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kneelingshadowsalome · 11 months

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FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT 4/4

König x F!Reader

Summary: You have seen him in your dreams. The seer has divined his coming. But nothing has prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh. (Historical AU where König fights for the Roman Empire, finds a cute barbarian woman and decides to keep her as his own.) Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Word count: 10 k Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY. Spoils of war/enemies to lovers trope, graphic depictions of violence, historical gruesomeness, pining, odd banter, mixed feelings, romantic fluff, dubcon cuddling, eventual smut. Captor/captive dynamic. König is a brutal warrior... and a gentle giant. A/N: Another long chapter, but it's the last one, so... Enjoy! ^^

The next night, you dream awake.

You didn’t want to sleep with your back turned against him, and König didn’t even need to scoop you into his arms. You went there by yourself, completely willingly. You were disappointed when he didn’t even try anything; he just fell asleep like a baby after the hangover that left him weak.

Your hand is on his chest, right over his heart, as you listen to his soft snore. It’s like the whole world has shrunk into this bed, like your entire life suddenly consists of him. You can’t even hear the birds, the occasional gust of wind, or the pair of sandals outside the tent going to a nightly pee. The only thing you can hear or see or feel is him.

His heart under your palm. His chest against your cheek. The slow, steady rise and fall of it, the push and pull of it like a tide. His leg, draped across your hip, enclosing you under a heavy body that clings to you like he never wants to let you go.

And…

No.

It’s too stupid.

“Love” is something bards sing about. There’s no time for it in the real world; lust brings people together, and they multiply like birds and beasts. They simply flock together for warmth, food and survival. Love is the property of dreams and songs, something that happened at the dawn of time but now only occurs in tales and plays. Surely, a mountain giant knows nothing about love… He just wants to stuff his cock inside you and alleviate the burn of his loins.

But his words still linger.

”I have fallen in love with you.”

You repeat them over and over again in your head, snuggling even closer to him, your heart flaring into a small bonfire when he squeezes you in return through sleep. The warmth spreads across your chest, it makes your toes tingle, and the tingles rise up to your head like ale, bringing tears to your eyes.

Why does he have to be like this…?

There’s a sudden crack of thunder outside, and it makes you startle and clutch him tighter. It’s soon followed by a downpour of rain, the weight of it like a blanket spreading across the land. The drops beat the tent with so much noise you fear the whole abode will collapse from the force of them.

Another crackle sends you to grip him with fear; a violent rip of lightning makes you bury your head in his neck. König mostly wakes up to your distress rather than the sounds of thunder and hail, rumbling softly to the crown of your head and drawing you closer to him. You’ve always been afraid of thunder because nothing can compete with the fury of the Sky Father. You whimper as another roar shakes the bed, the very earth beneath you, and the rain begins to beat the tent in full.

“Don’t be afraid, little one,” König mutters, unafraid and clearly about to fall back to sleep again. “Only sky father making love to his woman...”

His explanation of the horrible display of the sky god’s power wipes your mind blank for a moment. He uses the same name of the god as you, but the viewpoint is thoroughly foreign. Is this the sound of lovemaking to him?

“Safe here,” he squishes you against him until it’s difficult to breathe. Your heart is still beating in your chest as König falls asleep, the arms around you relaxing just enough to allow you to breathe again.

In the morning, you try to correct him on his strange thoughts about Sky Father. You tell him your people believe he’s fighting his enemies when it thunders, not… making love to anyone.

“Fighting or fucking,” he only shrugs. “Same noise.”

You open your mouth to explain the difference between fucking and lovemaking next, then decide it’s no use.

The weather is warm and the land is lush after the abundant rain. König takes you to a small stream and you risk to take a dip, delighted and relieved to have the opportunity for a quick wash. When you threaten to gut him when he sleeps if he takes a peek, König only laughs. Probably thinks it’s an exciting threat. Then he sits on the bank to work on a small piece of wood while you have your cold bath. He’s been carving it for a few days and has refused to show it to you, no matter how “nosy” you’ve been. It’s an unfinished piece, yes, but it still feels silly that a grown man is so secretive about a chunk of wood. You only now begin to understand that perhaps the statue of the Great Mother is not stolen. It’s not bought, and he hasn’t had it made. He carved it himself.

Shocked, you forget to keep an eye on him while you scrub and rub yourself in the stream. You never thought of him as a sculptor or even a carpenter, but apparently, some soldiers spend their leisure time in other activities than fucking and drinking and gambling.

Your hands meet the leather string of the necklace as you wash your hair, and you remember your vow. It makes your heart sink: it’s a beautiful day, the first of summer, and you have to let go of the loveliest thing König has ever given to you. You peek a glance at him: he’s looking so peaceful while carving the small figurine, with that signature smile his that always reveals itself through his eyes, warm and jovial, like he’s just a hunter or a fisherman having a break from a day of toil.

You strip yourself from the necklace and release it with a sullen breath. The spirits accept it hungrily, pulling it underwater the instant you let it go. The current carries it far away downstream, and you find your chin trembling, and not from cold. You have given your moonblood to Mother many, many times, but this gift is infinitely more valuable. Still, the most important thing is that the man you prayed for is alive and whistling happily on that bank.

And you’re not an oathbreaker… But König is.

When you rise from the water, he steals a glance. Actually, he stares at you like you’ve particularly asked him to never rip his eyes from you.

You pay the adoring beast no mind and rise from the stream with the pride of a queen, only to have it all robbed from you as you notice there are flowers placed there where you left your clothes. The crazy giant has actually plucked flowers for you.

It’s an odd thing to do because in your land, only children pick flowers. Usually, people give flowers to the gods. Or, mainly just to the Great Mother... It’s because She appreciates them.

And you also notice your old dress is not where you left it.

“Where is it?”

He extends his hands to the sides and shrugs, faking innocence so poorly that you don’t know if you want to shove or kiss him. You’re desperately trying to cover your womanhood from his searing stare – an attempt that, of course, makes your tits press together even more cutely than before. König doesn’t even know where to look when there’s so much of your sweetness on display.

This man is so stupid and childish and simply unbelievable; hiding your dress the instant you are vulnerable and in your thoughts. You look around you, then up, and notice that he’s thrown the dress over a pine branch far above your reach. Of course.

“You’re a bully,” you turn your accusing gaze to him, hands now slowly curling into fists by your side. You’re not even angry: you’re just feeling... hot, and frustrated, and embarrassed, having to stand here in bright daylight, dripping wet and about to have another tantrum while naked. You’re starting to suspect that he probably enjoys it when you get in a pet. Maybe it makes his cock hard: to watch you stomp your foot at him, especially if you do it without clothes.

“Bully?” His eyes smile at you like he’s the son of Sky Father himself.

“It’s someone who… who tortures people,” you blurt, a bit more dramatically than you initially meant to. He bursts into laughter and laughs for a long time, either because you just called him precisely what he is or because you called him a torturer for doing a silly prank.

“Ach… Well, you are pretty,” he says after surviving something that was veritably not meant as a joke. As if you being pretty is some kind of an excuse for doing this stupid, childish stunt...

His stare sweeps over you like you’re merely property, his eyes darting between your pouty face and the glistening sex between your legs now that you’ve blessedly moved your hands out of the way. Then he notices that something’s missing, that there is no necklace resting above your breasts anymore. He takes a step and raises a hand, and for the first time ever, you wouldn’t even dream of shying away from his touch. He brushes your bare neck with a silent question and brief hurt in his eyes.

Gods, he can’t think you got rid of it because you despised it, can he...?

“The river took it,” you explain quickly and with genuine regret. It’s a lie, but you can’t tell him the real reason it’s gone. You can’t confess that you had to sacrifice it for his safe return.

“I really liked it,” you whisper while looking him straight in the eyes, stomach heavy with both lies and the horrible, sweet truth. König recuperates surprisingly fast and nods slowly, the caress rising to your cheek to console you.

“Don’t worry. I can make you a new one,” he promises stoutly, and you bite your lip to prevent yourself from bursting into tears right there in front of him. “With wolf claws, if you like?”

“I don’t know… Sounds dangerous.”

“Hah. I kill my first wolf when I was fifteen.”

Your heart is bursting inside your chest – the songs of the bards never tell about someone being so goofy that you want to hug them until they stop speaking silly things.

“I’m sure you did,” your lips quiver with a whisper of a smile. König takes in every crumb of your affection like it’s a blessing from the Mother below: his shoulders draw back everytime he senses you are appreciative of him or admire his strength. He’s even more proud when he presents the small carving he’s been working on.

You’re now absolutely, vehemently sure that he has made the statue of the Great Mother himself. Because what you’re looking at is very similar to that statue, only far more detailed. The breasts and hips on this figurine are more proportional, and you could almost swear that the statue he just gave you is trying to depict you. It has your hair and your face, or then he has tried to capture the slightly pouting face of some other ungrateful woman. But you can’t shake the thought that you may very well be looking into your own eyes.

“For you,” he says above you, and you swallow tears for gods know how many times today. He even winks at you, incredibly playful, like this statue is now a cute little secret only you two know about.

“It’s–I didn’t know you… Uh. Thank you,” you stutter like a fool. You can’t ask if it’s you – you can’t ask a simple question because to hear his unabashed, proud answer would mean that you won’t be able to hold yourself back from kissing him.

You are starting to feel like… an idol of worship, almost.

He lavishes you with gifts and flowers, he feeds you grapes and wine, he brings you his bloodied loot and asks you to bless his sword. He honours your purity and respects your wishes not to be touched and pilfered.

What else are you if not a goddess?

Even the Mother in his satchel doesn’t get such fevered attention. He even carved a new statue for you. Of you.

Your senses become eagle-sharp as you realize just how much your suspicions are proving true. You think about the way he is always at your tits, as if calling forth good luck and abundance when he squeezes them every day and night. It’s almost like a ritual. Or how he tries to dress you in fine clothes, not just to show you around, but to make you feel appreciated. The way he protects and shelters you and lets you – no, demands you to – ride his horse while he exhausts himself on the road. How the selecting of the necklace now seems like a test, to prove whether you are a true goddess who favors a gift of bone and blood and amber over the pathetic shiny trinkets of men.

And the way he hasn’t touched other women all this time; no, because he doesn’t keep other goddesses...

Just you.

Only you.

…

He knows your tongue so well that you don’t practically need the translator anymore. König sends him away after you whisper in his ear that you don’t like him.

It’s another lie because what you really don’t like is how bothered he looks when forced into the company of you two. You don’t like the deep sighs and the weary looks he gives both you and your supposed lover who always insists that you sit on his lap even if there are other people in the tent. You don’t want to make the poor man uncomfortable, so you come up with a reason for König to send him away. It's quite apparent that you could ask for the moon and stars, and he’d figure out a way to give them to you.

When you ask him why, for the love of all the gods, does he even want to keep a Roman slave, he says it amuses him. You always thought it was an odd thing to do because you’ve never seen König spend time with his soldiers. He never gambles with them, never eats with them, never hunts with them. By separating himself from them he keeps up an illusion of himself as a walking, fighting myth who has forced half the world to its knees, and whose quirks are to keep a Roman slave and, now, a foreign fairy in his tent.

You start to understand that it's because he doesn’t feel like he belongs.

He doesn’t even want to belong. He doesn't make an effort to be a Roman even if, legally, you suppose he’s a citizen or at least a free man. You wonder if it’s his only weakness: being so different from everybody else.

You walk in and out of camp like a free woman with him. To the forest, to the stream, and one day, to the ocean, not too far from where you used to gather clams. If you walked the shoreline long enough, you would end up near your old village.

You spend your entire day there, collecting pink and white shells, giggling as König takes a dip in the shivering sea. He even throws the hood away before walking into the foaming waves. You have to hold your breath as he comes out because his face is the complete opposite of what you thought you would see. He has stern features and some prominent scars above his lip and crossing the bridge of his nose; there’s one above the left eye, and his nose has been broken at least two times. He looks mean and dangerous and suffering, it’s true, but you’re not scared at all. In fact, your embarrassingly wet while he furrows his brows and looks down at his feet, otherwise proud and happy in his skin but now suddenly concerned that you might not like what you see.

“Ugly?” He asks bluntly, with such distanced but sharp pain that your breath leaves you entirely. The vision of him might have frightened you on the first night, it’s true, but now, you only think he’s handsome. In a crude way, perhaps... But still handsome.

“No,” you shake your head slowly, never taking your eyes off him. König takes in air as if he has been granted a pardon from a horrible crime, and your heart hurts – is this the reason he has clung to that hood? To conceal some old scars and to appear more menacing to friends and enemies?

He’s stronger than ever as he walks to you, unclothed and smelling of seabreeze and salt, like he was just born from there, sired by the ocean and the wind. You ought to pray to Mother but you know it will do you no good. It’s a rotten joke to want a man who has massacred your people, the ones you used to call friend and neighbour and kin. You feel like you’re betraying the memory of your whole village by wanting to sleep with the enemy. The enemy who worships you; who looks at you like you’re a goddess when you lean back to watch the night sky come alive with indigo and stars. The enemy who teaches you their names in his own tongue...

He points you to the Head of the Serpent and the Smith’s Street, then to the Nail that holds the sky in place. You have your own names for the stars but you like it when he introduces them to you, clumsy and excited. When he shows you the long cock of the hero your people call Hunter, your cheeks heat up. You try to repeat the name in his tongue (whatever lewd, brash northern hero it may be), and it makes him happier than ever to hear you speak his words.

“König,” you ask him when he's shown you all the stars he knows. “Why do you fight…?”

He turns to look at you, perplexed, and you word the question differently.

“What do you want?”

“...What do I want?”

“Yes. In this life.”

His brows furrow as he starts to think, and your love for him only grows. Has no one ever asked him that before? Has he ever even given it a thought...?

He grabs a handful of grass and rips it from the ground, absentmindedly and deep in thought. He fiddles with it for a while, then throws it away, looking somewhere to the distant, generous sea.

“I want…children,” he says. “I want a home.”

König turns to look at you, so stern that it forces you take support from the earth beneath you.

“Home. Richtig?”

“Yes,” you whisper, “A–a home.”

But it can’t be...

It can’t.

It’s simply too crazy that the brutal, callous giant has been searching for a home all along. That the man who cuts off heads and spits out the flesh of his enemies is simply someone who has lost his home and has yearned back ever since. It’s too wild a thought that the Titan wants to raise a family and have many children.

“Don’t you have a home somewhere in Rome…?”

“It’s only a house.”

He fidgets with more grass, then turns back to you again with honest curiosity.

“Do you want children?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Fee. You would be a good mother,” he determines right then and there, saying it so casually that you have no choice but to believe it. You want to change the topic, and quickly, now tugging at the grass yourself because you're feeling shy.

“König… What is Fee?”

“Fee is… They are small women? Live in trees. Or flowers. Or everywhere,” he gestures vaguely all around you.

“You mean fairies,” you whisper, and he shrugs. If you say so. But you know you're talking about the same thing: curious little earth spirits, lively and wild.

Your heart is burning; it’s scorching until there’s nothing left but sweet molten gold. Usually, this kind of burning has stirred in your chest when some old crone has told a good story at the fire during the turn of the year. Usually, you’ve felt this kind of thrill when you’ve heard the piper play for the forest during springtime, lulling the devious spirits back to the trees so that they wouldn’t enter lambs and goats and make them sick. You’ve only felt so alive when you’ve walked at the beach during midsummer with a desperate aching between your legs because you’ve felt so alone and yet so, so alive.

“They said you were a Titan,” you whisper, another hushed question on this night of nights. You feel like you’re having a conversation of the ages, even if it’s clumsy and plain. The night sky is blooming with stars, the sea is whispering its secrets, and there are so many unsaid things between you two, finally washing up on the shore. König is ripping out more tall grass, but only because he’s searching for the right words.

“No. No titan. Just king,” he shakes his head as if sorry that he has to disappoint you. “I was the king’s son. Before Rome came…”

He’s suffered the same fate as you then, a long, long time ago. You wonder where his people are now or if they are even alive anymore, if he is the last giant standing, the last remaining man of his folk from the mountains. If the ruins of his proud house have already turned to dirt and dust and soil, if his father’s head was left to rot on a Roman spear, his riches and wealth taken back to Rome as spoils and exchanged for wine and whores and slaves.

You can only imagine the fury and despair when a tall boy’s future and dreams crumbled into dust, to blood and tears and screams, to a tale that no one ever told.

“You’d make a great king,” you say, meaning it with all your heart. His whole face lights up with a smile; the sorrow is still present in his eyes, and you know the depth of its roots now. But the Romans never managed to kill his will to live.

“If I was king… I would choose you for my queen,” he says softly, and you thank the wind for drying an escapee tear that rolls out. Fate is shaking your ribcage like a rattle; the wind steals your tears like they’re a long-withheld gift.

He tells you his tale under the safety of the vast starry sky. It's only bits and pieces, but you understand enough from his clumsy words.

He tells you how he was brought to Rome as a slave, sold to the pits and how he rose to manhood and fame there. He fought in the great arenas you’ve heard so many gruesome tales about; he fought until he could buy his freedom. He forgot his people, his revenge, that he was a king. Not knowing what else to do, he took up arms again and became the thing he hated the most: a Roman soldier.

He tells you about a woman who can see things that have not yet happened. He asked this seer if there was anything else for him in this life but death; he would give any offering that was needed if only he could find more life instead. He had already given money and offerings to all the fertility goddesses of Rome, to no avail. He had carved a statue of Venus to attract love, but it didn’t work. So many times he had wanted to throw it in the sea. Until the woman who sees told him he would find what he was looking for in his next campaign. When he promised he’d come back to kill her if she lied, the old crone had only laughed at him.

The next day, he was discharged from his old unit and separated from those who spoke the same language as him. Everyone was afraid of an uprising that would have a giant at its head, so he was offered money and whores, even a position in politics, and lastly, a place in an elite unit with a better wage. They told him the troops were about to leave for the harsh frontier: a new campaign to bring glory to Rome. He chose the latter option immediately.

He turns to look at you. Bloodless, thin-lipped, shivering you.

“She said you would be pretty. Like a fairy.”

You hear the distant rumbling of the sea, endlessly soft. You feel the wind suddenly passing through the field, filling the cloak of a northern king who came all this way just for you. Even the stars are waiting for your next move.

“I…” you start, already breathless. “The necklace… König, I’m so sorry. I had to give it to Mother.”

“Mother?”

“To the gods. So that you wouldn’t die in battle.”

Realization dawns on his face, driving away all doubt and confusion. He’s just as pleased as the day he gave you all those gifts, if not even more so.

“You make sacrifice for me?”

“Yes,” you whisper. You can’t help it: a sob wrenches out of your chest as the first tears fall. “I’m sorry. I really liked it... I’m so sorry–”

König rises immediately, only to come to you and fall to a crouch. He draws you against his chest, your weeping face soon held right against his heart.

“Never say sorry,” he kisses your head, over and over again. “Never say sorry…”

The wind surrounds you both, soft and warm, as he rocks you back and forth. You hug him with all the strength a little fairy can muster, then raise your chin to look at him. You’re probably the most pathetic creature he has ever seen – you could swear there is no woman alive feeling as weak as you feel now. König cups your face gently, the look in his eyes that of a hunter who has finally caught up with his prey. Warm, merciful, loving.

“Fee… I can still taste you,” he says.

“I can still feel you,” you whisper back. A deer, felled. “But I don’t… I don’t like biting.”

“Biting…?”

“Teeth.”

“Ja. I noticed.”

It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. You would let him bite you anywhere and everywhere now. You would actually kill for it if he only laid his mouth on you...

You laugh with leftover tears in your eyes, and your giant smiles back at you, so endearing that you feel like it’s the first day of the rest of your life.

“Do you like bath?”

…

You ease into the warm, almost too warm water with a sigh.

The slaves have had to toil the better half of the evening to heat such a large body of water, and you can’t even begin to imagine where König has gotten the pretty little clay bathtub. It’s the largest pottery you have ever seen; far too small for a giant like him but just enough for a fairy woman like you.

You wash yourself languidly, feeling like the queen of the whole wide earth. Someone has even poured some of the scented oils into the bath, and you could cry from happiness as the sweet scents envelop you. You wonder if the wife of any chieftain has ever experienced such luxury and warmth.

König has the most pleased smile on his face when he sees how much you appreciate yet another gift of his. He pampers and spoils you so much that you threaten to turn into an overripe grape, too soft and sweet and juicy, unable to keep intact anymore. But there’s a price to be paid, apparently, as he watches you from across the tent, sitting in his chair and pulling back the tunic to reveal the the erection between his legs. It’s the biggest cock you've ever seen, and already standing tall and proud, like a soldier about to go to war.

Your lips part on their own; heat shoots between your legs so fast it knocks the breath out of you. He seems to love your attention and awe, because his cock gives a few pulls just from you staring at it. Pearl-white seed leaks out of the tip as he grabs it inside a strong fist and gives himself a few unhurried strokes.

“König…?”

You’re breathless, but he’s not: he’s breathing heavily in that chair, powerful thighs spread wide, stroking the thick weapon between his legs while you feel like fainting in your bath.

“When will torture end?”

He's dark, dark and done with patience, and you don't know how to answer such a question. You don't even know where to look.

“Hm? You like to torture men?”

“No,” you whisper, cheeks hot and cunt ridiculously wet.

“Yes you do. A little bully, hmm?”

“König–”

“I’ll show what happens to bullies.”

He lets himself go and rises from the chair. Your mind is of no use to you now: all you can do is stare at that thing between his legs, pointing towards you like a road sign.

He walks to you, cock and gaze equally heavy, and gets rid of his tunic. Then he gestures for you to rise from the tub. You’ve spent enough time there in his opinion, and the water is indeed turning unpleasantly cool – but if you go to him now, you won’t be able to fight him. Not when you’re in such a pleased, lax, purring state. Perhaps that was the whole idea...

You rise slowly, then step out carefully, taking support from the edge of the tub and from his shoulder – and still almost collapse all over him as you try to remain on your feet. He holds you upwards while you try to avoid the murder weapon between his legs, but your giant is not as shameful as you: he grabs your butt and guides you flush against him. You meet his chest with a gasp, the length of him now trapped between you two.

“Wait, I’m—I’m still wet,” you try to peep, but it’s no use. He sweeps you off your feet, no doubt with the intention of carrying you to the bed.

“I will lick you clean,” he looks at you like you’re already trapped, caught, and bled: such a weak little creature in his arms, trying to beg for mercy with its last dying breath. You cling to him as such, that’s for sure.

“Just... No biting. Please?” You whisper as he lays you on the bed.

“No biting,” he gives his valiant promise, accompanied with a confident flash of a smile.

Gods…

If he’d gotten rid of that stupid hood earlier, your legs would’ve been pudding. They would’ve been as far apart as the two villages east and west of here. That smile would have allowed him to infiltrate everything in between. Perhaps it’s a good thing he is not that clever…

“Oh gods–” you gasp as he shifts down and lowers himself for worship. His breath hits you first, and the next thing you feel are his lips – still smiling – then the gods-forsaken beast gives you a kiss.

“Oh–”

There is a sudden silence following your moans, then you hear soldiers bursting into laughter outside your tent. They’re warming themselves by the campfire, no doubt, sharing stories about war and women, and now they’ve heard the first mewls of surrender from their hero’s tent, after weeks of quarrelling.

Your cheeks heat up as one of the soldiers utters a hurried sentence and mentions König’s name, after which the merry crew booms to laughter again.

Gods take the Romans and their stupid, lewd jokes...

You try to concentrate on the warmly lit burgundy ceiling as König carries on without paying any attention to what’s happening outside. They could march into the tent and try their best to rip him off your cunt, but you doubt if they would get him to move an inch. He's simply that drunk on your taste.

You wonder if his chin is already covered in your juices because his kisses are open-mouthed and hungry – he even tries to push his tongue inside you. The man has absolutely no shame when he's buried down there, groaning with approval as you roll your hips. You're rutting his face as shyly as you possibly can, and it makes him purr and rumble with bliss. The noise he makes is enough to make you sing too, so filthy that it earns you a whistle from outside.

Shit... They probably think he's fucking and hurting you with his cock – a scary prospect, yes, but you'll have to cross that bridge when you get there – and they couldn't be more wrong. If they only knew what their champion is doing to his slave, lapping and sucking his disobedient woman like a starved dog...

“You like mouth?”

It’s hungry, so dark, the way he asks if you like what he’s doing to you. It’s not the mad lust of a drunken man from a few nights ago; it’s sober, fierce greed with a clear purpose behind it. Your fingers find his hair and tug at it weakly, not to cheer him on, but to take support from something relatively stable.

“Yes… Yes, just–"

“Gut,” he grins into your folds, coarse stubble scraping you deliciously raw. “I like this too. After I lick you enough, I will fuck you.”

Your fingers curl around his hair, giving him another involuntary tug.

Gods, make him stop talking... Just tie his tongue or something, make him shut up.

Please…

“I will bully you all night with cock. I know you will like. Hm?”

He prattles more nonsense in your cunt, and you can’t hear the men outside anymore. You can’t even see the lamps. You’re in a womb of pleasure, which is funny because there’s a grown man between your legs, dragging his tongue over your slit until you're shaking and crying on the bed. Yes, if this is a womb, you never want to leave...

And he’s not eloquent; you don’t even know what he is trying to do to you. He probably doesn’t know it himself. He’s not trying to fish for cues on what you like: he just does what he feels like doing, which is everything. He tries every single thing. He’s just happy to be down there, flicking and circling his tongue over your nub until you can’t take it anymore.

You're dangerously close, and rise halfway to push his head away because it’s just too much; it’s too much pleasure in one go. He gives you a husky laugh and fights your weak attempts to make him stop, the damned bastard. You’re too frail to resist him, and he knows too much already, repeating the torture until your hips buck up.

“Gut... Like that...?” He asks again, so eager to please that you have to stifle a sob.

“Yes... Yes, just like that,” you sigh while trying to stay in one piece.

“Guide me, little fairy,” he demands, excited like a young, hot recruit. Apparently it's no big deal for him to have his head tugged and shoved and dragged just for a woman's pleasure. It doesn't take away an ounce of his power to be your toy for a moment. Your sharp tongue has left you completely; it is you who is humbled as you guide him back to the right spot, jerking when he licks you just the way you wished.

It’s bad enough that you make a mess on his bed and moan like a paid woman, giving everyone in this camp a taste of what it sounds like when a giant bullies his fairy to the full. But can’t he keep his stupid, lovable mouth shut...

He’s making so much noise that you can both feel and hear him. His moans are hoarse, needy and deprived; they echo somewhere in your core, somewhere inside your most sensitive, aching place, just before he finds it, the right spot, and pushes his tongue inside you.

“Wait…” you gasp, convulsing on the bed now. What the hell does he think he’s—

“Wait—I’m…”

And then you cum, right into his mouth, with an arched back and quivering thighs, with such lewd sounds shooting out of your mouth that complete silence follows outside.

Whatever those soldiers had thought to happen here tonight, they clearly didn't expect to hear that… Nor the cries that follow, so nasty and wanton that König doesn't withdraw, not before you have clenched and cried your fill. He enjoys your peak to the last tremble, but you barely get to catch your breath before he leaves you. He doesn’t even give you a chance to caress his head as thanks for what he just did to you.

His mouth leaves you empty and cold as he rises, watching you like you're his best conquest. His cock is so hard it juts out, immovable like a rock and so intimidating that you stop breathing for a moment.

And he doesn't allow your breathless, shocked state go to waste: he grabs that horse cock and sets it on your flush, soaked lips, and pushes the head inside. More than just the head inside.

“Oh gods, oh fuck–”

Your legs are completely useless, falling to the side as he eases himself into you. He looks at you curiously, tilting his head when he hears you curse for the first time in his presence. More than just amused, he goes deeper still, delighted that he made you say a naughty word with his cock.

You can feel the stretch; you can feel every ridge, every vein, all his thickness filling you with purpose. You can do nothing but flutter your eyes as he takes you, finally, as his own.

And it must be some cruel joke of both Mother Earth and Father Sky that it prolongs whatever bliss he just gave you with his mouth. Your body won't stop having its pleasure; it welcomes him with a string of helpless whimpers. Even your cunt starts to squeeze him like it's the best thing in this world.

And he sees it. He feels it.

“Ja, little one. Time to fuck.”

He continues his journey inside, one massive palm landing on each side of your head as he leans over you.

“Einfach so… Trust me. Hmm?”

You only nod, completely silent and tame, waiting for him to give you more gifts. Mother knows this man is your downfall: your heart and soul are about to burst into flame when you look at him. You want him with your whole being; you want his love and praise so much you could cry.

“You want cock?”

“Yes,” you look up at him, eyes surely shining like stars. “Yes, yes, yes–”

“I will give you. Don’t worry.”

You sob as he withdraws, pulling the long, delicious cock almost completely out. He returns immediately when you whine from the loss. He feels so good, and so, so big… Fulfilling you entirely, every bit of you that was hollow and empty, every little space that needed loving is now his and filled with love.

“Verdammte… Götter, du bist zu eng,” he huffs and looks down as if to check if it’s true that he’s finally inside you. It could never fit in fully; you both probably knew that. But he’s trying his best.

“What does that mean?” You pant, impatient that he stopped moving.

“Too small... For me...” he laments. Or brags.

“Any woman is too small for you,” you mope underneath him, thinking about whether he has had women who have been able to take him fully in. Women who haven’t been “too small”.

König raises his eyes to you and smiles, revealing a row of white teeth, the scarred lip making his grin look pure and sweet even if he is a menacing man.

Stupid mountain giant… He's just proud of not being able to fit inside you. Your lower lip juts out with a pout, and the cock inside you responds immediately with a pulse. You can feel it — he's fucking excited about you getting angry at him again.

There is a flash of mischief in his eyes – darned bastard – just before he swoops down to attack your neck. Your tits get crushed under a solid chest as he nuzzles close to your ear and gives you lots of love and little bites. He starts to fuck you slowly, and there's nowhere you can escape now, nowhere you can flee his mouth or teeth or cock.

“König, you promised–”

“Aber… You are more tight this way?”

The breathless laugh that follows leaves you blinking. Of course he can feel the way you tighten around him every time he gives you a little bite.

“Gods, I hate you…” you whisper on his shoulder, thinking about biting him there in return. König laughs in your neck again – your threats of hate have long past lost their intimidating nature and are more like love confessions to him now. And perhaps that’s what they are.

He makes love to you hard and good, and it’s embarrassing, how you're about to cum again around his cock. You were supposed to have your revenge by showing him you have teeth too, but find yourself biting your lip instead, trying to tone down at least some of the filthy sounds that try to escape you.

He's not too rough, at least not yet, happy with listening to the poorly stifled whimpers that follow his every thrust. You thought he'd rail you like an animal, but he seems to settle for making love to you while biting and groping you all over. He savours every thrust like he savoured those grapes you fed him: slowly and intently, with passion instead of greed.

You're squeezing him with everything you have as he rocks you back to the edge. His grunting only make it all worse: he doesn't even try to be quiet and decent, and it's driving you to madness. Why does he have to be so noisy? Why does he have to fuck you so that everyone can hear just how good you feel?

Every soldier in this camp can hear both your moans, his hoarse ones and your weak ones, merging together until you do sound like animals in heat... You’re so wet that some of the men must hear the music of that, too. You never knew your cunt would be so hungry and needy, least of all for a man like him. You grip him as the waves approach, rich moans turning into pathetic little cries as his cock works you open.

“Again…?” He smiles a surprised laugh on your neck. The waves hit you before you can tell him to shut up.

The noise you make is even more obscene this time, and you barely catch a glimpse of his drowsy, victorious stare before your head falls back. You squeeze your eyes closed, trying to take in the most powerful orgasm and the most powerful cock of your life without having to see that stupid, happy face of your lovesick giant.

“Nein,” he grabs your jaw inside a huge but gentle hand. “Eyes open.”

He won't even let you cum in peace, but you do as you’re told, finding him watching you like a stormcloud or a god. He watches your every tremble, every whimper, every sigh. He sees the full-blown love in your eyes, and you wonder… Is this what the bards sing about in their stupid songs?

…Weakness?

Because your heart hurts and your eyes sting, your thighs tremble and your cunt is far too wet and open for him to plough. If this is love, it hurts; it burns far too sweet. It leaves you utterly weak.

“Little one is needy,” he comments softly on your second downfall.

“You’re the one who’s needy–”

Your already weak argument ends in a gasp as he reminds you who you belong to with another good, deep thrust.

“I will put a child in you,” he rumbles, a threat or a promise. “If we do this every night… You will have my child.”

“Then let’s do this every night,” you whisper beneath him, your own purr of a threat. As if you didn’t know how babies were made… To your silent joy, König stops to catch his breath or your words; you’re not entirely sure which. You decide to up the stakes, just to make him fall with you.

“And every morning too?”

“Ach, du kleine–” he crumbles, voice turning to dust from your innocent suggestion.

If you thought he was a little too in love with you before, the look on his face now is worth all the gold in the world. You could swear that your kind question is the sole reason for this man cumming on the spot. Perhaps your body is to blame for it too; he couldn't keep his paws off when you were being sulky and difficult, so how could he take it when you're pleased and loving and all puffed up?

You see the brief flash of vulnerability, the mortal fragility in his eyes just before he shoots his load with a painful-sounding groan. The sound that leaves him is a mixture of desperation and release – even giants can cry, you think as you watch how beautifully he comes undone. He makes sure his seed is sent deep inside you by burying his cock into you, as far as it can go; the intention behind it is so clear that you wouldn't be surprised if you got heavy with a child after this first time.

He falls on top of you after, drained and spent and body heaving from exertion. There’s no other sound in the night but the satisfied panting of you two: the soldiers outside are rendered silent by the sounds of true lovemaking, even the wind spirits are hushed tonight.

You’re completely filled, and with his cock still inside you, he’s preventing any precious seed from escaping. You’re only glad he’s too weak to move because you’d happily keep him here forever, inside and on top of you like this.

“You are pleased…?” He turns his head a little, sounding worried enough to make you hug him tight.

“Yes. Very much,” you whisper, and he moves to rise and look you in the eyes.

“Gut.”

It’s cute to be nose to nose like this with him, eyes locked together, lips only a hair’s breadth apart. He looks so intoxicated and happy without even being drunk that you break into a small laugh, eyes brimming with happy tears, the washing away of relief. He smiles too, then laughs with you.

The soldiers outside might think it an odd business: to make a woman moan and laugh with a cock. You were brought to this tent screaming, and he made you scream again, just not the way they thought.

The sound of your mutual laughter rises in the tent, up towards the heavens, surely making even the Sky Father smile above.

…

You do it every night, and every morning, too.

Sometimes, you do it during the day after bathing in the stream. After washing and playing in the water, you rush to the shore together, but König is always faster than you. He throws your dress away or holds it up above his head, far from your reach, smiling like the most innocent man in the world. He's far from innocent, though: his cock hangs heavy between his legs, swelling just from seeing you angry and flustered and wet.

“Bully,” you accuse, utterly in love and out of breath, earning you another attack of a love-hungry giant. You forget the dress when he kneels on the grass, kisses your stomach and your thighs, keeps you in place for his mouth with two strong arms and a love that turns your whole body weak.

“Pretty,” is the only thing he breathes as an answer before he scoops up your leg and spreads you open for his mouth.

Your head rolls back with a choked sigh, the drops on your skin dry on their own. Somehow, you end up on the grass with his mouth glued on you. The sun plays in your hair; it dances on your face as he gives you more and more until you know, you just know that if you do this every night and morning and day, you will definitely have his child.

He tells you his real name, his true name, the one his mother gave him. You moan it in his ear just before you cum around his length. Sometimes, it makes him purr; other times, it makes him grunt. Once, you hear a soft, pitched whine.

He’s more rough when you’re on your knees. You’re shy and wet when he commands you to prop yourself on your elbows and show him your cunt. He licks you from front to back, feasts on you until your breaths turn to shivers. You squeeze your eyes shut from how obscene the scene must look; you hope to all the gods the Roman slave won’t come to ask his travel guides back when König finally rises and takes a wide stance behind you. He sets himself on your opening and pushes in, fat and greedy.

You can only whimper as he starts the thrusts, starved and slow, picking up the pace and holding you in place by the hips when you approach the brink of another collapse. You fear you will lose your mind if he keeps doing this to you every day. The only thing you hear are the breathless, warm grunts of encouragement behind you.

“You can take it. You can take it. Already took it, little one…”

He won’t stop, not even as you cry out loud, the cock hitting you in places that make your legs nearly give in. He won’t stop even as tears brim, not even as you start to sound like a tortured animal; no, he just tightens his grip on your waist and pounds you harder. You cum with a moan that would make Roman whores blush, but your lover doesn’t mind at all. He cums right after you, with a roar that could raise the reverend dead from their mounds.

Afterwards, he’s gentle again. He gathers you in his arms like his most valuable possession, caressing and breathing you in, giving you a soft kiss behind your ear.

“You’re... mean,” you try to remember how to breathe as he gives you more of those hungry kisses. You already know he likes it when you’re so spent you don’t have the strength to squirm or fight him.

“Ja. And you become more nice when I bully you,” he whispers in your ear. “More calm… Less difficult.”

“Well, you don’t,” you turn inside his hold, eyes shining brighter than the stars or even the sun. “Crazy man…”

“You have robbed me of my sword and shield, it’s true. Robbed my heart too. Little thief.”

“Thief? You’re the one who stole me…!”

“And I’ll never let you go.”

You wriggle a hand to cup his face, meeting his eyes with such helplessness that it’s not even funny anymore. If he’s joking or playing with you now, you’ll kill him with his own swords.

“You promise?”

“I make a vow,” he declares ceremoniously, with a hand on his heart. But you doubt that he’s playing any games; you wonder if this man is even capable of lying or deception. You hug him so tight that he has to let out a grunt – surprised and pleased – after which you have to bury your face in his neck so that he won't see your tears.

“I am in love with you, Fee,” he whispers in your ear while caressing your hair, ever poetic for such a simple man. “Tell me. Do you like me too…?”

“Yes,” you breathe a half-cry, half-laugh in his neck. “Yes, you crazy giant. I like you too.”

You rise just enough to kiss him. It’s hungry and delivers everything you can’t say. You can’t tell him you love him; you simply can’t. You’re not ready for the painful happiness it would bring forth. He stabs you full of it anyway.

“I will never let you go. Never. Not when I finally found you, little one...”

…

Summer comes.

The camp moves lazily to its next destination, but when the next battle comes, König refuses to fight.

His soldiers blame you, of course. You have bewitched him with your softness, making him soft and spineless as well. It is unheard of that a warrior like him would fall like this: out of some woman’s underhanded spell rather than dying gloriously in the field by a barbarian blade or two. Even poison is considered better than this.

No one understands that there is no hex. The war is still being fought, this time inside his soul. It’s not just you preventing him from taking up arms; it’s something else, something old and deep-rooted you've managed to stir in him. Something ferocious, something that has been asleep for a long time, something that is far from all things soft.

You two sneak out from the camp after the bulk of the army has marched away. He takes you to the seaside again, to a wild, roaring shore. You laugh and bask in the sun, swim in the sea and eat the first berries of the season. You lie on the tall grass, naked as the day you were born: it's simply too hot to wear anything except your glowing skin. König starts to ask you peculiar questions while tracing the soft line of your spine.

He asks what kind of house you would like to live in, and tries to find out in a roundabout way if you would like to live in a forest or in the hills. You treasure the sound of waves, and König likes the sound of the wind in trees, but you both love steep hills and the open view of plains. You get the idea that he may want to retire somewhere in the near future.

He tells you he is not a good fisherman but can hunt everything that moves. He is good with a spear, with traps and the bow, and he’s tired of hunting humans who only wish to live in peace. The arena he could understand, but the war on foreign lands, not. And if you begin to swell with his offspring, the Roman encampment at war is the last place for a sweet little fairy like you. He asks what kind of village you used to live in and is somewhat sad to hear all the things you tell him. He says it sounds like home, the one he was taken from many years ago.

When you return to the camp, it’s like you two are a different species altogether, two wild animals who sneak from the gates back to the flock, back to being human, back to being caged and tamed and stunted. The grumpy, tired soldiers witness your wildness and happiness with sullen distaste. To them, your appetite for freedom is the filthiest, most treacherous thing in the world.

The commander of the troops summons König at his feet and threatens to flog him if he ever skips a battle again. He’s told that only barbarians ignore orders like this: at the turn of a whim or a woman or wind. If he doesn’t remember who he is, not the reckless murderer of his youth but a man reborn, a noble Roman citizen, he will risk descending into apathy and greed again. Was this the case, Rome will guide him back to fold again by the crack of a whip if it has to.

That night, you tell him that you love him. Wherever he goes, you will go. That night, when you’re lying in his arms, sweaty and spent and thoroughly happy, he speaks words so wild it shakes the whole tent with a wind.

“If I kill the soldiers, will you come with me?”

It’s only a mutter, a murmured, careful whisper, but it makes you rise to sit and place a hand on his chest for extra support.

“Kill the soldiers? You mean… Kill the Romans?”

“Ja. All of them.”

The shock quickly makes way to disbelief. Can such a thing even be done? He’s a giant, but he’s still just one man. But König doesn’t look restless at all; he looks like a man who has finally made a decision he should have made years ago. He looks like someone who is at peace with their soul.

"Where would we go?" You whisper weakly, unsure if he has given this enough thought or thought at all. It’s now the wanderer in him who speaks, the adventurer who fears nothing because he has already lost everything – and found the most precious, essential thing.

You. Himself…

Free will.

“Wherever you want.”

“What if you get killed…?”

“You take treasure and horse and go.”

…

Your mother always said that it's useless to sway a man if he has chosen to stand up and fight. She told you that the best you could do is go grab a sword and join him.

That is why you give him your blessing – your full, ardent blessing.

It makes him stronger than ever: were he to go out there with nothing but his skin, he would be victorious. The oak that hears your magnificent spell shivers from fear above you as you call down earth, fire and wind.

You call the spirits from below to guide his feet and make them swift and silent as a feather in the wind. You call down the lightning from the sky to accompany his sword as he deals his blows. You cloak him with the fury of the dead; they will smite down his enemies when they catch even a glimpse of him. You shroud him with the Mother's blessing so that he will be untouchable, unstoppable, invincible as he deals death among the Romans.

It’s a terrible spell; even the moon withdraws into a cloud when She hears it. Not even the lady of silver twilight dares to reveal this giant to the Romans as he’s about to descend upon them.

He rises with the power of fifteen men and gives you a kiss that nearly topples you. He smiles before he leaves you, and never looks back as he goes to do the deed of a legend.

You watch the massacre up from a hill. A safe distance from the camp, but close enough to see how König destroys a whole cohort by himself. The plant you mixed into the “reconciliation wine” he gave his soldiers and the commander before nightfall makes it laughably easy because most of the men are still half asleep when they burn inside their tents. The oil spilt on the dry dirt and linen roars aflame now with the help of the wind and earth spirits as König torches the camp. The occasional few soldiers that rise to meet him with fear in their stare are already broken by your spell before his swords impale them.

The old translator is the only Roman who wasn’t given a cup of foxglove wine because he was König’s slave, and now he can see that he is blessed among men. The God of War faces him with swords pointing to the ground, fury planting his feet wide, and it takes the old Roman a while to understand that he’s the only man who gets to walk out of this camp unharmed. As grumpy and unsociable as he is, you wish him good fortune on his future journeys, even utter a quick protection spell to shroud him as he leaves towards his destiny on enemy land.

The slave women, sober, confused, and free, run amock to gather weapons, cloaks, food, and valuables before escaping the camp. König doesn’t even notice them, and they pay little mind to the enraged god ramming through puny mortals because they’re too busy getting out of the burning castra.

How fitting it is that the only people escaping the hellfire are a few beaten women and an old, weak-calved Roman – every able-bodied soldier burns inside his tent or meets their end at your lover’s blade.

The wind spirits help spread the fire so eagerly that you begin to fear that König won’t make it out in time. You whisper prayers into your fist, curled around the Mother who has already given you so much. She has also taken away everything; like seasons, she has reaped and sown, but if she reaps your lover now, you will walk into the sea.

Mother is merciful and returns him to you, unharmed and glorious. He's the same ferocious beast you saw half a moon ago, and also the same ferocious man who was inside you this very morning. You see a god of war, and he sees the mother of life and death, perhaps, because his first words to you are a ripe offering.

“I avenged them all,” he says when he reaches you, thrumming with victory and smelling of smoke and ruin and blood.

He has been born again; he has walked to a new dawn through fire and death and returns to your arms like you two have known each other since the beginning of time. You’re not sure if he talks about his fallen ones or your fallen ones, or everyone who has fallen to these particular Roman spears. You’re not sure if this is his downfall because what you’re looking at is only the downfall of the Roman campaign on your lands. You and König are very much wild and spirited and free. If this is a downfall, it feels like being lifted towards the sky. You see in his eyes that he feels the same as you.

The whole world is new as you leave towards a new life. Sun rises, and takes years off your backs. You wash him in the sea and kiss the salt away from his lips, and it feels only right that he takes you on the grass after slaughtering your enemies.

You bury the statues and the bronze sword in your old village, long abandoned and thoroughly looted. The old woman is in her hut, dead as a stone, and she finally looks happy, with a calm little smile on her face and flowers in her hand. She looks like a young girl, almost, ready to meet the spring of her life.

"Ready for adventure, little one?" König smiles as he raises you to his horse. He takes direction from the sun while you look down at his happy, golden form – your god, your life, your love.

Your new beginning.

...

Translations:

Richtig? - Right?/Correct?

Einfach so - Just like that

Verdammte… Götter, du bist zu eng - Damn… Gods, you are tight

Aber… - But…

Ach du kleine… - Oh you little…

Scheisse - Shit/Fuck

#könig fanfiction #könig x reader #könig x you #könig x female reader #könig x fem reader #konig x reader #konig x you #historical au #Roman soldier!König #könig smut #könig fluff #könig imagine

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pursuitseternal · 4 months

Text

“Release Me:” ⛓️ Chains and feral smut ⛓️ for “The Rogue You Were”

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader |E| 2K

“Chains” prompt for Ascended Astarion Week

Summary: After weeks of captivity and starvation, you finally rescue your love from his enemies. But the beast chained in the cell barely knows himself or you… until you’ve satisfied all his hungers.

CW: Blood kink (I just wanted a reason to have them fuck covered in blood), Feral/primal play, desperate sex, long nailed AA, prison sex, bondage/mild BDSM

Ao3 link | Astarion Fic Masterlist

⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥⛓️⛓️‍💥

Musty, dark, dead. The bowels of the Red Wizard’s tower are worse than a dungeon. Not a speck of light, no slight hint of breeze. It is a tomb. A coffin. And inside somewhere is your love.

You can feel him, his blood calling to you, even as his mind has unraveled these long weeks of capture. You get fleeting images of his senses: the wide-eyed fear in his chest to be imprisoned in the dark. Away from his beloved sun. The racing pant of his breath to be so enclosed, not unlike that year he never speaks of under Cazador’s torment. Locked away. You feel the stinging of silver chains gnawing at his flesh, burning just enough to sap his strength, but not so strong as to kill him.

This was meant for pain, constructed for punishment, to hold him until his enemies would kill him. Your beloved. Your lord and king and master, overthrown by his foolish need for more power. You told him not to go alone to seek the remnants of the Red Wizards of Thay… you warned him they would want their tome returned and would punish him for knowledge of it.

Even the decrepit remnants of a failed cult can win from time to time.

Your chest burns as you try to catch your breath, your skin and armor slick with the blood of your enemies. But your feet propel forward regardless, pulled by the tether of your bond to Astarion.

You heave a sigh of relief to finally find the cells, thick black doors almost indecipherable in the darkness. A little daylight spell, and your eyes adjust to find a dozen doors carved from the bedrock of this damnable tower. The rattling of metal links, the rough snarls of breath grows louder as you close your eyes and follow the ragged beat of his ascended heart.

Hand shaking, you pull out a Knock spell scroll, a sigh of relief that your own Wizard companion of old had prepared you to take on these foes. Even as your fingers stick to the parchment, hands soaked in blood, you recite the word, and the edge of the cell door glows bright white for a moment.

Resonant, it creaks open on its ancient hinges, revealing a pair of glowing red eyes and the crescendo of dry-throated breath. His body drags across the floor towards your daylight, and your heart bursts with ache to finally see him again. Tears sting your eyes.

Paperwhite and beyond deathly pale, his gaunt face leers at you from the darkness. Lines of red, of raw flesh cross his neck and bare arms and legs where he has been chained.

Chained naked.

Your bile rises in your stomach as you curse his captors souls, glad you have already put those Wizards to a bloody, eviscerating death. You’d do it all again, just to punish them for how they’ve tortured your love. Breathing his name, you enter his cell, the walls of black stone absorbing the light of your spell, it seems. But it gives off enough for you to see every line of his hollowed face, every crest of his bony frame.

Astarion twists against his chains, his mind a pulsing mess of feelings and words, too feral to even speak yet. But one word comes across clearly.

Blood.

His nostrils flare, his tongue dangling over his fangs as he scans your spattered armor. A predator with the scent of prey in his nose.

There’s blood in the air…

He’s too hungry, too starved for blood and for you to be safe. Not with they way his eyes are wild and his tongue laps at his jaw. “Astarion,” you speak, making his black-blown eyes focus on you. “I’m here my love,” you reach a hand out to caress his silver hair, but he just snaps his fangs at you once you're in reach. Those silver chains holding him just shy of disaster.

“Naughty,” you try to chide him, but the humor is lost on his hungry body and soul. Mind racing, your feet race faster, hands finding the closest fallen enemy to drag it back after you down the hall. Then you leave it, ignoring the muffled grunts and growls and slurps he makes as he drains the corpse completely.

When you glance back inside, he looks at you, steadier, calmer, and covered in blood. He still crouches on the ground, hands and feet and neck bound, but now he croaks your name. “Darling,” his voice pains you with recognition, “I knew you’d come.”

You hurry to his side, kicking that light, bloodless corpse to the side. The silver chains at his ankles sting you, but it’s nothing compared to the pain of separation you have endured for weeks. You pull the silver apart in your hands, freeing his legs so he can stretch them out at long last.

A deep grunt of relief sounds from his chest. Your hands work up and down one leg, then the other, trying to soothe the tension and numbness and blood flow.

As you reach the top of his thighs, you withdraw in surprise. His cock achingly hard, juts against his belly, twitching and pink and… happy to see you too.

“I have missed you,” his voice caresses your ear and rushes down your spine, the chains at his neck clinking their high-pitched music as he leans against you. Nose buried in your hair, he inhales your scent like a drowning man gasps for air. “I can’t wait another moment, my love.” His voice unearthly, barely more than a growl, his hands chained near his belly reach into your armor.

You notice his nails, literally clawing for you, seeking your flesh. Nails, so long unkempt, have taken on their wild form, the razor sharp talons of a vampire lord. “I was so worried…. I missed you, my love,” you sigh, an edge of fear in your belly as you long to kiss those bloodstained lips with your own. Ignoring the sting, you grab the silver chain, a little yank to tug at him, making a playful, aroused smirk turn his dripping, scarlet lips as his body draws closer.

“I am master of myself once more,” his brows cant rakishly, even in the dark. “I won’t bite unless you ask very… very… nicely,” he croons straining against your leash.

“Oh, I think you're asking for more than a nibble,” you tease to release some of the fear that still lingers in your veins. Never have you been separated from him since you turned, and never, not even during the Rite of Ascension and your fight against his old master have you feared his death more than these past weeks. Floodgates break, your need to touch him and taste him overpowering all logic and fear.

Your fingers work quickly, unlatching your breastplate and cuisses, eyes locked into his as he watches your every move, tongue licking the blood from the corner of his mouth absentmindedly. You let the metal clang to the floor. Those two restrained hands extend for you, making the chains around his arms hiss as the magic sears more into his flesh anew.

“Hold still,” you order, crouching to grab the chains and tug them free from his flesh, his wounds instantly closing up now that he is well-fed once more.

For all the pain that must be lancing through his body, he just holds your stare with his own, sultry and feral and commanding. “Now, where were we?” he purrs, hands trembling to finally touch your body. Even with sapped strength, he pulls you flush against him, bringing you close. Slotting you in your place against his body. Those blood-caked claws dig into the supple cover of your leathers, tearing through it at your hips and down the seams as though they are paper. You’ll worry about decency later, for now you’re of one mind, unable to think until you’ve joined again.

You sink your body onto his cock, and he sinks his fangs into your blood-spattered neck. Your groans bounce off the pitch black walls, a roar of bliss and relief and release. No more fear or danger, aside from the fear of coming too quickly and the danger of spending hours fucking once more, covered in the drying gore of your foes.

The thought tickles from your mind to his, and he laughs as he thrusts up into you. “Just like old times,” he rasps between swallows from your neck.

Like old times, like every time, your body follows its instincts, finally filled with what you have most craved. His cock stretches you, a nearly unfamiliar pressure once more, but you hardly notice, not with how dripping wet you’ve become just to feel his breath on your neck and savor his muscled frame thrusting into you.

Tears prick at your eyes but you won’t let them wash that blood from your cheeks. No, you just grip into his hair, pulling his mouth from the puncture wounds in your neck to your own waiting lips. The copper tang of your blood floods your mouth as his tongue sweeps inside, the familiar taste of your own blood mixing with the nasty pollution of your enemies’ he drained earlier.

It sours your stomach, the taste, but you’re too lost in the way his breath warms you, inside and out. Those long, feral nails score into your back, wandering quickly between your writhing bodies. With low, rumbling growls into your mouth, he grips your waist, moving you and holding you in place as he fucks harder. More erratic. More hellsbent on that release he needs.

His voice fills your ear, “My Consort, my love, my pet, my saviour,” he pours your beloved epithets over you, breath ragged and out of synch with his roughly snapping hips. One hand lies splayed on the stone behind him, that extra leverage driving him deeper with abandon. He’s thickening inside you, so hot and too quickly.

“Don’t get carried away,” you chide, yanking at the chain around his neck, making his crimson eyes stare at you with lust-blown pupils. “You haven’t even given me a reward yet for my daring bravery, my love.” You make him hiss, his slack mouth baring his fangs in pleasure-ridden pain. “And you haven’t even granted me an apology for running headlong into this… foolishness,” you cock your chin and tug his chain-leash again. “Promise me, no more ludicrous missions without me.”

He growls but nods, hands digging at your ass, not one hint of resistance.

“Then I’m satisfied, well…” you wriggle, clenching your walls on his throbbing cock inside you, “soon to be satisfied.” A laugh shared on both your panting lips, you ride his lap, bringing him back under a steady rhythm, drawing out his pleasure until you’ve had yours as well. He pulls against his last remaining chain, and you tut your tongue. One of your hands brings his fingers into the apex of your thighs, coaxing his finger to circle your clit with every buck. Your other hand releases that leash, freeing it from his flesh at last so you can grab his chin. Then you lick… long and cleansing, tasting the remnants of your blood, and your enemies’, and faint traces of his own.

That warm tip of his tongue laps at the corner of his lips, his breath heavy as he feels your walls fluttering around his cock. Spine arching, hips canting fervently, you scream for him, tears in your throat and down your face at last, as if you didn’t believe you’d ever be brought to orgasm by him again. Sharp nails score into the sensitive flesh of your folds, hips slamming into your last waves of pleasure as he spills inside you, spurt after spurt of his seed filling you and leaking to the prison floor beneath you both.

Crimson eyes glance up at you, wild and sated, hungry and happy all at once. “Get me home, my Consort,” he whispers. “You’ll be coming on my cock in our bed next.”

You smirk, breathless, pulling out a scroll to open a portal to your palace. As you stand, you kick the chains at your feet with your boot, thankful he’s released into your care once more.

⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️⛓️

💞 to @marimosalad and @nyx-knox

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ddejavvu · 8 months

Note

Hii so I absolutely LOVE your best friend with no boundaries James Potter (and all of your works ofc 😚) and wanted to request this but with Steve Harrington? Like maybe you’re both napping in his bed and he has a sexy dream and reader wakes up to him humping her ass and moaning/whimpering her name?? So reader is there grinding back into him and he wakes up mortified but reader rubs over his massive bulge and tells him not to stop, then they have the dirtiest sex of their lives (with spitting and/or choking bc aren’t we all whores for dirty spit sex)

that's a little more than i can fit into a blurb but i've got the meat of it here 😅

this post is 18+, minors dni.

Napping with Steve has always been relaxing. Where some people might push, shove, or kick in their sleep, Steve is delightfully dead, limbs cemented into position until he wakes and stretches him. On top of that, he's nearly warm enough to make you sweat, so if you manage to score a spot in his twin bed, wrapped in his arms to keep you from falling over the edge, you'll be guaranteed at least an hour of cozy, restful sleep.

When you wake it's to shifting on the bed, and you assume he's getting up to get water. He always complains of a sore throat after he naps, but if he remembered to sleep with his mouth closed, perhaps he wouldn't find himself so parched.

"Nooo, Steve," You whine, gripping his forearms where they wrap across your chest and enclose you in his hold, "Don't get up."

You wriggle backwards into his arms, intent on trapping him beneath the blankets, but your unstoppable force meets an immoveable object; not only his hips but something rather stiff between them.

It takes you a couple seconds longer than you'd ever admit to realize what's happening, and why Steve is really trying to get out of bed. Your cheeks go hot and apologies pour from your lips while you shimmy forwards again, trying to free him to take care of business.

His arms tighten around you, and his hips chase yours.

You feel his hard-on grind against the curve of your ass, the same way it had only seconds ago when you'd unknowingly rubbed yourself on him. Your breath hitches, cut short by some invisible vice pinching your throat shut, but Steve doesn't respond to your rapidfire apologies, nor the stuttering that comes after it.

"Steve," You blabber, turning your head when you can't turn your body, "Steve, fuck, I'm sorry- just- I'll let you get up, and-"

He's asleep.

His brown lashes are splayed delicately over the flushed apples of his cheeks, hair endearingly mussed and breath hot where it puffs out in steady streams against your shoulder. He brings his hips forwards again, grinding himself once more into your ass, and you're ashamed to admit that you don't fight to get out of his embrace this time around.

All it takes is a moan of your name, a soft, whimpered 'Y/N' to stop feeling guilt claw at your chest.

He wants this- he wants you.

You're frozen in his hold but you break out of it to turn your upper body, leaving your ass against his dick so that he can keep using it.

"Steve," You croon, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you comb your nails through the soft strands of hair splayed over his forehead, "Stevie, wake up."

"Y/N," He groans again, and after one more call of his name, his eyes blink open. He's mid-roll of his hips, his boner pressed flush to the center of your ass. If neither of you were clothed, if your flesh was bare and his cock wasn't confined by his briefs, he'd have been rutting through the fat of your ass cheeks.

His cheeks flare red even faster than yours heated, and he scrambles to get away, but there's nowhere to go between you and the wall behind him.

"Shit!" He hisses, knocking his head back against the wall in his mortified rush to escape, "Shit, Y/N, I'm- I'm sorry, fuck, I-"

"Don't stop," You mewl, your hand darting from his hair to his thigh, nails digging into the flesh that his basketball shorts have rucked up to reveal. It's milky white but later it will be littered with crescent-shaped marks.

He breathes out, in, then, "What?"

"Don't stop." You repeat, hand shaking as it travels from his thigh to his ass. You press forwards against it and he lets you shift his hips against your own again, breath stuttering as his cock rubs against your ass.

"Are- Are you serious?"

"Yes!" You gush, desperation in your voice, "Please, Steve, I- I want you to fuck me, please."

There's incredulity in his exhale that suggests he'd expected his wet dreams to stay just that; dreams. But here you are, grinding your ass back against his aching dick, begging to be fucked in his bed.

His thick bicep arcs over your face, and his broad shoulders hover over your own as he rolls himself over onto you. You spread your legs so that he can grind instead against the pad of your panties that covers your cunt, and his weight is suffocating where he lays over top of your back.

"Thank you," He breathes, like a prayer that's delivered in a sticky, spit-soaked kiss to the nape of your neck. He grinds down against your cunt, the meat of your ass above his cock as he holds himself over you on the bed, "Fuck, thank you."

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington scenario #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington one-shot #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington headcanons #steve harrington hc #steve harrington hcs #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington dialogue #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut

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bunnyreaper · 1 year

Text

does your husband know?

pairing - john price x f!reader wc - 1k warnings - implied cheating, established relationship, hotel sex, dom/sub undertones, sex against a window, dirty talk, kink exploration, 18+ notes - a little price ficlet as a treat to myself, read on ao3!!

"Fuck, love. How long has it been?"

His hands enclose yours on the glass pane, his fingers weaving between yours as your wedding ring gleams in the moonlight. Hard, clothed hips are pressed against your bare skin, pinning and exposing you to anyone who might look up into the hotel window.

John's breath is hot in your ear, sending shivers down your spine before he chases them with kisses.

"I don't, I don't know, too long—" You babble, already out of your mind with the feelings your lover is pulling out of you, unraveling you as he always does.

"What kind of husband leaves his wife so fucking desperate?" He smiles devilishly, recalling the desperate look you'd given him across the hotel bar, how easy it had been for him to charm you. "You were practically begging for me. Gagging for it, weren't you?"

One of his hands releases, trailing its way to your neck—not choking, but just holding you, as his lips attach to the weak spot behind your ear and you cry out.

John undoes you with ease, each touch electrifying. Even if it hadn't been so long, you'd still be crying out for him with every cell in your body.

You whimper and whine as he pulls away momentarily, though your arousal flares as you hear the clink of his belt buckle and the rustle of his clothes.

He's so close. So close to being inside you.

"I need—" You squirm, pushing your hips back as your body begs for him, you couldn't hide your need for him if you tried, not that you'd ever want to.

"I know what you need." He purrs, his voice making you shake. He guides his swollen cock through your wet folds, taunting you with his thickness as he coats himself.

What you need is right there, brushing over your hole, nudging at your clit. John already moves expertly, one of his hands falling to your hip to hold you perfectly in place, to hold you exactly where he needs you. "Need a man who can take care of you. Don't worry, I'm right here."

Without any more teasing or taunting, he pushes his thick cock inside you in one swift movement, filling you to the brim and making your back arch. It burns, and then his dick is kissing the tip of your cervix, and you're lost in the pain and the pleasure of it all—the stretch, the push. John is exactly where he belongs, and you flutter around him helplessly as you welcome him home.

"God, you're so fucking tight." He works himself deeper, molds you once more to his size, gets you used to him all over again. "Gonna stretch you out so good, sweetheart."

You're already a whimpering mess, pleasure coursing through you as your conscious thoughts slip away. The second John touches you, it gets hard to think, hard to even breathe.

But his next words have you gasping at the air, desperately trying to retain your grip on reality as it all becomes too much.

"I'll fuck you 'till you forget your husband's name." He punctuates his words by beginning with a relentless pace, already fucking all thoughts of that pretty little head of yours.

"Please…" You plead, your voice sounding so unlike your usual self, so desperate—but you're always desperate for him.

His hand snakes round to your front, two calloused fingers working in circles around your slick clit. The only reason you're still standing is John's body slamming you into the glass, his hand around your neck holding you upright. "This married cunt is mine, isn't that right, love?"

"Yes, John, yes. It's yours. I'm yours." Your words are a mindless chant, a mantra of worship to this man that fucks like a god and takes you to a higher plane.

His groans join yours in filling the room, each gruff vocalisation making you shiver further. The feel of his hot breath against your skin, his fingers working in your wetness, the sound of his pleasure-wracked voice—it's almost too much, and yet he doesn't stop talking you through it.

"Missed you while I was away. Couldn't stop thinking about filling you up, hearing you moan my name." He growls, his thrusts becoming faster, harder, deeper. He's desperate, too, lost in you in the same way you're lost in him.

"Been too long, not gonna last, love. Gonna make you shake again first, though." His fingers work faster, urging you closer and closer to the edge he promises.

Slick sounds echo around, the sound of skin against skin, those groans again. Your eyes are focused on your reflections, seeing John's brow furrow in pleasure and watching as he grits his teeth, mutters out a strangled fuck. His hand tightens around your neck as he bounces you off his length with reckless abandon.

He's perfect, and in this moment, he's everything you've been missing

"I'm close." You pant, breath fogging up the glass.

His eyes meet yours in the reflection—a hard, intent, possessive stare. "Cum for me. Cum on my cock."

Your eyes screw shut, pleasure snapping through you as you're fucked relentlessly through your peak—John's groans escalate as he finishes inside you, pumping you full of his cum as you shake in his hold.

His forehead comes to rest against your shoulder as the two of you breathe in sync, coming down from your high together as one.

His arms wrap around you as he maneuvers you to the bed, softly laying you atop the sheets as he stares down at you lovingly, his cum dripping down your thighs.

"Missed you." You sigh contentedly, a fiercely radiant smile on your face, only for him.

"Missed you too, love." He presses a kiss to your forehead before starting to strip off his clothes. The shirt, trousers, and boots are tossed aside, leaving him in his underwear—his dog tags hanging over his furry chest, his ring shining brightly beside the dulled silver.

He climbs onto the bed next to you, stroking your face with a serene tenderness. "That neglectful husband of yours, huh." He says with a smirk.

"At least he's here now." You pull him closer, pressing your lips to his, relishing his taste after so long without it. Everything is duller when John's away, but with him back, he paints the world back into colour with every brush of his fingers across your cheek. "Hotel was a nice touch, really added to the fantasy."

His grin is cheeky, devilish. The scenario was his idea—tempting you away from your absent husband, giving him everything that man can't. It couldn't be further from the truth. As you lay here next to John, his attention solely on you, you could live forever on the high it brings.

His fingers entwine with yours one more time, as he fiddles with the ring he put on your finger just over a year ago. "Nothing but the best for my wife."

#captain price #john price #captain price x reader #john price x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty #call of duty fanfiction #wish i knew how to explain myself just know im losing my mind okay

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felucians · 29 days

Text

un bisou

Fandom: Marvel X-men | Gambit/Remy LeBeau x Reader

Reader is gender neutral with no physical descriptions. Rated PG-13 because Gambit would be the type of guy to grab anyone's ass during a kiss, he would test the boundaries and we all know it. Reader is a mutant with celestial Sun powers - technically based on my OC's powers which manipulates the Sun, specifically it's fire.

Summary: Takes place during Days of Future Past in the original X-Men series, where Bishop accuses Gambit of an assassination that destroys the future, reader is the only one to believe him. Pre-established relationships between Rogue/Gambit, Reader/Gambit and Reader is a member of the X-men team. Title is French for "a kiss". Wordcount: around 800 words.

"Don't nobody trust Gambit, eh?"

Rogue can't meet his eyes, her gaze downcast and guilt etched onto her features.

Gambit won't look at you, at your eyes glazing over in tears as your shared family denies him, believes that he could be the assassin. He didn't hear your whisper of "I do" as he loudly announces to the room, "Then Gambit don't need nobody."

He stalks away, glowering as his trench coat flows behind like a cape, and then the room is silent as his footsteps fade.

The lights black out and you're finally unfrozen, "How dare you? All of you? Not trusting one of our own, our team. Who are we if we cannot trust each other? What kind of family is this?"

The Sun hesitantly flickers through the windows, as solar flares begin radiating from your arms, anger burning through your body.

Rogue is first to speak, "Calm down, Sugah—"

"Calm down? When you all just turned your backs on him?"

Jean fixes you with a soft, understanding gaze and whispers "Go" in your mind - your chair hits the wall, leaving a dent with flashes of celestial energy trailing behind.

You don't even realise your feet carrying you through the hallways, yelling his name throughout the mansion, praying to anyone listening that he's still here and you find him before he leaves here, before he leaves you.

He's standing, paused at the doorway to the X-jet, breathing heavily with angry mutters of Cajun creole - blurring English and French seamlessly. Gambit looks up at the sound of your footsteps, a flash of vulnerability in his eyes that left in a second, replaced by a harsh piercing glare, "Porquoi êtes-vous ici, Dulcinée?" (Why are you here, sweetheart?)

The nickname is spat out, venom seeping out from the endearment that would usually bring a soft flush of heat to your face. You try not to flinch. Emphasis on try, because you do, and his face somehow looks even more pained at that. Words evade you as your throat dries, refusing to respond, so you take a deep breath and a soft gulp before you respond, grateful that you could understand his mother tongue.

"I'm here because I trust you, Remy."

He falters, searching your eyes desperately to spot any falsehoods, any inkling that you were spying on him for Charles - he doesn't find any. He finds pure raw love, the kind you knew you felt but could never truly verbalise.

Everyone on the team could see your soft spot for Gambit, and he knew it too. Sure, he flirted with every woman he came into contact with and he couldn't stop thinking about Rogue - but there was something about you that left the Cajun torn, as if he also loved you but didn't dare bare his heart to anyone, as if his shield crumpled, then his world would collapse and destroy everyone he cared about with it.

But here, with only you left, dangerously close to him in the enclosed space of the doorframe's entrance, he couldn't remember why he kept those walls up. He allowed his eyes to flicker to your soft lips, watching intensely as you involuntarily catch the bottom one in between your teeth. Your heart is hammering in your chest and before you can think to pull away, to move down the hallway or into the next room, his big hands are splayed on your soft hips, your spandex suit in bright terracotta separating your skin to skin contact.

He's surprisingly soft, as his lips meet yours and he tastes like spice and tobacco. It infiltrates your senses, enveloping you in a blanket of warmth and desire while you gasp, allowing him to deepen the kiss further, to let Remy explore your mouth, your taste, your emotions. His gloved hands grasp around your waist as the other dips down to your ass, giving it a small squeeze. His smirk brushes his stubble against your cheek at the soft breathy moan you let out from his actions - you would swear Jubilee was in here with the amount of fireworks lighting up your veins, the passion and love igniting your whole body in flames.

Gambit pulls away, and his face is almost unreadable and then it's sad. It's a goodbye kiss, you realise as he walks past you through the door to the X-jet - and you almost let him.

He's so lost on his own emotions and thoughts from the kiss that ghosts his lips that he doesn't notice you slipping into the darkened room after him, only to be blinded by the harsh lights as Bishop and Wolverine reveal themselves, entirely unaware of everything that just transpired between you both...

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ggumjjun · 2 years

Note

i don’t know if this is where you send submissions, if not i’m sorry.

but how do you think yeonjun would react to a partner who is still inexperienced. who naturally leans into submission and maybe fucks her into mating press for the first time. with some sweet praises + dirty talk ( thank you )

WTF IS WRONG W U how could u do this to me ughbhh i need himmmm

# yeonjun + innocence kink !!

tw. f!reader, corruption kink, marking, fingering, ruined orgasm, dirty talk, praise, unprotected sex, making out. minors dni + nsfw !!

a/n. goddamnit guess who tf went through their album of over 2k photos to find the right one of him for this he’s so FINE (also yes u found the right place for suggestions lol)

##############################

“don’t hide, darling.” a firm grip encloses your wrists, gently pulling them away from your chest, exposing your delicate skin. loving eyes survey your chest and neck, your face set alight as yeonjun licks his lips. “w-what are you g-going to do?” you whimper, embarrassed by his intense gaze, even through his glasses. “i think ill mark up your beautiful skin, make a mess of you.” a smirk crosses his features, relishing your innocent question. leaning down, he licks a long stripe from between your breasts to your collarbone, sucking lightly before biting down on your sensitive skin. a high pitched whine escapes from the back of your throat, an unfamiliar mix of shame and obscene pleasure sending heat to your core. smiling against your skin, yeonjun leaves heated kisses and nips across your chest, patches of red-purple love bite flowers blooming in his wake, hand finding your breast as he pinches your nipple, eliciting deliciously sweet mewls of arousal as you writhe in grasp, unable to handle the indecent touches.

“you’re so naughty, princess, encouraging me so cutely, ” yeonjun teases, licking your nipple as he reaches down between your legs, feeling the slick between your legs as you unintentionally buck your hips into his, “so wet and i haven’t done anything yet.” “ah!—n-not there! w-wait!” you wail, his fingers circling around, but not quite in your sopping cunt, “d-don’t want t-to be the only o-one!” “oh?” he laughs darkly, “only one in what?” “d-don’t want—“ you begin, only for yeonjun to teasingly pinch your clit, evoking a high pitched cry as you weep, burning with heat. “don’t want what, darling?” he whispers in your ear, warm breath tickling your earlobe. “d-don’t want to b-be the only one n-naked!” your cheeks flare in a blush as you struggle to convey your thought, shrinking under his amused gaze. “if you wanted to see me, you could have just told me, princess. so shy, aren’t you?” tugging off his shirt a single swoop, your face burns even more at the site of his sculpted torso, hands covering your eyes to avoid his taunting gaze. “thought you wanted to see me?”

a shocked squeal breaks free of your throat as two fingers slide into your heat, before he dangles them before your eyes, peeking between your fingers. obscenely dripping with your slick, coated from the tip to his knuckle. “look how wet you are, darling,” smirking at your flustered state, yeonjun slowly licks his fingers, maintaining his controlled eye contact with you as he sucks slightly at his fingertip, “such a dirty slut, pretending to be so innocent on the outside.” locking your wrists in an iron group, hands ripped away from your face as he pressed them into the sheets above your head. “told you, don’t hide yourself.” he sternly instructs, reaching for your cunt again with his free hand. salacious, sugar sweet sobs wrack your body as yeonjun pushes three fingers into your warmth, pussy clenching around them as he pumps in and out, pinching your clit, drawing out tears from your eyes.

sinful sounds of your slick sliding in and out of your cunt with his fingers, relentlessly stimulating your sensitive folds, sending electric streams of pleasure to your core. panting with arousal, your body rapidly approaches its high, pressure unbearable in your heat… until his fingers slide out, ruining your approaching orgasm as your cunt clenches around nothing, suddenly empty. “don’t recall saying you could cum, princess. such an impatient slut, trying to get away without me?” yeonjun looks down at your body, tears rolling down flushed cheeks, splotchy chest heaving with agony-filled sobs.

“beg for it.” he orders, savoring your apparent distress. “p-please j-jjun!” you gasp, teary and breathless with desperation. “words, darling.” “p-please l-let me c-cum! n-need y-your cock!” you whimper, face burning with humiliation at your neediness. “so easy, isn’t it, slut?” he whispers approvingly, sliding off his sweats and releasing your wrists, hands finding your knees as he pushes them towards your chest, “always going to give it when you ask so lewdly.” the tip of his angry red dick profs at your soaked entrance, teasingly rubbing your slit until he draws out your sweet sobs. tears stream down your face, cries filling the room as yeonjun sheathes himself into your pussy, your dripping slick easily lubricating your folds. “so tight,” he praises, “only for me.” racy sounds of skin against skin echoes throughout the room as he thrusts deep into your cunt, further than his fingers could ever reach. “s-so deep—n-need more, jjun!” moaning, breasts bouncing as he aggressively pounds into your abused cunt, pining you to the sheets by your legs pressed against your chest. lost in pleasure, your whines become incoherent as you sob for release, skin burning with need.

“j-jun! agh—c-can’t take a-anymore!” you wail. “g-god, so perfect for me,” he grunts, “cum for me, princess.” the knot in your stomach bursts as you cum, clenching tightly around his cock as your juices soak his length. “t-take it all, darling!” yeonjun pants, coating your walls white as he releases, letting go of your leg as he pulls out, stroking his dick to paint your folds white. swiping two long fingers up your abused cunt, he presses them against your lips. “taste yourself, slut.” he orders, controlled compared to your dazes, incoherent self. obeying, you lick his fingers, taking them into your mouth as you slide your tongue over his skin, swallowing the cum from his digits. “good girl,” yeonjun praises, gently taking your exhausted body between the crook of his elbow and chest as you suck on his fingers, intent on tasting your mixed cum off them. “such a slut for me,” removing his saliva drenchedfingers from your lips, he replaces them with his, tongues entangling in a erotic dance. “so in love with you,” he sighs as you lace your fingers with his, replying silently as heated kisses replace all need for words of affirmation.

##############################

this became soooo self indulgent, but HES SO HOT I CANT HELP IT uffffffffff help >< send more hard thoughts <3

#txt smut #yeonjun smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #txt x reader #txt scenarios #yeonjun x reader #txt x you #yeonjun x you #yeonjun hard hours #yeonjun hard thoughts #mille.anon #mille.requests

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futurecorps3 · 1 year

Note

hey babe, i am on my knees begging you pretty pls for a james x reader with big thighs and like a kinda chubby stomach you know??? pls i am begging so much 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐜𝐡𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐲!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Masterlist<3

MINORS STAY AWAY I'LL BLOCK EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU, THIS IS +18!!!

See also… All marauders versions in my marauders masterlist<3

I didn't quite know how to title this since it isn't exactly chubby reader but oh well. HAVING SAID THAT, JAMES IS SUCH A THIGS MAN. Thank you so much nonnie! My body type seems similar to this so this is very much me projecting<3 hope u like it

-Sorry for the strong start but he lives buried between your thighs

-Loves how plush they are!! When he goes down on you, he definitely bites them, squeezes them and makes you close them around his head<3.

-"Jamie I don't wanna hurt ya..." you giggle, seeing his eager hands pushing your thighs together "Oh shut it" barely audible because he's too busy taking care of you

-I've always imagined him being the one marauder with a car...

-HE HOLDS YOUR THIGH WHILE DRIVING UGH

-Gives mindless squeezes to them while taking turns, veiny, long fingers enclosing around the meat on your legs. PLEASE I'm melting.

-Teases you to no end if he's feeling frisky, raising his hand but not quite touching you where you need him

-"You alright there, darling?" glasses crooking slightly as he looks over to the side with a shit-eating smirk, kneading your inner thighs a bit too close to your- yeah.

-Not only while driving!! In class, in the common room, while eating dinner, in the library, when you wear jeans, when you wear skirts, when you're wearing nothing but panties and his jersey.

-He has to touch them.

-Loves how they look when you sit on his lap facing him!!!

-If you get self-conscious (because we all do sometimes), he has two solutions:

-Talk it out to see how he can help or make you sit on his face until you're brainless<3 your choice.

-Praise, praise, praise!!!

-"My pretty baby," "Doing such a good job," "Just relax. Let me take care of you, love." UGH.

-Adores using your tummy as a pillow in movie night with the marauders!!! He can't help himself, it's so soft like :(

-Lives for how you look in tight dresses that show your tummy and the top of your thighs

-Buys you a shit ton of those (partly bc he keeps tearing them up when you get time alone hehe)

-Flared, high-waisted jeans paired with long-sleeved crop tops are also his death sentence

-James Fleamont Potter can't go a day without absolutely drooling over how hot you are. It's a universal truth to him. He wholeheartedly believes there's no one as pretty as you!

-Laying on your thighs/tummy while you play with his hair<3

-Purposely buys skirts one size smaller than your size so they don't fit around your thighs and he can have a better look at them throughout the day

-Can't stop, won't stop for anyone except you.

-Again, if you feel uncomfortable with any of these, he'll gladly refrain. His unmeasured love for your body is just a part of your relationship!!

-If you like the attention, get ready because he'll live there and won't come out unless it's an emergency and, to be frank, very few things are an emergency to James Potter when he's squished between your tummy and thighs<3

#james potter x you #james potter fluff #james potter x reader #james potter #james potter x afab!reader #james potter fic #james potter headcanons #james potter fanfiction #james potter smut #james potter imagine #harry potter marauders #marauders era #maraurders #marauders x reader #marauders smut #the marauders era #the marauders

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maiverie · 1 year

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TRIAGE! ┊ a lee heeseung series — FINALE ♡

you try to teach the nerd how to date.

synopsis: heeseung is not, by any measure, date-able. he’s dorky, he’s nerdy, and he does this weird thing where he snorts loudly every time he laughs. in fact, he loves everything that normal people are allergic to — computer science, collecting rare comic books, and birdwatching on the weekend.

given that you two have obviously nothing in common, you find yourself utterly flabbergasted when you receive a letter in your locker, on which heeseung has written, "hi. will you please teach me how to date?"

MASTERLIST HERE !

kayla’s playlist (@/miiiwaa) ♡ my shitty og playlist . tags : #.*triage .

TAGLIST

@enhyflirt @dreamyenskz @icedcoffeesunwoo @ssolari @skazoo @jjunis @heejake-en @koroktsuya @jeongwins @tinykoi-s @en-boyz @soobin-chois @blessed-sky @jhyunieee @kisswon @vbxrin @cosmicsunghoon @bloomedberry @jungwonielove @miiiwaa @jungwoniee @lhsng @missharubear @deonuism @sarahxy537 @bambisgirl @hrrhmay-primaryblog @yeonzzun @msxflower @sunsunu @jangwonie @sweetjaemss @seungstarss @tokyoflies @solelyenha @softforqiankun @goodforgyu @va1ry @taekbokki @ashxxkook @moon-gyus @jakeified @markleeisdabestdrug @wccycc @viagumi @pisss111 @outrologist @fairfairee @hiqhkey @ctrlemis

chapter five (finale)

word count: 8k | navigation: previous / MASTERLIST warnings: swearing, (verbal) bullying a/n: final chapter; thank you so much for reading this far. sorry this took so long to get to you :(

‎‎‏‏‎ ‎

‘let’s have a little talk, you dweeb.’

heeseung had been backed into a corner.

while he often liked to reserve that idiom for metaphoric effect, he means it quite literally — ryujin and taehyun had literally backed him into a corner of a bedroom with no way out.

it was obvious he had stumbled across something he shouldn’t have.

ryujin and taehyun kissing? how disturbing.

if it were up to him, he truly wouldn’t have meddled in their business. however, the way they’re sneering at him leads him to believe that they think his actions were intentional. he wants to insist that no part of this was deliberate—that he was honestly just trying to find you—but tense silence circulates the trio and he has no inclination to speak first.

“who the fuck do you think you are?” ryujin punctuates the silence with her malice, making him inwardly wince. her hands find their way to her hips as she openly scowls with disdain. “god, you’re annoying.”

“i-i should go,” heeseung lowers his head, scratching the nape of his neck. “i didn’t mean to intrude,” he laughs nervously in an attempt to dispel their hostility, “i was just trying to find—”

“no, you should stay.” taehyun suggests, a smirk slithering to his lips. he rolls his head around his neck before sighing contently. “you should stay and play with us.”

play…?

heeseung physically recoils with horror, stomach twisting with unease. there’s something about taehyun’s predatory stare that flares goosebumps all the way across his arms. he realises that the most wise decision right now is to escape the enclosed space as soon as possible.

“sorry, i-i don’t want to keep my parents waiting,” he lies, lowering his head. “they’re downstairs.”

the two exchange impish glances.

“well, we won’t be long,” ryujin stifles a laugh before taking a seat on the bed. she folds one leg over the other, leaning back with her arms propped up. “since you were creeping on us, we thought you could exchange the favour and tell us all about your girlfriend.”

“girlfriend?” heeseung blinks. he doesn’t have a girlfr— oh.

miss sunset.

you? his… girlfriend?

as if.

“oh,” heeseung dips his head shyly. “n-no, you’re mistaken. she’s, um… she’s not my girlfriend.”

if he were being honest, he was kind of hoping to change that some day.

“what, so you guys haven’t fucked yet?” ryujin bats her lashes, a playful stare in her eyes.

heeseung’s brows instantly furrow, a frown on his lips. frankly, he was a little bugged by their vulgarity and the tone used to address you. this was the same type of contempt he noticed in other people in his life — like his aunt at her wedding, who pulled him aside and cautioned that ‘girls like that are foxes, heeseung! they’re nothing but trouble.’

it shouldn't matter, because they’re all wrong.

every single one of them.

they're wrong.

it boggles his mind that people can’t see what he sees.

then again, it can’t be helped that all the best things about you are what can’t be seen. sure, you’re so pretty that sometimes he can’t even meet your eyes properly, but you’re also warmer and kinder than you give yourself credit to be. you must not realise, but he notices the little things you do for him — like the way you clean his glasses when he places them down on the table to sleep; or the way you pretend you’re full so he can finish the rest of your lunch; or the way you scribble encouraging little notes and drawings on his textbooks when you know he has a long night of studying ahead of him.

it boggles his mind that some people may never have the privilege of peeking behind the curtain to see that you’re warm, and funny, and kind, and caring. you embody everything that his well-fitting nickname suggests. miss sunset — a blaze of colour; an explosion of soft yellows, bright oranges, fierce reds, pearly pinks and vibrant purples.

you’re a fiery kiss to the sky.

it’s both a shame and an honour that he’s able to keep you to himself.

“you know she likes you, right?” ryujin smirks, erecting from the bed.

heeseung’s eyes instantly round. “wh-what?”

“yeah,” she slowly slinks toward him. “she told me.”

“r-really?”

“duh. why wouldn’t she? we’re best friends,” ryujin scoffs, arms folded. “and i know her better than anyone. we’ve known each other since we were little kids, you know.”

heeseung notices that you don’t often talk about your relationship with ryujin and taehyun. you don’t really tell heeseung much about anything from your past, but he would certainly consider your old friendships to be the biggest elephant in the room. he doesn’t doubt that you were all once close friends, but he knows you haven’t been in contact with them for a while now. it’s obvious why, in his opinion — they’re mean-spirited people who enjoy sinking their claws into people and injecting poison.

they’re callous and vicious and hateful. they’re everything that you’re not.

‘best friends’? he felt insulted for you.

it was like trying to hold a candle to the sun.

“what… what was she like?” heeseung can’t help but ask, his stomach doing a little flip at the thought of you as a child. he knows he should probably leave the room, but the temptation runs too deep — he wants to consume everything about you.

what did your hair look like? what did your laugh sound like? did you prefer playing outside or staying inside? what made you smile during the day and what kept you up at night?

his heart began to thump at the thought of these answers before reluctance settled in.

was it wrong to wonder these many things about you?

was he allowed to be curious?

would that truly be okay — given that you were a goddess and he was next to nothing?

“cute,” ryujin replies, head bobbing. “she was cute.”

aha!

heeseung can’t help but smile profusely. “of course! i knew it,” he mumbles, blushing to himself. of course she was cute; beauty like that must have been obvious even at a young age.

ryujin’s razor-sharp stare remained. she seemed to study heeseung carefully before lowering her gaze. “she was also kind of mean, i guess,” she continued, inspecting her nails nonchalantly. “a bit of a bully.”

taehyun stifled a laugh at this, and they exchanged knowing glances as though they were indulging in an inside joke. “oh, yeah, i remember she once bullied that kid for sitting in her seat.”

bullied?

heeseung frowned, doubtful about their claims. he reminds himself that they’re both the type of people to embellish any story for their own entertainment. “you’re wrong,” he frowns. “she wouldn’t do something like that. sh-she’s not like you. she’s different.”

ryujin’s lips extend into a smile. “how well do you think you know her?”

his frown deepened. “better than you do.”

the pair instantly burst into cacophonous laughter that seems to poison the air in the room.

heeseung bites his bottom lip, feeling unease swirling around at the pit of his stomach.

“really?” ryujin defies him with a raised brow. “you really think you know her that well?”

he nods slowly.

“okay,” she tilts her head, “then where is she right now?”

heeseung’s eyes flicker to the ground. he didn’t know the answer to that question, but that wasn’t indicative of anything. “well, i-i don’t know, but… she’ll be back—”

“obviously, she ditched you. she left you, heeseung, it’s something we used to do a lot. we’d invite two or three suckers to a party, get them drunk as shit, and then make them entertain us for the next few hours.”

his eyes widened as he fell into momentary silence, forming as many rational justifications as he could. “but… i was the one who asked her to come with me. and… and you just told me that she… she likes me.”

ryujin rolled her eyes. “the only reason yuna invited you was because we thought it’d be funny. plus, don’t get me wrong — i’m sure she likes you, but don’t put any weight on that. it’s like how a person can like a helpless puppy. it’s pity; that’s all it is.”

“th-that doesn’t mean anything.” heeseung felt discomfort sprout inside his chest, branching insidiously in his lungs and up his throat. “that has nothing to do with her! she’s… she’s an angel.”

“really?” ryujin slithered over toward him and placed a hand on his shoulder, clenching it tightly to bring their faces close. “then why’d she tell us about that letter of yours?”

heeseung felt his heart drop to his feet. “wh-what?”

“the letter you left in her locker,” ryujin continued. “what did it say again? something like…” she pretended to brainstorm, tapping her chin with a finger. “oh! right… wasn’t it something like hi, will you please teach me how to date?” ryujin giggled as taehyun joined in snickering from behind.

his breathing quickened. the letter.

you told him you never told anyone about that.

did you lie?

maybe they’re bluffing — you wouldn’t do that. and even if you did lie, you would have definitely told heeseung afterward, right?

“the funniest part was the fact that you signed it off like the fucking virgin-loser you are. kind regards, lee heeseu—” they cackled again, this time even louder. they continued to banter with one another by echoing the contents of the letters.

heeseung felt himself shrink. hot tears burned his eyes as he felt their humiliation pile on and on as though they were determined in hammering him into the ground.

“oh my god,” ryujin laughed, wiping the tears from her eyes. “gee, thanks for tonight’s entertainment, heeseung,” she chuckles off the rest of her amusement, “i wish i took a photo of the letter or something. so that i could share it around with—”

“no!” heeseung cried as he swallowed the lump in his throat and began to enter a swivet of panic. “d-don’t! i-i—”

“you’re shaking like a leaf!” ryujin pouts, reaching to grab his shoulder before he flinches. “it’s okay. i won’t tell anyone. unlike your girlfriend, i know how to keep secrets,” she whistled. “say, heeseung… i’m keeping a lot of secrets these days, aren’t i?” she brushed his hair with her fingers.

“even yours.”

he stopped dead, chest rising up and down as he attempted to breathe. he tried to clear his tears with rapid blinking, but it only resulted in more tears replacing the previous ones.

“don’t worry. we’ve been nice. we haven’t told her your secret yet,” she winked.

yet?

“listen,” ryujin’s voice lowers, her finger lifting his chin so that he faces her. “i really don’t want to keep your parents waiting for too long, so i’ll say this: your girlfriend’s not a saint. she’s vicious in her own way. and if you hate us for the things we make you do, then you should hate her, too. why? because she and i are exactly the same — everything we’ve done to you, she’s done to someone else.”

“y-you’re… you’re wrong.” he turned away from her finger.

ryujin hummed once. “well, let’s face the facts.” her lips slowly lifted into a grin. “you’re alone right now, heeseung. she’s not even here. she left you. i saw her get in the car and leave just earlier. go ahead and look outside if you don’t believe me.”

heeseung’s gaze flickered to the ground.

“but anyway,” ryujin whirls around and exchanges a smile with taehyun. “we gotta go… we wouldn’t want to stay out too late since we have an early morning, right?” she smirks. “we’ll see you tomorrow, heeseung. at the police station.”

“wh-what? why?”

“because someone ratted us out,” taehyun chimes in, eyes rolling. “so we’ll keep your secret so long as you do one more favour for us.”

you can have your puzzle back. i don't want it anymore.

“you can have your puzzle back.” your little sun says, his voice lowering into a register so low that you almost miss it. “i don’t want it anymore.”

the room remained dark as heeseung’s words hung like ghosts in dead silence.

it was deafening, the way his whisper was the softest sound you’d ever heard. you were holding your breath, fearing a reality in which i don’t want it anymore meant something beyond what you could hear at face value.

“i don’t want your stupid gift,” he croaks, burying his face in his hands, stifling a sob. “j-just… please, just leave me alone.”

finding him sitting in the dark room alone and crying made your heart shatter. it was easy to confront the idea that ryujin or taehyun had hurt him, but you weren’t equipped to face the possibility that it might have been you. the distance he was creating between the two of you allowed your inner antagonisms to fester — your chest tightened with unease, exacerbated by the pressure of fear expanding within you.

“h-heeseung,” you blurted in surprise, your throat so parched that it forced you to swallow and brace yourself for what felt like impending heartbreak. “why…”

you were so stunned that it honestly felt as though time had stopped moving for a moment. you allowed space to pour between the two of you — you let a beat pass, then two, then three, then four, and with each one that scurried by, you grew more and more apprehensive that he wasn’t going to retrace his steps. you thought there was a chance he’d backpedal his words and tell you they’d sprung from his chest in the heat of the moment, but instead, he let you soak in abject misery.

your heart sank. above everything, you were terrified — he was slipping away from you like dust between your fingertips. it wasn’t long before tears followed — they blurred your vision, no matter how many times you’d tried to dismiss them with your hands.

“h-heeseung?” you called his name softly and hoped to peel his fingers away from his face, but he flinched at your touch. in every attempt you make in closing the distance, you find that heeseung draws a line between you; each harsher than the last. he recoils at your touch, shrivels at the sound of your voice, and offers you nothing but a view of his back that shields you away.

he was cowering from you.

it made you feel ill. sick. like the taste of bile was rising to your mouth and leaving an acidic, ghostly burn in your throat. bit by bit, your resolve was crumbling like a house of cards.

“tell me what’s wrong,” you begged him, crouching before him on the carpet though he curled away from you. “i promise i’ll fix it, okay? i’ll fix everything.”

“y-you can’t,” he sniffled.

you felt your throat constrict. “why not?”

“because…” heeseung finally lifted his head, and the moment your eyes locked with his bloodshot ones, it felt as though his fear, hurt, and pain ricocheted back to you tenfold and struck you like a stab to the heart. he sniffled again. “because you lied,” you saw his eyes well with tears again, “and i lied, and—” his voice became smaller. “all we do is lie to each other.”

perhaps this was what you’d always feared — that you were going to be the one to break him.

after all, you had a tendency to do precisely that. you can’t even count the number of times you’d accidentally shattered the dishes in the kitchen that your mother adored so dearly. or the number of bones you’d broken during wild dares from late nights. or the countless number of fractured friendships in your life because you never really struggled with breaking — whether they were dishes, or bones, or promises, or hearts.

was he another?

was heeseung just another one of those things you were always bound to break?

“please leave,” his voice was becoming softer, and softer, and softer, further eclipsed by his cries. you could tell he was struggling to make out his words. you could also tell that he was being honest.

you’ve never had anyone beg you like this before.

“okay,” you whisper, tears littering the carpet. “i’ll leave.”

unable to look at him any further, you twist on your heels. you do what you do best — you run. you run down the stairs and out the house and run and run and run, ashamed that this story has unfolded the exact way anyone could have predicted.

he hates you, you may love him, and neither of you are puzzle pieces that fit together.

perhaps heeseung was right; perhaps you truly are sunrises and sunsets, because alike parallel lines, the two never meet.

perhaps heeseung never taught you to heal after all. perhaps broken bones and hearts can never properly heal, the same way cuts and grazes may leave permanent scars on our bodies. perhaps your body did what it could to fix what broke, but it only took one gust of wind to retrace old scars and re-break what will always remain broken.

you’ve never been very good with your emotions.

you constantly misrepresent them.

you smile when you’re sad, frown when you’re happy, say things you don’t mean and omit the words that you resonate deepest with.

after the party, you cried like you have never cried before. it was a foreign, almost out-of-body experience. every emotion exploded and pierced through the thin surface they were bubbling beneath. your scathing tears had soaked everything — your eyes, your cheeks, and your pillow late through the night. the worst of it was the heaviness inside your chest that ceased to subside, one so hefty that it was the reason you felt like you were sinking to the bottom of an ocean.

it was only until the next morning that anger, the emotion you consider to be the easiest to wear, brought you the energy to pay a visit to ryujin. you were going to get the answers to all your questions.

after all, that was what you’d learned over the years — anger is the only emotion that gets you answers.

which is why you began with ruthlessly banging your fist on her front door.

“open the door, ryujin!” you bellow.

bang! bang! bang!

what could she have possibly said to heeseung?

bang! bang! bang!

why? why was it that ryujin was so insistent on butting in your life?

bang! bang! bang!

was this some form of karmic reparation? was the universe simply rescinding what should have never been yours in the first place?

you didn’t know what you were going to do. or say, for that matter. yet here you were, desperately trying to claw your way up to the surface where the sun kisses the water. to hell you were going to let this heaviness make you sink and give ryujin the satisfaction.

with no response on the other end, you began to kick the door now.

bang! bang! bang!

“i said, open this fucking d—”

it finally swings open.

“are you fucking nuts?” ryujin shrieks from the other side, face contorted with outrage and disbelief. she glances at the door before openly gaping at you. “what the hell? you’re going to break the fucking do—”

you waste no time in lunging toward her. you shove her with both hands, thrusting her so far behind that she lurches back and stumbles onto the floor. while sprawled on the ground, ryujin instantly snaps her head up at you and scowls. “what the fuck is wro—”

yet again, you don’t give her much time to react. you step toward her, making her scramble back before her back hits the wall. as the distance between the two of you closes, you crouch in front of her and roughly push the side of her head with a finger.

“what, ryujin?” you smirk vindictively. “did that hurt?”

her chest sharply rises heavily when she meets your icy glower. “get out.”

though she attempts to pick herself up from the floor, you harshly grip her shoulder and force her back down. you reach over and tap her cheek condescendingly, your voice now a lowly whisper.

“how funny,” you scoff, head tilted. “i thought i told you to stay out of my life.”

she grits her teeth. “i said, get out.”

“why should i? you’re the one who keeps insisting on getting involved in my shit.”

“you’re batshit.” she gapes at you. “is this about that dweeb?”

“his name is heeseung.” you snap at her, bunching the collar of her shirt in your fist. you yank her toward you, your other fist lifted and curled.

ryujin barks out a dry laugh when her eyes flit to the sight of your fist. “you’re going to punch me?” she snickers again in disbelief. the sight of her grin makes your fist tighten under her shirt. anger. you felt your anger simmer at cautionary temperatures and slowly branch up in your neck to your face.

“what did you do to him?” you grit your teeth, breathing slowly to control your emotions.

it was difficult, because you felt as though she relished at the sight of your anger. she must have recognised your most familiar emotion and felt as though you had shifted back into becoming your old self. you saw it in the way her lips curled, and the way her brows had lifted, and most notably, in the way her eyes paraded a small, tiny, starry glint that conveyed her amusement.

it made you wonder if she was doing this all intentionally.

just to get a reaction out of you.

just to get something.

“it wasn’t exactly what we did to him,” she smirked. “it was what he did to himself, really.”

“where’s taehyun?” you reach over and slowly comb your fingers through her hair, before closing your fist and grasping a bundle of her strands, jerking her head backwards. “i want him to see your face all battered up. you know, before i beat the living shit out of him, too.”

she sneers at you. “why don’t you ask heeseung? i’m sure he’ll know exactly where taehyun is.”

you narrow your eyes at her. “what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“they’re probably together right now.”

heeseung and taehyun? together?

you scoff. “what?”

she stifles a laugh, and there it is again — that glint. like a tiny star amidst a midnight canvas. you could feel the anger grow like an inferno within you. that glint was pestering you; it was almost begging for you to reach over and extinguish it. you grip her hair harsher, this time yanking her head backward.

she yelps as you pin her down with a glower. “tell me where.”

she hisses at the pain of your grip on her hair and narrows her eyes. “police station, obviously,” she spat with a glare.

her eyes met yours, where your confusion must have been evident. those midnight eyes turned with patronising pity. “wow,” she remarked sarcastically. “the idiot still hasn’t told you.”

“ryujin,” you lean toward her and hiss slowly, with the intended effect that each syllable augments your hostility, “say one more thing about him and i’ll bash your skull against the cement.”

“now tell me,” you hiss, “what are they doing at the police station?” though your words appeared to be laced with composed venom, the truth remained that your heart had begun to drum. everything was coming at a surprise — you couldn’t imagine what would ever bring heeseung to a police station, though you could enumerate a thousand reasons for taehyun.

“like i said, heeseung did it to himself.”

not satisfied with her answer, you yank her hair again and this time she attempts to strike you with her free arm, but you grab her wrist and desist her from doing so. she winces when you pull her hair tighter, prompting her to quickly open her mouth and elaborate. “okay, okay!” she cries. “he was the one who agreed to take the drug test for taehyun!”

your lips drop into a frown. “what?”

“then the police found out, okay?” she seethed. “we needed him to come in and deny everything. happy?”

you stopped in confusion. what the hell was she talking about? as you sifted through the many thoughts that raced in your mind, you finally froze when you began to comprehend the situation.

you remember now. it was that day — the day you’d first met heeseung in the school hallway, when taehyun had set his eyes upon and sunken his claws into his latest victim.

taehyun was a drug user, and when he was finally caught by the school, he was mandated to perform probationary urine tests. he constantly evaded these tests by intimidating somebody into giving him fake samples. this was common practice, and it just so happened that heeseung was his chosen victim the day you two had first met.

heeseung never told you that.

he never told you that he went through with it.

“i mean, maybe if he’d kept his mouth shut or done a better job at peeing in a fucking cup, things wouldn’t be like this. in saying that, whose fault is it really?” ryujin rambled on, rubbing salt to the wound as your anger multiplied. “it was still fun at least. especially when we got to talk about you.”

your hand balled into a tighter fist.

“me?” you pin her down with a dark gaze. “what the fuck did you say about me?”

she shrugs smugly. you watched as a sly smile slithered to her lips and her eyes pooled with shiny darkness. “nothing that wasn’t true.”

your heart drops to your feet.

“you know, it’s funny,” ryujin stifles a laugh, “because he denied it at first. said that you were…” she lifts her hands and uses her fingers to show quotation marks, “different.” you felt your anxiety pierce and gush into your stomach. “we laughed in his face. different, my ass. you didn’t tell him, did you? that you’re actually as much of a piece of shit as we are. he even called you an angel, you know that?”

angel.

“so we decided to set the record straight and we told him what he had the right to know.” she giggled. “you didn’t forget, did you?”

you stared.

“the letter,” she reminds you. “he was so embarrassed i think that was when he started to cry.”

you froze.

the letter.

fuck.

you wanted nothing more than to run to heeseung and clarify the misunderstanding as best that you could. you wanted to talk to him. hold him. apologise and tell him you’d never intentionally hurt him. that it was an accident — that you lied, yes, but you just didn’t want him to feel embarrassed at that time. that it was a lapse in judgement.

but for some reason, something holds you back.

anger.

anger holds you back.

the thing about anger is that while it may be your most familiar emotion, it is also the most paralysing of them all. and when it’s combined with resentment, it becomes insidious. the reality about anger is that it exists only in the absence of control, a dangerous condition to find yourself in.

nevertheless, you feel that way.

you feel out of control.

helpless. angry. frustrated.

why? because that glint is still there. the gleaming, ostentatious star in her eyes that flounces around in her own delight. mocking you.

ryujin is staring at you expectantly, anticipating your reaction.

you know that she’s waiting for you to punch her. to show her you prefer fists over words. to show her you have not changed in the slightest. everything she has done is aimed to get a rise out of you; she doesn’t care about anything else but avenging the fact you had tossed your friendship to the side — that you had tossed her aside.

in this moment, you realise that no matter how hard you try, you know that ryujin has won. she doesn’t even need to try very hard to show you that you will never be able to change into a better person. your efforts have come to naught. even now, you are held by anger; you want it to control you — even if it means reversing everything heeseung had taught you about not acting upon your impulses; about not fighting fire with fire.

you wonder how heeseung would react if he found out what you’d done today. that you’d allowed anger to override you and that you had already used your hands on ryujin.

you pushed her, shoved her to the ground and pulled her hair without a second thought.

after all, you’d proven her right — you are still the same person.

how would he react?

these very thoughts loosen your grip on ryujin’s collar.

you slowly retract your hands from her, feeling the heaviness inside your chest gnaw at you. why are you stooping to her level? as you swallow and salvage whatever amount of sense you have left, you shake your head and slowly rise to your feet.

if heeseung saw you now, he’d probably be scared.

he’d probably see them in you.

your sudden withdrawal makes ryujin freeze. she seems taken off guard. she watches you suspiciously as you attempt to compose yourself, noticeably irked by your lack of response. “you’re… not going to hit me?” she hesitates, sitting up slowly.

“ryujin, you and i are done.” you attempt to stabilise your shaky breaths. for some reason, focusing on heeseung helps your mind from spinning. he’s your anchor and when you use him as your moral compass, he brings the clarity you need. “for real this time.”

“what?” ryujin splutters with disbelief. she pauses, openly gawking. “what the fuck?” she scrambles to her feet and storms over toward you before abruptly shoving you into the door — the impact thunders down your spine and instantly releases a grunt from you, head spinning.

“hit me!” she taunts you by sneering in your face. “i made your little boy cry. hit me.”

“if he wanted me to, i honestly would,” you spit at her. “you should thank him you’re not bleeding out right now.”

she yells as you storm away from her house and it occurs to you that there’s really only one person you want to see right now.

you want to tell him that he was right.

you are different from ryujin after all.

and you will do whatever it takes to stray further and further away from being anything remotely similar.

‘you never know.’ ‘you might wake up one day and find that the sun is gone.’ ‘and then it’s like, poof — no more sunsets.’

heeseung was right.

the day you two had first met, you laughed and called him a loser for taking photos of the sunset. after all, he was attempting to immortalise something that was already a cosmic promise.

honestly, you didn’t get it.

what was the point of taking a photo of something he could see every day?

you realise now that he was right all along – it really was possible to wake up one day and find the sun gone.

everybody just has a different idea of what the sun is to them. for you, yours disappeared when you realised heeseung was doing whatever it took to avoid you over the weekend.

your texts were left unanswered.

calls were sent to voicemail.

he was shutting you out.

you tried to visit his house on sunday morning, but his mother faced you with a regretful smile and asked you not to come in. you didn’t know what else you could do because he seemed to close down every avenue you pursued.

you were so eager on monday morning to see him at school. you were an hour and a half early as you roamed everywhere, attempting to control your nerves. you didn’t know whether or not you should have waited at the school entrance, or by his locker, or just outside the classroom door.

it didn't matter, because he was late.

you were already halfway through the day when you had almost given up, though you got your first glimpse of him in days when he had finally showed up.

he looked almost as horrible as you did.

the darkness under his eyes had grown. his brown hair was fluffy and in plain disarray compared to how he usually styled it. his eyes were so puffy that it looked like he’d been crying all weekend, the same way you had. you tried to catch his eyes, but he didn’t return your gaze and instead slid into his desk quietly with his shoulders slumped.

there was a pang in your chest. his appearance made guilt expand within you.

did you do the impossible? did you break the sun and make it rain?

when class finished, you waited outside the door and stopped him when he tried to leave. it was only then that he finally looked back at you and you felt your heart stop. it took you all the strength to not cry, so you snaked a hand around his wrist and led the way to the school’s court garden.

“heeseung,” you faced him when you both stopped at a quiet place inside the open garden. his gaze was affixed to the grass beneath his shoes, so you took a deep breath and let the words flow from your chest.

“heeseung, i’m so sorry for lying to you about the letter.”

he didn’t reply.

it stung to hear silence on the other end because you weren’t used to it. you were used to heeseung’s warmth; his smiles, his laughs, and the bright stars in his eyes. instead, he seemed to have retreated back into a shell of dejection.

you gulped and fiddled with your hands. “i-i should have told you the truth. ryujin saw it, yes, but it wasn’t because i showed her. i-i just… she was there when i found it in my locker. that’s it. it’s not an excuse for lying, but i promise i would never intentionally embarrass you.”

you waited for his response and still found silence. this was when panic slowly crept up inside you.

“i-i really fucked up when i lied to you. i just didn’t want to embarrass you, and the more time that went on, the weirder it felt to bring it up. but i should have told you the truth. i’m sorry, heeseung.”

there was a pause before he finally lifted his head.

“stop apologising,” he whispered so gently you almost missed it.

“wh-what?”

“it was here,” he tucked his bottom lip between his teeth and roamed the area with his eyes. “i-i think it was here when you told me to stop apologising to people. you said i said sorry too much.”

god, you felt relief in your chest, it felt nice to hear his voice again. you were worried he might never talk to you again.

as you briefly considered his answer, you glanced around and recognised the bench you two had sat on when he’d tried to confess to lia. he was right — it was exactly here that you two had your first real conversation. your stomach twisted. he always remembers everything.

“i’m really sorry for ignoring you over the weekend.” heeseung finally returned your stare, and once your eyes had met, you felt your heart squeeze at the sight of misery in his pretty eyes. you hate the sight of him like this. this must be one of the worst things you’ve ever done. you wanted nothing more than for the rain to stop and the clouds to pave way for your sunshine.

“i-i just needed some space,” he continued gently. “and actually… mom thought it was a better idea for her to take my phone, so i didn’t see your texts.”

“oh,” you replied, noticing the distant tone in his voice. “it’s okay, heeseung. i understand.”

“but, um… i did a lot of thinking,” he says, smiling weakly.

you smiled back, though trepidation edged along your nerves. “o-okay.”

his eyes diverted to the side. “i… i wasn’t sad over the weekend because of the letter. i—” you saw his eyes flicker upwards toward the sky, as though he was attempting to contain his tears. “i-i think… i was just upset because…” he bit on his lips as you watched him deliberate over his next words. your heart was beating faster and faster at the possibility this may be the last conversation you ever have with him. it was selfish, but you didn’t know if that would be manageable for you.

because even if he didn’t need you, you needed him.

“because i didn’t tell you about taehyun,” his lips fell into a sad frown. “thing is, i… i was really embarrassed about it. and… well, i-i…” he took a deep, shaky breath.

you knew he was gathering as much courage as he could to speak with you.

“i just really, really, really hate embarrassing myself in front of the person that i like.”

he finally looked up at you and everything in you stopped. blood felt like the crackling of lightning in your veins. every other sound seemed to dull into a deafening silence.

“to clarify, th-that’s you. y-you’re the person that i like. a lot. i like you really a lot— that... doesn’t make sense,” he winced at himself, eyes shut tightly. “i’m sorry, i… i sound so stupid right now.” he slumped his shoulders.

“heeseung, i—”

“wait. p-please let me continue,” he looked up at you through his glasses and you fell straight into his deer-like eyes.

“okay,” you whispered. “go on.”

“i… i just want to be good enough for you,” he finally admitted and you felt everything around you crash. him? good enough for you? he already was; he was more than enough. you were the one struggling to catch up with him. “be someone you can depend on. someone you can trust and be proud of.”

“heeseung,” you step toward him and clasp his hands with yours, forcing him to look back at you. “you’re right. you really do sound stupid.”

“h-huh?” he peered up at you as you saw panic flicker like disco lights in his eyes. “i-i’m sorry, i… i just wanted to come clean and not lie to you anymore. i’m really sorry for pressuring you, i—”

“no,” you shook your head, silencing him immediately. “it’s not because of that.”

you dropped his hands and slid yours in the spaces under his arms where you could wrap around his waist and embrace him into a tight hug. he instantly froze while you allowed yourself to melt into him, your face in his chest.

“fuck,” you mumbled against his uniform, inhaling the scent of his laundry powder. “i missed you like crazy.”

his heart was hammering inside his chest and you squeezed yourself tighter, finding solace in the synchronicity of your beat with his.

“two days and i felt like i was going insane,” you gripped his blazer tightly, “i… i thought you hated me.”

“hate you? n-no way…”

a stupidly wide smile stretched across your lips. slowly, you noticed heeseung was beginning to return your embrace. his arms slowly found their way to your back, and once they rested on your body, you allowed yourself to take a proper breath, engraving memories associated with his scent.

“i like you too, dummy,” you mumbled against the fabric. “ceaselessly. probably way more than you like me.”

“you—”

“yes, me.”

“y-you… you really like me? for real?”

when you release him, his bewildered expression makes you instantly erupt into a fit of laughter. he seems to take this as an indication that you’re messing him because of the way lips return into a point.

“are you kidding?” you scoffed playfully, grabbing his face and cradling it with both hands, his soft skin against yours. “you make it ridiculously easy to.”

“a-are you serious?” he pointed to himself, lashes batting innocently. “you really like me? me? heeseung? you like lee heeseung? you know i’m heeseung, right?”

you stare, astounded by his reaction. “you’re crazy.”

“no, i just told you i’m heeseung,” he deadpanned.

idiot. “yes, heeseung. you. i like you like crazy. it’s sickening how much i do.”

heeseung watched you expressionless for a moment before you watched his face explode with sunshine. speckles of gold dust returned to his eyes and twinkled like constellations. his smile swept his face and instantly made your heart thump out your ears.

“you’re not lying, right? you really like me? and it’s definitely because of my bowties, right?”

you almost wanted to groan aloud and slap yourself in the face, but you stifled down this desire and shook your head instead. sickening, you thought to yourself. his sunshine is so sickeningly sweet.

and if there’s one thing about you — it’s that you have a sweet tooth; and heeseung is a taste you have been dying to have.

“yes. it’s definitely the bowties. they’re basically chick magnets,” you remarked, a smirk forming. “do you know what happens to chick magnets?”

heeseung quickly shook his head.

you smiled. “they get devoured.”

heeseung’s brows slightly furrowed, his head tilted to the side in what appeared to be confusion. he blinked, not quite understanding your implication.

“in other words, i’m going to kiss you.”

that, he understood.

heeseung’s eyes instantly rounded like saucers. “h-huh?”

“i know you heard me,” you took a step toward him, circling your arms around the back of his neck to ring him in close. he blushed at the proximity, and if you were being honest, so did you.

frankly, you were more nervous than you’d thought you would be. this was the fastest and hardest you’d ever felt your heart beat; it almost threatened to leap up through your throat.

perhaps it was because heeseung was an expert at annihilating everything you thought you knew about yourself. he was great at that: showing you that you were much further from who you thought you were, and close to who you thought you could never be. there were no more first, second, third, and fourth experiences anymore. just a life before him and after him.

when you felt his breath nearing and the heat from his chest, you thought your head spun for a moment. it felt as though the distance between your lips were simultaneously the closest and farthest distances apart. it wasn’t until he sighed – a release of just the faintest, softest breath — that the sound swept through your chest like a hurricane, and you felt everything within you topple over.

your whole body sank forward into his and you kissed him. you shut your eyes and did what you feared most — you opened up your heart to him and let everything you had within you flow out so that he could feel every inch of your warmth and sincerity. you led the movement first, noticing the way he tried to mimic your movements. he was slow and uncertain at first, until he followed through with what felt right.

when he began to kiss you back, it felt like fireworks shattered within you. you instantly softened when he looped his arms around your waist and hugged you tightly, because there was no safer feeling than being in his arms.

you knew it.

heeseung is good at everything he tries.

when the kiss deepened, you thought he tasted like he fell from the clouds and the stars. like stardust and eternity and endlessness. you liked the taste of that. all you’ve ever known are temporary people, the leaving and the waiting and the hoping, so it makes all the more sense when you crumble and melt at the taste of forever and focus on carving this memory onto your soul.

you couldn’t deny it any further — you were falling in love with him. in fact, you’d fallen down a slippery slope that led you into a pit with no way of crawling yourself out.

when your lips pull away, you’re both panting for a proper breath. it isn’t until your eyes meet that the world stops moving and something warm ignites like a candle.

you allowed time to pass you by as your eyes raked every feature of his face; drinking in his beauty, indulging in the rare moment you were able to admire him so closely. you felt bewitched by the way the sunlight gently radiated his features; they shone through the sky and struck him like a spotlight, even in broad daylight. being this close to him brought forward all of his prettiest, most finely drawn features – the mole on the left side of his lips, his long, wispy lashes, and the slight scrunch of his brows.

you should’ve stopped, but you couldn’t, because he was prettier the longer you stared.

time slowed while you were slipping further and further into an enchanting spell.

falling.

you always hated that — the sensation of falling. being out of control; being helpless. but somehow, with heeseung it felt different — you were falling through time and space and the stars and the sky and everything in between. it was really beautiful.

you’ve been falling for days and weeks and what felt like lifetime across lifetimes. you fell until it no longer felt like falling, but flying.

“heeseung, you’re really bad at kissing, you know that?”

you felt so bad when his entire face fell and he looked at you with complete horror. “wh-what?”

you placed a finger on his lips to keep him from talking. “since you’re so bad, i think you need a few more lessons,” you smiled. “let’s ditch school and go to back to mine. you know, for education’s sake.” you winked.

heeseung tucked his bottom lip between his teeth, smiling shyly. “o-okay.”

fin.

a/n: and then they went home and watched Star Wars :) ANYWAYS. guys u do not understand I actually went thru 32842378 cycles of frustration, anger, and giddiness while trying to wrap this series up. I'm not lying when I say I have about 6 different versions of this chapter, but I decided to keep it simple and straight to the point because ultimately that's what I felt triage was all about :) if you came here looking for genuine dating tips& got lost im sorry i can’t help u cos I'm in my healing era (subtext: literally no man wants me). but anyways I hope this series brought you a little bit of joy some way or another. I honestly had the best time writing it ^^ all the best! hope i to see u in my future works too! thanks for reading! love u so much! <3 (also feedback would be vv nice if u have the time!) MWAH

also, i’ll probably write bonus chapters every time i miss this story so lmk if u wanna be tagged in those ^^

back to masterlist.

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pixeechix21 · 11 months

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Bet you won't

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x reader

dedication from one Konig bestie to one Ghost bestie.💀🥰

Summary: he’s fucking mad at you, and it’s time for you to learn how to take an order

TW:gun play, dominant, DEGRADATION kink, rlly rough, in front of a MIRROR, pinv

He’s absolutely fucking furious with you. You can tell how he is shouting your name through the hall as you quickly walk away from him in the opposite direction trying to avoid him. “Sergeant L/n! Get your ass here right fucking now!” he roars. His heavy boots echoe in the empty hallway you can’t out do his long strides. Within seconds he grabs you and drags you into an interrogation room, the door clicking shut.

“Lieutenant,” you say stiffly, yanking your arm away, distancing yourself. Behind his mask his eyes flare with rage, “How could you jeopardize the team like that!” he barks, stepping to you. You're scared as his powerful body shadows over you. “I didn’t mean to, the opening was there I could’ve gotten it if you hadn’t interfered,” you spit back your own hatred growing within you. The walls of the room seem to be coming in around you, suffocating you causing an unbearable heat to crowd your skin.

“You could’ve gotten the team killed. You could’ve been killed,” this time the restraint in his voice makes you flinch, turning your head away from him. He can’t stand the thought of anyone hurting you let alone you dying. He knows that he’s compromised because of how desperately he feels for you, but it can’t be helped, he tells himself, it’s meant to be.

“I’m sorry Lieutenant,” you say, “but there was no need. I was fine, now we’ve lost the drive.” you get out frustrated at your failure.

His gloved hand takes your jaw and forces it to look at him, “look at me directly if you’re going to disrespect me, love,” his eyes are furrowed, challenging you. You gulp as he encloses you in, between him and the desk. “I should have you reassigned.”

“Do it.” You retaliate, you’re testing him as you stand between his legs looking up at him with a matching glare.

“I should show you who the fuck is in charge here Sergeant,” he nears. His grip lowers to your throat, “Show you just how much you need to learn to take an order.” heat rushes to your core as he says quietly, almost as if he’s weighing how much he should make you.

“Bet you won't,” you say pettily, jutting out your jaw rebelliously. “Wouldn’t want me to do something I shouldn’t,” his eyes flick to your lips as you talk. Not a single thought goes through his head besides how you look below him. “We wouldn’t want me to be reckless now do we?” you lean up, lips so dangerously close.

He takes a second assessing the situation before he growls out, “I need yes sir from you.” he closes the gap between you, sparks and heat shoot through your nerves as he kisses you. He eats your sigh like a famished man. He uses his legs to open yours wider so that your bodies are flushed together. In the kiss, the way he tugs at your hair, how he steals your soul just by kissing you, you can feel the pent-up anger and frustration letting loose. Breaking apart he says, “I am bloody fuckin’ furious with you Love,” he yanks your head back, breathing out into your mouth “I am going to make you never disobey me again, you hear me?”

Playfully you bite his bottom lip, your fingers hooking his belt loops to pull him closer. “Only if you ask nicely,” you smile against his mouth. He lets out a harsh laugh. Before you know it your cheek is pressed down, “I thought you Brits are meant to be polite,” you groan as you feel the cold barrel press into the back of your head.

“Trust me, I’m going to be anything but,” he leans over you. And you can feel his dick through his pants forcing you to wiggle your ass against him. “Especially when you’re being such a brat,” his large hands grip your hips, grinding into you. He starts to snake his hand to the front of you, his fingers going in, under your panties to feel the wetness between your folds. You melt into the metal table. “Wet just for me,” he smirks. You look into the one-way window's reflection. He goes on tutoring you as he takes you to your climax, you moan out seeing your eyes flutter, arching and grinding your ass further. “Let's see how you take my dick,” he yanks your pants down, palming your ass roughly. He uses his feet to widen your stance, groaning in approval. You hear the zipper then with no warning, he slams into you with pure unadulterated hatred. You roll your eyes, as you lurch forward on the table. He fists your hair, gun to your head as he lifts your face up, “Look at yourself. Getting fuckin railed and punished for being a brat,” he huffs out as his thrusting fastens even more.

You glance up to see yourself in the mirror, his large frame dominating yours as you lay flat on the table. “What a beautiful fucking mess,” he moans as you gasp for air under him. He slaps your ass, then instantly soothes it with a rough massage. He is losing all his control as he fucks into you. He places the gun next to your head so that he can push your head onto the table to steady himself. You nearly cry from pain as he stretches you, not caring that it hurts you. In that moment he did not care, he wanted to show you that you are his, and that he can take you whenever, that you deserve this. “God love this cunt is bloody tight,” you forget about everything- letting yourself be at one with how his body feels, the electricity coursing through your blood fueling your newfound need to be held by Ghost- you shake uncontrollably as your knees give out and, your sight darkens, as the strongest climax crashes into you.

“Oh my, oh fuck Simon!” You let out, crumbling in his arms as he lifts you up to finish himself. “I said it’s Lieutenant or yes sir for you,” he pumps in and out with each word, each one harder than the last. You can feel him as he comes inside, the throbbing of his dick, and how it twitches as he pulls it out. You slump onto the table deflated by the arduous effort, trying to recover from that. You sigh out, “yes sir,” as he wipes your hair out of your face.

#smut #fem!reader #simon riley x oc #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #cod smut #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #ghost call of duty #cod mwii #simon riley #simon riley x you #kinktober #call of duty

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cinnamongorll · 4 months

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a fragile line - chapter 33

read on ao3! (153k words) | previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

Series tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse, eventual smut.

Series synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Warnings: animal death. threats of cannibalism. gore.

Word count: 6.4k

Chapter 33

Juliet’s POV:

Juliet hadn’t noticed the men who clung to the side of the building like dark moss. She didn’t see the sight that had made Joel pause. But Juliet saw, with the harshest of clarity, the back end of the shotgun as it assaulted Joel’s temple.

Mouth open in a silent display of horror, Juliet watched as his body crumpled to the ground like paper in a tight fist.

The self preservation that guided her for many years and protected her like a sure compass was nowhere to be found. She didn’t look to her left to find Joel’s attacker. She didn’t even raise her gun, instead, it slipped through her fingers and hit the ground with a sound that never reached her ears.

Juliet didn’t hear herself scream for him but she felt her lips form his name.

Why wasn’t he listening to her? Why wasn’t he moving?

Her skin was numb by the time the first man touched her skin, gripping her wrists and roughly pulling them behind her body before a rope enclosed around them again, again, blocking her blood flow. But Juliet felt nothing. The men around her didn’t exist. They couldn’t exist, because if they did, and that rope around her wrists was real too, then that meant that Joel… that Joel…

No, no no no NO.

“Get up, Joel,” Juliet demanded, her voice hard, mimicking his past commands. “Get up,” she continued when he still didn’t move, louder this time. “Get up. Get up. Get up. GET UP,” Juliet begged.

She tried to drop to her knees, tried to crawl to him. But the men around her had hands under her arms, keeping her upright. Juliet just writhed and bared her teeth, seething like a woman possessed.

Why wouldn’t they let her crawl to him?

Through her burning vision, Juliet watched in cold, biting horror as hands were shoved under Joel’s arms and his motionless body was lifted into the air.

She was screaming again then his feet began to drag against the ground.

Why wasn’t he moving? Why wasn’t he moving? Why wasn’t he -

Juliet couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think, she couldn’t feel anything beyond stunned terror.

Take me with him! She wanted to scream. And maybe she did scream it. Maybe she couldn’t stop screaming.

Sharp heat and a welcome numbness hit her cheek. Too slowly, Juliet’s head tilted towards the hand that slapped her. Her eyes widened when she realised that she knew the man the hands belonged to. Juliet scrambled her confused mind for his name as recognition flared within her. The man had become almost synonymous with her father when she was young; he watched her from corners and lingered in open doorwards as her father hurt her. And he was always first in line when her father opened their game up to other players.

John, Juliet remembered.

“What’re you doing back here, Juliet?” John’s sneering voice asked as the hand that slapped her now gripped her chin, tilting her chin up to meet his face.

Through her hazy mind, she felt his breath coat her cheek and she blinked up at his, too thin, face.

“Don’t care who she is, pick her up and let’s go,” a voice called from behind them.

John’s cracked lips spread into a bloody smile before he pulled her even closer until his lips met her ear.

“You might’ve been something in this town once, sweetheart,” he murmured, causing Juliet's already broken and pounding heart to jump. “Do you know what you are now?” he asked as he pulled back to meet her wide stare.

John’s eyes roamed down her body before he answered.

“Fresh meat.”

……………..

They dragged Juliet through the gate, passing the corpse of the horse that had carried them here.

Its hollowed body told her what fate awaited her.

Her head whipped around. She couldn’t see Joel. Juliet began to scream his name in a guttural cry. She thought that if she yelled enough it might wake her from his nightmare.

God, they must have been watching them since they entered the town.

Joel had questioned Danny for looking over his shoulder but that’s what they should have been doing. Maybe they had grown too comfortable in Jackson, had forgotten the habit all together.

The tall gate that protected the town had been open. Why had it been open? The question had plagued Juliet’s mind as they had searched for Danny.

Only now, as she was dragged through the same streets, did the answer reveal itself like the solution to an old riddle…

What does a starving town, in the midst of winter, with a dead leader, and no contacts or suppliers need most?

Fresh meat.

It was a trap, the open gate had been a snare and they had walked right into it.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Juliet just wanted to know if she was destined to her father’s fate, if his blood had truly corrupted her.

Stupid, fucking selfish suicidal mistake.

Joel was right, he was always right, and yet he still came with her…

And now he was … and now he …

“Joel!” The scream erupted from Juliet’s raw throat.

“Shut her up, will you?” One of the men she only vaguely recognised groaned from behind her.

“It’d be my fucking pleasure,” another one said before the back end of a gun sped towards the side of her head.

…………………………….

Her bed was so cold that the feeling bit through her layers of clothing.

Juliet groaned, trying to turn over away from the chill, but her body wouldn’t follow her commands.

Juliet’s eyes flashed open to a ceiling that she didn’t recognise. Her mind was foggy and the world was still blurry as Juliet blinked a few times and tried to raise a hand to rub at her eyes. But she couldn’t move her arm, why couldn’t she move her arm?

Her memories barreled into her like another hit to the temple.

Joel.

Juliet’s pulse began to roar in her ears as she remembered what had happened and she realised where she was.

She couldn’t move her arms or legs, and it wasn’t a bed she was lying on.

Juliet was strapped to a metal table in what looked like Ethan’s father’s old medic office.

The room had always been kept immaculate when Ethan’s father was alive, but now every surface was overflowing with dirty rags, containers and knives which all had a slick red coating to them which made Juliet’s stomach drop.

She remembered their horse.

“Fresh meat,” John had called her.

Juliet swallowed down her nausea as she tilted her head the best she could to see the floor.

It was stained with blood.

This wasn’t an examination table anymore… It was a butcher’s block.

Despite the chill, a sweat broke out across her forehead. She tried to think of a strategy to get out but all she could think about was Joel.

Where was he? How long had she been out for? … Was he alive?

The door opened so suddenly, Juliet didn’t have time to wipe the horrified look from her face.

It was John. He looked the same as he did in the dark memories of her childhood, except he was now a lot thinner, like Danny. Lost leadership and the effects of winter had hit this town hard.

He opened his mouth but Juliet spoke first.

“Where is he?” she demanded in a voice far stronger than she felt.

John shook his head slowly, and walked to pull a chair over to the table she lay on.

“Slow your horses, sweetheart. You’re not the one asking questions here,” he warned as he sat down and rested his hands on his knees.

“Where is he?” Juliet bit out, ignoring him.

John laughed and leaned back in his chair.

“So you’ve come back, and with Elijah’s killer, no less,” he observed with a quizzical look. “I was out on a supply run when your father was murdered. Knew he was looking for you, though. Just didn’t expect you to betray us, Juliet.”

She swallowed down the fear that was crawling up her throat.

“God, what a disappointment you were to him,” John sighed. “Your father gave you everything, he saved you and yet you brought that monster straight to him.”

Juliet’s heart was pounding so hard in her chest it was difficult to hear John’s voice.

“When I came back, they told me that Elijah was murdered by this crazy man and I -” John paused, shook his head and clasped his hands in front of him. “I vowed that I’d get revenge, one way or another but keeping this town alive became more important.” He rubbed a hand over his face and barked out a surprised, almost delighted laugh. “And then you walk right in, like you own this fucking town and with the psychopath himself. It’s just perfect, couldn’t have wrote it better myself.”

Juliet began to shake her head. “We don’t want any trouble,” she promised.

John tilted his face to the side, to match her position on the table, and looked deep into her eyes.

“Oh we’re way past that now, sweetheart,” he said almost softly as his eyes roamed down her restrained body. “All you are is trouble.”

Juliet squeezed her eyes shut until she saw stars. She couldn’t see a way out of this, she couldn’t even begin to make a plan because her mind was playing a constant loop of Joel’s body crumpling to the ground. Juliet analysed it over and over. Did she see him breathing? Could he have survived this?

“Where is he?” she pleaded.

John stood so suddenly that Juliet flinched. He pushed his chair back with a biting shriek and walked over to the counter.

“He’s no concern of yours now. You brought him right to us, sweetheart,” John replied with his back turned as he fiddled with something on the counter. “You didn’t think we’d want to have a little chat with the man who killed Elijah and left us all to starve?”

Hope slammed into Juliet’s chest, fast and sudden.

“He’s alive?” she choked out. Her eyes began to flood with tears and they leaked onto the cold metal table beneath her.

John turned suddenly, resting his back on the counter, as his lips pulled into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“You really do care about him, don’t you?” He scoffed, then shook his head. “How the mighty have fallen.”

Juliet said nothing, just bit her lip to stop another scream from erupting.

He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive.

“Why’d you come here, Juliet?” John demanded, turning his head to the side. The action made him look menacing, and Juliet remembered that she should be afraid of him, not just because of what he might do to Joel, but what he might do to her.

“We want nothing from you,” she bit out as she struggled against the restraints. Juliet was growing restless, and her breathing grew laboured as she realised there wasn’t an easy way out of this.

She was entirely at John’s mercy; whatever his revenge may include.

“Just let us go,” Juliet pleaded as the ropes that bound her scratched red welts into her skin.

John’s look stretched several moments as he watched her struggle, then he reached for something behind him that Juliet couldn’t see from the angle she lay at.

“No,” he replied quietly as he began to walk towards her, his footsteps slow and careful as though he were approaching a wild beast. “No, this is just too good. You took everything from us,” John’s voice had grown darker. “Your father was a proud man and he provided for us, kept us from starvation every winter… now you’ll have to fulfil that duty.”

Juliet’s stomach dropped as she noticed what was in his hand. The stark overhead lights reflected off the sharpened edge of the cleaver.

“Wait,” she begged and begged and begged.

Juliet’s eyes widened as John’s steps paused. Her entire body trembled as he raised her knife and its mirrored surface reflected her horror stricken face.

This couldn’t be the end. She couldn’t die here.

Juliet had survived this town, she had survived her father, and now…

“Elijah was against this practice, said it was against the word of God,” John murmured in a voice that sounded underwater to Juliet’s ears.

“Wait!” She pleaded again, her own voice almost unrecognisable in her state of terror.

John ignored her.

“But I think under the current circumstances, he’d understand.”

Juliet writhed against her restraints, pushing further against the metal table, wanting to melt into the surface if only to get away from the cleaver now angled dangerously over her body.

“You don’t have to do this,” she screeched. “We have food in our bags, you can have it, you can have it all.”

John’s eyes hit the ceiling. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we got that already.”

The cleaver dropped to her stomach and Juliet’s eyes squeezed shut.

But the blade didn’t pierce her skin. Instead, John used the pointed edge to trace along her jacket, watching as it formed a perfect slash in the fabric.

Nausea washed over her as she pictured what the blade would do to her skin.

“It’s just not enough,” John continued with a click of his tongue.

Her knife was in her boot, if it was even still there. But there was no way for her to get to it. She was entirely defenceless. All the years of fighting and bleeding and learning how to defend herself and, in her final moments, it still wasn’t enough.

Her mind went to Joel. If he was gone already then at least she would join him, wherever they ended up.

In her sweetest fantasies, she’d always imagined they would find a farmhouse, like the one he had described almost a lifetime ago, and live together. They might sit on a porch swing in the evenings and watch as the sun set, then they would walk up the stairs to the bed they shared and fall asleep in each other’s arms.

Maybe in another life, she thought.

Juliet’s mind tuned back into reality and John’s voice filtered back through.

Despite the fear and the adrenaline that was pumping through her bloodstream, Juliet frowned as she watched, through tear soaked eyes, as John moved the cleaver away from her chest and, with his other hand, he gripped her wrist.

“We’ll start with something small, see how you manage,” John explained, coldly.

John winced as Juliet’s scream began to fill the room, echoing off every surface. Her throat burned and raged.

He struggled to grip her flailing hand but a quick elbow to her gut paused all her movements.

“This is for Elijah,” John seethed.

Then he brought the cleaver down on her finger, slicing through the bone until it was no longer attached to her body.

Black spots filled her vision immediately and Juliet’s scream vanished at the first flash of pain.

Then there was nothing at all.

……………………………….

“Juliet.”

Her eyes opened, then immediately closed again.

The lights were so bright and something was on fire, but she couldn’t figure out what.

“Juliet, please wake up.”

The voice wouldn’t stop harassing her, it was like a hand had reached through her mind and was dragging her subconscious out of the dark waters up to the surface.

Panic hit her with the first gasp of air.

“Joel?”

Her eyes searched frantically through her tears as her head bent in different directions, desperately trying to find who had pulled her back to life.

“No, it’s me. It’s Danny.”

To her left, there he was, crouched against the table, shaking Juliet’s shoulders.

“Danny?” she asked.

“Listen, we don’t have much time,” he cautioned, letting go of her shoulders.

“Where is he? Is he alive? Please,” Juliet’s questions poured from her, the words overlapped and sleep still clung to her slurred speech.

“Don’t move, I need to wrap your finger,” Danny whispered, avoiding her questions.

My finger?

Juliet had discovered the source of the thick, burning pain and she remembered the glint of satisfaction in John’s eyes.

She tried to lift her hand to her face, to see if it was really gone, but she still couldn’t move her arms. The restraints still held her to the table.

“Untie me. I - I can’t move,” Juliet croaked, her throat raw.

Danny just shook his head and lifted her injured hand, still restricted by the binding on her arm.

Juliet watched with her mouth open in a silent scream as he began to wrap a bandage over the stump of what was left of her finger and around the palm of her hand, over and over until he tied it tight.

Her breathing bordered on hyperventilating as she struggled to not pass out again.

When the job was done, Danny lay her hand by her side and took a step backwards, making no move to untie her.

“Please, untie me. I have to get to him,” Juliet almost sobbed, her voice confused and desperate.

Danny shook his head again, quicker this time, as though he was ashamed.

“I can’t. There’s no time,” he replied quietly.

“What do you mean? Where’s John?” Juliet demanded as her eyes flashed to the closed door.

Danny ran a shaking hand, covered in her blood, over the sharp bones of his face. “He’ll be back soon. He went to Joel,” he revealed reluctantly.

Juliet’s chest ached as the restraints bit through her clothing. “Do you know where they’re keeping him?” she begged.

“You shouldn’t have come back here,” Danny sighed, then nodded to the table she lay on. “That night you were last here, I found you on this table. You were unconscious and Ethan was patching you up while Joel hovered over your body like he’d shoot anyone who came near you,” Danny paused and let out a humourless laugh, “he almost shot me, actually.”

“When he carried you got of here, I thought that, despite everything he’d done, that at least he’d protect you, that maybe you’d have a chance at a life,” Danny said solemnly, staring down at his feet, refusing to meet her eyes.

“Untie me,” Juliet commanded, her voice angry.

Danny stood so still, it was as though he hadn’t heard her at all, then he turned and looked behind him at the door. He was terrified, she realised. Maybe if they hadn't come to the town, it would have been Danny on this table instead of her.

Then he broke the silence, with words sharper and more ruinous than the edge of John’s cleaver:

“Elijah wasn’t lying to you.”

Juliet’s heart stopped.

Danny sat in the empty chair, left behind by John, and dropped his head into his hands. And when his face rose to meet hers, his eyes were glossy with unshed tears.

“You were born not far from here, we all were,” he began. “I was younger than your parents, but I knew them well. I was the son of the town minister and they came to our church, the whole town did, really. I was there at your parents’ wedding and your christening.”

His words didn’t feel real. Juliet could have sworn she was asleep again, floating in her fantasies.

“You were such a happy toddler, you know, you were always smiling,” Danny smiled too, like the memory was clear in his head, until his face darkened. “Then the end of the world happened,” he said grimly, wringing his hands, “and nothing was ever the same.”

“It was a small town and those of us who weren’t infected, we banded together in the church. There were some supplies there and, for a while, we managed.” His voice was quieter now. “Then, a few weeks in, we heard a knock at the door. We knew by that point that the infected didn’t knock, so we opened the door and,” Danny paused to meet Juliet’s eyes, “Elijah was on the other side, with his daughter.”

Juliet swallowed roughly, and her heart jumped at the mention of his name.

“He’d always lived in town with his wife, and their daughter was about your age. They always kept to themselves, they came to church but never stayed long afterwards,” Danny explained. “It was a surprise to see them, to say the least. Especially because they were covered in blood and his wife was gone.”

A chill settled over Juliet’s body, sinking deep into her bones.

“We checked them for bites and we let them stay and Elijah I guess slowly took up the role as the leader of our group. He was skilled and he knew how to appeal to people,” Danny paused to run a hand through the greasy strands of his thinning, grey speckled hair. “Then… then his daughter was killed.”

Juliet’s breath caught in her throat.

“It was a freak accident. The church was swarmed and so many survivors were bitten, including his daughter.” His eyebrows furrowed, as he considered his next words. “I watched him kill her. A bullet straight between her eyes. She was only three.”

Tears hit the metal table.

Danny stretched his back and nervously looked around him at the door as though John would walk in at any moment, then he turned back to Juliet. “Things are hazy in my mind after that,” he stated. “We moved out of the church, Elijah had found us an abandoned farm with some good land, and we started hunting for food.”

“Your parents were strong, and brave. They volunteered to hunt and I didn’t notice it at first but Elijah started to spend more and more time with them, and more time with you. It seemed like a man grieving his daughter and no one really paid any mind but, I don’t know, it was almost possessive.”

Danny’s story unravelled like an old ball of tangled string, bringing more troubles with every pull.

“I don’t know how it happened. I wasn’t there, but your father went on a supply run… and only Elijah returned.”

Juliet bit her lip hard and a sharp metallic taste entered her mouth. She swallowed it down.

“Your mother was… I’ve never heard anyone scream like that. Elijah said your father had been bit and he had to kill him but,” Danny shrugged. “Your mother died not long after.”

“No,” Juliet whispered, not realising the word had left her mouth. It was too much to take in. Her whole world was unravelling.

“She had taken you down to the river to bathe but hours later, neither of you had returned. Elijah eventually found you, sitting on the riverbank, alone with your mother’s jacket draped over you.”

Juliet couldn’t feel the pain of her severed finger anymore. She was numb with a loss of people she couldn’t remember, but had offered her a love that had been taken from her.

“He said that she drowned herself on purpose,” Danny’s voice cracked. “But your mother would have never left you alone.”

A sob worked its way up Juliet’s throat but she didn’t let it out. Danny wasn’t finished.

“Elijah took you in straight away. You even looked like his daughter,” he winced. “I - no one could even question it. People worshipped him, and if we wanted to live, we had to go along with it.”

Juliet tried to speak but her voice was muted. She coughed out a weak sound and then tried again.

“What were they like, my parents?” she asked quietly.

At her question, Danny’s hollow eyes found some life again.

“They were good people, Juliet,” he tried to smile. “Truly good. They were kind and they loved you so much. They were nothing like him.”

Juliet let out the sob this time, she couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Why did no one tell me? Why did you all let him hurt me?” she asked like a confused child.

Danny held the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger, wincing. “I was a coward. We all were.” He let go of his nose and his eyes locked on the ropes around her body. “I still am.”

“No,” Juliet gasped out as she began to write against her restraints again. “No, you can get me out of here, just hand me a knife. Please.”

Danny shook his head slowly. “He’ll kill me.”

“Elijah’s dead,” Juliet said forcefully, the words still felt unreal to her. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

Danny still didn’t look up at her.

“Don’t let someone else dictate your life for another twenty years,” she ground out. “Come on, please.You owe me this,” Juliet seethed.

Danny’s eyes flashed to hers. His mouth opened and for a split second, Juliet saw him make a decision, and watched him begin to speak the words and then -

The door flew open, banging against the wall with a sound that made Danny jump from his chair.

“What the hell are you doing here?” John demanded as his hard gaze bounced between Juliet, still bound to the table, and Danny, now standing in front of him.

To his credit, Danny didn’t flinch. “Just came to check on her,” he explained.

“Yeah?” John asked, tilting his head to the side. “And who fucking told you to do that?”

“I’m leaving,” Danny said as he tried to move around John to the door.

“No you’re not,” John protested with a heavy hand on his chest, pushing him towards the table Juliet lay on.

“Do you wanna be the one on the table?” John demanded, then laughed sickly when Danny didn’t answer. “Yeah, didn’t think so.”

John’s hand pushed him again, until Danny practically leant against the table.

Juliet stared at Danny’s back, desperately avoiding eye contact with John lest he take another finger as retribution.

Her eyes were focused on Danny’s thin, hunched shoulders until a flare of light caught her eye. She looked down… there was a knife in Danny’s back pocket. Her knife. The blade was open and ready.

He’d brought it for her, despite not having the courage to give it to her himself.

Maybe there was some bravery left in him.

Juliet tuned out John’s anger fueled words as he fired them at Danny and she started to inch her hand towards the knife. The pain from her missing finger was stronger than she’d expected and Juliet had to bite down on her lip again to stop a scream from escaping.

Her remaining fingers inched closer and closer to the knife until finally they enclosed around the blade. Its sharp edge cut into her flesh, forcing Juliet to bite her lip even harder, and every time she thought she gained a grip… it slid from her fingers again.

She was losing time. John was going to kick Danny out any second… or worse. She had to get this knife now.

Ignoring the bite of the blade, Juliet tugged with all the strength she had remaining in her butchered hand and the knife finally slid free. She grasped it carefully, terrified that it would drop onto the metal table.

John continued his power trip, pointing vile accusations Danny’s way. Juliet tuned him out again and focused on turning the blade in her trembling hand until the sharp edge grazed the rope around her wrist.

Sweat began to bead across her forehead despite the temperature in the room as the knife threatened to slip from her hand. Without her index finger, gaining a good grip was impossible but she kept trying until the blade cut through the first fibres of the rope.

John had Danny by the throat now but his body was still covering the movement of her hand as she pushed the knife harder and faster, slicing the rope again and again and again.

Then, as Danny was pushed against the counter, and a gun was pressed to his head, the rope released from her wrist.

Juliet choked out a strangled gasp as she rapidly assessed the situation around her.

Danny was shouting at John, with words that her panicked mind couldn’t comprehend.

John’s back was turned, this was the distraction she needed.

With her hand freed, Juliet pushed down the pain and used the knife to cut through the rope on her other wrist, faster this time with her returned mobility.

John landed a punch on Danny’s face, causing him to sag against the counter.

Juliet’s eyes flashed towards him but she had to keep working. The knife was at the rope around her chest then finally the rope around her legs.

Time slowed to a crawl as she lifted her numb legs and managed to drop onto the floor. She stumbled but caught herself on the metal table with her damaged hand.

She couldn’t help it. Juliet yelled out in pain.

John whirled towards her, gun in hand. Juliet’s breath caught in her throat as her eyes widened.

“No, you don’t,” he growled and stepped towards her, aiming to grab her by the middle.

But, despite the shock, Juliet was ready. As he reached for her side, Juliet whipped her arm around until her knife lodged in his shoulder then she pulled back, unleashing it with a spray of blood.

“Fuck,” he shouted, stumbling back as his free hand rose to cover the fresh wound.

Juliet eyed the door, fueled by adrenaline and the desperate, searing need to find Joel. But unfortunately John handled a stab wound better than Juliet expected, because within seconds he had his gun pointed at her head.

Despite the adrenaline in her bloodstream, the injury and the lack of food and water had taken its toll. Juliet’s hands rose in the hair as her body began to sway.

“You really are trouble, aren’t you?” John sneered.

In her desperation, Juliet’s eyes flickered to Danny’s, begging him desperately to help her. But Danny had a different idea, quickly he began to mouth a phrase over and over, urging her to understand.

She peered closer, blinking fast as her mind whirled.

Juliet thought he was saying “Elijah’s house.”

She gasped when realisation slapped her across the face. Elijah’s house. That’s where Joel was. He was telling her where Joel was being kept.

“Don’t look at him,” John interrupted fiercely. “He can’t help you.”

The sound of the gunshot was so unexpected that Juliet’s hands flew to her ears and her eyes squeezed shut.

She hadn’t even seen him move the gun in his direction. She hadn't even noticed when he decided to change target.

The gunshot rang in her ears, muting the rest of the world.

But Juliet could see clearly and her eyes dropped to Danny’s body, now slumped on the floor against the cabinet with a ring of red surrounding his face.

It took a moment for the moment to catch up with her. Juliet felt two steps behind. How did this happen?

Juliet’s eyes slowly lifted from Danny’s unresponsive body to John’s towering presence, breathing heavy as he watched her reaction.

“What did you do?” she asked in a voice barely above a whisper.

“What did I do?” he scoffed. “Get back on the table.”

Juliet shook her head like an impudent child.

John rolled his eyes and tucked his gun into his back pocket, then in two strides he was in front of her, gripping her knife from her numb fingers and dropping it on the floor, before he kicked it out the way.

Then his hands were on her shoulders, roughly pushing her towards the table.

Juliet’s thoughts were too slow and her actions too weak, as the events washed over her in disjointed moments. Danny was dead. Her parents were good people. Joel was still out there.

Oh god.

He was still out there. He needed her.

Juliet twisted her body before her mind realised what she was doing and she pushed with all of her strength against John’s unsuspecting body.

He stumbled backwards with a frown, then his eyes grew darker and he reached for her again.

But Juliet was smaller than him, and she knew how to use this to her advantage when men were coming towards her. She ducked immediately, twisting herself under his arm until she stood behind him, breathing heavy, waiting.

She had no plan other than ‘don’t get killed.’

Juliet was moving on pure instinct from all her years surviving. John staggered towards her, a snarl taking over his mouth.

Strangely, he didn’t use his gun on her.

He must prefer his meat fresh, she thought.

An image of herself lying on that table for days on end as body part after body part was hacked off flashed into her mind and Juliet’s body went into overdrive.

She darted to the side, avoiding John’s outstretched hand.

He was strong but she was quick, and finally, she had a plan.

The cat and mouse game continued as Juliet steered John towards the counter closest to Danny’s body.

She was quick but that didn’t matter when she backed herself into a corner. John’s hands found her throat and he squeezed and squeezed as he pushed her into the cabinet behind her.

His eyes were flaring with sick pleasure as Juliet felt her face turn red with dwindling oxygen.

Panic struck her mind but she didn’t let it linger. Her hands flailed out, as though she were gripping for the counter to hold her weakening body up. But she wasn’t.

Juliet was searching, searching for the cleaver.

Black spots appeared in her vision as she finally enclosed her fingers around the wooden handle. Her wrist was still weak from the restraints so she had to tighten her hold before she could swing the makeshift weapon.

Just as it had sliced off her finger in one fell swoop, the cleaver lodged itself in John’s back like his spine didn’t even exist.

Through her hazy oxygen deprived eyes, Juliet watched John’s mouth form a shocked silent expression before his legs crumpled beneath him… just as Joel’s had.

At the reminder, Juliet’s hazy vision turned a dark, dangerous red and she drowned out the sound of his gasping whimpers.

Juliet kept her eyes locked on his and she took her time bending to her knees, until she straddled his writhing body.

The cleaver was high in the air before she had even committed to her act. Then she dropped it down.

The spray of blood splattered against her face like a hot shower after a cold day.

In the back of her mind, Juliet thought of Elijah and the cruelty that was housed within his body. With every slash of the cleaver as she brought it down again and again on John’s already butchered stomach, Juliet wondered if it was already too late for her. If Elijah’s sickness had found its way into her bloodstream despite their lack of relation.

But he had no claim to her, he never had. She wasn’t destined to be locked in that basement, she wasn’t destined to be tortured every day of her childhood, she wasn’t even destined to turn out like him.

Juliet had parents, real parents who loved her. She was supposed to grow up with kind parents and become a kind person, the type of person who forgave and who never lifted a hand against another.

But that didn’t happen.

And in this world, that girl, the girl she was supposed to be, would have been killed a long time ago.

Finally, she was free from the curse of her father’s possession and the sick promise of his heritage. Juliet could be her own person, she wasn’t bound to become one thing or another.

Maybe one day, she might allow herself to be kind and try out a life without bloodshed and violence.

But today wasn’t that day. And, despite everything, Elijah had taught her well.

For a final time, Juliet would heed his lessons of pain and torture, to save Joel.

To save the man she loved.

Juliet’s arm ached viciously but she brought the cleaver down a final time, welcoming the blood that dripped down her face.

As Juliet stood on trembling legs, she stared down at John’s still form and empty chest and realised with a sick satisfaction that he now looked a little like their horse.

She didn’t bother wiping the blood from her face, Juliet just bent down to collect her knife from where it landed on the floor and tuck it firmly in her boot. Then she dug John’s gun from his back pocket and put it in her own.

When she walked around the table towards the back door, Juliet forced herself not to look at Danny. He was the last connection to the parents she never knew she had. And now he, too, was gone.

In the end, he tried not to be a coward, and maybe there was some forgiveness in Juliet afterall.

The backdoor opened easily. John had a lot of trust in the ropes that bound her to the table.

The winter sun was bright in the sky when she opened the door, and Juliet blinked several times as her brain processed the change from the artificial lighting.

She started walking in the direction of the house where almost every scar on her body was formed. Her legs were weak and she kept stumbling but that didn’t stop her.

Joel had to be alive. Juliet couldn’t even consider a possibility where he wasn’t.

She got him into this fucking mess, and she would get him out.

The desperation poured over her and Juliet was choked by it.

She was going too slow, she had to move faster. Juliet had brought Elijah’s murderer back here and the town wanted its revenge.

But she wouldn’t let that happen. This town owed her, for every blind eye when her blood was spilled, for every silent voice when she begged them for help.

This town couldn’t have him.

It had taken her childhood, her innocence, and her faith in humanity.

It wouldn’t take him too.

Juliet started to run, her feet crushing over the frosted grass as she raced across the field. Her loose hair flew around her head, mimicking the thoughts that sped through her mind.

He can’t be gone. He can’t be gone. He can’t be gone.

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@amyispxnk @casa-boiardi @http-paprika @shotgun-shelby @weeping-werewolf @mysaviorjoelmiller @chlojoceycom @joelmillersblog @socialistmary @orcasoul @ashhlsstuff @caitlynsixxx

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Nearing the last few chapters of this story 😭 I'm going to be so sad when it's done but I'm also just super proud of it. Thanks for reading this far ❤️

#joel miller x original character #joel miller x oc #joel miller x female oc #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller angst #ao3 fanfic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller #joel miller hbo #tlou #joel tlou #the last of us #pedro pascal #tlou hbo #joel hbo #the last of us hbo #Spotify

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slickchickchocolatier · 4 months

Text

Warnings: unprotected smut, breaking an entry, hint of kidnapping, heaven and hell, yandere love, Timelapse (this takes place right before Se7en series) last installment of the “His Mark” series.

A/N: stupid tumblr didn’t save my adjustments so this is my second time posting this with the actual ending corrected. This isn’t proofread…sorry.

“We’re going to bed, don’t stay up too late.”

Your mom pitter patters her way through the hall and joins your dad for bed. You shut off the remaining hallway light and walked towards your room. Nothing but a small candle illuminated the area as you slowly undressed. You barely slipped into your bedroom attire when you heard a small clatter outside the door. “Mom?”

You walked out, tiptoeing through the dark with only the moonlight peering through the large windows. A glorious view from where you stood, it was mystical. You stood somewhat dumbfounded as you tugged on your robe, enclosing in the exposed skin of your décolleté, a sudden chill crosses over your skin and you brushed against your bare thighs. You gave a slight whimper, one that could make a man’s mouth water upon hearing it alone; seeing you emit it was a whole other experience.

A sound foot step a front causes you to snap your head and face forward. The silhouette of a tall, lean, and masculine build stands in your way. The outline of his knee-length coat flared a Victorian fashion, with a fold over collar that tapered nicely over his chest. His broad shoulders are squared off, while the sleeves of the coat fitted his arms rather delicately, covering his muscles. The cuffs rested delicately over his wrists.

His trousers were form fitting, all black just as his coat. They showed off the length of his legs, tucked neatly into the knee-high boots, made of leather. With one hand casually tucked into his coat pocket, he strides over. The moonlight shows you his chin and mouth, while the shadow remains over his eyes and the upper ridge of his nose. A smirk graces his features. You wanted to scream at the intruder and alert your parents, yet something about his presence made you feel comfort, oddly enough. Something in the air that surrounded him told you that his intrusion was not out of malice. It was hard to explain, but there was this feeling; it was as if you had known him or seen him somewhere. He wasn’t a total stranger yet you couldn’t pin down the memory of ever meeting him.

He continues to silently approach you. You couldn’t see past the shadow that his eyes were admiring you, drifting up and back down as he faintly licked the corner of his lips.

He said nothing. Which was more than appropriate considering you also remained silent during this encounter.

Finally, he closes enough distance and stands abreast of you, directly in front. A full view of his face confirms his handsome identity. He was smooth and delicate, yet masculine. Beautifully dashing.

He reaches up and gently punches the tip of your chin. His thumb and index cradle you for a second before drifting down over your collarbone. His motions transitions from dragging to tapping as his fingers trail over your shoulder and effortlessly hooks onto your robe, pulling it off shoulder. The satin material hangs loosely, and gravity takes effect as the other half of the fabric drapes down and falls, leaving the entire robe to drape over your elbows. The thin straps of your camisole barely hung on to your shoulders. You felt the robe slipping past your forearms and collecting around your wrists when he firmly places a hand on your lower back; partially wrapped over the side of your waist and pulls you closer.

“W-wait…” your voice was soft and airy. He interjects by clearing his throat. His voice was hoarse as the subtle growl from his chest echoes in the hall. The corner of his mouth extends the smirk, baring teeth.

You tremble as his pull forces you to take your steps, nearly causing you to trip in his direction. Once you both make contact, with you pressing into his chest, he embraces you fully. The hand that was loosely tucked into his pocket reaches up and around your waist, uniting with the other limb as he holds you close. With you pinched in between his wrap, he tilts his head and looks down at you adoringly. Your face is subtly turned towards the window, avoiding rest against bud white buttoned, long sleeve, which was adorned by a black silk vest under his coat. A small chain looped and hung out from the small pocket; it was your first time seeing a man dressed so formerly. Who was he? Why was he here? What did he want?

Your thoughts are pleasantly interrupted as he tilts his head further down, and tucks your hair behind an ear. His head returns to a leveled position as he straightens the tilt, and presses his lips against your hairline above your brows. You could feel the flaring of his nostrils as he takes in deep inhales, savoring the way you smelled, and the way you felt. His musky scent had a subtle ember scent, like fresh charcoal that hid behind a mixture of cedar wood, vanilla and lavender. It was an unusual blend yet it made up an unearthly scent. You raise your hands and gently press against his chest, wanting to create some distance. But his hold was strong, and it only tightened the second he felt you attempt to pull yourself away.

A small, dark chuckle comes from his lips when suddenly the sound of large flaps startles you. You weren’t able to see the source of the noise as his embrace restricted your movements, limiting you the freedom to shift and turn. It sounded as if the wings of a large bird was extending freely inside the house. You heard the sound of its bones-frame hitting the walls and ceiling as it stretched out, feathers flourishing as they finally lay at rest, draping down to the floor.

He has wings? Is he an angel?

Your thoughts race back and forth as you try to ascertain what was happening before you. A wave of fear hits you when one of his wings extends violently, and with brute force of its impact, shatters the window. Your parents are heard rummaging from their bedroom as they call out your name. Before you could return their call, you were pulled away as he glides through the shattered opening, taking you away.

The abrupt sense of levitation causes your feet to tingle as he sweeps you away. His aerial ability was smooth as he glides through every narrow path beneath the roof of the porch and through the tree branches. Once you both were out in the open, he extends your bodies higher, his large, black feathered wings shined under the moonlight as they emit large, and elegant fluttered strokes through the air, gaining efficient flight. You look down and saw the reality of how far up you were. Even at night, you could see the regional outlines of land and water as he took you higher and higher. You gasp out of fear as your feet dangle against his boots. It was only natural for you to grab hold around his neck, enclosing any ounce of distance between your bodies. You continued to look down and gasp frighteningly as your cheek presses against his; your fingers tuck under the trim of his collar as you grip on the material for dear life. He smirks upon feeling you hold on…this was a feeling he could get used to.

His arms continue to embrace your waistline as he takes you above cloud. Leveled with the pearlescent full moon, he keeps your bodies stationed in stagnant position, hovering over the distant earth.

His hand moves down, and scoops your upper thigh. He motions you to wrap it around his waist, which you hurriedly did, as well with the other, all to further establish comfort, ans ease the terrifying sense of being so high above ground. He wouldn’t let you fall, would he? He didn’t take you all the way up just to kill you…or did he?

“No baby…I won’t ever let you fall.”

His voice was soothing and caused your sparkling, dewy eyes to look up. Did he just read your thoughts? How?

He chuckles once more. “I know everything…” he reaches up and pushes the disheveled strands away from your face. “Don’t cry.” He murmurs upon seeing the watered shine glistening from your wide peepers.

He gently leans in at the neck, his eyes half closed and finally, his lips meet with yours. Success at last.

He kisses you into a state of solace. The faint taste of cinnamon and citrus laced his tongue, and the sudden fear from dangling in mid air slowly dissipates. His hands roam behind your back as he continues to hold on strongly. His smooth and gentle gesture transitions to roughness as he nibbles on your bottom lip, pulling slightly away. With your thighs wrapped around, he reaches under the short hem of your camisole, and traces his finger along your panties. He singes the material, without burning your skin. The material burns apart and disintegrates slowly, leaving you completely exposed.

You’re not sure how to describe your desires. It was contradicting. You wanted him but also were afraid; he had an established persona of dominance and intimidation surrounding him.

“Let me take care of you…let me in.”

He whispers against your ear, and the warmth of his vocal breath made you melt. You nod as you closed your eyes and let out a moaned gasp for air. He was so desirable…this man…this angel…

“Hmph…I’m no angel, baby.”

His grin pressed against your neck told you of his sinister presence as he puncture through flesh, stretching you open. His words would have concerned you more except the way his cock thrusted into you, so abrupt and unexpected…it was like heaven…

“What about Hell?”

He kept smirking out his words upon reading your thoughts. “S-stop…stop that.” You gasped out, begging that he would refrain from teasing you any further. The manner of him intruding your mind and responding was so…

“Don’t like it? Hm?” He tilts his face as he gains more access to your throat, tenderly kissing all parts of your neck. “Don’t like me reading your thoughts baby?”

“Stop! Please!” You gasp as he picks up the pace and thrusts faster, deeper, and harder. His grip migrated from your waistline and onto your derrière as he cups the cheeks underneath the skirt of your nightdress. The satin material drapes over his grip as he sets the momentum, lifting your rear and pushing it down repeatedly. Your cross your ankles behind his waist, closing in on him with the grip of your thighs. Fuck yes…yes baby.

You moan violently, chest heaving and your head tilted all the way back as your arms rest around his thick neck. His long hair was styled black with a mullet. The front bangs draped over his brows with the center part exposing his forehead. His lips latched onto your collarbones as he moved your body, making you bounce on his thick and lengthy cock. “Tell me it feels good baby…say it.”

“Ffffff…eels….good! S-ssssso..g-g…good!”

You stuttered your words in between each breath. You struggled for air yet it was the most sensational feeling in the world. The way his hips slam against your pelvis, squeezing and squelching his length into the tight cavity. The way he eased that tight knot in your womb, sending tingles throughout every part of your body, sourcing from your stomach. He caused you to leak at each thrust, slowly releasing the ounces of your orgasm until it reached an exploding level of ecstatic ecstasy.

You shouted out loudly, and of course you were out of reach for anyone or anything to come save you. “Oh my God!” You screamed over and over. A hand travels up your spoke and palms the back of your head as he gently presses your face into the nook of his neck while he sucks on skin and grits out his words, grinding teeth as he does so. “Stop saying his…name…..swear to the Devil baby…”

Your eyes remained squinted tightly shut as the tears of pleasure escape from the corners. You shook your head, absorbing all of his thrusted motion and bouncing vigorously against his chest. No way you could ever do that. Not a chance!

“Do it…” he grits once more, noticing your stance against his demand. He goes in faster and harder, causing you to scream. Your chest felt as if it was going to explode, there was a small sense of sharpness and pain that came from deep within, more than likely due to the violent gasps for air and prolonged moans of pleasure.

“No! Stop…I-I can’t!”

He holds you tightly against him and goes in harder. You wouldn’t think it was possible but he proved your wrong as he develops inhuman speed and fucks into you, blowing your mind away. Your bodily fluids secrete, escaping in mass amount, glazing his shaft and getting the both of your abdominal regions drenched. “Do it…or Ill make you bleed.”

Your hands grip the shoulder pads of his coat as the tears of ecstasy decorate your cheeks. Your barely open your eyes to view the fluffy clouds beneath his feet, your thighs trembling around his hip as you feel yourself coming close…you were going to come undone and it was all that you wanted. So much, you caved in.

“I-I…!!” You gasp out. “Oh God!!” You griped the material of his coat as he kept up with his ferocious movements. It felt too good to even breathe, let alone speak. He grips a handful of your hair and pulls your head slightly back, giving a faint yank. You yelp from the brute of his grip as he tells you, with a slight bit of anger in his tone. “I said…DONT…say his name….”

You nod your head in obedience, realizing your mistake as the pleasure was too great. He continues to slam into you, balls against your taint, and your rear cheeks against his groin. Seconds away from release, you scream out. “I’m!!!….I’m going to cum!”

He regains a full grip of your derrière and goes faster. His thrusts are sloppy and fast; his cock sliding so nicely in and out of your womanhood. “Now baby…tell me you love me.”

He punches the soft spot repeatedly as you felt the rush of pure energy ecstasy flow through your veins. “I love you! I love you!! Oh fuck!! I love you!! Please!!”

You screamed as loud as possible as you extend your fave towards the galaxy, choking on air as you gulp down large lumps of saliva, his cock mercilessly thrusting and never slowing down as you came undone. With your breast in mouth, he suckles and growls as he joins you, releasing the hot streams deep inside. His thrusts never slowing down until he pushes out the last drop.

You hug his neck tightly, motioning your hips slowly up and back down, holding on as you finish the act by riding the length of his cock.

“Yeah baby? You fucking liked that, didn’t t you?”

He gently pulls the hem of your dress over your derrière, partially covering it as you continue to smooth his cock in and out, his hands grip your waist. He doesn’t pull out, instead he keeps it in, loving the way you keep the slow and steady manner you carried out, while stabilizing yourself by interlocking your fingers behind his neck.

He pulls you away, just enough where he could get a good look at you, and the way his shaft was going in and out. Holding on, your hands felt him regaining himself as he prepares for round two. “How does it feel?…” he partially speaks calmly as he rests your hips against the hilt of his own, leaning your chest back as he hold your waist firmly. You relax back, palming his thighs as he leans you parallel to the earth. “To be fucked by the Devil?”

His words made you wince as your eyes remained squinted shut. In all honesty, your upbringing would have you think that the act that had just taken place was morbidly cruel, and horrible. You would hate it except…

“Except?…” he smirks, going back to reading your mind once more.

“Except… I think I’m in love with him.” You whispered out, barely catching your breath from experiencing such a vibrant orgasm.

“Good girl…” he whispers. He nibbles against your skin, leaving soft marks of his teeth.

He starts off slow, and starts to pick up the pace once more, intending on fucking you all over again. You feel the pleasure and pain of overstimulation taking effect, but we’re too exhausted to beg him to stop. Your vision was growing narrowly back, tunneling you to unconscious. Before you fully backed out, you hear him spoke for the last time, all before your body went fully limp, and completely free for him to do whatever he pleases with it.

“Keep dancing with me baby…dance with me all the way to Hell.”

You flicker your lids, feeling entirely too scared to keep them closed and fall into unconsciousness with this man…this creature. He smiles. In doing so, he felt the shiver crawl up your spine beneath his finger tips. “What is it baby? Love it when I smile at you? Do you love my teeeeeeth?”

His last word and the tone tbh at it carried made your breath hitched; you black out.

…………..

You awoke the next morning. Was it all a dream? It felt so real. You rushed out of your bedroom and found the windows all intact, not a single shard of glass on the floor.

So it was a dream then….

A knock on the door brings your mind back to clarity, it was Lily.

“Hey girl! Sorry I’m late.” She lets herself in. That’s right, you nearly forgot that you both were going to the cafe this morning. “Oh-uh, yeah…no worries. I still have to get dressed anyhow.”

She follows you to your room. She makes herself comfortable and flicks on the TV while you changed out your undergarments. “Can you believe this guy? This one they call the Senator. Some people are saying th at he’s going to control the city…I don’t know though, the guy seems kind of crazy.”

He was crazy. You’re too smart to openly speak on the matter, especially with your parents already considering joining his church. But let’s be honest, it really wasn’t a church so much as it was a cult, and the only sole reason your otherwise rational family members even considered joining was because they thought it would provide them a safe spot from those monsters that began appearing in public. The first showcase of murders occurring at the hands of these metallic figures was last week, and it is all the medics could talk about—that, and the senator and his church. Your parents became disappointed when you refused to go along to meet him. Good thing you were well on your way in getting your own apartment next week.

“Oh wow, I didn’t know you got a tattoo.”

You snapped your brows in a crinkled notion as expressed confusion. What the hell eas she talking about?

“I didn’t get a tattoo.”

“Then what is that around your titty nipple?”

You look down and through the mesh, see-through bra, there was a dark shadow that wreathed around your right areola. “What the hell?”

You snapped off the undergarment and with there, two small black angel wings formed a complete circle right outside the pink skin. “WOW how cool! Why’d you make them black though? Good thing you got it where it’s not so visible, with the way things are going, people would mistake you as a non-believer.”

Lily makes her quirky joke, little did you both know that her words would hold more truth than she was aware in the near future.

“H-how…I don’t know how I got this.” Your words come out stuttered in shock as you step in front of the mirror, gazing at the black mark in the reflection. Looking further, you both discover after moving your hair to the side that your neck was fielded with tooth marks. “Oh my God, y/n!” Lily begins laughing as she continuously pokes fun at you.

“This….i couldn’t have….”

Lily laughs at your expense, jesting about how you may have a distorted memory or were probably too drunk to recall, even though she knew you weren’t a drinker. “N-no….i didn’t..I swear, I don't know where this came from!”

The television radio pops on as Lily mistakenly hits the button on the remote. Immediately, a song plays with the information displayed on the wide screen. “Oh hey, I love this song. Have you heard of it? It’s from this new band, called Enhypen. Here, listen.” She turns the volume up and you stare at the screen, noting the seven figures with their band name below.

Upon closer inspection, you felt an odd sense of familiarity when you looked at one particular male centered in the group. Unlike the others, he wore a lace mask over his eyes. Strange, why would he be the only one wearing such a distinctive piece?

“Teeth.”

“What?” You asked, compelling the girl to state one more time.

“The song, its called Teeth.”

The title triggered your brows to twitch as the calling echo of the man’s voice beats into your mind.

‘…Teeeeeth…’

Maybe it was just a coincidence. After all, it was only a wet dream; just something you’d have to out in the back of your head. Little did you know, that a few weeks from now your entire world would sway. A terrible ordeal leaves you hopeless, and your saving grace was none other the one who wore the lace mask on the television screen. But you wouldn’t have recognized him that night in the woods. Why would you? This was nothing more than a wet girls dream…

Or was it…

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starzblvd · 11 months

Text

Hang on to Your Love

Feelings kept secret can’t stay a secret forever when other people get in the way. Fem!reader Jealous!Ellie Jackson!Ellie hint of loser!ellie purefluff CW!creep ass man makes a short appearance 5k W.C AN; Originally this was going to be a short cute story but I really wanted to give with this one, because I LOVE fall. Really sorry for being gone so long, I got a bad haircut and I swear some negative energy was clinging onto me, so it made me insane for a bit. I move on so I’m better and thriving again now though💕

Autumn was in its early days still beginning to settle into Jackson, the cooler evenings accompanied by the refreshing winds that brushed over your skin. The perfect season for a dance to be sprung onto. Flyers hung around town, you’d seen it was set outside at 7:00 a little while after the sun set four days from now. It wasn’t necessary for you to arrive with a partner for the dance, but if given the chance you already knew the perfect candidate to fill the position in mind.

Initially you wouldn’t take her to come around to these sort of events. Come to change, a few days earlier you’d coincidentally happen to over hear Ellie’s conversation with Jesse and Dina outside the Tipsy Bison. Heavy reminiscence on her last comment about the Autumn dance,

“Just because she’d be there, it won’t change anything, not interested in going. Most we’ve talked is a few passing ‘hey’s’.”

It was disheartening to hear her talk about some girl you didn’t know,

Small pieces of her life that you were able to get a glimpse of, made being around her all the less intimidating. How enamored the high skies of space Ellie was, the type of video games she’d bring back, or even the clothes she dressed in. There wasn’t much to go off of when you’ve hurt to have a complete conversation with Ellie.

Regardless Ellie was right even if it wasn’t about you, most spoken words between you weren’t much nor meaningful. If it was anyone besides Ellie you wouldn’t be mulling over so long if you should bite the bullet and ask her out. To you she was everything you’d wished for, having feelings this intense was nauseatingly tiresome. With each day that flew away sleeping on the idea of taking action to get to know Ellie, felt like opportunity slipping away just as time is. You couldn’t expect her to stay single for long, she’s dated previously what’s stopping her now?

”You and Ellie are partners this time round, good with that?”

Maria thought it’d be good to group you with a girl that knew what she was doing while doing it exceptionally well. Expect you’d hate to be such a crutch to Ellie because of the delayed training you missed out on, of sheer fear that stemmed from being sheltered too long.

”yeah, no problem.”

There wasn’t anything to have a problem with if you’d just excuse your need for Ellie. Up to this point she didn’t completely disregard your existence, small occurrences like holding out the door open made you believe she’d think of you in the slightest, enough to be polite to.

The thought of spending time with Ellie alone even with the circumstances outside of Jackson’s security was exciting to look forward to. Preselecting topics and materials to make small talk with, patrol isn’t an ideal time to get to know someone better but you’ll take what you can get in these circumstances.

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

Brightly in a red marker ink circle enclosed the date of the patrol date with Ellie on the calendar pinned above your nightstand, marked day being today. Dressing up particularly cute wouldn’t do good in terms of practicality, but you had other reasons for dressing so. You weren’t naive of the terrors waiting, lurking, outside of Jackson’s walls just as anyone else was. Your choice of outfit for today were bootcut jeans with ribbons shaped into dainty bows tied to the belt loops. A ribbed long sleeved top in a solid color of brown, the bottom of the sleeves were flared out while the rest of the shirt stayed close in a snug fit.

Maybe you had arrived earlier than settled on, surely, because Ellie was starting to become a no show. Perked up right besides the stables doorframe, facing towards the inside, counting the minutes go by. Dina’s distant voice broke the fluid count of time you’d been mentally ticking by. Anyone would’ve been able to tell she was being so quiet intentionally with her hushed tone while speaking to someone else. You weren’t meant to hear her nor the words of advice she was aiding, but you couldn’t help being a standby could you?

“She’s been waiting for you in there for a while now! Seriously, you can’t stall any longer without being suspicious.” Dina knew exactly what this was about, Ellie’s whole unwillingness to go out on patrol with you was painfully obviously.

“I know I know, but I just need a bit longer and I’ll get right to-“ hearing the detest Ellie was expressing felt disappointing in a way that made your heart ache.

“No, Ellie. Go over there already, standing over here isn’t going to change anything.”

Ellie’s sigh was louder than their entire conversation. Then the words you were hearing so clearly became tedious whispers that had you leaning closer to decipher, with no luck as to knowing which one was speaking.

They couldn’t possibly know you were listening in, right?

Calm anticipation couldn’t overcome the hurdle of sudden nervousness when footsteps became closer. Thing was, you knew Ellie’s footsteps and the approaching steps didn’t belong to her. You’d turned back to face outside though not to Ellie, but to Dina’s consoling face.

”Ellie’s caught something and she’s stuck sick at home right now,”

it was all crap, every single word. Seeming so against you that she couldn’t stand having to go on patrol with you, Ellie lied about sickness as a get a way. Standing there silently to question every short moment you’ve encountered her, trying to recount if you did or said something wrong to ward her off so strongly.

“Oh well, that’s okay. Tell her I said to get better soon.”

You didn’t mean the condolence, the small smile you responded Dina with didn’t help in hiding that fact. Especially not when Ellie was probably snug inside by now spending her new found time freely, relived of being able to opt out so suddenly. This was by far the most embarrassing stand up you’ve been able to experience, as much as you didn’t want to be affected by her flakiness it irked you just as much if not more in efforts of trying to shrug it off.

Dina nodded and excused herself first, at least she was aware how childish Ellie was handling the situation. At times like these it was so easy to be jealous of Dina, how close her bond with Ellie was. Being able to spend time with Ellie by watching movies or just having her as company were few of those reasons. Though you were never mad at her for it. More so at yourself for letting your feelings keep you from making any move.

When Dina was out of view from where you stood, you followed out feeling defeated. The marked calendar felt like such a foolish thing to do, how excited you became when you could tick off another day, getting closer to the patrol.

It was debatable if the walk back home to the mess that was an outcome of frantically scrambling to figure out your outfit, or waiting so excited like a hopeless lovesick fool was more embarrassing. Had you kept to your own business you would’ve been able to cope in ignorant bliss, unaware of Ellie’s determination to avoid you. Crushing any unfortunate leaf that happened to be in your way on the ground with heavy steps was the best you could do to express how upset this made you.

Of course she had no obligation to happily spend her time with you, but the extent of Ellie’s actions was doing more than enough to prove her dislike. Reflecting just on today, it was evident you’d have to settle for a new dance partner.

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

Ellie groaned into her pillow when she heard extensive loud knocking, already knowing who it was and why it was for. You were right about Ellie being snug inside, leisurely painting on the floor beside the short coffee table, using the time she was meant to be with you to practice a hobby.

If it was possible, Ellie would have prolonged opening the door to her garage room to escape Dina going off on her. She rubbed her eyes using her thumb and index finger, this was punishment for not dealing with you today, rather she’d have to deal with Dina’s confrontational lecture. Right upon unlocking the door Dina began,

“Seriously Ellie, what’s gotten into you.” She’d allowed herself inside, taking her designated spot on the couch. Looking down onto the table, there sprawled out next to different paints in jars and a messy paint pallet was a painting Ellie was spending careful time to finish. It looked more detailed than any of her previous paintings, paint strokes still wet from recent application creating the girl on the canvas.

“Hey I dodged a bullet by doing that, I wouldn’t have been able to put in all my concentration,” now it was Ellie’s turn to be embarrassed.

Her skills were truly ones to be boasted about, but faltered the moment she was stuck partnered on patrol with a pretty girl. The girl she’s kept her eyes on from the first day of her arrival.

Of course Ellie made a distinct entry that day, made sure to not leave any detail out about your appearance or the way you’d greet others that day, including her. Describing just how sweet everything about you was, so sweet it distracted from what you told her, she’d failed to listen to the first words between you two.

Now it was acting all tough until the moment Ellie’s emotions become overwhelming, clouding both her judgment and competence. She knew exactly what she felt, but tried with everything to disregard it all because of the fear that rejection would hurt much more sourly than never confessing at all.

”Don’t start now, she looked hurt when I broke it to her that you’d called out sick.”

“Maybe she was looking forward to exploring around or something-“

“No Ellie, she was excited to see you.”

The sheer question if you looked at her back with the same feelings sent Ellie over the edge. She kicked up her foot, cracking the knuckles of her fingers one by one. How much time has passed and your relationship with Ellie hasn’t progressed at all? She’d be lucky to even call it a relationship, small talk was a hard thing since the first years of you being in Jackson.

”yeah well, you don’t know that for sure.”

Ellie slumped her back onto the bed looking up at the wooden ceiling, the position she should’ve been if she was truly sick. Dina couldn’t bother to deal with Ellie’s stubbornness when the topic was you specifically. Because she knew Ellie was almost helpless when it came to you.

Exhausted from the topic of you by how much denial and stubbornness it’d be met with, Dina propped herself up from the couch before looking over at Ellie, spitefully replying to her small attitude,

“Oh I think I know, at least come by the dance go say hi.”

Upon Dina walking out and shutting the door Ellie kept her spot, the stunt she just pulled probably set her way back in means of getting more familiar with you. Letting out a low groan again, it was hard to decide to show up. Seeing you would only have her ridden with guilt. Ellie didn’t know to believe Dina’s beliefs or not. She was hopeful, but failed to be certain.

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚

Staring straight forward into your own reflection in the vanity was where your mind couldn’t rest on the long debate that was if going to the dance was still a good idea. Held up in knots going over each pro and con there could’ve possibly been, you’d already spent the time perfecting the look for tonight. Only to feel hesitant, and it was all Ellie’s fault. The few days after the incident, it was completely insufferable to face or hear any news about Ellie. Each time it would only make the feelings of embarrassment mixed with bitter defeat resurface.

“She shouldn’t be showing up anyways.”

Is what got you to settle on going out with the prerogative to have a little fun, determined to not let your crushed feelings take away from a good time. After all the wait for the dance it would be a spoil of time to stay in.

Because the party was outside people were more sprawled out, making it harder to see every single person attending. High hanging warm lights were strung from building to building in a zigzag pattern, they illuminated the incoming night that was creeping up. A table took space in the middle in front of everything, each spot of the table being covered with some sort of food or drink, leaned up on it’s ledges was Jesse and Dina talking to Joel.

Joel looked rough on the exterior with the way he would carry himself, but truly was a kind type at heart. You’d only gotten a few chances to chat with him, a little less than with Ellie. He’d only remind you of Ellie with how close they are, so you set it in your mind to clearly stay away from all three of them for the rest of the night.

A few speakers were synced together playing Sades Hang on to your love, just standing there cemented lost and doe eyed would do you no good. Staying home inside the comfort of your room would have been preferable, thinking maybe it would’ve looked a bit awkward to dance alone. Maybe you could ask one of the girls there you were friends with, amidst the cloud of thought a man invitingly lent out a hand. You’d seen him around a few times, wearing dark navy jeans and a black sueded cowboy hat, you accepted thinking you had nothing to lose.

In heaven’s name, why are you walking away?

Dancing with him was purely for fun, no strings attached to you, but for him, his eyes spoke that he was in it for something. Letting his hands cling to the sleeves of your shirt, his touch was a little irritating. Already starting to regret your choice to agree to dance, more specifically with a man. You tried to disregard the slight discomfort and continued to move along with his moves to at least entertain yourself by dancing. By now, the man’s hands on your arms begun steering you right to the center of the dance floor, which essentially was just an open dirt plot right in-front a certain table.

Hang on to your love

In a few footsteps he’d successfully made it close to unbearable for you to dance along now that you’ve made it to the prime viewing spot for everyone in the surrounding crowd. Uncomfortable with both his handling and everyones eyes set on the show he was making out of this. Of course in that crowd she had to be stood against there to that table, in those jeans that were starting to scuff from continued wear and fading flannel. Using quick stolen glimpses to catch the sight of Ellie when he’d spun you round.

In heaven’s name, why do you plays these games?

It was becoming increasingly difficult to hide how distressed you were. Urgently wanting to escape only to bolt it back to your home. You were heating up because you knew by now, Ellie had been staring directly at you, visibly displaying exactly how unhappy she was with the situation. Crossed arms and legs, eyebrows dipping into a slight angry arch. Ellie was whispering something over to her right hand man, Jesse.

“Out of everyone here, why are they dance partners? It’s not like they know each other.”

“And you know that how?”

Ellie’s appearance at the dance was meant to solely be a quick passing, is what she swore to herself at least. Getting caught up in being witness to whatever you were found doing with that man had sidetracked her. Ellie knew from his stares he had intentions outside of having fun, nothing could be lead to coincidence with him especially. Ellie was aware of his reputation of going through plenty of women in short periods of time, immediately latching onto someone new after the last.

“Doesn’t matter, either way I can’t stop her.”

“How about getting over there and steal her back, or are you still hung up?”

Take your time if the going gets rough

The grip he had on you got tighter, he tried pressing his body further to yours by making a his hand placement lower to your hips. Every move he continued to act on making you all the more irritated. None of this is what you wanted, and Ellie’s stare only added fuel to fire. She didn’t want to go out on patrol together with you the previous day, why is she out of all people dishing out the judgmental looks?

so if you want it to get stronger you’d better no let go

“Your guess is as good as mine, I just can’t, be near her like that.”

For every thing Ellie wished she could do and say, is another longing stare of hers that graced you. Blaming the fear to approach you on the nausea effect that didn’t budge no matter what you tended to have on her.

“you’re not getting anywhere staring all crazy at her.”

Eventually the man had noticed how absent minded from the situation you were in, with your eyes glued straight past him clasped in his arms. Speaking up for the first time, some sparse voice pulled you back into the moment.

“Who’s got you distracted huh?”

hold tight, don’t fight

“Nothing, I was just zoning out a bit.”

He didn’t buy it, he reclined his torso back and away, allowing for an easier spin on his heel to see who had you so entranced just now.

”Oh come on not that dyke that came from wherever with her old man.”

Instantly he let go away, recoiling away immediately. His face had contorted into a disgusted expression directed at the both of you, Ellie for knowing and being Ellie and you for simply looking at Ellie.

“Men can’t get no breaks in this world.” A thick mouthful of saliva was spat onto the dirt next to your feet leaving from the center having you deserted there alone. A few surrounding people looked shocked looked at what had unraveled there while others looked away.

Hang on to your love

Ellie stayed put in her same spot, deciding it was better now or never to take your chances. Possessing feelings that felt too similar to love, only to hush and silence them away each night wasn’t getting any easier. Ellie’s eyes darted away the moment she saw you beginning to walk right over to her.

in heaven’s name, why are you walking away?

”Why didn’t you show up to patrol with me that day? I know you weren’t sick so don’t even use that excuse.”

Confrontation wasn’t your usual way of dealing with things, but the time spent conflicted as to feel about Ellie wore on you. One day you were swearing there was a chance for things to be mutual, only to change your mind the next.

“I don’t know where you’re getting at because I was sick.” To Ellie it was clear now that you heard everything she told Dina outside the stable.

“I heard you outside whispering you know, honestly Ellie what do you have against me?”

“Nothing! Look I did ask for her to cover for me, but it’s only cause I had something to do at home.” She slid her thumbs to hang out from the front pockets changing her stance to loosen.

”what we’re you so busy with?” You didn’t mean to come off as stern as you did, from then on Ellie started to sound less confident with each word that would come out her mouth.

”Something back in my room, it’s noth-“

“Let’s go see it then.”

Right then you start walking straight to her room, picking up your pace when Ellie called out your name behind you. You knew where she stayed at, catching her with Dina and Jesse walking in and out of the small shed that sat off to the left of the main house on a few occasions. Initially she didn’t believe you were serious, so she waited a while longer before starting to walk as well. Ellie caught up quickly but you were faster, sprinting closer to the door illuminated by the hanging light besides it.

Once you’d got ahold of the doorknob it easily opened to your luck, it was typical in Jackson to leave doors open because how people trusted one another as a community. Immediately you slammed the door shut upon putting two steps inside to Ellie’s room. With a quick click it had been locked to make sure she stayed out while you got to the bottom of this.

On the other side Ellie banged on the door with her whole palm repeatedly,

“Hey get the hell out!”

“I’m trying to see what was so important you had to ditch me and not tell me anything about it.”

”I’m sorry okay? I promise next time I won’t run out on you like that.”

She was basically pleading by now aware that you had the upper hand, you had every power to leisurely look through her whole life that was stored in her room. Standing there felt childish now that you’d caught your breath leaving you time to reflect what happened and what you did. Ellie ran over to the side of the shed to where the windows were, she put her hands up to the glass scanning the room for you,

“if you let me in now I’ll show you, I swear.”

She sounded sincere in her soft tone, rummaging Ellies room wouldn’t be right regardless how upset you were so you nodded and unlocked the door for her. Moving aside to give her space to walk in. Mumbling getting through she spoke again,

“Let me go grab it, it’s over by the coffee table.”

Now that everything calmed you could properly look around to see how Ellie’s room looked. The type of posters hung from the walls, above an unmade bed a cork board pinned photos of her friends and drawings adorned it. It was a little confusing why Ellie wasn’t mad or screaming for you to get out. It was pretty quiet in the small room, only a small faint strain of music from the party was keeping it from dead silence. The air was thick, closing in on the both of you.

“I would’ve showed you it if you asked without having to lock me out you know.” Ellie was still turned away from you, holding onto a medium sized board that she picked up from the rug. A few paintbrushes were drying on a towel next to the glass jar of murky grey water.

“No you wouldn’t,” lightheartedly you laughed trying to ease your nerves that arose from being alone with her away from anyone else.

“yeah,” returning a small laugh she turned to you, time felt slow in this moment as if everything itself was prolonged outside the rules of time with Ellie’s footsteps slowly approaching. Her laughter alleviated some of the tension the air carried.

Ellie didn’t say anything at first, she let you see what turned out to be canvas with you painted sitting down reading a book, propping your head up with your left arm on your knee with the book tucked into your lap. Never would have you guessed Ellie taken long enough to look at you long enough to get the amount of details she’d painted so perfectly. That’s exactly what you’d describe the painting her hands created, perfect.

“Ellie..” Lost in the soft colors that were painted into you, you were for certain on how you felt about Ellie.

With lack of response she was quick to defensively speak up, “You just looked like a good reference, I wasn’t trying to be creepy or anything-“

“it’s beautiful,”

You were unsure what to say or even do, Ellie stood there looking back at you under your jurisdiction continuing to wait on you. She’d hate to admit what she was so scared about your reaction or rejection, because it was only then that the feelings would sink to only decay inside the pit of her stomach to linger. “Thanks,” Ellie’s composure was gone, visible by how nervous her smile looked. Considering how she took the effort to paint you, it was time to do something that had been long overdue. Putting down the painting to lean on itself against the wall freeing your hands, you find them a new place on Ellie’s shoulders. Slightly towering above you with her height, being able to see her up close in such a tender hold felt like a sweet of blessing.

”When I saw you for the first time I knew it was going to be you, and it has been since then.”

Ellie’s eyebrows cinched together in confusion unaware of the weight your words held.

”it’s been only you, nobody else has ever came close, because I like you the most.”

Ellies lips gapped open ready to let out to spill her unspoken words upon fully processing what you meant. She had wished to tell you that accumulated over time, except they only came out in silence.

Hearing your confession to her, was her own sweetest blessing. Instead of staying silent any longer Ellie let her actions talk for her, plunging right into a kiss. The muscles in her lips kneaded at your own desperately like to makeup for every kiss that was missed in the time that you could’ve spent together before today. Each passing day she could’ve only yearned to feel you as intimately as tonight. This was felt in the way she was making out with you now.

Leaning further into the kisses to savor the taste and smell you carried, and sure enough you were the same way, pushing further into her too. A strand of hair slipping out from the ear Ellie tucked behind tickled the side of your face.

Gasping for air after the both of you’d succumb to shortness of breath. Ellie’s lips were a softer shade of pink from the circulating blood by how much pressure she had used to press onto your lips. Before you could Interject again she plunged back into you, this time her trembling hands cupping the plush of your cheeks, which then stabilized themselves on you. you didn’t resist Ellie’s lips, rather you moved at the same rate. Her left hands fingertips slightly callused by the guitar Joel had gifted. Each kiss was passionate, becoming more sloppier and quicker paced than the last one.

Nothing else mattered here against the warmth that radiated from Ellie, her pulsing heartbeat was felt by your own chest. Through flesh and bone, you could’ve sworn your hearts could feel the love you both shared for each other. You knew perfectly in your mind that this was meant to be, and Ellie had loved you ever since you fell too.

Ellie gently pulled away to whisper in that hoarse soft voice, “This better than dancing with him?”

She sounded so tantalizing, having you in her hands all to herself. No one would ever be able to have you the way Ellie did, and for that she felt prouder than ever. The doubt for any connection that could’ve been there in the days and years prior to today, was overcast by Ellie’s pure bliss right now.

You smiled while pressing foreheads together, letting the air from Ellie’s breathing fall onto your face. Chests falling up and down in a few seconds of quietness before replying, “Better than you could ever know.”

“Oh I think I do know,” squeezing you tighter followed smaller frantic kisses below your eyes, between your eyebrows, and cheek. You reflected her actions onto each bronze or dark brown freckle Ellie had scattered across her face.

Finishing, Ellie pulled you to walk to her bed by her hands connected behind your neck, bringing you down top of her on the spring mattress. Cheeks lifting up to reveal smile lines that you managed to bring out so easily. You held yourself up by your forearms with Ellie sandwiched in between. A warm lit lamp and the small slips of light from the dance in the distance outside were the only forms of light source in the room. Night had casted over the sky, and the moon coating the world below in moonlight. Once a few seconds passed of enjoying the others presence by staring at each and every feature as to memorize them forever like a keepsake, Ellie cleared her throat to speak up.

”I want to be with you, properly this time I mean,” Ellie gazed right into your eyes endearingly beneath you. Her proper confession was in a form of a question you’ve been waiting on so eagerly for so long.

“I’d love that.”

Placing a small peck right on the tip of her nose, you laid down on her, letting your head fall to her heart. This moment would be the mark of something new, a new chapter in your lives. Not another person or soul could take this away from either of you, love continuing to grow deeper into your hearts.

#ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie x fem reader #ellie tlou2 #ellie williams #ellie x you #ellie fluff #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #tlou part 2

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sparrowrye · 5 months

Text

Demi Demon || Alastor x Reader, A2 part 28 (fixed)

Synopsis: It’s been over a year since we were brought under Alastor’s watchful eye. We’ve unlocked our Demonic powers, discovered our own talents, and began building the Safe Haven with Charlie and co. Alastor seems increasingly interested in the power we hold as one and intends to use it properly.

Previous part

Part 28: my turn

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Adam had tied me to a chair in an empty, stale, and cold metal room, then left me. I was alone with a headband strapped on to keep my magic away. My connection with Alastor was slow to return, strands gradually stringing together and re-tying the knots. It wasn't entirely gone, to my great relief, but it took a lot of time for it to mend itself.

Some time later, when our connection was a bit stronger, I felt him panic. My own panic rose in my throat as I tried wrenching my limbs out of the tight ropes pinning them to the chair. This was all part of Blackwater's plan. It had to be. He was trying to separate us.

The thought I might be just as dangerous that he would need to keep me away and contained, sent a flare of pride in my chest.

A minute later, the panic turned to genuine fear. I let out a loud cry as I tried to pull my limbs free, blood dripping down from where the rope dug into my skin. I reached for my magic but it wasn't there. I threw my head back against the wall but there was no wall. The force threw me backwards and I landed painfully on my back as well as my tied hands with a loud echo. My hands throbbed in pain.

Our connection grew stronger, still. Pain came shooting through it. Something was cutting into the sides of his head and I let out a scream, feeling as if he was screaming through me. I banged my head against the floor in an effort to remove the headband but, like before, the important part of the contraption was on the front most part of my head.

I stopped thrashing and went strangely still. I closed my eyes and pushed through the pain of our connection. His presence was far, very far, and his magic was even further. I anchored myself to our connection and veered off. My magic was all over the place but I found myself drawing them closer together. It was slow and took all my concentration, sometimes losing the pieces when Alastor let out another scream. What was Blackwater doing to him?

I was running out of time. I used what little magic I had and imagined lava sprouting from the metal headband. It felt like I was sweating and my back contorted from the amount of mental effort this was taking. I was doing it, but I could lose it within a millisecond if I lost focus. Take it slow. You'll get to him in time.

Trust the process.

My body felt like it was shaking. My head was throbbing from the work, pulsing beneath the headband and into my neck. So close. Almost there.

Alastor screamed again. My metaphorical hands fumbled, nearly losing the balance of it all. I was going to get to him. I could get to him in time.

Just hold out for me.

Searing pain blinded me and I was abruptly thrown back into the chair, all my progress lost. I let out a cry as the pain dared to break through my skull. My magic flew into my hands and the ropes around my limbs burst into flames. I rolled off the fallen chair and wiped my forehead free of...magma?

The headband had melted and my magic was back.

I had done it.

I closed my eyes and clawed my way through our soul connection. Alastor's energy was gone and the connection almost felt transparent. I kept moving, faster and faster, desperation fueling my adrenaline. I tried calling out to him but he wasn't responding.

He felt limb. Defeated. Gone.

My shadow touched his and I melted with it, stealing the last of his energy and power to teleport myself. I stayed in a shadow and crept along the wall, my mind expanding as the shadow enclosed the room entirely.

Alastor was strapped to a near horizontal chair and a surgeon was using a terrifying-looking tool on the side of his head. His entire face and side was coated in dark blood. His eyes were closed but he was still alive.

Alcine sprouted from my shadow's shoulder and took our Dragon form, mouth opening wide along the wall in a howl. Alastor's shadow weaved through the floor and towered behind the surgeon, drawing open his sharp, wide mouth, cackling as Alastor had always done.

I pulled myself through the wall and took my Demon form, the shadows unwrapping my body and separating from each other, still connected to me at my feet. I took a few steps forward and stopped, narrow eyes watching the surgeon as he backed away from me, from Alastor. I'm not sure what he was trying to do to him but I didn't care. Alcine grabbed his feet and dragged him across the floor.

His soul was bright, bright with fear, and I obeyed the urge to wrap my own hands around it. I gave a testing pull, his soul making a horrible sound like chalk on a chalkboard as I attempted to separate his soul from his body. Surprised by this new skill, I let the soul snap back into its original place. A moment later I impaled my claws into his chest right over his heart. His eyes widened, mouth probably agape behind the mask, and sputtered on his own blood.

I yanked my claws out and stood up, abandoning his withering form as his soul slowly merged with mine and came trapped beside the many other souls I still held onto.

I undid the belt covered his eyebrows and caught his head as it limped forward. I attempted to heal the massive wound, stitching his skin back together before he could wake up to feel the pain. It was slow. My magic felt like I was walking through mud. It took a lot of concentration just to stop the bleeding. There must be more of Blackwater's magic dampening technology.

I briefly stopped healing and let Alcine and Alastor's shadow run through the huge factory. They found any wires they could and snapped them. I had to lean against Alastor's still form as all my concentration and energy was diverted to the shadows.

Finally, the heavy mugginess disappeared and my full power returned. I gently grabbed Alastor's face, hands covered in his blood, and continued my healing. I healed it just enough that his skin was molded back together and the bleeding had stopped. I gave some of my energy to him and felt him stir.

"What did they do to you?" I whispered, thumb smearing blood across his cheek.

The door flew open. Blackwater stood in the doorway, eyes widening at the sight of me. Immediately I threw vines at him as he did to me. It impaled my shoulder, my chest, and threw me on my back. I sucked in air as I pulled the vine out, realizing too late that it had huge thorns. I barely healed the injury as I sat up with a groan.

I saw Blackwater on his back, my own vine impaling him in the same place. I wrenched it free and his head snapped up to look at me. He used his good arm to push himself to a sitting position.

"How did—"

I launched at him before he could finish. He casted fire right under me and I used wind to throw myself higher. I landed awkwardly on my back outside the room and rolled to face him. Bullets grazed my arm as guards began shooting at me. I weaved around the pillars of the balcony above and used a 'force field' to evade the bullets.

Blackwater chased me with more fire. He bent the metal under my feet, casted objects at my head, threw wind into my side, and pulled water out of nowhere to drown me.

I casted the water away and threw his form into one of the pillars. I moved to jump but a vine sprouted from the floor to grip my ankle. The gunshots continued. I bent their guns skyward and heard a few of them backfire painfully.

More vines appeared. They laced together and stretched over my head. Within seconds I was in a ball of horned vines.

"You're harder to deal with than Alastor," Blackwater used the pillar to push himself to his feet, "How did disappointing."

"Alastor doesn't cheat," I argued. The vines were uncomfortably close, thorns grazing my arm from a mere shift in my weight.

Blackwater lifted his hands on either side in a shrug gesture. "What was that you said to Striker? Demons don't play fair?"

My stomach dropped. I stared at him through the vines, guards on watch on the balconies and cheers and cries from the prisoners.

I was back in a ring.

I had tried so hard to leave that life behind, to fix my soul, to do better, but it always brought me right back where I didn't want to be.

My body shivered as Alastor looked through my eyes. I saw flashes of the procedure he had to endure while awake. I heard the chants from the prisoners to kill Blackwater, to set them free, to put this unrest to rest.

Alastor had been right. He had always been right. There was no escaping my nature. You could put a sword on the shelf but when it was needed, it was ready to kill once again. And kill I would if it meant Alastor could live, if Reagan could walk carefree with me beyond the borders, if my haven could be safe.

I reached out for Blackwater's soul and grabbed it. He froze. He fought me and he fought me hard. His soul was anchored tightly to his body but the harder I tugged the more his strings stretched and frayed. He collapsed on the floor and the vines around me inched away as all eyes went to him. I sprouted my own vines to pry them open and jump out.

I morphed into my Dragon and clamped my mouth on a hard pillar. Fire scalded my scales and I reared back, head hitting the platform and sending the guards flying. I went into my shadow and flew around the walls. Blackwater spun in an attempt to keep his eyes on me, but I was faster. I used to run circles around my opponents in a small ring but now I was in a large prison with plenty of obstacles to hide along.

I grabbed his soul again. He lashed out with different magic but it did nothing to my shadowy form. I let out a laugh as I tugged again, earning a cry of panic this time.

I was starting to understand Alastor's perspective.

A fleeting thought came to my mind - Blackwater withholding oxygen to the entire prison. A second later I found it took a lot of effort to breathe normally. I tried to dampen his magic, to prevent him from using it, but I couldn't. The way in which he was using magic made it impossible to fight him with normal-styled magic.

I drew in oxygen from upstairs to keep myself awake as guards and prisoners collapsed. I closed his throat and watched him suffer from his own medicine. He fell to his knees, clawing at nothing and eyes searching for me. I melded into my Demon form and walked up from behind. I casted the entire prison in darkness and let the oxygen come back into the room.

I grabbed hold of Blackwater's soul, tainted like black blood, and at the same time grabbing his throat. I held the back of his head against my side, claws digging into his skin so it bleed. He was suffocating from the lack of oxygen, physical body bleeding to death, and soul being held tightly in my grasp.

"You can't beat someone who fought her entire life, and finally found something worth fighting for," I said loudly, voice echoing off the metal walls. His soul loosened as his body began to die. I grabbed hold of his soul with two metaphorical claws and wrenched it the rest of the way, a horrible, sickening, popping sound heard only to my ears, and dragged him far away from the other souls.

His body fell limp and I let it crash into the floor. I pushed the darkness away to reveal his dead body to the onlooker. The guards stared, unmoving. Their great leader lay in his own pool of blood at the feet of Demon. A Demon who didn't give them a cause for concern, who didn't give anyone a cause for concern. But now I did.

I reached through the magic plains and towered above the shaking souls. I caught two in my fingers and pulled their souls free from their bodies prematurely. Their cries echoed in my ear but for the first time...

It didn't bother me.

I caught one more before the others came back to the physical word and made a run for the stairs, locking the metal doors shut.

I spun away from Blackwater's body, feeling his soul fighting against my restraints, and walked into the room Alastor was in. The prisoners cried for help but I ignored them, attention solely on my injured soulmate.

Holding my injured, aching arm, I sat on the edge of the seat. He mumbled my name as I melted the metal cuffs away. As soon as his hands were free, he brought his knuckles up to lazily brush against my cheek. His energy was still trying to crawl back.

"L-Love," he whispered.

"I'm here." I pressed his hand against my cheek and planted a kiss on his wrist. "It's over."

He licked his lips. His voice was void of his radio filter and cracked as he said, "Blackwater. Where–"

"He's dead."

His tired eyebrows moved to make him look upset. He licked his lips before he struggled to ask, "His soul...where?"

"I have him. He's locked away, I promise."

"Use--" he turned his head away to cough, "use others souls...to keep him under."

"I know." I placed another kiss on his wrist.

He let out a sigh and his smile turned genuine. He closed his eyes. "That's my girl."

The phrase caused butterflies in my stomach. I kissed him on the nose to steal a taste of his sweet blood. "I'll be right back."

It almost sounded like a whine as I stood up, his arm falling limp on his lap from the disconnect. I climbed the stairs to the top level where another set of stairs continued upward. I faced the prison and lifted my arms. The locks on all the cells cracked open, the cell doors sliding painfully loud. Red lights flashed and an annoying alarm went off. I broke the earth down on the one staircase behind me and jammed the metal doors shut.

I barked out an order for everyone to gather in the center of the prison. They obeyed, half running and half limping. I waited until each of them had pushed close together and heads tilted back to look at me. I heard men moving the earth in the blocked stairwell.

I felt Alastor look through my eyes again.

Stretching my black claws out, I watched as the ground beneath the group began to lighten up and create a symbol. The purple grew brighter, my energy depleting, as I teleported the entire group just outside the Haven's borders. The guards will ensure nothing happens to them or the haven.

Clanging shook the door behind me. I used a hair of magic to wrench metal free from the stair railing. I leaned against the wall next to the door and waited. I was trying to catch my breath and failing. I was so tired. I just wanted to sleep.

I bent the metal under the door so it curved up and served as a door stop. It did nothing as they began bending the door from its hinges with magic.

This alarm needed to just shut up.

That's when my nose caught a scent. Gas.

I casted the gas through the open hole and up the stairs. I dragged it across every square inch of this huge factory. This place was in ice? No wonder we couldn't find him.

Alcine gripped my shoulders. I melted with her and came to stand beside Alastor. He had clambered off the chair and was laying against the wall, head hanging low and body shaking.

The smell of gas was strong here.

I put my arm around his back and let his head hit my shoulder. I grabbed his opposite leg and drew in energy from my imprisoned souls to run with our shadows.

We came up to the snowy landscape. I drew in a sharp breath as the cold hit me in the face. I fixed my body temperature and let it seep into Alastor's. I and to gather energy and brace myself before every magic action. My mind went with Alcine but my body stayed behind. It took but a spark of fire to engulf the entire factory in flames.

The ground shook. I opened my eyes to the cold snow again. My head hurt as everything shook. I saw the ice crack dangerously close. The spot we were sitting on shifted and it took more effort from the souls to keep myself and Alastor from slipping into the dark abyss. My claws shook from the strain.

The factory was sinking. It was falling into the ice and drowning in the cold water beneath. How deep was this water? The thought terrified me.

I drew on more energy from the souls and painted the ice and snow in my symbol. I wrapped my arms around Alastor's upper body while my tail hooked his legs. My body buzzed and everything felt very light and like we were thinning. Soft, warm grass touched my knees when we manifested.

Alastor withdrew his energy from me and slumped further in my arms. I hadn't even realized he had been giving me some energy. I looked around, realizing I had teleported us to the forest just beyond our borders. I called for help, the wind carrying my cry, as I laid Alastor flat on his back as carefully as I could.

I kept calling, crying, and casting until I felt Husker's presence touch mine. I felt the urgency and the sound of his wings flapping. Relief overwhelmed me. Before I could cry from relief, I fell unconscious beside Alastor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author's Note:

I like this version much much better. Thoughts?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist:

@wendigonamecaller @saccharine-nectarine @thesimpybitch @papas-ghoulette

#demi demon #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #soulmate au #soulmates #reqs open

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