head?!”

More crashes, wood splintering, metal bending, glass shattering. You were still bordering between consciousness and the sweet limbo of unconsciousness, but his voice was unmistakable.

And if it wasn't, all the swearing gave him away.

“How long has he been at it?” Your voice sounds hoarse and raspy, scratching and itching against your throat. Grunting you open and close your eyelids, trying to adjust your vision to the brightness of the white lights. “Fuck, that's bright.”

“Since he brought you in, sweetheart. Now lay still or you'll open up the stitches. And they were a bitch to close, too.”

You stay still, chewing on your lower lip hard enough to draw blood so you can stifle your pained grunts as the Doc finishes up the last stitches.

“Like, what the fuck! Who am I?” More crashing noises can be heard and the unmistakable creak of more metal bending. “I'm Eustass Fucking Kid! The fucking Captain of this fucking ship, with a fucking 3 billion berry bounty! I don't fucking die!”

You sigh, exasperation adding to your growing pain. “Any chance I can get more drugs, Doc?” You ask, a slight edge to your voice as the vein in your forehead trembles and pops with stress.

“No can do. You’ve already had enough. Maybe if Heat brings you some of his stash, though, but no chemicals!” The Doc sternly advises and you huff, puffing your cheeks and prolonging the breath to try and distract yourself from the sounds of chaos and apocalypse that are happening just outside the door.

“I fucking know what I'm fucking doing!” Kid yells.

You keep nodding your head, counting from one to ten, from ten to one, odd numbers only, even numbers next… Until you've had enough.

“Fuck this, I’m gonna yell at him.” You let out through your clenched teeth.

“Don't yell at him, honey.” The Doc advises in a singsong voice.

“I don't jump straight into fucking danger! I'm not a fucking idiot!” Kid's roar is unmistakable. The man's pissed.

“Weeeell… I don't know about that. Agree to disagree?” Only Killer would have the balls to answer that savagely to a disgruntled Kid.

“Piss off ya fucking wanker!”

“I'm gonna yell at him.” You repeat, taking a deep breath and getting ready for it.

“Don't do it.” The Doc says again, eyes already closing and scrunching in anticipation.

“I'm gonna!” Arching your torso to try and raise yourself up sends an unbearable jolt of pain through your sternum, chest, belly and back, all at once, and you plop back down, arms hugging your form as you grunt, moan and sob in pain and desperation. Your hands punch the mattress a few times and you bite hard on your lower lip, chewing away the pain to stop sobs and moans of agony.

“I told ya, honey. Bullet wounds are fucking painful.”

The door doesn't just open: it crashes open, almost falling out of its hinges with the force it was thrown open.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

“Who here saw this coming?” The Doc asks, a big open smile and hand raised in the air, looking over the shoulder at Killer, whose muffled snickers can be heard behind his mask.

“Oh, fuck you, Kid!” You sputter with another grunt and moan. “Shove your fucking Haki up your ass! You can hear me groan and moan but you can't hear me yell: ‘Watch out, the fucking bullets are made of fucking seastone?’ You fucking blockhead, I-... OUCH!”

You cry out as a sharp pain travels all over your torso, leaving you breathless and panting.

“Brat, I could hear ya moaning with my head underwater and corks in my ears.” His voice lowers in tone, but not in arrogance. “My fucking cock twitches every time you make that sound!”

A vicious grunt leaves your lips as you're more annoyed that you actually found his retort both funny and endearing, than at himself.

“Fucking pig!” You mumble between pursed lips.

“Doc, ya done?” He asks gruffly.

“Yeah, all patched up. Unless something opens up the stitches again. Like screaming, or trying to forcefully get up! Which I don't recommend!” You roll your eyes to the back of your head at the accusations and, though you're itching to cross your arms over your chest in a defiant gesture, you don't, because you know it'll hurt like a bitch.

“Good. Leave then.” Kid scratches the chair against the floor purposefully - because he knows it pisses you off - until it's right next to your head, flips it and sits with his legs spread, his arms resting on the back of the chair, a terrifying smile pulling his lips back and revealing a sharp set of canines. “I need to have a few words with my brat.”

It's not quite fear you're feeling. You respect Kid as your captain. Very much. But you don't fear him. He huffs and puffs and barks and growls but very rarely bites.

Fear is what you felt when he was almost hit by a hail of bullets. When those Marines got cocky and thought they could take down the great Eustass Captain Kid. They weren't counting on you jumping in the way to protect your man at all costs.

Yes, even at the expense of your life.

You love Kid more than life itself. Even if he's as stubborn as a mule, as edged as a knife and, as hot-headed as a raging fire. So you regret nothing.

Lies. Perhaps you regret trying to yell at him just now. You could've avoided this conversation.

Killer and the Doc leave the infirmary and close the door behind them - after Killer places it back or its hinges - and you look at the ceiling, trying to avoid Kid’s intense, piercing gaze.

When he speaks, his voice is levelled - which is very rare for him. “This is the last time ya-...”

“Don't tell me what to do!” You snap, your head whipping towards him, and wince to hide the pain.

“Tough shit! I'm yar fucking captain! Don't like it? Jump overboard!” His hands grip the chair so hard that the metal bends and the indents of his fingers are permanently marked on it. “This was your last field mission.” His words are laced with authority and leave no room for contest.

“You can't do that!” Your voice turns into a whine, accompanied by a pout and a trembling of your lower lip, and you can only blame this childish behaviour on the drugs.

“Fucking watch me!” Kid growls as his canines appear, giving him a very feral look as his orange eyes pierce yours, daring you to defy his orders.

The silence that envelops you both is stifling and suffocating. It weighs down on you and presses harder than the sting of bullets. You love exploring new islands. You thrive on the joy and exhilaration of a fight. Kid knows that. And that's why this is your punishment.

After some moments of intense, fiery gazing, you break. Your eyes downcast as a stubborn tear escapes the corner of your eye, leaving a shiny trail of wetness on your skin. “Fuck you, Kid.” Your voice is barely a whisper. “I saved your fucking life.”

You can almost feel the tension in the room dissipate. The lights seem brighter and the air stops being charged with intense magnetism as Kid relaxes his posture. His shoulders sag and his head falls forward in a defeated position he wouldn't let just anyone see.

“I know ya did. And ya almost died. So if I can do anything to avoid that, I will. Because there's no way ya’ll die before I do. No fucking way.”

You fight but there's no way to stop the tears from flowing now. You know how he felt. Like his heart was out of his chest, being ripped to shreds in front of him and a feeling of dread and helplessness suffocating him. You felt that as well. Before you made the split-second decision to jump.

And, fuck, you'd do it again.

“They were seastone bullets, Kid. You'd never have made it out alive. I don't regret anything.”

The way his smile turned cocky in an instant made you weak in the knees. This unhinged side of Kid aroused you to no end. “I would've survived, brat. I can't get killed. Much less by wimpy fucking Marines.”

His laugh roars around the room but you don't find it amusing at all. This cockiness of his, although fucking sexy, will get him killed someday.

“Go to hell, Kid.”

You reply, eyes closing, trying to dry the flood of tears. Fists clenched against the sheets to stop the trembling and lips pursed to keep the sobs at bay.

Until his big, calloused hand finds yours and he squeezes it, showing a very rare gentleness.

“Already been, brat. When ya were bleeding out in my arms, unresponsive and dying. That was my hell. And I'll relive it ‘till the day I fucking die.”

You finally look up to meet his gaze. His eyes look shiny - though still dry - and there's no hint of his cocky grin anymore. In its stead, there's a pained grimace. An ugly twist of his usual scowl that you find you hate. You never want to see him look like this again.

“I'm sorry.” You finally utter. “Not for doing what I did - I would do it again! - but for the way my actions made you feel.” Turning your hand up, you entwine your fingers with his, your hand much smaller against his.

Kid lets out a deep sigh and as his chest deflates you notice he's still wearing blood-stained clothes. He must've been pacing in front of the infirmary door since you were brought in, just like the Doc said. “Scoot.” He tells you while getting up.

“I can't.” You whine. “If I move, everything hurts. I was shot five times, Kid.”

“Five fucking times? Fucking Killer! He said it was only two shots! Fucker!” You stifle a chuckle and hold back your comment about how he could have easily spotted the five bullet holes in your shirt because you're pretty sure he was too busy trying to keep you alive to worry about counting bullet holes.

He keeps cursing as he gets up, gently lifting you as he settles in the bed, curling you into his lap against his chest, making sure you're comfortable and not straining any wounds.

You're pretty sure the Doc is going to bite Kid's head off if they see both of you in this position, even if he's the captain, but you feel so safe, comfortable and secure that you couldn't care less.

“Kid, you can't forbid me to go out of the ship.” Your tone is almost pleading as you don't know for sure if he was being serious or not with his earlier threats.

“I know, brat. Ya love to create chaos, don't ya?”

Turning your head slowly up, you bury your nose against his neck, your fingers digging into his shirt, bringing him closer. Inhaling deeply, you take in his scent. Sweat, sea salt, rust and metal. It brings as many tears to your eyes as it brings serenity and peace. Kid's your home.

“You know I do.”

“But ya can't be jumping in front of bullets anymore. Or I'll strap ya to my back with those baby fabric things and ya have to be dangling on my back for the whole outing.”

The image brings tears to your eyes as you burst out laughing. Kid laughs with you, the sound of your laugh as sweet on his ears as his is on yours.

“That's a deal, Cap. But you need to listen to me. And stop being a foolish daredevil! You're not invincible, Kid. Don't act like you are.”

He reaches down and plants a soft peck against your head. “Aye, aye. It's a deal, brat.”

The soft rise and fall of his chest make the perfect lullaby and the drugs the Doc gave you are the perfect concoction to bring sleep to your tired bones as your eyes start to close and flutter.

“I'm glad you're alive, Kid.” You whisper, words slurred and dragged between sleepy breaths.

“I'm glad you're alive, brat. I wouldn't know how to live without you.”

#one piece #one piece x reader #x reader #op #kid x you #eustass kid #kid #kid x reader #Reader x kid #eustass captain kid

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areislol · 1 year

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"gonna hold you, gonna kiss you in my arms"

ft— anyone

warning — major character death, angst with no comfort (?) kinda rushed

a/n— im too lazy to add anything so here is this plain format :) i felt like writing angst so here this is, i should be studying right now </3 i also forgot to eat dinner

wordcount. 748

can you imagine the gut wrenching pain of knowing that you are about to take your last breath in your lover's arms?

can you imagine the ache in your heart as you feel the life slipping away from you, the unbearable pain of leaving behind the one you love the most in the world. this is not how you imagined the way your life would be ending, but fate has brought you to this moment, and there is nothing you can do but surrender to it?

as you look into your lover's eyes, you see the agony and desperation in their gaze. they are holding on to you tightly, as if they were trying to keep you from leaving this world if they just hold on hard enough. thinking that if they held onto you tightly, the cruel gods wouldn't take you, the universe wouldn't take you. but you know that it's time to let go.

your lover's face becomes a blur as tears cloud your vision. you try to speak, but the words won't come out. the pain in your chest intensifies, and you know that your time is running out. you feel a sense of regret for all the things you didn't do and all the words left unsaid. you wish you could go back and make things right, but it's too late now.

and in your final moments, you think about all the things you wished you could have done differently. you wish you had told your lover how much they meant to you more often, but now.. it's too late.

your lover's arms are the only thing that brings you comfort in your final moments. the warmth of their embrace and the sound of their voice soothe your soul yet hurts you so much, their cracking voice, the way they're hyperventilating, the way their whole body is shaking, the way they look at you with such.. scared and confused eyes. you feel safe and loved. But as much as their presence helps ease the pain, it also magnifies it. the thought of leaving them behind is too much to bear.

at first, they're screaming, wailing, begging for you to stay awake, begging the gods to not take you away from him. their hot and angry tears dropping onto your clothes, their tears seeping into your clothes, forming wet splotches.

but as your breathing becomes shallow and ragged, your lover leans in closer to you, some what accepting the fate, whispering words of comfort and love. you can feel their tears falling on your face as they hold you tighter, not wanting to let go. but eventually, they have to accept that it's time to say goodbye.

as you feel your life slipping away, you cling onto your lover's arm with all your strength, hoping that it will somehow prolong your existence. the world around you fades away, and all you can hear is the sound of your own labored breathing and the faint voices of your lover. in that moment, all the trivial things that used to matter to you suddenly become insignificant, and all that you care about is the person holding you.

you close your eyes and take one last deep breath, knowing that your lover will be there until the very end. you feel the coldness creeping into your body, and the darkness closing in around you.

your last breath leaves your body, and your lover feels your heart stop beating against their chest, their world comes crashing down, their eyes wide and dull, confused about what had just happened, did you.. really go? they are left alone with their grief, holding on to the memory of the person they loved most in this cruel and wretched world.

the pain of losing someone so dear to you is gut-wrenching, and it will take time for them to heal. but even in death, your love for them lives on. they will always carry a piece of you with them, and they will never forget the way it felt to hold you in their arms as you passed from this world to the next.

and all you can do is hope that your love for them will live on after you're gone. you could only wish that they find someone better than you, someone who they will live their life to the fullest with, but you have an aching feeling that... they will never. with you gone, there is nothing to look for.

i made myself cry. guilty.

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plumelume · 1 month

Text

𖹭. ˎgosh, I'm in love w/ you. ₊

tw : nothing ?

˙ . ꒷. word counts : 5842 .𑁤

ft : lovetales fic(?), block tales au by @niko-aspin !!

! note : im very grateful to be a part of this au and being the one to write for it as well !! though im not the best at it and it may come off messy.. either way big thanks to @fandoms-in-jellyfish-brain for the idea (⁠ノ⁠^⁠_⁠^⁠)⁠ノ

! ! !

— PROLOGUE: starting from the zero —

“Now what am I supposed to do for I've finished my adventure?”

The end has come to greet you, you are hesitant to embrace it, you wonder holding the sword which accompanied you since forever leveled your head. The metal on its blade reflects your figure, you don't recognize yourself. Do you?

“What am I going to chase after?”

Your goal is fulfilled, but what about you? Foolishly neglected your emotions to chase after something so meaningless. You deserve more than just this, you stated.

The deafening silent inner your head blocks out all sounds from the outside world, leaving only the sound of your sword clashes against the cold ground. You walk towards nothingness, trying to once again, find a life purpose of your existence.

As if the nonexistent gods hear your unspoken plea, a strange card comes within your sight. Successfully stopped your tracks as soon as it appeared, you stood there in the slightest surprise. Is it your eroded memories that's playing with you or the card was just there..? Even if so, it seems intentional considering how it's just, bare in the wild. In the midst of nowhere, it invites you to come and take a closer look, as if it was.. Fate..?

Still uncertain with the beholding sight, you prolonged your fixed gaze on the glitching item. It waits there,waiting specifically. “Cute.” In spite of your little compliment, the tone you held says otherwise, as though your words held no meanings. You slumped your tired body nearing the floating card.

You eventually obtain the card, Inspecting it from this side to another, struggling to figure out the use of it. Meeting the eye alone, you can see how differ it is from any other heart cards, the signature red was replaced with pink. Outstands each and every card you ever got a hold of.

What an intriguing little thing, you thrived.

A smile tugged on your lips upon receiving such a gift from the unknown, you know little to no information about this unique card or whatsoever. But to compare with the former danger you’ve faced, this is far tame from what you experienced. Why should you back up now?

“You’ll be in great use.” You said to it as if it has a soul, equipping the card among your collection. It instantly painted the surrounding scenery with a soft pink hue, the sky itself dressed in a rosy attire. Leaving youur mouth agape as you watch things pinken.

You were fascinated, witnessing a new canvas come into your sight. Before any further feelings emerged, the pain took over. Aches altogether tormenting your poor head, make you — the oh so powerful holder writhe in agony, fall onto the land beneath. You’re still a fool, despite everything.

With your finite limitations being pushed all over, you left no choice but to succumb to the immense pain causing through your head. Drifted away into a deep slumber.

A pitiful end. Or not.

“Hey! Wake up.. Get up baka!” A faint voice calls out to you..

“HWUAH—” You hurriedly sit up from where you lay after regaining consciousness, chest heaving with heavy huffs. Your brain couldn't register anything yet, you clutched on the sheet on your sides. Too many thoughts clump into one, unknowingly give the nearby penguin a scare.

Gather some bits of consciousness, you rub all over your eyes, clearing your vision aggressively like you’ve had a nightmare. Amid the blurry effect, you caught a glimpse of.. Something pink and round. Your internal thoughts then being broken by the creature’s voice. “Did you have a good nap?” Still in a daze, you give no motion to any answers.

“Do you not hear what I said!?” A rocket launcher enters your vision, that's when you’re all woke. This creature.. Was none other than Terry. You nod your head vigorously without another thought, “Yes— I did have a good nap—” A hurried response withdraws from your mouth. He watches you stumble on your wobbly feet then fall onto the floor, Terry is slightly taken aback by your sudden action. But nonetheless, he’s still angry at you.

You get up from your spot with a grunt, “Ugh.” Seeing you picking yourself up so slowly fueled into his impatience, about to throw another fits of screams. Fortunately, you’ve gotten up in time. “The AUDACITY of people these days.. You think you can just sleep anywhere you want, baka??” The infuriated penguin made no effort in hiding his frustrations.

It happens again. You are back here without the remnants of your previous success. You stare in horror, taking no time to dash out of Terry’s room. Surprised him in the process, he’s glad that he didn’t need to hear your nonsense though. Recovering from the brief panic, you finally have some time to capture the current situation.

You — equipped with a card, pink envelope the entire world, headaches rush, and last but not least, a new start. You are hesitant, you really couldn’t handle another journey like this, you’d be mentally drained foremost. You open the menu, as expected, nothing. Only the superball, some few cards and.. Hold on — A new card randomly popped up in your inventory.

“Flirt..?” You deadpanned at the name, is this some new mechanic of the game..? Either way, you’re hella confused. Only time could tell the use of this card. Glanced at the inventory, that damned card remains there, you quickly try to unequip it but your efforts are gone in vain. After retrying for over plenty of times, you gave up and sighed in defeat.You’re stuck with it like glues now.

Right, what were you supposed to do again.. You darted your eyes towards the hallway of the hotel, puzzled for a moment, “Got it.” Muttering to yourself, you begrudgingly walk to the receptionist outside with great disinterest. Questions flooded your mind, thoughts landed on your short encounter with Terry, from how he appears and — Wait. Didn't he refer to you as ‘baka’? The infamous word?? You cringed hard.

“Geez, what's wrong with this world?”

END OF PROLOGUE !! Style and storyline might change as it progresses, this is my first so I might not get things right (⁠｡⁠•́⁠︿⁠•̀⁠｡⁠)

#block tales x reader #block tales #x reader #block tales cruel king x reader #block tales griefer x reader

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flowerandblood · 1 year

Text

The Impossible Choice (24)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, smut, angst, violence, domination ]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm’s End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

As he left King's Landing his heart was breaking − he left his wife a letter with words of repentance and a request that she pray for him while he was away.

He could not forgive himself for what he had said to her and for abandoning her, leaving her with his brother. He told his mother to guard her and not let Aegon touch her, but he knew that his brother was now insane.

They arrived in Harrenhal after two days; plunged into his own gloom and desperation, he burned everything he saw in his path, not caring whether he was burning warriors and knights or ordinary folk.

All that was left of it was ashes.

He wanted to deal with the uprising as quickly as possible.

He condemned those who remained to death − children, mothers, husbands, old men, one by one. He watched as they walked in columns to the scaffold, weeping and wailing.

He felt nothing.

He was a fire and burned everything in its path.

At the very end, however, a woman remained.

She stood before him in her servant's attire − her raven black hair and piercing green eyes making her look downright dangerous, demonic. She did not lower her gaze, standing before him.

There was something about her that intrigued him.

There was a darkness in her similar to his own.

One of the captains dared to approach him and whispered in his ear:

"This is the Witch of Harrenhal, my Prince. Alys Rivers. Rumour has it that she murdered her own mother and is the bastard child of the Lord Strong. She can supposedly see the future and can heal." The man said and he raised an eyebrow.

He looked around, seeing his men lying on cloths with no hands, no eyes, with cuts and wounds, moaning in agony.

He couldn't kill a medic.

"Take her inside and guard her like a prisoner. She is to treat our warriors day and night." He said dispassionately, turning away, heading towards the fortress.

Several troops of the Princess's henchmen hid in the nearby woods, attacking them every night − despite him burning this area again and again, they still managed to protect themselves, coming out at night like rats.

The battles was prolonging, and he was already losing patience.

He spent most of the time alone in his chamber − his wife had not sent any letter to him and he feared that this was a bad omen. He guessed that she still did not want to speak to him, that she had not forgiven him.

He squeezed his eye shut at that thought, grabbing at his eye patch, feeling a burning, powerful pain pass through him − without his maester at his side, his sapphire was rubbing his skin, creating small bleeding wounds in his eye socket.

He shuddered when he heard a knock on the door of his chamber and looked towards it from the map that he had just been looking at.

"Come in." He said dryly.

He furrowed his brow as the woman, the bastard child of the Lord Strong, at least ten years older than him, walked inside.

She held a vessel of ointment in her hand.

She bowed before him meekly, her scent reaching his nostrils, a mixture of herbs and something else that he could not identify.

He knew she was a wet nurse, her breasts were full with milk, hidden just beneath her thin green shirt, her curves feminine, pleasing to the eye.

He pressed his lips together, feeling lust at the thought.

The lack of closeness to his wife for so long made it impossible for him to turn his attention away from such details.

"I have brought an ointment to apply to your eye, Your Grace. One of the guards conveyed me you were in pain." She said softly, her tone low, mysterious, filled with promise, something dangerous burning in her green eyes.

He thought she was made of fire, just like him.

He wasn't sure if he should agree, but the discomfort and pain he felt were unbearable.

He slipped his eye patch off his head, looking at her expectantly, curious about her reaction − the woman approached him slowly, placing the vessel on the table. She leaned over him, his gaze again involuntarily escaping to her breasts.

He saw that she smiled with the corner of her mouth and he realised that she was teasing him; the thought aroused and frustrated him at the same time.

Alys Rivers did not even flinch at the sight of his empty eye socket − she gently removed his sapphire eye and placed it on the cloth that she had earlier spread out on the table. She put the ointment on her finger and began to spread it gently on the sore skin of his eyesocket.

He realised that he had longed for that touch.

Her touch would be different, he thought.

Her hands would be smaller, her fingers longer; her lips would not curve in a lustful, confident smile, her eyes would be filled with attention and care.

She would have smelled of flowery, fresh oils.

She would be focused on her assignment, her warm breath would envelope his face − he would grasp her soft, plump breast in his hand, peeking through from under her thin nightgown, and she would giggle sweetly, asking him to let her do her task properly.

He would draw her onto his lap with impatient gesture, let her feel how much he craved her, and she would blush surely, speaking affectionately about how impatient her husband was.

He felt like crying at the thought.

Everything about his daily life was marked by her presence.

And now she was not by his side.

He shuddered when the woman's touch snapped him out of his reverie and he felt her hand on his palm − he took his hand from hers, looking away, filled with lust and desire, but no longer because of her.

If he didn't have a wife, he would have told her to stay, to be comforted, to experience at least a moment of solace.

But now, if he did, one important detail would frustrate him.

She wasn't her.

"You may leave." He said dryly, no longer bestowing his stare on her.

"I could give you an heir, Your Grace." She said, and he felt a shiver run down the back of his neck.

He looked at her, shocked by her words − she stood over him, a calm, sensual smile on her face.

She would give him an offspring.

A bastard child.

One like Jace, Luke and Joffrey.

One just like her.

Insolent whore.

"You may leave." He hissed, looking at her impatiently.

Alys took his words with surprising calmness.

"Your Grace." She said softly, bowing to him and turning away, heading towards the door in an unhurried motion, closing it behind her.

He sighed heavily, running his hand over his face, realising that he was on the verge of doing something that he would deeply regret.

Being separated from his wife for so long was affecting him worse and worse, the weight of his sins crushing him more and more.

He needed consolation.

He placed the precious stone in his eye socket again, but no longer put on his eye patch; he took the parchment and quill and wrote a message, which he rolled up. He called out to his servant, tying up the letter and gave it to him, telling him to send it immediately to King's Landing directly to his wife.

He wrote just one sentence inside.

Join me in Harrenhal.

He had been waiting impatiently ever since, elated at his own decision − he wasn't sure if Aegon would agree to her leaving, or if he would want to keep her in the Red Keep.

He felt uneasy at the very thought that his brother might have wanted to claim her for himself.

What frightened him the most, however, was the thought that his wife would not want to see him at all.

That she still hadn't forgiven him for his cruel words.

That he would never get her back.

When he didn't receive any message from her after a few days he became afraid − he avoided Alys like a fire, yet she appeared where he was like a shadow.

He felt as if she was a reflection of him, his animal brutality, all his primal desires.

He felt that just as in the presence of his wife he was regaining consciousness and peace of mind, with this woman he was getting closer and closer to madness, his heart as black as her hair.

He knew that she desired him and there was something about her that attracted him too − a need to self-destruct, to destroy himself and everything in his path.

He prayed every night to the Seven Gods for his wife to arrive, to save him, to light up the darkness of his mind.

The only thing that kept him from thinking he was mad was his faithfulness.

He was faithful to his family.

He was faithful to his wife.

He fucked himself with hand almost every night, seeking fulfilment, imagining that it was her soft fingers and lips touching him, that she had returned to him, that she forgave him.

That she loved him.

Completely immersed in his thoughts, he could no longer even focus on what Cole was saying to him at the daily councils − he fought strenuously against the desire to fly to King's Landing.

One night he was awakened from a restless sleep by a knock on the door − a servant walked into his chamber saying that a woman claiming to be his wife was waiting downstairs in the main hall.

He had never dressed so quickly before, not even allowing himself to be helped by a servant − he left his chamber, running down the cold stone stairs, full of desire and hope, praying that it was true.

He saw in the dim light of the torch a small figure dressed in a travelling attire − a simple grey cloak, white shirt, a black corset and breeches. He froze, stopping in place − she heard his footsteps as she turned immediately, her face pale and terrified.

Her eyes wide in fear, her braided hair wet with rain, her cheeks flushed with emotion, her sweet lips parted at the sight of him.

It was her.

She looked just as she had when he first saw her in Storm's End.

Pulsating with life, delicate, soft, warm.

His.

She had arrived.

She had forgiven him.

His wife.

He looked at her face, not knowing how she would react to seeing him, but she smiled so wonderfully, that he felt his face contort in pain and relief.

She ran towards him and he threw himself at her, grasping her in his arms, pressing his yearning lips, throbbing with desire to hers with a low moan of despair and relief.

He pushed her aggressively towards the wall, making her take a couple steps back, clamping his hand on her soft hair. They panted into each other's mouths, kissing greedily, sucking and brushing each other's puffy lips with a sticky click, his fingers nimbly untying her corset, spreading it apart. He took a firm hold of her soft breast covered by her thin shirt and they both made a sound of delight.

He paid no attention to the fact that all around them were guards and servants who didn't know where to look.

Let them watch, he thought.

Let Alys Rivers look at what she was trying to win with.

Let them know what happens when fire and water come together.

"− get out − all of you −" He commanded in a low voice hoarse with desire, kissing and sucking her long neck, her hands clenched in his hair, as her fingers traveled down his back, holding him close.

He needed to feel her, right now, right here.

The guards and servants obediently left the hall, followed by a silence broken only by their panting and moans. Their fingers quickly began to untie their breeches, impatiently trying to deal with the material that stood in their way.

"− forgive me − I didn't mean a word − I swear −" He exhaled, caressing her with his swollen, moist lips, her hot cheeks, her long neck, unable to decide what he wanted to feel more, what he longed for more, her scent filling his lungs like the freshest night air.

"− forgive me, my sweetest − it's all well now −" He said in a voice trembling with despair and desire, lifting her up in his arms, pressing her against the cold stone wall.

She sobbed loudly as the pink, swollen head of his cock forced it's way between her fleshy, slick folds, her legs entwined around his waist, her hands clenched in his hair. She pulled off his eye patch, kissing his forehead and he groaned low, his hips with sure thrust sinked deep into her yearning, hot walls, so wet and tight for him, sticky with her moisture, welcoming him home.

"− I know − I'm here −" He panted into her ear, resting his forehead against the wall, her hands sliding down to his buttocks, clenching her fingers on his skin, seeking her own fulfilment, her whining echoing around the room as he slammed into her again and again, spreading her wide on his fat, throbbing cock.

"− don't leave me − ah − please, don't send me back −" She mumbled, her head tilted back, her breasts wonderfully bare before him − his lips grasped her nipple and began to suck on it greedily, drawing a wonderfully sweet moan of pleasure from her chest, their bodies bumping against each other with a lewd, wet slaps.

"− never −" He exhaled loudly, speeding up his pace, rooting into her so brutally and quickly that he felt like they were both almost screaming, hot and sweaty, so close to their peak.

"− I'm going to fuck you all night − tonight − tomorrow − fuck − the day after tomorrow − do you understand? −" He hissed in her ear, pounding into her with all strength he had in his hips, his fingers clenched painfully tight on her buttocks, her fleshy, slick insides clenching against him, making him groan with pleasure.

"− yes − please − please − please, fill me −" She sobbed helplessly and he hugged his face to her cheek, feeling he was about to cry out with happiness, praying it wasn't a dream, moaning helplessly along with her, his hips slamming into her with deep, sure, desperate thrusts.

"− g-gods − yes − please − ah! −" She mewled, tilting her head back, startled by the wonderful, powerful fulfillment that ran through her body like a storm, her loins trembling in convulsions, the sound of his name rushing out of her mouth like a whimper again and again.

"− that's it − your husband is close −" He whispered tenderly into her ear and clenched his eye with a low, helpless groan when he felt his hot spend finally spill inside her again, relaxing him so wonderfully, giving him pleasure from which he felt like he was about to faint.

He fell to his knees with her, and she squealed loudly, locked in his embrace, panting with him − they sat like that on the floor, shocked at how intense the closeness was.

They both swallowed loudly, breathing heavily, his face snuggled into her neck, inhaling her scent, filling his lungs wonderfully.

He thought that he could fall asleep with her like this on this uncomfortably cold stone floor if she wanted him to.

Her presence was enough for him.

He decided, however, that he would take pity on her.

He had plans for her.

"− we will finish in my chamber −"

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @diosademuerte @rwdkarla @echos-muses @ipostwhtifeel @letmeloveyouuuu @yentroucnagol @valeskafics @tempt-ress @blairfox4 @crazymusicgirl104 @ahristata @menaosama @ladywin17

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muiitoloko · 4 months

Text

Your husband, Your captor.

Summary: After all, you and even Turpin are trapped by his desires.

Pairing: Judge Turpin × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Cruelty, Smut and Dubious Consent.

Author's Notes: This is a story that was lost in my drafts. I never posted it because I didn't like it, but since I've been inactive for a few days, I decided to post it. I didn't proofread it, so there may be some spelling errors.

Turpin returns home after another grueling day at court, his thoughts weighed down by the responsibilities he carries and the desires he harbors. As his servants assist him in shedding his hat and coat, he dismisses Beadle with a terse nod before heading purposefully towards the locked bedroom.

With practiced precision, Turpin retrieves the key from his pocket and unlocks the door, his heart racing with anticipation at the scene that awaits him. There, bound and silenced on the bed, lies his exquisite wife, your wrists twitching in fear as you gazes at him through her restraints.

Turpin's gaze lingers on her vulnerable form, his eyes tracing the contours of her body and the tension in her exposed skin. Despite the coldness of the room, where snowflakes dance outside, a fervent heat of desire consumes him, fueled by the sight of her submissive surrender.

With deliberate slowness, he began to undress, his movements calculated to prolong the agony of anticipation. He shrugged off his jacket and vest, revealing the expanse of his chest and the taut muscles beneath his shirt. His fingers deftly unbuttoned his trousers, allowing them to fall to the floor with a soft thud as he stepped out of them with predatory grace.

Standing before your in nothing but his undergarments, Turpin exuded an aura of power and dominance that left his wife trembling with a mixture of fear and arousal. He prowled towards your like a predator stalking its prey, his gaze never leaving your as he closed the distance between them with purposeful strides.

Reaching out, Turpin traced a finger along the curve of his wife's jaw, relishing the way you flinched at his touch. "You've been a naughty girl, my dear," he purred, his voice dripping with malice. "But fear not, for I am here to teach you obedience."

With a swift motion, he ripped the gag from his wife's mouth, reveling in the way you gasped for breath as the cool air hit your flushed skin. "Please, Richard," You pleaded, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and desperation. "Have mercy on me. I'll do anything you ask, just please let me go."

But Turpin only laughed in response, the sound cold and devoid of warmth as he leaned in close to whisper in your ear. "Oh, my dear, you misunderstand," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "I have no intention of letting you go. You are mine to do with as I please, and tonight, I intend to show you just how much I enjoy having you at my mercy."

With that, Turpin grabbed his wife roughly by the hair, pulling your head back to expose your vulnerable neck to his hungry gaze. He leaned in to claim your lips in a bruising kiss, his tongue delving deep to taste your fear and submission as he reveled in the power he held over your.

As he explored your mouth with relentless fervor, Turpin's hands roamed over your body possessively, tracing every curve and contour with hungry reverence. He relished the feel of your soft skin beneath his fingers, the way you arched into his touch despite your protests, your body betraying your desire even as your mind resisted.

With a growl of need, Turpin tore himself away from his wife's lips, his eyes dark with desire as he gazed down at your with undisguised lust. "Prepare yourself, my dear," he commanded, his voice a low, rumbling growl that sent shivers down your spine. "Tonight, you will learn what it means to truly belong to me."

Turpin discarded his underwear and climbed on top of you, his naked body pressing against yours with relentless force. You begged your lord husband to let go of your wrists, tears streaming down your cheeks as the pain of being restrained for hours threatened to overwhelm you.

"Please, Richard," you pleaded, your voice raw with desperation. "I can't take it anymore. It hurts so much."

But Turpin paid no heed to your cries, his eyes fixed on your hot, well-trained pussy with predatory intensity. He teased you with his fingers, tormenting you with every touch as he reveled in your agony.

"You'll take whatever I give you, my dear," Turpin growled, his voice dripping with malice as he continued to torture you with his caresses. "You belong to me, body and soul, and tonight, I intend to claim every inch of you."

You instinctively tried to close your legs, but Turpin's wrath descended upon you, his hand hitting your thigh with brutal force. You screamed in pain as he grabbed your legs, forcibly pulling them apart with a force that bordered on cruelty, almost tearing you apart in his relentless pursuit of pleasure.

"Fuck, yes, that's it," Turpin hissed, his eyes gleaming with sadistic delight as he gazed down at your exposed body. "You look so fucking beautiful like this, all spread out for me. I could spend hours just admiring the way you squirm beneath me, begging for mercy that will never come."

With a wicked grin, Turpin lowered his head between your legs, his tongue tracing lazy circles around your sensitive folds. He relished the taste of your arousal, the way you quivered beneath him as he teased you with slow, deliberate strokes.

"You like that, don't you, my dear?" Turpin taunted, his voice a low, husky murmur that sent shivers down your spine. "You're such a filthy little whore, getting wet for your lord husband like this. But don't worry, I'll make sure you're properly taken care of."

As Turpin continued to torment you with his tongue, you could feel yourself teetering on the edge of oblivion, your body aching with need as it yearned for release. But Turpin had other plans in mind, his fingers dancing tantalizingly close to your throbbing clit as he denied you the satisfaction you craved.

"Please, Richard," you begged, your voice a desperate plea for mercy. "I need you, please, just let me come."

But Turpin only laughed in response, his dark eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure as he continued to toy with you mercilessly. "Not yet, my dear," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. "You'll come when I say you can come, and not a moment sooner. Now, be a good little slut and hold still while I fuck you senseless."

As Turpin stood up and positioned himself between your legs, a glint of anger flashed in his eyes, adding an unsettling intensity to his usual demeanor. With a swift motion, he pulled one of your ankles over his shoulder, his grip firm and unyielding as he entered you with a force that bordered on brutality.

You gasped in surprise at the sudden intrusion, your body tensing instinctively as Turpin filled you completely. But there was no time for hesitation as he began to thrust into you with a relentless fervor, his movements rough and unyielding as he claimed you as his own.

And as he charged at you with dogged determination, his words filled the air with a chilling sense of authority. Your husband spoke of the cases he presided over in court, the fools he sentenced to hang, and the measures he took to keep the city free of undesirables.

"You see, my dear," Turpin growled, his voice dripping with malice as he continued to fuck you without mercy. "It's my duty to uphold the law and maintain order in this city. And if that means disposing of a few nuisances along the way, then so be it. They deserve whatever fate awaits them for defying my authority."

With each word, Turpin's anger seemed to intensify, his thrusts becoming more forceful and erratic as he vented his frustrations on your helpless body. You could feel the weight of his rage pressing down on you, threatening to crush you beneath its oppressive weight as he used you to satisfy his own twisted desires.

But even as Turpin ranted and raved, you couldn't help but feel a perverse thrill coursing through your veins. Despite the pain and humiliation of being used in such a manner, there was a part of you that reveled in the sheer power and dominance he exuded, the raw intensity of his passion igniting a fire within you that burned brighter with each passing moment.

As Turpin continued to fuck you with ruthless abandon, you found yourself moaning in a mixture of pleasure and pain, your cries mingling with his in a symphony of depravity. Each thrust sent shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through your body, building to an unbearable crescendo that threatened to consume you completely.

"Ohh" you groaned, your voice a desperate plea for more as Turpin drove you to the brink of ecstasy. "Fuck me, Richard. Fuck me hard, you filthy bastard."

As Turpin calmed above you, his relentless thrusts coming to a sudden halt, frustration gnawed at the edges of your consciousness. You were so close, teetering on the precipice of ecstasy, only to have it cruelly snatched away from you at the last moment.

"Damn you, Turpin," you spat, your voice laced with anger and desperation as you glared up at him with tear-filled eyes. "You cruel bastard!"

But before you could utter another word, the sting of his palm against your cheek silenced you, sending shockwaves of pain reverberating through your skull. You cried out in agony, the force of the blow leaving your head spinning as tears welled up in your eyes.

Turpin stood above you, his gaze dark with a mixture of awe and contempt as he surveyed the aftermath of his actions. It never ceased to amaze him how your defiant spirit persisted, no matter how hard he tried to break you, to bend you to his will.

"You insolent little bitch," Turpin growled, his voice dripping with disdain as he reached out to caress the cheek he had just struck. But you recoiled from his touch, turning your face away in a futile attempt to escape his cruel ministrations.

"Don't touch me, you bastard," you hissed, your voice trembling with anger and resentment. "Let me go. I've been tied up here all day, in the cold, without food or water. I'm fucking hungry!"

But Turpin only laughed in response, a cold, humorless sound that sent shivers down your spine. "Hungry, are you?" he taunted, his eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. "Well, my dear, hunger is a powerful motivator. Perhaps it will teach you to be more obedient in the future."

The bitterness of his words cut through you like a knife, leaving you feeling raw and exposed beneath his merciless gaze. This wasn't what you had imagined when you agreed to marry him, to become his wife and bear his children. You had thought he would be different, kinder, but now you saw the truth for what it was: Turpin was a cruel, heartless bastard, and you were nothing more than a possession to him.

"Turpin, please," you pleaded, your voice cracking with emotion as you struggled against your restraints. "Let me go. I'll do anything you ask, just please, let me go."

Turpin scoffed at the notion, a derisive sneer twisting his lips as he regarded you with contempt. "Let you go?" he repeated incredulously, his voice dripping with disdain. "And why would I do that, my dear, when I've spent thousands of pounds for you? Your father sold you to me, like a horse, and I paid a good price for you. I intend to make it worth every penny."

Your heart sank at his callous words, the weight of his cruelty pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket. Was this all you were to him? An object to be bought and sold at his whim, a possession to be used and discarded as he pleased?

Tears welled up in your eyes as you struggled to comprehend the depth of his indifference, the realization of your own insignificance cutting through you like a knife. Was this what it meant to be married to Judge Turpin, to live your life at the mercy of a man who saw you as nothing more than a means to an end?

Turpin paid no heed to your silent anguish, his gaze fixed on you with a cold intensity that sent shivers down your spine. He seemed eager to hit you again, to inflict more pain upon you as punishment for your perceived transgressions.

But as he reached out to soothe the cheek he had just struck, his hand froze in midair, his gaze locked with yours in a silent battle of wills. There was something in your eyes, a glimmer of defiance amidst the tears, that gave him pause, causing him to reconsider his next move.

"What is it, my dear?" Turpin finally spoke, his voice low and measured as he searched your face for answers. "What do you want from me?"

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you as you struggled to find the words to express the tumult of emotions raging within you. "I... I wanted to love you, Richard," you whispered, your voice trembling with vulnerability. "I wanted to believe that you were kind, loving, and intelligent. I built an idea of you in my mind, an idea where we would be happy together. But I didn't expect the truth to be so... painful."

Turpin's expression softened imperceptibly, a flicker of regret flashing in his dark eyes as he listened to your confession. For a moment, it seemed as though he might relent, might acknowledge the pain he had caused you and seek to make amends.

But then, as if on cue, his features hardened once more, his resolve strengthening as he fortified himself against the memories of past betrayals. "Women," he spat, his voice laced with bitterness. "Damned seducers who manipulate and use men for their own ends. I will never allow myself to fall for their charms again."

Your heart sank at his words, the crushing weight of his indifference pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket. It was clear now that Turpin had no intention of changing, no desire to be the man you had hoped he would be.

"And what of my feelings, Richard?" you choked out, your voice trembling with anguish. "Do they mean nothing to you?"

Turpin's gaze hardened, his eyes blazing with a fierce intensity as he regarded you with cold detachment. "Your feelings are of no consequence to me, my dear," he declared, his voice devoid of emotion. "All I require from you is your submission, and rest assured, I will have it, whether you want it or not."

With that, Turpin went back to fucking you, his movements relentless and unforgiving as he drove himself deeper into your trembling body. You could feel the pressure building within you, the ache of unfulfilled desire threatening to consume you whole as he claimed you as his own once more.

With one hand pressed firmly against your mouth to stifle your cries, Turpin gripped your thigh with his other hand, pulling your leg around his waist to gain a better angle. His thrusts grew more urgent, more desperate, as he sought to quench the fire that burned within him, a fire fueled by his insatiable lust for you.

"Why did you have to be so good?" Turpin growled, his voice a low, guttural moan that sent shivers down your spine. "Why did you have to make me want you so much? You're nothing but a common whore, yet I can't seem to get enough of you."

You could feel the heat of his anger radiating off him in waves, mingling with the intoxicating scent of sweat and sex that hung heavy in the air. Despite the pain and humiliation of being used in such a manner, there was a part of you that reveled in the sheer power and dominance he exuded, the raw intensity of his passion igniting a fire within you that burned brighter with each passing moment.

"Why do you make me want you so much?" Turpin demanded, his voice thick with frustration as he continued to pound into you with relentless force. "Why can't you just be like the others, content to satisfy my needs without question? Why do you have to challenge me at every turn, defying me at every opportunity?"

But even as he ranted and raved, you could sense the underlying desperation in his voice, the desperate longing for something he could never truly possess. For all his power and authority, Judge Turpin was a man haunted by his own demons, trapped in a cycle of self-loathing and resentment that threatened to consume him whole.

As Turpin's thrusts grew more erratic, more desperate, you could feel yourself teetering on the brink of oblivion, your body wracked with pleasure as he drove you ever closer to the edge. And as he reached his own climax, his release washing over you in a tidal wave of ecstasy, you couldn't help but feel a sense of bittersweet satisfaction wash over you, a fleeting moment of connection amidst the chaos and despair.

Cumming deep inside you, Turpin collapsed on top of you, his head buried between your breasts as he listened to the rhythm of your heartbeat. In that moment, with your bodies entwined in a tangle of sweat and desperation, it was as if time stood still, the world falling away around you as you clung to each other in silent communion.

But even as you lay there, your breaths mingling in the stillness of the night, you knew that this moment was fleeting, a mere respite from the storm that raged within you both. Turpin may have sated his desires for now, but the demons that haunted him would always linger, lurking in the shadows, waiting to drag him back into the darkness from which he came.

And as he lay there, lost in his own thoughts, you couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for the man who had become your husband, your captor, your tormentor. For in the end, Judge Turpin was just as much a prisoner of his own desires as you were, trapped in a cycle of pain and despair that neither of you could ever hope to escape.

#alan rickman #judge turpin #judge turpin x reader #sweeney todd #alan rickman x reader

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ivy-loves-chocolate · 3 months

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Note: Well, here's the smut that I promised y'all a few hours ago 🥰 I'm a little rusty, so bear with me on this one 🥺 I hope you'll enjoy it and as always, your feedback is appreciated and reblogs are welcomed.

Plot: Wesker agrees to be dominated. How would that work out for you? 👀

Pair: Albert Wesker x F!Reader

Tags: smut, face-ridding, handjob, endging, degrading.

Word count: 3.2k words

Wesker was on his knees on the floor, with his hands tied behind his back. He was wearing just his grey pants; the rest of his clothes were thrown carelessly in the room, leaving him with a with a bare chest. His eyebrows were knitted in a frown, his teeth were clenched, and his eyes were fixated on the door. Faint bruises appeared on his wrists as a result of the constant friction between his skin and the rope. He was impatient and needy. He wanted to get up and burst that damn door, but you asked him so nicely to indulge in your fantasies that he could not break his promise now.

“I’m almost done, honey!” You shouted with a sweet voice, prolonging his agony.

He had a painful erection; his bugle was throbbing in his now very tight pants, and it was begging for relief. The sound of your voice wasn't helpful, as it angered the man, who knew that you did it only to antagonise him.

Finally, when he felt he couldn’t wait any longer, the door opened slowly, and soon your figure stood proudly in the frame for Wesker’s display. You had such a nice, tight dress that complimented your curves, and seeing you made the anger fade away. The only thing he felt now was eagerness, a sweet-sour sensation that consumed him, and yet he couldn’t help but enjoy its sadistic delight.

He was never been at your “mercy” so far, neither physically nor psychically. He was always in charge, and he enjoyed the position he had, but yet, when you asked him so kindly, so genuine, if he wanted to be beneath you for only a few hours, he didn’t object too much.

“Waiting for me?” You asked as you slowly approached him. You cupped his face with your fingers and tilted his head so he could look at you. The sight was delicious. It was obviously how bad he needed you only by looking into his red-shining eyes. His cheeks were also rosy, and his forehead was a little sweaty…but the real delight was in between his legs…

“My, my, if only you could see yourself right now…” you began saying with a wicked grin. He was about to say something, but he was cut short when he felt your toes firmly pressing on his shaft. His demeanour changed in a second; the words he tried to murmur turned into a groan, and his eyes widened slightly. The frown disappeared from his face, and now he was looking at you with a curious gaze.

“Judging by your face, I think I look astonishing.” He said it in confidence, but that would also be tested. Wesker held in his moan when he felt your toes moving from side to side over his painful erection. He wasn’t about to give up yet. He had to keep his composure.

“You have no idea.” You moved your fingers underneath his jawline to have a better grip and pressed your lips over his. At first, he didn’t share your passion. He was rather distant, and if he were to engage, he would do it blandly, but you gave him a little motivation. You pressed a little harder over his erection and then relieved it, and you kept pulsating like this until he became more receptive. He pushed himself towards you; he became more intrusive, as if he were desperate to taste you more and more.

A sting of saliva was still connecting your swollen lips when you pushed yourself away, but Wesker had her intentions. He wasn’t ready to let you go yet.

A sudden sensation of pain disrupted your thoughts when he rapidly grabbed your bottom lip with his teeth. Not that it hurt too much, but what shocked you was his speed, which left you speechless for a couple of seconds. You had to reinforce your position quickly, or else he’d get bored.

You sighed.

“What did I say about not touching me?”

“But I didn’t touch you. C’mon, that was just a little affectionate bite.” He said it with a smirk.

“Well, I had a surprise for you, but since you’re such a brat, I don’t think you deserve it anymore.”

You could see his muscles tensing, and that only added more pressure to the already unbearable heat between your legs. You were soaking wet, and all you wanted to do was climb on him and ride his face until his lips were swollen. You were already imagining your legs over his shoulders and felt as his shaft repeatedly slamming inside…

You sighed…

“Something on your mind?”

His smooth voice pulled you out of your fantasy and brought you back to the present, to see the same defiant smug who was smirking, thinking he won.

"No, honey, nothing on my mind.” You said, replicating the same smile as you approached him, and began to kiss him again, but this time you kneeled in front of him.

The bastard was tall, so he still had leverage above you, but you were determined to put him in place. Also, to have Albert Wesker kneeling in front of you was very exciting and gave you confidence that you could overpower him.

As your lips touched over and over again, you grabbed him by the back of his neck to keep him close, and with the other hand, you worked to free his cock from his pants. The moment your delicate fingers slightly touched his clothes, a tiny, muffled moan echoed in your mouth, and you could feel his muscles tensing again.

“Ease babe…” You said between kisses, “I’ll get there…”

His kisses became more eager and intense as you worked your way into his pants. You felt his flesh hot, wet, and throbbing with every twist of your tongues, and once you pulled it out, you gave it a few gentle strokes along the length.

Wesker wasn’t silent anymore; no, he finally stopped suppressing those moans, and now it was obvious about his desires.

You moved agonisingly slowly as you took pleasure in feeling every vein and every throb of his cock. He was so big that you could barely wrap your fingers around him, and your own body was shaking at the thought of him being inside you at that moment…

“You’re not allowed to cum…” you said as you created a trail of soft kisses from his lips to his jawline, then to his neck. “Just be good and stay hard for me, ok?” You said it with a sadistic giggle before starting to nibble on his flesh, stimulating those spots you knew made him weak. He leaned his head aside to make room for you, resting on your loving hand. His lips were slightly open and his eyes closed as he began to sink deep into a territory where judgement is gone and it’s being replaced by simplicity and haziness. For Wesker, the simple act of getting to the edge of his desire would soon become the motif for tonight.

Your fingers would move at the same pace, enjoying the sweet moans that would escape his lips along with the heavy breaths. He was starting to lose his composure, and that showed in how heavy he was becoming in your arms. When he started to look for more friction and move his hips, you stopped, which made Wesker whine, disappointed.

“What the…” he said while panting.

“Why are you so surprised? You thought I’d let you finish?” You said it, smiling as you wiped your hand over your gown. “I have plenty in store for you tonight.”

As you stood up, you put your hands over his shoulder for support. However, you didn’t anticipate his next move.

Feeling anger building inside him and losing any sort of judgement whatsoever, he ripped the rope effortlessly and grabbed your waist. The impact was so sudden that if you were not holding his shoulders, he would’ve managed to swipe you off your feet completely. However, you quickly regained balance and stopped him midway through getting up.

“No!” You shouted as you pushed him down on his knees. “You are not allowed to.” Once he fell to his knees, you slapped him hard across the face.

The room became silent. Contrary to your expectations, Wesker not only did not move a muscle, but he was also looking up at you as if he were waiting for instructions. He did not expect him to react this way either; he did not expect to fall into obedience, and he did not expect his cock to throb once your hand slapped his face.

“Look at you…” you began talking in a deep undertone, “you are pathetic. You gave up so easily after a few rubs.”

He couldn't break eye contact because not only did he feel hypnotised by your stance, but he was also kind of enjoying being degraded by you. His cock would twitch with each insult, and he’d grow more and more eager to please you just so you could give him release.

“Get on the bed.”

He stood up without saying a word and began walking. His pants were thrown somewhere in the room along the way, leaving him completely naked. With every step, his excitement grew bigger and bigger as he found a strange delight in the uncertainty ahead. Like an obedient servant, he sat on the edge of the bed and waited for you.

“Now you’re waiting? Huh, interesting…Lay on your back.”

He did just as told, and a smile appeared on his face when he saw you climbing on top of him.

You hovered your hips over his cock, toying with his nerves a little longer and testing his patience.

“Hmm…” Your eyes looked down at his shaft. It was painfully hard, twitching and begging for you to just fuck him already. Its tip was red and swollen, its base was pulsating, and you also noticed faint movement in his hips.

“That’s how I like you to be, nice and hard for me.”

You lift your skirt a few inches so you can reveal your pussy to him. Wesker couldn’t help but whimper helplessly at the sight. It was a mix of desire and frustration, as he wasn’t allowed to touch you.

“If you only knew how ready I am for you now.” You said this as you swayed your hips slowly above his cock.

“Please show me…” he said in a raspy voice.

“You want me to show you?” Your low, silky voice filled the room and joined Wesker’s whimpers.

"Yes,” he said after a long exhale.

Even if every muscle in your body ached, even if you felt heavy and just wanted to come down and engulf his dick already, you fought these urges with all strength and crawled forward. Initially, Wesker could feel the anger beginning to boil, but once he saw it coming closer and closer to his head, he began to feel excited again.

You came on top of his head and lowered yourself. Wesker didn’t hesitate to grab and suck once he felt your warm and wet cunt all over his face.

“By the way…” you said as you moved your fingers slowly to his navel, “you are still not allowed to touch me.” You stopped your hand there and enjoyed how he kept shifting his hips in hopes that maybe you would give him some attention.

He hummed something as he kept twisting his tongue around your clit, in-between the folds, licking and tasting the juice that’s dripping down his face. Even if his cock was swollen and rock-hard, he was still delighted to drown in pleasure.

His movements were rapid and impatient; his tongue was all over the place, and he was speeding between your clit and hole. You began to match his rhythm, and so you started moving your hips back and forth. You needed him so badly that you forgot about your goal and began to focus on your pleasure.

You had a first full of his platinum blond hair, and you’d pull anytime he’d get you closer to the edge, which wasn’t bothering him at all. In fact, you could feel the vibration of his moans and the heat of his rapid breaths in your core, which added to the beautiful symphony of your bodies.

Something was missing, though. Your body felt…naked…because you yearned for his firm yet loving touch. You yearned for him all night long, and now it’s finally time.

“Albert…” you began between sobs, “touch me…touch me now.”

Two hands immediately seized your breast and pulled down the fabric to reveal the hard nipples. After that, he didn’t hesitate any longer to toy with them between his fingers, sending new waves of pleasure throughout your body.

“Fuck yeah…” you said as you wrapped your fingers around his much larger hand. His mouth kept working tirelessly all the time, which only added to the tension that was building up. However, he gave you a few more licks, and then you felt a strong grip on your waist. After that, your back hit the mattress with force. You had no idea when and how he managed to flip you over so easily, and you were about to express your opinion about this but were interrupted when you felt his swollen head slowly stretching your hole.

“Oh my-“ you began, taking a deep breath when you felt him pushing himself inside. Inch by inch, you felt yourself becoming fuller and fuller, and then he stopped for a second, adjusting his position, and then he finally began to thrust his hips, giving you new sensations to cling to.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him closer to you, urging him to go deeper and bury himself completely inside. God, you needed him so badly.

“I can take it…” you said while looking into his eyes. Your words made him smile, and with a hard thrust, he fulfilled your wish. You felt full to the brim, but you were so happy, and your mind went stupid.

Your arms were squeezing and scratching his back muscles with every thrust. I was pure bliss, and that not only reflected in your state of mind but also in the room’s acoustics as your moans, kissing sounds, and wet sounds were combined in a perfect symphony.

Every time he’d rub that spot inside you, his name would become clearer and clearer on your lips, and his scratches would become more prominent. You gave them such a nice shade of red, one that he’d enjoy watching after the deed is done, as it’s a sign he gave you great pleasure.

“Fuck…” he whispered between his teeth. Your tight cunt also brought him pleasure, so much so that he lost his composure, and now he allowed all sorts of sounds to escape his lips. From guttural groans to moans and whimpers, he didn’t refrain from any. Your name would also be so sweet on his lips, especially when he’d bury himself in your squishy cunt.

“You like it, don’t you…” you said, trying to tease him. “You like it when I’m mean to you.” You smiled and bit his earlobe playfully.

“Yeah, I like it, but something tells me you enjoy it more.” Right after he finished speaking, you felt a strong grip on your hair. He pushed your head aside and sank his teeth into your flesh, which made you wail. This sound pleased him, judging by the guttural groan that just came out of his mouth, so he kept on biting you—not as hard, but enough to leave love bruises. The pain faded away as soon as he picked up the pace.

Wesker yearned for closure as well, so he collapsed on top of you and allowed his deepest and more primal desires to take control of him. His head was buried at the junction of your neck, and his dick slammed repeatedly in and out at a fast pace, chasing his release.

You felt him throb more frequently, and you knew he was close, so you raised your head a bit and pressed your lips on his neck. The contact made him twitch, but soon you heard whimpers as you began to twist your tongue over his favourite spots. His thrust became more erratic, his breathing more intense, and in those moments, you began to bite his neck hard. In a few seconds, you felt him filling you up with warm, thick loads of cum. This, along with the kisses he gave on your sore neck, made you reach your own climax, and so your walls milked him of every single drop.

Wesker collapsed next to you, still panting and trying to catch his breath. Your fingers traced over your sore neck, and you groaned when you touched those painful bruises.

“I will make them go away; don’t worry.” He said it in a reassuring voice as he held your hand. His big thumb went over your soft skin in circles as he was lost in his thoughts.

“Something on your mind?” You said this as you noticed the silence.

“No, it’s just that it felt different, you know.”

“Different in a good way or a bad way?”

“Different in a way I never thought I’d enjoy.”

“So in a good way.”

He nodded and pulled you closer so you could lay on his chest. Your hand went across his chest and rested on your shoulder, and he resumed caressing your soft body.

“I hope I didn’t slam you too hard.” He said this as he rubbed your back.

“No, I didn’t even feel it.” You confessed. “You’re good; don’t stress so much about it.” You gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and his mood improved visibly. “I should be the one worrying about your back.”

Wesker chuckled lightly.

“They’re already healing, love.” He turned his head to see you, and your eyes met his adoring gaze. His eyes weren’t red anymore, but now they had that charming shade of amber that made you lose yourself. His lips were curved in a satisfied yet tired smile.

“Lucky you.” His lips met yours once again, but now they weren’t in a hurry like before. They wanted to savour you and enjoy every moment as they remained glued to your lips in prolonged kisses.

“Wanna try again?” You said it so low, almost like a whisper.

“Sure, but some other time. I want to take care of you right now.” He said this as he looked at your neck. The flesh was covered in purple, diffused bruises, and even if they were a sign of pride for him, he knew that they hurt you.

“That’d be so sweet of you, especially since my back started to hurt a bit…ouch.” You placed a hand on your lower back and dramatised a bit. You were starved for Wesker’s attention.

Wesker chuckled again and kissed your forehead.

“I knew, love.”

“I also didn’t mean all of those things, you know that, right?” You said as you started to shower his face with kisses, “I was carried away.”

“Relax love.” He took your hand and placed a gentle kiss on it.

He didn’t have to say it out loud because both of you knew how much he enjoyed it.

#resident evil #albert wesker #albert wesker x reader #albert wesker x f!reader #albert wesker x you #wesker x reader #wesker x you #resident evil fanfic

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tadpolesonalgae · 1 year

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Demon! Azriel x reader: Teeth and Talons - Part 3[***]

A/N: you guys really shouldn’t be encouraging my monsterfucking habits but here we are. Also, sorry it’s late!

Summary: You get stolen away by one of his half siblings, and he nearly tips over the irredeemable edge. You’re running. He’s hunting.

Warnings: monsterfucking (yk), demon!azriel, kidnapping, gore/violence, blood, beast form!Azriel (no, you don’t fuck him like that), soft!Demon!az (in his own way)

-Part 2- -Part 4-

He doesn’t understand how he managed to lose you so effortlessly.

He’d been keeping you in his private chambers, locked far below ground. But then you’d started getting ideas in your head after the mating, ideas of your own independence being important. It set his ire blazing, the thought you would any sort of individuality to separate yourself from him. You belong to one another now.

Still, an unfamiliar part of him had granted your offending requests of freedom, returning you to the mortal worlds from time to time whenever you claimed to be struck down by a sickness for your previous housing. His lip curled whenever he thought of it.

He’d allowed you out, and you’d been snatched away. Ripped from his claws, leaving him wounded and tender. And furious. Black flame incarnate. The embodiment of wrath, his body sensing something fundamental having been torn from his inner energies. You.

He needs you back, or he might wither under the unyielding might of his rage.

————————

The marshy land squelches beneath your feet, the wet slap of your toes as they sink into the mud. Icy razor blades slice the soles of your feet as the cold bites into you. The skin is a raw pink, the swampy terrain containing little but festering small creatures that cannibalise one another for the sake of prolonging their pitiful but desperate lives.

The beasts dragging you along have no place in your heart, twisted with malevolent cruelty to the point of being unrecognisable. You can’t even begin to comprehend them, yet they continue stringing you through the bemired ground, no care for the burning pain that slices with every step.

Salty paths have long since dried on your grimy skin, wind whipping at your hair as it howls in the skies, thunderous. Rain lashes at your back, stinging in its persistence. A crack of lightening above has you jumping, stumbling as you fall into a stagnant bog of putrid smelling water. The creatures pay you no mind, continuing on their slouching way as your ankles are pulled out beneath you.

Your mouth opens to scream before you seal you lips as you’re dragged under, your weight sinking into the marsh. You thrash until your break the surface, gasping for air as you try to push the mud from your eyes. The best you can do is wait for the unkind rain to rinse your skin beneath it’s torrential rage.

How much further?

The question repeats in your mind until it’s a dull throb of pain, hair pulled out from under you as you slide through the muck, sludge caking your back. It becomes unbearable when you hit stable land, the cold ground biting at your skin, tearing at the thin robes you adorned before you were snatched away. Again.

The thunderous crack of lightening whips closer, more regular. A small part of you hopes it will somehow seek you out, strike you down where you lie, freeing you from the endless hurricane of events you seem to have been unsuspectingly caught in. Things were just beginning to look up for you and Azriel. He’d allowed you freedom you hadn’t been granted even in the mortal realms, the promise of safety, gifting you with the liberty to run wild in forests, bathe in streams without worry of prying eyes or snatching hands that wouldn’t listen to your cries of agony. How false those promises had been.

Perhaps he’d gotten bored of you.

He was a creature of hel, after all.

The wind beats down on your accepting features with all the force nature possesses. It harrows your skin, lashing at your cheeks, stinging your lips as the wind turns every strand of hair into cruel, half bitten whips, cracking against your tender skin with sharp, wet smacks.

And yet you couldn’t bring yourself to call him a beast. The things dragging you by your ankles were the monsters, though perhaps he was simply a master to the arts of deceit and mockery.

Sharp stones scrape against the raw flesh of your back, surely the same bitten-pink as your feet. Had he really, truly abandoned you? The side of your throat stings, your hands automatically flying to sense out the pain. The bite marks are pulsing, throbbing with a burning sensation, prickling at your bloodstream. Azriel.

Where are you?

You manage to crack your eyes open, gunk teeming at the edges where the rain couldn’t slither in. There’s a black spec in the sky, darker than the thunderous rain cloud. Lightening cracks, silhouetting the shadow.

You hiss as rocks drag against your should blades, splitting up your spine as they grind against the bone. Fresh tears spill as unceasing pain lances through your back, flaying your torso.

The shadow is larger - closer. It’s dropping, plummeting through the air, terrifying wings slicing through the atmosphere silently. Lethally precision in the set of it’s form. He’s a very quiet predator.

Your breath catches, choking on air as it clogs your lungs, tongue feeling rubbery against the walls of your throat. The words blurs but not from the sting of rain, neither the dark haze when your squint your eyes in desperation to shield from the wild onslaught of the elements trying to corrode your skin. Hot wetness warms paths along your skin, neck stinging as his glittering ire slices along that eldritch connection, zapping at your mind.

The utter fury blazing along the bond warms your from within, heart picking up to the beat of the wind that whips unforgivingly across the flat moor, fog rolling in thick, suffocating clusters, sprawling above the fen. Your lower lip trembles as he dives, swooping down, shadows wreathing him in unhallowed darkness.

He crashes into the beasts dragging your human body so carelessly across the boggy flatland, piercing screams tearing from their bodies as they’re crushed beneath his razed sharp claws. The Dæmon lands in a mess of splintering bones, dark blood spraying into the mud as jaws snap viciously, tearing at rough skin as their bodies are pulled apart.

“Azriel…” You’re disbelieving, finally coming to a stop on the biting floor. Power fills the air, frenetic static building, lightening cracking above. It’s his fury incarnate, imbuing the world with depthless wrath as it zaps across the wet fields. Beastly snarls rips from his chest.

You shakily push up, hardly able to move from the bludgeoning numbness. His wings are larger, the talons glittering at their peaks sharper. His arms and legs are transformed into crushing paws, decorated with slicing talons that could spear your entire body. His thick fur curls in the torrential downpour, changed from his bi-pedal form into moving as a predator would, enabling his lethal speed.

He’s hardly recognisable save for scar peaking through the matted hair on his corded throat, a matching pair to the bite marks on your own neck. There isn’t an ounce of hazel in his blacked out eyes, snout searching for life to rip into as he shoves it into the disembowelled stomach of one of the pitiful creatures that’d been crushed beneath his weight.

It happens under a second, one moment he’s a spec in the air and the next he stalks over the bloodied carcasses of the beasts that have been hauling your roughly through the dirt. The once firm land now withers beneath their weight, saturated with blood, their corpses sinking into the morass, swallowed by the land. Pickled.

“Azriel,” his name grates against your vocal chords. You know it’s him. He’s found you, he’s come to save you. Fresh tears wrack your body as shadows slither through the cloying fog, snapping the locks on your rubbed-raw angles as you pull them against your body.

You’re pushing forward on trembling limbs, onto your hands and knees as you crawl forward, rain washing away the grit from your excoriated skin. “Azriel,” you whimper, his body looking so warm and you know even with the wetness soaking his fur you’ll be shielded.

The metallic scent in the air evens out as he shifts into a more familiar form, his own features surfacing, sharp cheekbones splitting through his animalistic demeanour, the darkest shine of hazel breaking in his blacked out eyes. A snarling roar drags from his throat as his gaze settles on you, prowling forward.

The shifting halts, as if frozen. As if he’s struggling to return to his form. Black swallows his hazel as it’s sucked down, size doubling as he doesn’t transform back. His crushing paws sink into the marshland, wings flared wide as he stalks closer.

You still, suddenly scared. All over again.

Your name to scramble back but your abraded skin stings. You collapse back into the mud. “Azriel…” you rasp as he traps you beneath his titan-like body. A scream rips from your throat as his jaws drop open, fragments of bone falling out as they enclose over you.

You won’t even make a mouthful as the others had.

But his tongue unfurls, the wet muscle scooping you up tenderly, bringing you into the hall of his mouth as darkness writhes around the outside. A weightless sensation overcomes you as he rights himself, accompanied by the thunderous thump as leathery wings flare, shooting you into the sky as it’s blacked out.

It reeks of blood and flesh, but it’s warm. His tongue is soft, your weight sinking into the tough, slick skin, heating your bones as you melt into the cavern of his mouth. After the overpowering stench of the marsh, the scent of death isn’t that unbearable. Besides, you’re still caked in it, so you wonder who’s really got it worse as you lie on his tongue.

Fatigue weighs on your eyelids, the hotness of the muscle beneath you paired with the repetitive thump of his wings lulls you into needed sleep, darkness filling your vision as you melt into him, stiffness seeping from your bones.

————

You wake to the feeling of falling, your muscles screaming to tense as you slide from his tongue. Blinding light fills your vision, forcing your eyes to shut again. You’re plunged into a warm pool of water, the sensation oddly pleasant as you can already feel the mud being soothingly worn from your skin.

When you break the surface, you’re spluttering, hands trying to scrub your face free of muck. You dip back under, the water burning at your eyelids but it’s preferable to the gunk that’s caking your skin.

A powerful arm hooks beneath your own, lifting you effortlessly from the water, setting you on a submerged ledge that leaves the cleansing water lapping just above your collar bones. Something dry and slightly rough is pushed against your face. A towel, you realise, hands raising to scrub yourself off, to clean your eyes.

You take in your surroundings, limbs resting in the water as your strength completely drains. You’re in a warm coloured bathing area, the vast pool containing creamy looking water, thick bubbles lathering atop the surface.

Beside you, the pool shifts as Azriel settles down, shifting into a form you’re familiar with. Hazel returns to his eyes, colour dancing if you look deep enough. Your eyes trail to his mouth, noting the canines that protrude from his lips, tinted a dark red. Almost black.

He’s still far too big to be normal. You bet if you were stood beside him in his current state, his hips would line up with your rib cage. You look up at him with tired eyes, his own dark ones watching you silently. “Where were you?” You hear the break in your voice, the raspy crackle. Fresh tears fill your eyes, the events returning to you in all their blistering pain.

His brow narrows and for a moment you’re worried he’ll be angry, lock you back up in his room, take away the freedom you were afforded. But he’s brought your to this open space in favour of the washroom that connects to his chambers. Maybe it counts for something.

You grow scared when he doesn’t reply, only watching you. It feels like that’s all he’s doing. “Azriel,” you cry, softly, “where were you?” He remains silent, observing you keenly. Then, he reaches one taloned hand forward. You flinch back, water splashing as you push away from him. His lip curls at the action.

Azriel reaches again, shifting fully as his large hand wraps entirely around your legs, dragging you forward. He’s too strong for his own good, and you go under, water shoving itself into your eyes, stuffing itself into your mouth. You gasp when you’re lifted out, spluttering painfully. It’s only when he pushes the towel into your face again and your eyes are clear that you realise he’s set you between his legs.

Traitorous heat flushes your cheeks as you note his powerful arms are casually wrapped around your middle, keeping you against him. You want to be upset, angry even but all you can do is revel in the feeling of security he gives you. The press of skin against skin, solid warmth behind you. You’re pleasantly surprised by the soft brush of fur, made infinitely silkier beneath water. It’s so nice you lean back, making him grunt softly.

You stiffen. He’s completely bare. At least you still have your clothes on - dirty as they are. Initially, you’re shocked at the hard press against your lower back, then your realise he’s doing nothing to act on it. No attempts to lull you to sleep, no attempts to seduce you into jumping onto his cock. Just allowing you some peace and quiet, while keeping close by.

But you don’t want peace and quiet right now. You want to scream at him. You tip your head back, so it’s pressing against his chest - maybe your ass pushes against him a little - peering up into his dark eyes. “Back out there,” you begin, determined to get answers out of him, “my throat was stinging. Why?” He cocks his head, expression remaining blank, “your throat?” You don’t like the way he says it.

You swallow, and his eyes track the movement, following down to your chest, your nipples just hidden by the water’s surface. His hips shift behind you, legs widening - allowing you to slide against him, you realise. It’s probably pleasurable to him, you guess. Your head bobs in confirmation as you tilt your head to the side, fingers dancing over where you had felt the pain.

His pupils dilate as he takes in the expanse of your throat, the bite marks. His bite marks. His upper lip twitches, wanting to pull back from his canines in order to refresh the scars. Drink from you. Hear your blood sing for him. It doesn’t help, the way your lower back is pressing tight against him. He’d half hoped you would accept his invitation, when he’d widened the stance of his legs to allow you closer.

Azriel’s mind shudders as you shift between his thighs, lips parting to speak, “the marks. They stung.” That’s all you’re giving him. His claws twitch with the need to touch you, to feel that you’re returned to him. A grin lifts the edges of his mouth, “you were waiting for me to come find you.”

He revels in the way tell-tale warmth flushes your cheeks. You keep your gaze on his, embers slowly heating in your irises as you come back to life. “I had no such thoughts. I was convinced you were the one who had me—” you cut yourself off. It’s far too soon for you to repeat the burning pain you felt, even through memories. You swallow, forcing down emotion, “I thought you were trying to get rid of me,” you mumble, your head lowering, breaking the connection, “I thought I’d spent my use.”

You tense as his arms wind tighter around your waist, feeling as he leans over you, front pressing to your back. Cock pressing to your— You swallow. “And that made you unhappy,” he taunts, quietly beside your ear. Awareness lights your skin as his claws wrap around you, so sharp. “You didn’t like the idea of me losing interest in you,” he drawls, the tip of one razor-like talon slipping beneath the hem of your clothing. You grit your teeth, squeezing your thighs together, in attempt to make yourself smaller, shying away from his touch. “None of my kind - as you so affectionately tend to stress - would revel in abandonment. It means nothing about you.”

Your back cools as he leans against the marble edge of the bathing pool that’s large enough to easily contain a few squadrons of creatures like him. He laughs, darkly, hips shifting so he’s pressing into you from behind, “remember the night we mated?” He drawls, watching as tension lines your small body. “I told you in no uncertain terms, should you continue, you would not deny me,” he taunts, “you’d accept the joining, the breeding.” The talon slices up the inside of your clothes, splitting them in two, making it easy for him to slide them from your torso.

You gasp in shock, legs folding over one another as you frantically try to cover yourself. But his hands have dropped to your hips and you squeal as he lifts you from his lap, turning you to face him. Your cheeks flush hot as you’re torn between covering your breasts and trying to shove him off you. He has no right to hold you in such an objectifying way.

Seeing no point in attempting to push him off you, your arms wrap across your chest defensively. He raises a single brow as your hips wiggle, trying to slide from his grasp. “Let me go,” you demand softly, through your embarrassment. His mouth lifts into a mocking grin, “what will you do for me if I follow that request?”

Your lips drop open as you’re rendered speechless. He hums deep in his throat, a smug glint dancing in his eyes. Anger burns in the pit of your stomach, all the overwhelming emotions that had been tearing through you for the past few hours manifesting as seething fury, “you—” Roughly, he pulls you down into his lap, your thighs spreading as he pulls you tight against his front, breasts against his powerful chest, lower abdomen squeezing against his cock, the soft fur brushing invitingly against your stomach.

“What you need,” he drawls once your seated, forcing your head to crane upward to see him, “is a good fucking.” Your mouth drops open as his hips buck gently against your own, and you feel the mocking promise he’s giving you. You want to smack him, to scream at him. Why does he lack such a basic understanding of human emotion?

His hands have loosened around your hips, allowing you to push up from his lap, standing on weakened legs, somehow managing to keep your balance. He only laughs, shadows twining beneath your skirts and up your thighs as he keeps you where you are, “and where do you think you’re going?”

Rage gives way to despair, tears rolling down your cheeks as you tremble in his grip, “fine,” you snap, lip wobbling as you try to push his hands away. Your slim fingers catch on his claws, the razor like blades slicing into you, blood dripping into the pool. His eyes widen marginally with anger as he watches it, scents your blood on his talons. “What are you doing?” He snarls, furious with you for being so careless of your delicate human body.

But you don’t reply, you’ve already settled your thighs either side of him, hand guiding his cock to your entrance. More tears roll as you push yourself down into his lap, burning pain screaming in your abdomen. You look up at him, anguish clear in your eyes, “this is what you wanted, right?” You cry, the stinging only worsening, “so hurry up and get it over with, you beast. Fuck me. Breed me. Whatever it is you so need to do to me.” You’re hitting your fist weakly on his chest as his hands hurriedly move to your hips, so careful not to nick at your skin. “Just get it over with.”

He’s panicked, unaccustomed to the foreign feeling of tension in his throat, heart pounding as he lifts you off his lap. “Don’t,” he snarls at you, anger coating his words as his eyes flick to your hands, bleeding steadily. He shifts into the form he’d been in when you’d met in the forest, claws shrinking into nails, fur disappearing entirely as he frame smallens. “Stop hurting yourself,” he growls, pushing you away from him slightly, panicked eyes flicking between your hands and teary eyes. It’s disarming seeing you like this.

“You wanted it!” You cry back at him, shoulders hunching over as you move to bring your bloody hands to wipe away the tears. He grabs your wrists firmly, jerking them away from your face as he glared at you. “Calm. Down.” Something snaps inside of you. You thrash in his hold, violently writhing, sending water spraying into his eyes.

“Fuck off, Azriel! My back is in pieces, I’ve been dragged for hours across a freezing wasteland, you’ve— you keep doing this. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” You can feel your throat tearing as you scream the words, hot paths of water cascading down your cheeks heavily. You want to claw at him, want to punch him, rip his skin from his body with your teeth. He’s unfairly strong. You know you can’t do anything. Meanwhile he can restrain you without even touching you.

You don’t even notice as his hands release your wrists. You fall forward into his chest, sobbing as you slam your fist over his heart over and over, pounding on his cage as if it’ll open up for you if you knock loud enough. “I hate you, I hate you so much!” You collapse against him, sobs still wracking your body.

It’s as though you’re bathing in hot milk and honey, the warm water licking at your wounds, numbing their pain. He’s warm beneath your fingertips, solid warmth beneath your fists. Unshakeable. It’s so unfair. Why can’t you be like him? Why don’t you get to have skin seemingly made of the thickest leather, talons that’ll slice should anyone get too close? You sob harder, tears dropping to the pool. Why are you so weak?

His arms wind around you, almost gingerly. His hands span your shoulders, tucking you against his chest as his shadows skitter across your back, soothing coolness blanketing your skin. You sniff, peering up at him. You almost regret it. His eyes are hard, cold. Glittering malevolence sprawling in their depths. More tears roll as the spark in your chest douses itself. It’s clear he has no attachment to you, only having saved you because you’ve been mated and bred.

Then you freeze.

His hands pull away from you, one wrapping around your wrist as he lifts it to his mouth. His eyelids flutter almost imperceptibly as he uses his thumb to separate your fingers. It’s almost tender as his lips part, licking up the blood that’s ebbing from your slim digits, trailing up to the small cuts. You hiss instinctively, expecting pain, but instead you only feel a vague tingle. It’s kind of nice, actually.

Azriel’s tongue laps over each of your cuts, sealing them so there isn’t even a mark left in their place. When he’s finished, he doesn’t release your wrist. Instead he guides your hands to splay across his shoulders, forehead pressing against your own. “Your back isn’t in pieces,” he murmurs over your mouth, making your brow furrow. You guess it isn’t stinging as it had been, but you had chalked that up to numb adrenaline.

“I know it is,” you snap softly, “I felt every sharp rock, every piece of gritty mud that abraded me.” His eyes lose their harsh cut, the edges mellowing every so slightly. “I carried you in my mouth,” he reminds, lips brushing over yours, making your hairs stand on end, “your back was on my tongue the whole flight. I could taste you.”

Heat flushes your cheeks as you pull back suddenly. His hands automatically tighten on you but relax when he sees you’re not attempting to escape. I could taste you. How can he say that with a straight face. And even after everything that’s happened, you’re left with a singular thought circling your mind. Did I taste good?

You don’t have a chance to foolishly voice the question as his hands lower to your hips, lifting you with him as he stands. Instinctively, your arms wrap over his shoulders and you hiss at the movement, a stinging feel coming from between your legs. He sets you down on the edge of the bathing pool, the cooks tiles pleasant against your thighs. “What— Azriel?” You question, confusion prominent in your tone.

Carefully, despite his now shortened nails, his hands press against your shoulders. The tips of his fingers dip beneath your sodden, still grimy clothes - now the only part of you that was dirty. Finally, your skin can properly breathe as he guides the wet fabric away from your tender skin, slowly stripping you down until you’re completely bare. His eyes drink you in, brow narrowing as he notices a few bruises - ones that are not from him.

His eyes settle on yours as he pushes your legs apart, gently. You resist, scared. You’re stinging, and you don’t want him to hurt you. “What are you doing, Azriel?” You ask, mouth trembling at the looming threat of pain. At this, his demeanour shifts, sending your fear. His hands moves to your waist, thumb brushing over your hip bone, “you’re hurting,” he replies, as if it’s answer.

“I don’t want you to fuck me again,” you manage, your words soft and small, scared he won’t listen. That he’ll inflict more damage upon your already battered body. His lips quirk at the edges, “I won’t.” Then he’s lowering himself into the water, until he’s between your thighs, spreading them.

Oh.

Saliva contains healing properties.

Carefully, he lifts one leg over his broad shoulder, then the other. Even now, your muscles tremble slightly, remembering the rigour they’ve gone through. You brace for canines, but are instead rewarded by the gentle lap of his tongue. You could almost cry at the feeling as your cunt tingles, the feeling that was zipping through your fingers when he sealed the cuts.

Almost immediately, you feel better, his saliva coating your heat as his tongue heals you. There’s still a vaguely piercing sting coming from inside, but it’s bearable. You wince when you shift your leg, pain prickling beneath your abdomen.

Inadvertently, you meet his gaze and you know he saw the reaction. His brow narrows. Swallow your tongue and be surprised when you choke, he’d once muttered to you. And now you can’t shake the urge to tell him. It’s like a strange compulsion. And he keeps watching you, with those dark, knowing eyes.

“Azriel,” you whisper, scared. He stops, giving you his attention, something surfacing in his black eyes. “I—… It’s still hurting,” you mumble. “Where? I can heal it,” he reassures. The second you articulate that emotion, you freeze, brow tightening in confusion. You swallow, shifting then stilling as you ache. “Inside,” you mumble, barely managing the word, shame crawling beneath your skin.

A grin lifts his lips, and suddenly he’s pulling away from you. “Stay there,” he orders, gently, as power thrums in the air, that same frenetic static as before. His eyes lock onto yours as he begins shifting, “don’t run from me.”

Then his eyes are swallowed by pitch darkness, wings largening, fur lining his body as he grows. His talons return, as long as you are, longer. His hands shift into those paws that can so easily crush things your size as his features are swallowed by more animalistic ones, snout protruding.

Oh.

You suddenly understand why this bathing pool is so vast. It’s built to house him in any form, including this one.

You realise he’s halted his growth, keeping himself from filling the room as you’re sure he would should he completely transform into that beastly body. Instead it a vague in between. He’s probably triple your size, if not more. Maybe a quarter of his true form. You fight against the instinctive urge to run, remembering it’s him.

His pitch eyes drink you in, prowling forward, all the while not making a sound. You keep still, scared but not feeling in danger. It’s an odd combination. He stops in front of you, your back arching as you peer up at him. It takes a lot of will power to not look at what’s most likely directly in front of you.

“Azriel?” You whisper, unsurely. His eyes glint, and you recognise him. Even with his usual features twisted into a more animalistic light, your body recognises him as an integral part of yourself - not something to fear.

Shadows swirl at your body, lapping over your skin like waves. He moves forward, dipping down to be between your legs. You still, “what are you—” He cuts you off when his jaw opens, the wet muscle of his tongue rolling out. Your eyes snap open, lips parting in shock. The end is tapered, but thickens the closer it gets to his mouth. Oh gods.

“Azriel,” you stammer, “you’re not going to…?” He releases a puff of breath over you and you’re the most taken aback that you’ve been this evening. “Did you just laugh?” You inquire, disbelievingly. His eyes spark and you squeal when his tongue moves, dragging down your chest, over your perky nipples, settling between your legs. He huffs again at your surprise, and the tension leaves your body.

The tip of his tongue presses against your entrance, and you brace.

Your cheeks heat when he slides in, embarrassingly easily.

All your thoughts melt away as he fills you, saliva already working it’s powers as that pleasant tingling feeling blossoms across your lower abdomen. Your lips part and his shadows guide you back so you aren’t sat upright: reclining into the darkness.

Pure pleasure sings in your body as he starts moving, tongue pulsing inside of you as it slides gently in and out. Your back arches in response, hands cupping your breasts as sensitivity lights you up. His shadows don’t allow that, though. They twine gently around your wrists, replacing your hands as they flick at your nipples, refreshing cool, like a breeze on a hot summer day.

“Azriel…” you pant, peeking your eyes open. He’s already watching. Of course he is. Your toes curl, knowing he’s drinking in every second of your pleasure. You bite the inside of your lip as arousal coils in the pit of your stomach, already about set to spring free. “I’m—” you pant as he grazes a spot inside of you, mouth dropping open as you melt entirely into his shadows.

A growl of pleasure rumbles through his chest, and it feels so fucking good. Silver lines your eyes, flying closer and closer to that high. “Azzie,” you squeak softly, hardly a breath. A scream tears from you as he growls again, tongue vibrating inside you, the base of it pushing against your clit as you hit your peak.

Your back curves as the growls lose their harsh edge, softening as he feels you fluttering around him. He’s purring. His tongue retracts after the last aftershock has faded, shifting into his more recognisable form.

You don’t even think about it as you reach your hands out, making to grab at him. His brow narrows as he slowly prowls forward, “do you need something?” He asks softly, curiosity lying beneath the bland tone. “Come here,” you snap. His brow raises but for once, he obeys.

The second he’s in reach, your arms loop around his neck, tugging him into your chest as your legs circle his torso, locking around him tightly. You bury your nose in his hair, inhaling that scent that is so inherently him, so deliciously soothing. The feeling of his strong body encompassing you sends a shivering thrill humming through you, lighting you with incandescence.

You press kisses into his hair and his eyes widen, muscles locking up. He’s not sure what you’re doing. But he likes it. He likes feeling your soft skin beneath his cheek, having your thighs hugging his waist while your arms keep him tucked against you. He likes the feeling of your mouth pressing tenderly against him, repeatedly.

He decides it’s a good sign. A display of human affection.

Something tingles in his chest at the idea.

Taglist: @myheartfollower

#Azriel x reader #demon! Azriel #demon!azriel x reader #Teeth and Talons #Teeth and Talons part 3 #[***]#Azriel smut #Azriel fluff

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two-white-butterflies · 8 months

Text

parallel lines | d. targaryen | part five

Description: An ordinary middle school teacher moves to a desolate town with her fiancee. After suffering episodes of vivid nightmares, she realizes that his uncle looks exactly like the man in her dreams.

Pairings: daemon targaryen/reader, aemond targaryen/reader

Trope: Reincarnation

series masterlist |

<< previous chapter

Man who makes a beast out of himself got nothing to lose Sold my soul long ago, nothing left to choose I'm tired, tired of singing the blues - Tired of Singing the Blues, Lana Del Rey.

"There's nothing rich people love more than free things," Jacaerys mused watching his relatives fight over freebies, some were exquisite works of art like that little Monet that his uncle brought or the jade mirror from the Ming Dynasty. "You're not going to join them," you raised an eyebrow - taking a sip of your champagne.

The younger boy stared.

"I still love my life, unfortunately." he chuckles. "We've got a very eccentric family, I hope that this isn't too new for you." Jacaerys apologized, walking you into the other room. "I don't think I know what normal is. I'm an orphan, my mother died pretty young." you admit, biting your lower lip. "Father?"

"Couldn't be more bothered to acknowledge my existence." you shrug, feeling a familiar presence behind you. "Aemond," Jacaerys greeted with hidden rigidity - the atmosphere between the both of them was tense. You were a good judge of character, and you could see that neither of them liked each other.

"Jace," your boyfriend smiled falsely.

Aemond was a shadow in his younger nephew's presence, Jacaerys the golden boy - could do no wrong. While Aemond struggled with being accepted in the school of his dreams, Jacaerys was welcomed - and he still had the nerve to decline the invitation, instead choosing to study in some stupid university in the countryside.

"It's been a while," Jace added, attempting to keep the conversation civil. "Five years? Is that how long it takes to study college?" Aemond undermined his rival. "I took a gap year," Jace turned his head in your direction, trying to put a finger on why you looked familiar.

"- toured the world, I even saw the Arc de Triomphe." the younger man smiles. Aemond says nothing in return - as if sensing the awkwardness, Jace chuckles.

"Well, I think this is my cue to say goodbye." he raised his glass, retreating into the foyer.

(Harrenhal. The Past.)

"I don't know why you keep me here. To prolong my agony?" you rasped at your older sister. Harrenhal had big rooms and soft mattresses that you could just sleep in for thousands of years. You laid in the beds in the morning, feeling tired and sucked dry of life, but in the night - you couldn't sleep.

Memories of what happened months ago came flooding back. Haunting you awake. It felt like you were standing on a pile of bodies. You turned to look at your older sister again, her eyes were once filled with warmth at the thought of you - now they were dim.

"I'll keep the windows open, if you hate your life - then jump - like that niece of yours, Helaena." she announced in a tone that wasn't sad nor happy. Your eyebrows merged into each other. Princess Helaena was dead? But you weren't bothered - you didn't know her.

A bitter chuckle escapes your mouth.

"You took my life into your own hands, to play with as you please. Now that you're tired, you want me to pretend that it was my own agency that led me here?" you argued.

"Perhaps you and I are the same." Alys responded.

"I had a dream before you were born that Aemond would come and free us, save us from our father's abuse. I know better now than to believe my visions." she turned away, slamming the door shut - leaving you alone.

Dreams were portals of the world - you could see the past, present and future in them. Alys Rivers could vividly remember the man in her dreams, his warm purple eye and long silver hair.

The Prince would come and his song will be that of Ice and Fire. From his blood would come the prince that was promised, opposite of him in temperance and demeanor - you almost wouldn't believe that they came from the same tree, but they were and the prince's breath would save them against ice.

"And when will you return, this time?" Alys leaned on the doorframe, staring at your frame that was frantically packing her bags. "Princess Rhaenyra tells that she needs my help, I can't deny her." you smiled.

"She's Queen now - and she's asking you because she needs you to fight in a war." Alys' lips turned thin at the thought of losing you. "Rumors have swirled around, they believe that she killed Harwin." she proceeded, trying to persuade you to stay.

"You told me that Larys killed our brother." you froze slightly. "I don't want you to leave, stay please - I've been dreaming about salvation. If you stay here, we'll be safe." your older sister pleaded.

"I'm never in your dreams, almost like I'm not supposed to be here. I need to save the Queen's soldiers, to ensure that she wins in this war. You tell me that her heirs are fathered by Harwin, shouldn't we protect our blood?" you inquired and your sister takes a deep breath. There was no stopping you.

"Promise me that you'll stay safe," she pleaded, handing you a small necklace that she enchanted. "I will," you promised - squeezing her shoulders as a way to show that you weren't kidding.

Like a ghost, you didn't even realize that you were sitting on the dinner table. "Columbia University is pretty hard, what did you major in again?" Rhaenyra inquires, taking a bite of her steak.

"Mathematics, it was supposed to be my pre-law course but life happened and I had to change a few things." you smiled, eyebrows merging with each other in confusion. What the hell happened? Why couldn't you remember anything before this?

"Ooh being a lawyer is the coolest. It's uncommon to see someone with Math as a pre-law, you must be really smart." Helaena adjusted her glasses and the people around you agreed. "Never in a million years did we expect that Aemond will end up with someone like you." Harwin articulated and Aemond rolls his eye.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he chuckled, trying to make it seem like a joke. "I always saw you with someone weird, like that Claire girl that does music now." Harwin quickly rebutted.

Alicent knocks on wood three times. Rhaenyra giggles, "Put some respect on that girl's name, isn't she engaged to a billionaire?" she inquired and Aemond shook his head. "They broke up." he confirmed.

"Three kids and he just throws her away like nothing."

"It is not nice to gossip," Alicent interrupts their conversation. "Gossiping is done by small-minded people." she insisted and Rhaenyra looks away. They used to be close friends, Alicent was her former-babysitter - then somehow she had an affair with her father.

"So are affairs, but none of us complain." Rhaenyra grumbled and the other woman pretended not to hear. "You're the one to talk, didn't you cheat on your ex-husband with mister hunk here?" Aegon pointed at Harwin and Daemon's eyes widened.

You know what they say - a shot of whiskey for luck, and a bottle of whiskey for disaster. "Oh my god I can't believe we're talking about this again. I didn't ruin a family and as far as anyone is concerned, Laenor was totally fine with it. Weren't you, Laenor?" Rhaenyra turned her head at Laenor's direction.

"I liked it, actually." he hummed watching the drama unfold. "Yeah cuz when you have a mistress it's alright, but when it's my father - suddenly, my mother's the fucking devil." Aegon insulted.

You took a deep breath, what were you to make of this situation.

"So you do agree, that your mother was a mistress?" Rhaenyra said smugly, Daemon bit back a chuckle. "Can we all calm down?" Harwin placed his hand in front of the siblings. "This is supposed to be my son's birthday, and we have a guest here. A little decorum would be nice." Harwin tried to decrease the tension.

"Yeah, whatever." Aegon stood up to leave. He hated his fucking life.

Shortly after Aegon's outburst, you and Aemond decided to leave. "That was the most eventful birthday party that I've ever attended." you chuckled, fastening your seatbelt.

"I can't believe that they decided to pull that shit while you were there." he complained, driving out of Rhaenyra's driveway.

"That's family, I guess." he shrugged.

"- and we're never going back." he added

next chapter >>

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doverstar · 6 months

Note

THERE WAS NO OTHER ENDING FOR ROSE and ya know what, I like to think the doctor thinks so too

I think he does too! I’m gonna talk about it, are you ready for me to talk about it? Are you ready for an essay-

I think the Doctor would agree that the ending Rose got—the one with Tentoo on Pete’s World—was the best possible fate for her. I’ll explain why, because I feel like it. First I’ll break down Rose’s most popular alternative-endings. Let’s start with Rose-stays-with-him-until-she-dies. That’s the one Rose decided on long before Canary Wharf. She planned on staying with the Time Lord until she physically couldn’t anymore. Forever.

First of all, that would be painful for the Doctor. He already said it. Watching Rose get shot, drowned, stabbed, sucked into a black hole, sacrificed for a remote planet’s civilization, poisoned, pulled into a void, atomized, eaten, possessed, run over, diseased, or ripped apart would be traumatic and terrible for the Doctor.

Watching Rose grow old and tired and then die would also be incredibly painful. He might try to prolong her life in alien ways, even in medical ways, but then she’s subjected to an unnatural, un-human existence until death claims her. Making a naturally-decaying body stick around and eke out another year, another hour, another century while he watches, exactly the same as ever. Yikes. Not fun for either of them. No thank you. He was against that ending with good reason.

Now, this ending where Rose stays with him until she dies? It is no less an emotional commitment to make than the one every married couple on Earth, every affectionate relationship on Earth, makes. Friends, family, spouses. You will lose them. You have to decide to love them knowing that.

The Doctor does love Rose, but he can’t tell her or admit it aloud because to do that would be facing a reality he’s not willing to face: he loves something he will inevitably lose. The old coward will not do it.

I believe that if Rose wanted to stay with him until she died, knowing she has a shorter lifespan but committing to holding his hand until she could not hold it anymore because he needs that and she can give it to him, and she knows he loves her back—100% yes girl, go for it. That is good and right and fine and she should be allowed to make that commitment. That’s love. That’s literal marriage vows. That’s unconditional, unwavering, and Rose is the first companion in 60 years of TARDIS passengers to love him like that. And he knows it. And it’s scary. But. Even in marriage, that is a commitment that has to be agreed upon by both parties. And the Doctor did not agree. The Doctor, selfish old man, is too afraid. He doesn’t want to watch Rose die, and he tried to explain that to her without confessing anything, and she heard him and tried to explain to him that she decided he would always have her if she had anything to say about it, not for her sake, but for his. (“Who’s gonna hold his hand now?” “I made my choice a long time ago and I’m never gonna leave you.” “Forever.”)

Now. That’s the first option for an alternate ending for Rose. She stays with him as a mortal and he has to watch her die, and they either dance around expressing their love in an unspoken, inexplicit way until he loses her and it’s agony, or they jump in with both feet and enjoy the time they have left, however many days Rose has before death, with the knowledge and understanding that he will outlive her, which is agony but with kissing. Still not 100% happy because one of them is, well, in agony. With a significantly long life stretched out ahead of him to spend as a widower. And it would fundamentally change the nature of a 60-year-old television show, but that’s another Ask for another time. Next is the Immortal!Rose AU, or the Bad Wolf AU. Personally, I don’t care for this AU (though I get the appeal and I do sometimes wish it could be that way). I used to think it was a good idea, and sometimes it's still sweet and I can see it, but the older I got, the more I disagreed with it. Because really, it doesn’t work. The AU’s idea—or its most popular explanation—is that Rose, by absorbing the Time Vortex and looking into the heart of the TARDIS in The Parting of the Ways, retained one slice of her godlike powers: she became immortal. Even after the Doctor kissed her and took the Vortex away to save her. The most-used version of this is that neither Rose nor the Doctor are aware that Rose was left with immortality until Tentoo ages and she doesn’t, or her family ages and she doesn’t.

The reason why I don’t think the Doctor would ultimately want this ending for Rose? The Doctor himself would not recommend immortality. He knows it’s ultimately a devastating existence. He himself has a ridiculously-long lifespan. Time Lords are supposed to only have a certain number of regenerations, but each regeneration, if left to age naturally, lives a long freaking time. (With the new Timeless Child nonsense, who knows, apparently the Doctor exclusively is immortal? I pretend I do not see it.) And then if they should die of old age, they regenerate and another chapter of life begins. So the Doctor knows what it’s like to essentially be immortal. And he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like watching his friends die around him. He doesn’t like knowing he will outlive the people and places he cares about. He hates it. “Immortality is everybody else dying.” “In the end you just get tired. Tired of the struggle. Tired of losing everyone that matters to you, tired of watching everything turn to dust.” That last line, the Lazarus speech, sounds familiar because it’s something similar, interestingly, to what Rose said when she was the Bad Wolf. “Everything comes to dust.” Immortality is not a blessing. Immortality is absolutely a curse, and the show treats it like a curse. It’s not just never dying. Immortality is being alone and being unnatural. It’s bad. It’s not a good thing. If you were a 100% perfect person with a 100% perfect memory, it might be doable, but it’s not an easy existence. It sounds awful actually. We saw it with Ashildr (terrible idea). She’s miserable. She never really stops being miserable. Think about this: the Doctor is (kind of) immortal. He never stays in one place for too long, and he is careful to bring along far more mortal traveling companions wherever he goes. The Doctor once told Amy that he brought her with him because he can’t “see it” anymore (meaning the universe and its value), but he brings Amy and others with him because they can see it. “And when you see it, I see it.” What is everyone always telling him? Don’t travel alone. Not because he’s lonely—even though he totally is. It’s because when he is alone, the Doctor becomes a hazard, not a help. He starts to feel like he can do whatever he wants. I mean, think about it. He starts to feel like his judgement is infallible, because he’s basically a god, isn’t he? But no one should have that much power. It takes a lot to kill him, he’s a genius, and he has a time-and-space machine. What can’t he do? After a long, long, long time of living and being alone, essentially in an echo chamber with himself, the Doctor would lose empathy and compassion and humility just like anyone else. Because he’s not perfect. But he brings friends along to remind him he can stop now. To remind him we don’t walk away. To remind him that the universe has life in it that is worth saving, and that there is such a thing as right and wrong, and that he is not God, and that there is no such thing as little people. 900 years of time and space and he’s never met anybody who wasn’t important before. He needs his friends to hold him to the mark.

So—the Doctor knows that being immortal basically means that in the end you’ll see everything come to dust. If you’re not careful, you won’t be you anymore. And nothing and no one else will be themselves to you, either. You will lose the people/places you care about, and you will be alone, and you will stop caring. And then not only will you be wretched, you’ll be dangerous. Someone who doesn’t care is dangerous. It’s Ted Bundy. It’s evil. But it’s okay, I hear you saying. If they had each other, he would always have someone to hold him to the mark! Well - yes and then no - Think about Rose. Rose Tyler is a young human woman with so much empathy and sympathy. She is “so human”, in the Doctor’s own words. She is imperfect, and selfish, and petty, and easily angry and easily jealous. She is also impossibly compassionate, even towards the most ruthless murderous species. She’s kind and generous and brave and has a strong sense of justice. She’s often very selfless and very loving. Especially toward the Doctor. She values doing the right thing. A lot of those traits are found in the Doctor’s other friends (he chooses them with great care). But Rose is different. The Doctor is in love with Rose. And Rose is a lot of ‘firsts’ for Doctor Who. She’s the first companion to inspire change in a Dalek. She’s the first companion to tell him she’s in love with him. (Jo loved him, Sarah Jane loved him, Grace loved him, yes I know there were others.) She’s the first companion to be a real, proper onscreen equal to the Doctor, and not in a She’s Basically the Doctor But A Girl way, like Clara Oswald tried to be. She is not his assistant, his carer, his associate, his sidekick, his adoptive daughter, adoptive little sister, biological granddaughter, or his partner. Not to be Emily Bronte, but these two characters have the same heart. Like recognized like and fell in love. Perfect complementation. That is also another Ask for another time –

RTD said that Rose “humans [the Doctor] and he Time Lords her”. He brings out the courage and confidence in her that makes her so exceptional as a human, things that turn her into a hero, things she already had in her that the Doctor pulled forward. In turn, she brings out the compassion and humility in him that makes him a hero instead of a villain, things he always had in him that she pulled forward, adding humanity which would otherwise be easy for him to cast off.

But she can’t human him if she isn’t human anymore.

The things that make Rose an exceptional mortal would no longer be exceptional if she were immortal. The good traits would be a duty to retain, and the bad traits would be a poison to keep at bay. Because Rose is on a different level when it comes to her relationship with the Doctor, she could, for a time, help hold him to the mark. They would be exactly as we saw them in the show—passing by, helping out, saving the day, loving one another, making one another better. And then after eons go by, they would be each other’s echo chamber. Rose is the Doctor’s equal? Given eternity to stagnate in, what was once a strength would quickly become a weakness. Rose is not perfect and the Doctor is not perfect. Rose would not always be able to “see it” anymore either, even with the Doctor there. Same goes for him. They might be together forever, but Rose would be watching her mother, father, brother, friends, and family all age and die. She would hate that. But it would be okay because she has the Doctor, right? I agree with that. They have one another. So they’re never alone. That’s good. But Rose would not be a Time Lord. She’d be an immortal human. Ashildr 2.0, finite memory in an infinite body. She’d become detached, unable to appreciate the universe, and she’d stop investing in mortal relationships because they all end eventually. All she’d have would be the Doctor—and that’s wonderful, but after a while it would stop being a special thing that they have one another. Don’t look at me like that; it would. Okay, no – no - even if the Bad Wolf powers allowed Rose to have an infinite memory to go with her infinite body, fine, let’s say they did, she and the Doctor would still end up with “a backyard” as Eleven called it.

And eventually they would both think that the two of them, together, have the best judgement in the universe and should be treated as gods, and they will stop caring (except about each other, which doesn’t sound good for all the little people who are not part of that relationship, can you say unhealthy?). Or else they will become enemies, the way the Master and the Doctor became enemies. Or they won’t be able to travel with one another indefinitely, the way Ashildr, the Rani, River, Clara, and Romana can’t travel with the Doctor indefinitely. Because it would become toxic for everyone. And they would be back to being miserable, wouldn’t they?

(And – again - let me finish beating this tiny horse here: if you think Rose Tyler would heal fairly quickly - say, ten centuries in - and warm up to the reality that she has outlived other humans because she is really no longer human, we aren’t thinking of the same Rose Tyler.)

The Doctor would not wish the curse of the Time Lords on anybody, especially not the woman he loves. He would not agree that immortality is the happiest ending for Rose, or even for himself and Rose. There’s a very real chance that immortality would ruin Rose. He wouldn’t do that to her. He loves her.

And here we go, here’s my freaking point - The Doctor loves Rose. So he would give her what she wants, even if it means sacrificing what he wants. Putting her needs before his own. That’s love. She knows that; she was trying to do that for him the whole time!

But what does Rose want? Adventure in the great wide somewhere? No. Rose wants love. Rose wants the assurance of real, true love. Rose wants to love and be loved. And when she finds that, she is darn good at it, and she will do her best to keep it. AND THAT IS ANOTHER ASK FOR ANOTHER TIME, HOOOO BOY DON’T POKE ME- The Doctor cannot give Rose what she wants using himself, or even the thing that will make him happy too, for a time—because to outlive her would be absolutely terrible, and they both know it, and because he will not put her through the curse of immortality. (She doesn’t want to live forever anyway.)

But he can give her what she wants in the form of Tentoo. Are you kidding me? A 100% exact copy of the Doctor? The same face, same mannerisms, same hair? All the memories of loving her and longing for her in his head? And he only has one heart? He’ll grow old at the same time as Rose does? Plus, hi, he actually was born in mini wartime and needs the very influence Rose provided for his ninth self? Come on. What else was he going to do? Of course the Doctor and Tentoo gave her this chance. When Rose asks him “What was the last thing you said to me?” The Doctor could have said “I love you”. He was going to say it. It is canon that he was going to say that he loved her if the connection hadn’t been severed the first time. And for him to say it then, they both knew, would have been all Rose needed to hear. She would have gone with him and Donna and died. Or gone with him and Donna and become immortal somehow, hey I hear there are these random Mire repair kits kicking around out there in the universe, they make people immortal, funny we never saw them before now, I hate you Moffat- But he didn’t say it. He said “I said ‘Rose Tyler’.” And she gives him one more chance to say it. “How was that sentence gonna end?” “Does it need saying?” Well, no, it doesn’t. We’re not asking you to confirm it. She’s not asking you to confirm it. It never needed saying. You both knew it was love. We knew it was love. A hundred times over, it was love on display.

But she is asking him to make a choice—and he chooses to let her go because he loves her.

It’s not a question of love. They give each other a chance, both of them. Don’t make the mistake of thinking Rose had no choice. She asked both of those Doctors to tell her they loved her, and she chose the one that said it out loud, after learning her options. She learned one of them would grow old and was offering to spend forever with her if she wanted. She learned that one of them was genuinely choosing not to say he loved her on purpose. She made an informed decision. (Yes, she ran after the TARDIS when it left. Wouldn’t you?) The Doctor would agree that Tentoo is the best ending for Rose. Tentoo would agree (because he is the Doctor, and bonus, he gets to have Rose Tyler). Because this, this ending where she gets Tentoo, which is our fancy term for differentiating between two versions of exactly the same man, don’t go there with me-

This ending where she gets Tentoo is genuinely what she always wanted. She didn’t want to live forever. She didn’t want a boring life, but she didn’t desperately want adventure over all else. She wanted love. That’s an adventure anyway. Love. And she loved the Doctor. And she got to have the Doctor, and not lose him, or watch him lose her. And the Doctor, our full Time Lord Doctor, had the assurance of knowing that he did the best he could do for the woman he loved.

(Plus, because yes please, in an official deleted scene which has been confirmed to be intended as canon, Tentoo and Rose have a chunk of TARDIS coral and are growing their own, so they get to see the universe too, so you can’t even complain that all is not as it should be in that sense.) It is sad, because the full Time Lord has to carry on without her (that’s how the story always goes for him, and it should be because without loving and losing, an immortal alien will not have the periodic wake-up call he needs to remember that there is value in people and in relationships and in caring), and it’s sad because Rose won’t see him again, and it’s sad because we won’t really see Rose again. But for her, it is the best ending. It is the kindest, fairest ending. And I think the Doctor would agree.

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those-late-night-feels · 2 years

Text

Choke

Summary: Loki almost killed you during the Battle of New York. You struggle when he returns.

Warnings: If the title didn't give it away, choking. Also, Loki being an ass. Smut. 18+

AN: I'm a slut for comments and reposts!

*****

Why wouldn't he just leave? That irritating smirk, as if something was so damn amusing, lingered on Loki's face, his eyes on you like prey. He was that constant itch that you couldn’t scratch away, the ever looming ache in your side that you couldn’t ignore. While the rest of the team discussed their next mission, you sat at the far end of the table incessantly tapping your foot while he reclined in a chair. It was bad enough that after all the destruction he had caused in New York that he decided to show his face again on Earth, in tow with his brother. But the fact that you had to see him every day, breathe the same air, act like everything was water under the bridge, felt almost impossible. Thor had framed Loki's return in the brightest of lights–that he'd changed, that he had been brainwashed and tortured and wasn't the same person anymore. The rest of the team was willing to be cautiously accepting for Thor's sake, and perhaps were starting to buy into the idea that Loki had turned over a new leaf. But the rest of the team hadn't looked into Loki's eyes, seen that possessive evil, when he had lifted you by your throat while smiling, slowly closing your windpipe as you struggled to break free.

That fateful day had been permanently etched in your memory. New York was under attack and you had been focused on surveillance for the team in Stark Tower when he had shown up, strolling proudly with his scepter in hand. Standing abruptly, your heart pounded as you sized up this towering giant and watched his movements; your combat and defense skills were good, but they'd never been put to the test by a god. "Are you going to attempt to appeal to my humanity?"

His demeanor was so high and mighty, like this was all so far beneath him. "And why would I do that? Clearly you have none."

Your legs mimicked his movements, circling each other around the open loft. He paused and cocked his head, an amused smirk pulling on his face. "Don't tell me you intend to fight me, girl. Adorable, but I can assure you I am no match for you."

"We'll see about that."

"And why would I waste my time fighting you? You could be quite useful to me." He aimed the tip of the scepter at your chest, but you were quicker than he’d anticipated and swiped the staff to the side before kicking him in the chest. It didn't do much, he was as solid as a tree, but it was enough to catch him slightly off guard to kick the scepter out of his hand and you both watched as it slid across the room. Adrenaline pumping, you attempted to lurch at the fallen weapon, but he was faster and grabbed your wrist, spinning you around.

"And where do you think you're going?" His tone was sinister and his large hand wrapped around your neck, lifting you off the ground as your legs flailed. Long fingers slowly squeezed on your windpipe and you struggled to pry them off. Tears blurred your vision and started to stream down your face. "Such pathetic floundering bottom feeders you Midgardians are. I should put you out of your misery."

He smiled while watching you struggle in his one hand, prolonging your agony. Squeezing tighter, the world moving out of focus into black. And then a window shattered and the Hulk emerged, ultimately saving you and smashing Loki in the process.

For three weeks, every time you looked in the mirror you were reminded of what he did to you. Your neck turned black and blue, then purple, then green, then brown and yellow. But even as the bruises faded, it was still raw in your mind.

So when Thor had pulled you aside to convince you why his brother deserved another chance, you screamed internally while plastering a smile on your face. He had to have known the trauma Loki had put you through. "Are you okay with this, y/n?"

The pleading in his eyes confirmed that if you said no, it would break his heart. Thor was like a brother to you, and while his brother was the spawn of Satan, you pushed your feelings aside and lied straight to his face. "If you say he's changed, then I believe you."

*****

Loki knew who you were, what he had done to you. The recognition on his face when you first walked into the room and stopped short was evident. His eyes lingered as you leaned against the far wall, keeping a significant distance between you and him. Absentmindedly, you nibbled at your lip and fiddled with the hem of your shirt.

"Lady y/n!" The bellowing voice made you freeze as you watched the large blonde man stride over, dragging his darker haired brother behind him with a perturbed look. He wasn't actually bringing his brother over to you, was he? "I'm glad you are here," he smiled, like this was a family reunion, "Y/n, my brother Loki."

The expression on your face was blank as you tried to hold it together. "We've met," you deadpanned at the same time Loki said, "I don't believe she cares to meet me, Thor."

The oblivious blonde shook his head at your responses. "Nonsense! The last time you met was a misunderstanding. This is a chance to start anew."

Loki watched the vein in your neck as you clenched your jaw together, your nostrils flaring slightly at the thought of your near death being a "misunderstanding." The way your hand shook by your side. He knew you were not ready for this.

"Please excuse my brother. Y/n, it is a pleasure to meet you formally.”

You studied the carpet as he spoke, noticing a burn mark on the rug you'd never seen before. He turned to leave, pulling Thor with him.

“Is that it?” The words were so quiet you barely heard them yourself. But Loki paused and turned toward you. You didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to be near him, didn’t want to be on the same planet as him, but you also didn’t want to be the weak girl that he clearly thought you were, so you pulled your eyes from the floor to look directly at him, your eyes blazing with anger. “Is that all you have to say to me?”

“I… No. I am sorry for any pain that I caused you. It is inexcusable, I know that.”

You willed yourself not to bring your hand to your neck, remembering how the person in front of you toyed with attempting to snuff out your existence without blinking an eye.

It's an act. It's just for show.

Glaring at him, you didn’t want to believe his words. If he was expecting forgiveness, he wouldn’t find it from you. "You're right," you replied. "It is inexcusable."

Pushing past him, you hated the feeling that perhaps he had been sincere.

*****

The constant stress of being cooped up in a tower with him was weighing on you. The need to leave rooms, change directions, hide out in your apartment; was it childish? You didn't know. But every time you saw him, your pulse started racing, your throat turned to sandpaper, and your stomach tensed.

When Natasha announced it was time they all went out for a night, you were all in, needing to literally let your hair down and dance your cares away.

Stark paid an exorbitant amount of money to have access to an exclusive club that he and his friends could access at any time. You showed up in a little black number with a mission to let your cares go.

Dancing for hours had left you parched and you made your way to the bar. He was already there, arms crossed as he watched others with a judgmental look of disapproval. You ordered a rum and coke, telling the bartender to put it on his tab, causing Loki to roll his eyes but nod all the same. He turned his attention to you, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling. "Having fun?"

"I was," you snided, sipping your drink. "I thought you enjoyed this type of thing. Thor said you had your fair share of banquets and masquerades."

"Yes, well, my tastes are…a little more…refined."

You rolled your eyes at his snobbery. He was truly the worst. "When are you planning to leave Earth? I'm sure there are other planets just waiting to be conquered."

Hesitating at your remark, he studied you, no longer shaking from nerves and a more bold tongue, chalking it up to liquid courage. Leaning in closer to you, he could smell a mix of your vanilla body wash, sweat, and alcohol. "Why would I leave when my presence is clearly torturing you?"

The sinister smile on his face made the lump in your throat return and you quickly sipped at your drink again, the alcohol pushing your nerves back down. "Look at you. I don't even have to lay a finger on you and you whither in front of me."

Your cheeks went hot under his intense gaze, feeling small as he hovered over you. Swallowing, you looked up at him, butterflies erupting inside you.

"Fuck you, Loki," you breathed. Storming off, you could only imagine that arrogant smirk on his face as he watched you walk away. Heart pounding, blood boiling, you grabbed the first man you saw on the dance floor, gyrating with him under the strobe lights, trying to remove the image of him hovering over you from memory. When you looked up toward the bar, Loki was still watching you, a smile pulling on his lips like he knew exactly what he was doing.

*****

Combat training with various team members was grueling but necessary work, dripping sweat and lungs burning. You and Natasha went at each other, you landing a blow to her ribs, her landing a kick which resulted in an armbar. A few rounds and the two of you had called it a night, her leaving to shower while you stretched weary muscles.

"Your combat skills have seemed to improve since the last time I saw them." You heard him before you saw him. Narrowing your eyes and putting on a braver face than you felt inside, you groaned, crossing your arms.

"You're like an annoying gnat. What do you want?"

"I'm curious, when the team goes on missions, who is the one that babysits you? Do they take turns or is it the same person?"

He was trying to goad you, trying to get a rise out of you, you knew that. Well two could play this game. "How exactly did you convince Thor that you changed? All that talk of torture, did you make that up? Is there even a, what was his name? Thanos?"

His face dropped for the quickest of moments and a part of you regretted your words. But when he recovered, the look on his face made you take a step back.

"Tell me, how many nights have you been kept up at night thinking about my hand around your throat."

Your hand reacted before your brain could and the crack of your palm against his cheek was heard before it was felt. He smiled when he turned his face back to you, taking another step in your direction. Fist clenched, your arm swung up toward him, but he grabbed it and held it in place. Another step, your knee came up to his stomach, and he grabbed that too. You felt the wall behind you, a shallow breath released as you tried to hold yourself together, his chest centimeters from yours. When you looked up at those blue-green eyes though, it wasn't the same look as last time. There was no darkness, no evil, no possession. His smile was covering something else. Slowly, your eyes locked on his, you guided his other hand to your neck. His breath hitched as he watched you wrap his slender digits around your throat.

"Wha–" but you silenced his question with your lips. What started as a desperate need to shut him up turned to lips hovering near each other, tongues dancing together, breaths being shared. He pulled away to look at you, a question playing on his face, his silver tongue clearly tied. Your eyes dropped down, embarrassment starting to flood your mind, and his hand flicked your face back up to his and kissed you again, hand gliding from your neck to the back of your head, gripping onto your hair. Your fist was dropped as he glided his palm down your side, wrapping around your ass, bringing you wanting core to him. A whimper left your lips and he pressed into you with need.

Brains turned off, hands scrambled to pull at clothes and feel every inch of one another. His fingers slipped inside your pants, running his long digits along your silky crevices and you shook as the tip of his finger circled your clit, smiling into your mouth. "Seems like you've thought of this multiple times, pet."

"Shut up,” you demanded, greedily scrambling to free his throbbing erection from its enclosure, pulling at zippers and buttons, a relieved sigh escaping from him when it was freed.

He was quick with his movements and flipped you around, hands pressed against the wall, pants yanked down with a swift jerk, fingertips drawing lines up your thigh, up your hip, up your spine, causing shivers. His hand came to rest on your neck, tilting your head back to him. His warm throbbing cock slid between your ass cheeks and through your thighs, playing with your anxious opening.

"Beg me," he whispered into your ear. A strained cry left your throat as he rubbed his hot erection up your slit.

“Please,” you breathed, then moaned loudly as he stretched your tight opening, flexing his fingers under your jaw.

“Is this what you want, pet?” You wondered that yourself as he smoothly pulled and pressed into you, but as he hit your cervix while locked against him, you knew this was exactly what you wanted all along. A secret desire you wouldn’t even admit to yourself. The noises you made were sloppy, no longer able to make sense. He pulled your head toward him again, gripping down a little harder while pounding into you. “I asked you a question girl.”

“Y…ye…yes…” you wailed. You were close, but if it were to coming or passing out, you didn’t know. His cock hit in places you didn’t know were inside of you, and as he reached down to circle your clit, your body shook violently. The world went black for a moment and you collapsed into him, but vaguely you could hear his words. “I got you. I got you. Good girl.”

Pressing yourself into him on the floor, your lungs burned. He rubbed your neck, your arms, your back, while you came back to full recognition. Looking up at him, he pressed his lips together while you bit at yours. “Do not tell anyone about this.”

He cocked his head, raising an eyebrow. “I doubt they would believe me even if I did, pet,” and kissed your hand. "Do you still want me to leave Midgard?"

Lowering your face into his shoulder, you hid your reddened cheeks. Your lips pressed together, unable to answer, but knowing you didn't want him to go.

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