#what to drink to lower blood pressure quickly | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

apollodarling-writes · 2 years

Text

Simon Says...

MINORS DNI!!!

desc: Simon “Ghost” Riley decides to take Simon says a bit further...

cw: multiple creampies, unsafe sex, ghost was out here rawdoggin you without a condom or even asking if you were on contraceptives beforehand smh, afab reader but no specified pronouns, marking, rough sex, uhh a lil blood play cause i feel like ghost would kinda be into that, dom!ghost/sub!reader, manhandling, spanking, bruising mention, public play, a little degradation, praise, Ghost is kinda mean at first, i use the term ‘pretty’ but it’s meant to sound gn, it might be kinda shitty... sorry ;(, idk if i mentioned it already but ghost is a sadist in this, reader shows slight masochism btw, kinda??? blood drinking, some possessive themes, throat fucking, this is fucking absolute filth, ghosty boy goes feral, simon's orgasm hits real hard for him- it's prolly the mutual pining and finally being able to fuck you tbh, uhhh also pussy drunk! simon, and some cunnilingus, dumbification, virgin!reader

this isn't proofread. it's also prolly a little shitty at the end. I was rushing to get this out.

@willywonkagirly @darklordofthesimp @ifellinthebongebong @midnightlockhearth

Everything started with you challenging Ghost to a drinking contest. No one in the 141 Task Force had the pleasure of seeing the man drunk, and you would be the one to change that. Upon deciding the night was nice enough, and hoping that luck would be on your side, you had slung your arm over the man’s shoulder and proposed the idea. Surprisingly, with enough begging and batting your eyelashes halfheartedly, Ghost had finally agreed.

The rest of it was a blur. One moment you were flirting with Ghost, and the next you were being dragged to the bathrooms in the back of the bar, shoulders slamming against the cool metal of the divider.

“Ghost! What the hell?” You weakly protest, your words slurring together.

“You like to play games, don’t you?” The man growls, venom dripping from every word that leaves his lips.

“What are you-“ Ghost’s hand shoots out, gripping your jaw.

“Did I say you could speak, [Name]?” Your eyes widen as you gently shake your head. “Then don’t speak.”

You bite your lip as the Lieutenant purrs, “You learn quick don’t you, Angel?”

“Now, since you like to play games with me, what d’ya say to a nice ol’ game of Simon Says?”

Simon says?

You furrow your brows at the man’s choice of game, but agree nonetheless. With a slight nod of the head, you hear Ghost chuckle.

“We’ll start off simple, yeah?” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond. “Simon Says: Take off my mask.”

You blanch. “A-Are you sure, Gh-“

The Lieutenant clicks his tongue, followed by a disappointed sigh. Thick fingers wrap around the soft flesh of your throat as he ghosts his cloth-covered lips along your jaw, nipping at your flesh here and there.

“Are you gonna be good for me, or am I going to have to make you? I’d prefer that you be the good little bitch you are, but…” Ghost trails off for a moment, an arm wrapping around your back, pulling you flush against his broad chest, his other hand trailing lower and lower. “I don’t mind putting you in your place, Angel.”

His fingers just barely brush against your clothed clit- a promise of what’s to come if you’re good for him.

“Will you be good for me, Pretty?” Parting your lips as the man applies gentle pressure, you quickly nod your head. Ghost releases a sultry chuckle, butterflies filling your tummy as a result, and removes his grip on you.

“Good.”

The LT takes a step back, allowing you to shakily pull his mask off.

He’s beautiful, is your first thought.

The man had to be a god. With pretty, plush lips, dirty blond hair that’s grown out just a tad more than Ghost- no, Simon- would’ve liked, long lashes that frame his gorgeous ice-blue eyes… you couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

"Ya like what ya see, Sargeant?"

"You weren't kidding when you said you were far from ugly..." You murmur, causing the man to chuckle. His eyes meet yours, a hungry, lustful look swirling within. Simon reaches his hand forward, cupping your cheek and brushing the pad of his thumb against your lip.

"Simon Says: kiss me."

You inch closer to him, gently pressing your lips against his and wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. The man quickly takes the lead, tongue brushing over your bottom lip and fingers gripping the meat of your waist- surely, there would be bruises tomorrow. Simon kisses you heatedly, lifting one of your thighs and pinning it against his hip, biting your lip and tongue here and there.

"You drive me fuckin' crazy, love." He murmurs, pressing chaste kisses to your jaw, trailing down the length of your neck.

Ghost bites down on the apex of your shoulder, forcing a pained whine to erupt from your throat. He shivers at the sound and sinks his canines deeper into your flesh, reluctantly pulling away as you begin to squirm and licks up the droplets of blood leaking from the wound.

Simon's gaze drops to the bitemark he left- a pretty purple and red taking up a portion of your shoulder. Blood rushes to the man's cock, the pants he wears beginning to strain rather painfully against his flushed tip.

"Simon says: get on your knees."

You immediately obey, mouth watering at the promise those four words held. He hurriedly unzips his jeans, the imprint of his cock making you whimper. Your core pulses as he lowers his boxers, length slapping against his abdomen, the sensitivity of it causing a poorly contained groan to form in his throat.

One hand wraps around the base, roughly tapping your lips with the leaking tip, while the other tangles itself in your hair.

"Open."

You obey.

"Suck"

You obey.

Simon's hand guides your head, forcing his cock deep into your throat.

"Doin' so good for me." He groans. "Feels so fuckin' good."

Ghost holds your head in place as he comes closer and closer to his climax, length thrusting in and out of your throat. Heat pools in your tummy, thighs clenching together as one hand slowly reaches down to fondle your clit.

"'m gonna fuckin' cum. 'm gonna fuckin cum-" Simon groans, hips suddenly stilling and eyes screwing shut as his vision borders a delicious white. He shakily pulls out, fingers brushing against your cheek, and orders you to swallow all of it.

Just like before, you obey.

"Simon says: Strip."

Swallowing thickly, you begin to strip off your clothes. By now, your underwear was practically transparent- glistening in the dim lighting, the outline of your heat on display for the LT. He hooks a finger around the seams of the garment and tears the fabric from your body.

Simon is quick to replace the fabric- his tongue lazily drawing circles on your nub and fingers prodding at your slit.

"'m gonna make you cum 'fore I fuck you." Ghost murmurs his promise into the meat of your inner thigh, releasing a throaty groan as he relishes in the taste of you.

He coaxes one orgasm out of you.

Two orgasms.

Three orgasms.

Simon didn't want to stop. Between your fingers tugging harshly in his hair, the pretty purple marks blooming in the shape of his hand on your outer thighs, and the name carved into your tummy- Simon Riley was sure he was dreaming. The taste of you, the feel of you, the scent of you; everything was just too good to be true.

"Simon please- hah fuck!- need you inside me." You whine, hips bucking at just the right angle forcing a fourth orgasm from you.

"'m so proud of you, Angel. Did so fuckin good for me, yeah?" Simon stands from his kneeling position, picking you up and pressing your back against his chest- arms hooked beneath your knees and aligning your hole with his cock. "How about I fuck you dumb, hm? How about that, baby?"

"Please. Please, Si- I just need you. Need'ta be filled."

Ghost sinks you on his cock slowly, the pain from the stretch causing you to bite your lip and tears to prick your eyes.

"Si- I've never- I've never-"

"I'll be gentle, pretty. Just feel good for me." Simon begins raising you to the middle of his shaft, and sinks you down ever so slowly. Tension pools into the pit of your stomach, growing tighter and tighter, making you more sensitive as time goes on. Simon adjusts his angle, hitting a spot inside you that makes the tension crash down on you- your mind going blank and walls fluttering around Simon.

"Fuck-" Simon increases his pace- hips snapping into yours as he comes closer to his own orgasm. His hips never still as he spurts thick ropes of cum into you, fucking it back into you with each thrust.

Simon slams you on his cock, back pressed against the cool metal, as his hips snap up to meet halfway.

"'s too much Si-"

"Take what I give you, slut- oh god, 'm gonna fuckin cum again-"

Simon fucks into you faster and faster as he chases his own orgasm, forcing another from you. "'m gonna fuckin breed that pretty little pussy of yours. Need'ta make you mine-"

Simon cums a final time, dripping onto the floor as he gently pulls out from you, pressing a kiss to your temple and cleaning you up.

"Ya think they're fuckin?"

"Soap MacTavsish."

"Sorry, sorry."

3K notes · View notes

gatitties · 2 years

Text

Care and comfort

─ Yandere!bonten x motherly!reader (platonic)

─ Summary: you were just trying to help someone and you ended up being the obsession of a criminal organization

─ Warnings: obsession, stalking, toxic behaviors, kidnapping, slight mention of drugs and stuff related

Part two / Part three / Part four / Part five

You turned on the light in your kitchen, almost tripping over one of the stools because your eyes were still half closed, you had fallen asleep correcting the last report that the newspaper where you worked had sent you. You had noticed that you hadn't even had dinner before, so you made a quick meal before heading back to work, but before you could touch your laptop you heard a crash at the front door, as if someone had collapsed and slammed against it.

It's not that you lived in one of the worst areas of the city, but it was strange that something happened in the wee hours of the morning, you walked slowly, opening the door, or trying to, because the body of a man was blocking the entrance, a few minutes of struggle was enough for the unconscious body to fall to the other side, leaving you to open the door completely and contemplate the man.

He had one of those mullets that were fashionable among young people, several earrings, some scars on his mouth and stains of what appeared to be vomit and blood, okay, you did not want to interfere with anyone who seemed to be a drug addict, but on second thought, it was better to help the man than to have to give statements to the police as to why there was a dead body at your door.

You dragged him home and laid him on the couch, laying him on his side so he wouldn't choke on his own vomit if he ever did, though after further scanning you decided he needed a good shower. You did not feel self-conscious in doing this job, you are of an age and you have worked in many things, among them you had a position taking care of the elderly, all kinds of care being more specific, so no, you did not feel uncomfortable having to wash this man.

You changed his clothes and put his striped suit in the wash, leaving him back on the sofa, you continued with your work, reading and quickly correcting the errors you found, the night passed quite quickly and you fell asleep once you were completely done your work, sending it to the head of the newspaper.

The next morning you woke up with a gun pointed at your temple and that man's pretty eyes staring back at you, good way to start the day indeed.

"Who the hell are you?"

"Are you young people these days so ungrateful? It was you who passed out on the doorstep of my house at two in the morning."

He lowered the gun, seeming to remember some parts of his night, he sat still a little bewildered and with his head elsewhere because of the drugs taken yesterday, he looked at you in silence now noticing his change of clothes as well as the smell of his hair, it was not the smell of his usual shampoo.

"Did you…?"

"Yes, oh, don't be ashamed, it's been a long time since I stopped being interested in that kind of thing, at a certain age the only thing one looks for is economic stability and peace of mind, are you going to stay for lunch?"

He blinked contemplating your calm form, he didn't know if he was still under the pressure of narcotics, but he didn't reject your proposal, Sanzu was anything but embarrassing, however he felt like a little boy next to you being cared for by the mother he never had.

For your part, he was not the first brat you helped, you had married friends, with grown children or adolescents who did not stop getting into small problems, you acted like the aunt who drinks wine and criticizes everyone at family gatherings, for your attitude, they found it easier to access you when they had problems they didn't want your friends ─their moms─ to know about, you always had their backs unless it was something that was detrimental to their health, then you wouldn't hesitate to call your friends to give their children a lecture, even as adults.

That same attitude was the one that made Sanzu visit you more often than he would like to admit, although most of the times he left scolded for coming home drunk or drugged, you never closed the door on him, how could you? You weren't heartless enough to leave him lying in the street when he came desperately asking for help with some of his hallucinations.

Your kindness led him to an obsession towards you, you were like his little lifeboat, his conscious part about all the madness in which he was involved, he began to watch you from afar, observing your interactions with strangers and friends, it bothered him, it bothered him that you were just as kind to others as you were to him, he wanted all your attention just for him. He was also worried about you, he had seen the worst part of the rotten world in which he lived, someone with a soft heart like you could not survive against the predators of this society.

Of course, Bonten executives were not stupid, usually most of them lived in the headquarters, they had private properties where they spent a few days or weeks, but most of the time they were in that headquarter, especially Sanzu, that's why they started to noticing his absence more and more, it's not like he had to explain himself to anyone ─except if Mikey asked him to─ but his behavior was strange, didn't he arrive drugged? It seemed like a bad joke, clothes without a bloodstain? he was definitely doing something outside their radar.

Not that the others cared much, but the Haitani brothers were a bit nosy, like gossips who want to know why their partner seems happier when he comes back in the morning after a night of 'fun'. They discussed it a couple of times with the others when Sanzu wasn't around, and they all agreed that his behavior was unusual, so they began to investigate what he did in his leisure.

This led to an ordinary person like you being watched by two executives of the largest criminal organization in the country. At first they thought that you were a whore with whom he had fallen in love, but investigating more about you, they discovered that you were a lady with an established daily life, there was nothing about you that stood out and yet you seemed so interesting.

"Sanzu please, I need to finish correcting this report, I promise you that later you can have all the hugs you want."

"No."

He tightened his grip on your waist, burying his face in the crook of your neck, you were trying to do your job but Sanzu found your hugs too comforting after you once found him crying ─from being drugged─, killing people leaves obstacles in any person and as much as he loved it, certain deaths of innocent people always ended up flying over his thoughts like ghosts that tormented him from time to time.

The sound of the doorbell made you stop typing, moving the man slightly away to go to open, you were not expecting a visitor which was strange to you, Sanzu felt a chill when you opened the door, meeting the eyes of the youngest of the Haitani directly, he got up quickly without even letting you ask what those guys wanted, he pulled you back before Ran could drag you with him.

"What the fuck are you two doing here?"

"Make sure you don't have too much fun, are you so in love that you forget the meetings?"

They started a little discussion while you looked blankly, you and Rindou looked at each other in silence while the other two talked, you greeted with a brief nod, thinking they were Sanzu's coworkers.

Luckily just when the discussion was getting more heated, a 'ding' coming from the oven threw everyone off concentration, taking advantage of this you got out of the man's strong grip, walking towards the kitchen to see that the cookies you had been working on before were ready.

"There are plenty of cookies for everyone, Sanzu you can invite your friends."

"They are not my friends!"

"That's very kind of you, we'd love to meet our friend's friend."

So you ended up having lunch with the three men in an awkward silence between them, due to the tension of which you preferred not to take into account, Ran and Rindou were quite nice and understood that you were not a love interest, nor did you want it, nor did you seek it. Alarm bells of boys without a mother figure going off again, of course you caught their interest more than before, they knew your background but not your personality, and they ended up falling into that obsession towards you, as if there was something that made them gravitate towards you, was it because of your simplicity? for your kind words? They didn't know it, but they were jealous that Sanzu could snuggle up against you and they would have to keep more of their distance.

Now you had three of Bonten's executives constantly visiting your house, whether it was asking you for small favors or advice on nonsense to asking you to make them cookies or food in general, they just desperately wanted your attention, like babies crying out for their mother.

This cycle of obsession only made the others begin to suspect that they were up to something, whether it was harmful to Bonten or not, Takeomi was the first to notice, Kokonoi the same, he noticed how the brothers spent a certain amount of money, which they didn't used to do that often, followed by Kakucho, Mochizuki and lastly Mikey.

So it led you to be kidnapped by Mochi after doing enough research on you, because they didn't take much notice of it at first when the brothers first noticed. You were tied hand and foot, a blindfold was removed after consciousness returned to you, you found yourself face to face with a man with immense dark circles and eyes full of lifeless, on his right side another man with a large scar on his face, on his left side another man with a small scar on his left eye.

You felt something cold touching your temple, again you had a gun pointed at you, held by the same boy who had kidnapped you, you turned your head also noticing another man with long white hair.

"Who are you and why do you have my executives after you?"

"Executives…?" you looked at everyone carefully, connecting the dots when you saw their tattoos "Oh- so that's why they never wanted to tell me what they worked for… are you some kind of organization? Like arms smuggling, money laundering or something?"

You took the situation calmly, that your life was hanging by a thread right now was not one of your biggest concerns, you had lived a full and happy life up to now, you had no regrets, you were mature enough to understand the point at which you were, the more the years go by, the less afraid you are of the things that used to terrify you when you were young.

"GET YOUR DIRTY HANDS OFF MY MOTHER!"

Everyone was surprised to see how Sanzu entered kicking Mochizuki so that the weapon flew out of his hands, away from you, the Haitani brothers followed closely untying you quickly while all those men had a discussion of looks, the dense silence was broken by your giggle, you were trying to control yourself as much as you could but it was impossible.

"My God, Sanzu, you just called me mom!?"

The boy's face was completely dyed in pink tones, all the attention was now focused on you while you let out a laugh at the slip that your child had, something made the hearts of others clench in pain when they heard your laugh, no matter how bad it sounded, whether it was asthmatic, uproarious, or silent laughter, it was like real music to the ears of all the executives at Bonten, including the leader. As if you had flipped a switch in the mind of their rotten minds, they now had a new interest in you, as if you had further triggered an obsession you were unaware of with the first three you met.

They began to understand why those three felt attracted to you, it was as if your mere presence was intoxicating for them, as if just listening to you or looking at you calmed their broken hearts, many alarms from boys without a mother figure, of course that was a triggering reason, all these men longed for that kind of love that they could hardly experience.

Now you had the criminal organization after you, not in a bad way, more like a bunch of men acting childishly because of your limited attention. One thing they were clear about without the need to speak, you were not going to leave their sight for a single moment from now on.

#tokyo revengers x reader #reader inser #fem reader #platonic reader #yandere platonic #bonten #bonten x reader #sanzu #mochi #mikey #ran #rindou #haitani #kakucho #kokonoi #motherly reader #yandere bonten x reader #yandere platonic bonten x reader #old reader

4K notes · View notes

aizawasbrazybaby · 8 months

Text

❥𓂃𓏧Freak Like Me

𖦹Warnings: Corrupt Cop!Nanami x Fem!Reader, Pet names? (Calls reader Beautiful a lot), Semi-public (car sex), p in v sex, Oral (fem receiving), Very brief mention of blood, Cervix kissing, Dubcon (consent is implied but he doesn’t ask before touching reader)

𖦹Word Count: 1.7k (I had to restrain myself from making it longer🥲)

🫧: Hello everyone sorry for any mistakes I always try to proof read at least twice before posting. Also I’ll be attempting to upload here and WP on Fridays at 5pm est.🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

Summaryᐕ: It was supposed to be a late night traffic stop…only he was off duty and everyone knows what happens after dark.

Air moved deeply through your lungs harshly exiting your nose. Those fluorescent blue and red lights flashed obnoxiously bright, forcing your eyes to shut into a squint. The officer’s tall figure strutted over to your old compact sedan that was honestly hanging on by the grace of god herself. His blonde hair and white skin contrasted the chilled bitter darkness. Fingers tapped the window and signed for it to be rolled down. Your eyes hit the back of your head as you followed the lawful command.

And holy fuck…

A chill ran up your spine. He looked like the finest piece of art man could make- so much so you had to do a double take at the patrol car to see if it was the real deal. That this wasn’t an elaborate prank by some shitty tv show or idiotic influencers that didn’t know how illegal impersonating an officer was.

“Pretty late for a lady like you to be out here dontcha think,” he glanced at the bloody scrubs in your passenger seat, “long night?”

“That easy to tell?” your fingers rubbed at the dark circles under both eyes, “sorry but is your bodycam on?”

A strange mix of a laugh and hum rumbled in his throat, “license and registration ma’am.”

A demand.

Mint intertwined in his cool breath as he let out an annoyed sigh waiting for you to gather your things. As if you initiated the traffic stop on him. He softly snatched at the forms you handed to him.

“What has you out here so late, nurse ____?” His gaze flickered back to the passenger seat.

“Doctor,” you corrected.

“What?”

“It’s Dr._____ I’m not a nurse.”

He grinned, “well, many apologies for my ignorance.” You looked in his narrow eyes and something shifted in you. In both of you. Your pants felt almost suffocating on your throbbing pussy as that honey-like essence pooled to your center.

“I-I just got off work at the hospital,” you pointed behind you, “third twelve hour shift this week. I pulled over to get some sleep, heard somewhere that driving tired is as bad as driving drunk.”

Why’s his stare gotta be so intense? Your mind raced. Eyes lowering to his beautifully plump lips. Watching his tongue swipe teasingly slow over the bottom one before it was held between his teeth.

Good fucking God.

“Have you been drinking tonight?” You could have swore a glimpse of a grin flashed just as quickly as it had disappeared . His calloused fingers softly traced your jawline, thumb running across your lips. A line was crossed. Several lines. But shit it’s been so long since you’d been caressed. And the man before you was so alluring. You leaned into Nanami’s touch- your eyes fluttering shut for a second before burning into his.

“No, officer.”

“Why don’t you step out for me beautiful,” his voice low and seductive. Embarrassment burned through you from how quickly you obeyed. Horny and stupid. Desperate and horny. He looked you up and down then grabbed your hands. Cold to the touch but you didn’t pull away, placing them behind your head, “Lock your fingers.”

Holy hell he was close.

You could feel the heat emanating from his mouth. Circling you he stopped behind, pressing against your back. His belt. The service belt was nowhere to be found. Pressure started at the wrist and worked its way to your waist. Outlining the shape. His fingers trailed over your breasts. so. very. slow. Each finger took its time feeling the buds that hardened under.

Desperation made itself known from a slight gasp that morphed into a whimper, “shit.”

Nanami groaned in response. He walked back around, hands lowering to the fat of your ass gripping and squeezing. He placed a kiss on your cheek and nipped at your jaw.

“Sir,” you glanced at the abandoned strip of road, “not out here.”

His hand pulled to the front rubbing your pussy through your thin sweats. His digits worked their way inside feeling how wet you were. Snatching a moan from your throat that your own ears struggled to recognize. No panties. A bold move on your end.

“Get in the backseat,” his teeth caught on your bottom lip. An arm rounded your waist pulling you away from your car before opening the door for you. He blocked your head from hitting the top of the doorway like he would if sticking you in his squad truck.

Before you could speak your sweats were around your ankles. His eyes looked back at you as he kissed up your thigh, “want me to stop?”

“No!” Your voice was under a shout. Loud. Desperate. And beyond fucking horny for the stranger with his upper half leaning between your legs. The other hanging out the car.

He chuckled, “okay doctor.” His tongue ran up your slit catching the enticing liquid that glazed parts of your skin. Ecstasy swam through your veins and straight to where the man was now sucking your sensitive clit. Hands sliding through his healthy locks he moaned on your cunt. You hissed at the feeling.

Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.

You sat your head up seeing Nanami dig in your pocket and pull out your phone. He flashed the screen and your heart skipped a beat. “Don’t.” From his shit eating grin you knew he wasn’t gonna listen. He firmly pressed the green answer and tossed you the phone.

“Hey JESS,” you stifled the moan that clawed to be set free. The cop pushed your thighs apart, thrusting his middle and ring fingers inside. You squeezed your eyes shut at the sudden intrusion. Savoring that pain spiked with pleasure.

Is that mommy? Your six year old asked sleepily in the background.

Hey Miss.____ I was just checkin on ya. It’s pretty late just wanted to see if everything was okay

“Y-yes hon everything’s fine just got off work a bit late.”

Nanami unbuttoned his slacks, releasing his erection. Lining himself to your pussy that clenched around nothing. He smiled from ear to ear slowly inching himself deep.

That’s good. Baby Kiri keeps askin for ya wanna say good night before I put her to bed?

“No!” you lowered your tone, taking a fistful of Kento’s shirt, “no need I’ll s-see her when I g-get home.”

He took the phone muting and keeping it on speaker, “lemme hear you beautiful,” his pace increased. Squelching and your squeals filled the car, “fuck darling n-nice and loud. That’s it.”

“Nanami,” you whimpered, “fuck pleaseee.” You dragged.

“Uh uh Kento when I’m fucking you,” he smirked.

Why not? Hello? ___ are you there? Is everything okay?

He thrust one last time before plunging his cock deep inside. And fuck. Fuck. fuck. fuck. His tip was pressing against your cervix. Your legs started to shake slightly but enough where he noticed. And you clenching tight around him had his eyes rolling back and breathing heavy.

Unmute. “I-I’m fine Jess. Just in a bit of a s-situation right now.”

His hips rocked slowly bringing that tight coil closer. His teeth glided over your throat, “gonna drive me crazy hang up that damn phone,” you could sense his lust from his deep whisper.

Should I send someone out there? What’s happening?

“No need, ‘mtaking good care of her,” he growled at the nanny.

Who is this? Where’s ___??

“Gonna have to, ah, call you b-back.” You tried your best not to let it out but that moan slipped through and no doubt she picked up. Nanami took your phone tossing it atop those dirty scrubs.

Oh…ohh, it clicked. She hung up immediately.

He slammed his hips into yours. Faster. Stronger. Until that coil grew so tight in the both of you that you were shouting each other's names as you came. His hot cum filling you up so full and you leaving your cream all over him that is splattered just below his belly button. Drained of all his energy and stamina he rocked into you riding out the high to both of your orgasms.

“Kento,” you said breathlessly, “thank you.” Of course he didn’t know what you were thanking him for. Didn’t know you’d been so deprived from a man’s touch. You craved some kind of sexual interaction. Didn’t know he relieved so much of the pent up stress from work and being a single mother.

“Any time beautiful.” He panted but managed to keep a smile on his handsome face. He pulled out looking for something, anything to help clean you up. When his eyes landed on you, you pointed to the front seat.

“Got a few baby wipes in the glove compartment.”

He nodded. You watched as he climbed out zippering his pants as his head fell back. Taking in the cool night breeze. God he was something to behold. Walking around the front he took out the pack of wipes and jogged back to you.

“Does anything hurt? Are you alright?” He asked back to his monotone as he wiped your thighs and intimate parts.

“I’m alright.”

“Think you can walk?” he shimmied your sweats back up, shoving something in the pocket. Before you could even answer he pulled you to the edge of the car by your legs making you yelp. He held you like a bride before placing you in the driver seat.

“Hope so.” You said quietly. His hand grabbed the back of your head through the window pulling you in a kiss. Long and passionate. If you knew anything it was that this man was gonna be the death of you. You felt yourself getting wet all over again.

“G’night…officer Nanami.” You looked deeply in his eyes.

“Get home safe.” He didn’t smile or break the contact. He climbed back in his car shutting off the lights and starting his car back up. Digging in your pocket you pulled out his business card that had his number written neatly in blue pen on the backside. Your mouth gaped open and looked out your window as he was passing you. Driving slow he seen the card in your hand and winked at you. That shit eating grin back on his lips.

Staring daggers back at the card you wondered how long you were really out for.

#black reader #poc reader #nanami x black!reader #nanami x reader #nanami x poc!reader #jjk x black reader #jjk x poc!reader #black women #dark skin #brown skin #light skin #black female reader #black writers #poc writers #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x black reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader

233 notes · View notes

tripleyeeet · 2 months

Text

SICK LITTLE GAMES

SUMMARY: Astarion arrives to interrupt your sleep. Like always. PAIRING: Astarion Ancunin/Female Reader WARNINGS: 18+ sexual content, teasing, oral sex (fem receiving), overstimulation, blood drinking, brat taming if you squint real hard. A/N: I have no idea how this mother fucker got into my house but here we are. A little blast from the past.

MASTERLIST

The affection comes in waves. Like the ocean, they’re unpredictable and rough —enveloping you under the hurried embrace of an overly confident Astarion who often appears out of nowhere. The sensations of desperation always filling his features as he piles into your tent well into the night, still smelling of the viscera of his latest catch.

Whenever it happens, you’re hardly ready for it. With sleep still in your eyes and the confusion of someone who’s seemingly just awoken from death itself, it always takes you a few moments to register that he’s talking to you. And, that his needy hands have already begun to pull at your clothes, adjusting the fabric in ways that better cater to his curious eyes.

“Hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time,” he jokes. His voice low and hungry. A telltale sign that he’s here for something requiring not only your company but your undivided attention too, causing you to sigh.

“Well, I was sleeping,” you say, your palm moving up to rub your eye, feeling the pressure that’s already begun to develop as revenge for not immediately taking care of your already lacking sleep schedule. “But some bastard decided to ruin that.”

He tuts and further cages you against your bedroll, fingers idly stroking your exposed skin. “You want me to take care of them, love? Tear them to shreds for waking you up?”

At that, you snort and move your knee towards the inner part of his thigh, spreading it slightly as a sign that, despite the interruption, you’re willing to forget his transgressions. “It’s alright,” you mumble. “I can handle him. He’s pretty weak.”

“Weak?”

You laugh at his dramatic response, your eyes slightly narrowing to better view the pout on his lips. His expression pinching in annoyance as you reach up and instantly try to smooth everything back out. “Apologies. I meant more so that he’s… distracted.”

“Right, of course.” He releases a huff and lowers his face to yours, a petty smirk now appearing. “That makes more sense considering the rather precarious position he’s found you in.”

“And what position might that be?”

As you ask, you can feel his hands moving to grip your waist. The surprisingly tender feeling making you twitch as he bares his teeth in amusement. His expression shifting from slightly annoyed to completely enraptured in the span of a second thanks to the instinctual reactions you offer in regards to his touch.

“Awfully willing to please,” he simply replies then, the coolness of his tone making you roll your eyes and raise your hands to pinch his cheeks.

“You’re disgusting, you know that? Crawling into my tent in the dead of night so that you can get off on my hospitality. Shameful.”

All he does is humorously hum and lower his face further, the warmth laced within your features spreading down the length of your neck as he aims to claim it with a kiss. “Be less complacent then.”

As if by routine, you open your mouth to argue further but quickly find yourself closing back up when his tongue darts out to taste your flesh. The slick, hot organ easily finding that spot that always seems to render you useless, causing your mind to turn off. Every verbal thought you once had vanishing against the movement of his hands hungrily holding your jaw and rising beneath your tattered tunic.

“I’d say be quiet so the others don’t hear but I see you’re already too blissed out to function,” Astarion chuckles, his lips brushing against you. The lack of previous contact leaving you writhing beneath him —hands moving to wrap around his neck in protest.

“Hey Astarion, for once, can you not tease me?”

He pretends to think for a moment, but ultimately refuses, showing his defiance in the form of slowed movements and a smirk that leaves you wishing you had the resolve to kick him out. “Mm, but what would be the fun in that?”

Again, you huff in annoyance. Even though you’d already expected this the moment he first arrived. Considering Astarion’s never been one the type to simply give into anything, it’s no surprise that even in bed there always has to be a challenge or a game involved. Some sadistic form of foreplay that often causes the end result to unfortunately feel all the more worth it when it arrives, causing you to blindly follow.

“It’d certainly speed things up so I can—oh, fuck you.”

He wastes no time riling you up some more. Before you finish your increasingly irrelevant argument, you feel his teeth drag across your skin, the sharpest points grazing your most sensitive spot with ease. “Language, darling.”

Almost immediately, you press your lips together in protest. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of fighting further as he lifts his head to study you. His eyes focusing on the various sections of your face —memorizing every inch as his other hand draws patterns into your side. A feeling that becomes almost unbearable as time goes on. Thanks to the way he’s staring at you —eyes filled with the desire to ruin— you can’t help but feel impatient. Your body shifting beneath him to garner some sort of response that might speed things along.

“I know what you’re doing.”

“Then hurry up,” you practically whine. No longer caring about how desperate you sound. Or how you look when you grip the collar of his shirt to yank him back down again. “Otherwise I’ll kick you out.”

“Ha! No you won’t.”

“I will.”

Despite knowing otherwise, he concedes… slightly. Granting you the satisfaction of sharing the kind of kiss that starts off simple and sweet but quickly becomes tainted. The temptation of potential clouding your minds as Astarion reaches for the back of your head, gripping the roots of your hair —both of you pushing the other to gain control.

Unsurprisingly, it ends up being him that comes out on top. After a long battle of teeth and tongues, he inevitably pries himself away to look down at your breathless form. Admiring the way your chest repeatedly rises and falls, attempting to suck in enough air so that you can scold him for his actions.

“Gods, you certainly are adorable.”

“Oh—shut up.”

He laughs and shakes his head, moving a hand to your cheek. “No honestly, it’s incredible how much defiance one person can have,” he tells you, stroking your skin. “Normally, I’d have the average begging for release by now.”

“Not sure how resilience correlates to adorableness.”

He presses another kiss to your mouth. This time refusing to satisfy. “Hm, it’s more the lack there of that I find adorable.”

You roll your eyes. “Right, of course.”

In response, he lets out a laugh. Allowing the air to thicken around you. Your shared arousal fuelling the need to fall into your usual roles as you swallow hard and further spread your legs. No longer caring how submissive you look underneath his smug stare.

“Right to the point, I see. How” —he pauses, leaning in to place another chaste kiss to your lips— “Dull.”

All you do is huff and bump his thigh with your knee. The fussy action doing enough to disrupt his patience, causing him to scowl and grab your thigh, giving it a light squeeze.

“I see the lack of rest is making you testy.”

You narrow your eyes and release him, forcing your arms to cross over your chest. “I’d say the vampire refusing to fuck me is more so the reason.”

“Oh hush.” Shaking his head, he reaches down to detangle your defiant arms so that he can better see you. His eyes immediately making their rounds in ways that do numbers on your heart as you continue to lay there, always cursed to endure this little game of his. “In no way am I refusing. In fact, if you quit being so huffy I might go the extra mile and linger a bit afterwards.”

“Oh, my gods, like a sleepover?” you say sarcastically, bringing your hands up to hold your cheeks like a child. Prompting him to immediately swat them away as if the mere sight of them makes him want to vomit.

Which only makes you laugh and reach for his face, pulling him down for another kiss that quickly becomes something more than intended. The simple act fuelling Astarion’s desire to progress. To pin you down further into the bedroll as he inevitably detaches himself, opting for other parts of your body to cling to as he makes his way down. The process of it all driving your mind wild as he effortlessly nips and sucks a series of markings into your skin. His own mind finding the blooms of colour to be rather beautiful as he continues down your neck and chest, lingering at your stomach before he pushes your shirt over your head to gain better access.

“Beautiful,” you hear him mutter then. His voice soft and low —an echo of your own thoughts as you glance down to see him sitting up to discard your pants. His hands tucking themselves under the waistband to awkwardly shuck them down as you lift your hips to help.

Then, everything moves at exactly the right pace. As Astarion continues his descent to settle between your thighs, there are no more words needed. Only the resolve to survive as his cold hands graze the edge of your cunt, pushing the fabric aside so that he can get a decent look before pushing his thumb through your folds.

“Unsurprisingly ready, I see,” he practically scolds, but in response you say nothing. Instead, opting to buck your hips ever so slightly to egg him on, causing a low sigh to waft gently across your skin before he gives in.

At which point, you’ve already built everything up so highly in your head. The mere image of it making the actual act feel all the more satisfying as he begins to work your slit. Using both his thumb and tongue to taunt and tease —barely applying enough pressure to strengthen the imaginary band beneath your flesh.

It’s horrific, you think. The ability he has to render you so completely willing and useless. Because not only is it simultaneously the best and worst thing you’ve ever experienced, but it’s obviously dangerous too. Bordering on a sign of weakness that has you whimpering for more as he eventually wraps his lips around your clit to suckle the sensitive skin. Humming in response to the sounds that slip from your lips as he continues to stimulate the surrounding area.

“Fuck, Astarion—“

Your voice catches. Failing to continue once it dawns on you that words aren’t really necessary right now. Not when he’s giving you what you want in the form of nips and licks that become almost pressurized once you feel the presence of his nose begin to make its way down. The end of it nudging the space where his mouth once was. Acting as some sort of placeholder as his tongue begins to ravage your folds in ways that make your eyes practically roll to the back of your head. Your mind emptying to make room for your body to take over, causing you to reach down and grab the roots of his hair for something to anchor to.

Something you know he enjoys based on the hum that reverberates against your entrance. The sensation of it only furthering your arousal as he picks up the pace, driving you closer and closer to the edge with rough fingers that begin to push inside of you. Each one curling to stack the pleasure until you’re writhing beneath him —panting so loud that you’re sure the whole camp can hear you.

Not that you care, though. Not when Astarion’s pumping his fingers so ruthlessly. Not when he’s lapping hungrily through your flesh. Not when he’s moaning against your cunt, begging for you to let go.

In fact, the only thing you care about is the feeling of that final snap. The aforementioned band cracking against your base to create a series of punishing aftershocks that have you raising your hips. Your body moving to get away but finding itself unable when Astarion roughly moves to hold you down, continuing his ministrations as you cover your mouth to stop yourself from waking up the entire bloody camp.

Which only serves as fuel for him to lift his head and look at your writhing form. The entirety of you twitching and squirming as his fingers remained locked in their routine, unable to stop due to how delicious you look pleading for him to stop long after he’s dipping his head back between your thighs to sink his teeth into the plushest part. Drawing enough blood to feed as you cry out, no longer able to fight him.

#sick little games #astarion ancunin #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #sum writes

120 notes · View notes

barleyo · 1 year

Text

Red Wings.

Recom! Miles Quaritch X Fem! Reader (smut)

A/N: Hello, lovelies! This drabble is a big “Don’t like? Don’t read!” situation. Be sure to read the tags to be sure it doesn’t involve anything that makes you uncomfortable, and if it does, feel free to scroll right past this! No need to comment on the post if you don’t like the subject matter, as it’s never okay to “yuck” somebody else’s “yum.” Remember, by clicking on the "read more" button, you're agreeing that you do in fact want to "read more." Love you all bunches, happy reading!

Wordcount: 1.3K

Tags: period sex, blood play, menstruation, p in v, fingering, vaginal sex, wet and messy sex, sleepy sex

Tagged users: @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed

(Y/N) felt herself sweating. Even while half-asleep, she could feel how drenched her arms, legs, and face were. It wasn’t the work of the warm body next to her, and certainly not any of the few articles of clothing she had worn to bed. Sweat drenched the sheets under her, coating her ass and thighs in an unpleasant stickiness.

The soaked clothing and sheets were not just from sweat, she realized as a tight cramp made its way to her abdomen.

Normally, it would not have been a problem. Had she been sleeping alone in her own room, she could have simply stripped the bed and washed herself up, however, she could not do so in Colonel Quaritch’s room.

Trying to slip out of his toned, blue arms, she squirmed and pushed at his hands.

“Miles,” she whispered his name, smacking at his hand to wake him up. She felt a chuckle hitch in his throat. “Miles, I know you’re up. Let go of me.”

“Hush, girl. Go back to bed. Wakin’ me up for no reason.” He yawned and tightened his grip.

“Miles, let go. I bled on your sheets.”

Quaritch released her from his grip and sat up, lifting the blankets up to reveal the fresh, crimson stains on his white sheets.

(Y/N) stared at the large, splotchy stain. Quickly removing her shirt, she tried to dab at the mark until Miles took the shirt from her hands.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s okay–”

“No, it’s not okay,” she sighed, holding her arms over her stomach. “Look at the stain, it’s never gonna come out.” Holding the thin material of the sheet, she noticed how her blood had seeped down to the mattress, staining it as well. “It’s never gonna come out,” (Y/N) repeated. Tears pricked her eyes and she coughed, trying to catch her breath as she felt her chest tighten. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

Quaritch turned on a small wall lamp near his bed and eyed the discoloration on his bed. He paused for a moment before speaking.

“The hell are you apologizing for?” his tone was blunt when he asked.

“The mess, the mess I made.” She pointed at it. “See? It’s awful, I am so sorry. Here, I’ll just go to my own room, sorry.” She flipped herself around on his bed and tried to get up, prepared to return to her own bed to get cleaned up.

She felt his grip wrap around her waist and hoist her back, placing her body in between his legs.

“No, I want you to stay, n’ I want you to stop apologizin’ for nothing,” Quartich said while resting his large hands over her lower stomach, slowly kneading and massaging it.

“You aren’t upset with me?” (Y/N) asked, leaning her head against Miles’ chest, not quite tall enough to reach his shoulder.

“It’s nothin’ that you can control, could never be mad at you for that.”

She sat between his legs for a few moments, enjoying how the pads of his fingers danced around her lower abdomen, applying pressure where it was needed. It felt nice, but it had not eased her cramps fully. She hissed at the stinging jabs in her stomach every then and again.

Quaritch’s hands slowly crept down past the waistband of her panties, dipping under them before (Y/N) grabbed his wrist.

“Miles, what are you doing?” She turned around and looked at him, eyes still doey and glossy from the few tears that had slipped out earlier.

“Just trying to make you feel better.”

“No, you don’t want to do that,” she tried to pull her hand out of her panties, “it’s all gross and messy, you won’t like it.”

“Nothin’ about you is gross, believe me.” He shook her hand off and returned to exploring her cunt.

She tried again to fight him on it until his fingers found her clit. “No, it’s icky–” her voice caught in her throat as if her words were fighting against her moans.

“Darlin’, you need to hush now and let me take care of you. You can get washed up as soon as we’re done, yeah?”

Biting her bottom lip to stifle her cries, she nodded, unable to verbally respond.

A thick, metallic smell filled his sensitive nostrils when he pulled her underwear past her ankles, throwing them into the corner of his room. His nose crinkled as he sniffed harder, leaning over (Y/N)’s shoulder to get a better grasp at the scent.

“Are you smelling me?” she asked, horrified.

“Yes. You smell…” he paused, considering his word choice, “primal.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Y’smell like prey. Dunno how to describe it, but it’s drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy over here,” he said into her ear, nose still twitching and crinkling. His boxers grew tight and tented.

Pushing into her slick hole, he slipped right in, letting his fingers be engulfed by her cunt. Reaching around with his other hand, he circled her swollen clit, lightly tracing the bud.

“Oh God, don’t stop,” she whined, hips lifting to follow Quaritch’s ghost-like touches on her clit.

He hummed and applied more pressure. Usually, he would’ve pulled away completely to tease her. Not tonight. Tonight was about her pleasure.

Miles’ fingers continued to pump in and out of her, setting a steady pace to match the bucking of her hips, until he pushed his two digits as far as they would go, curling them and latching onto her sensitive spot.

“Ah–” her thighs clenched over his hand and trapped it while she rode out her climax, hips stuttering and rocking into his arm.

Her thighs relaxed and Miles put his fingers into his mouth, cleaning them off with his tongue. He pulled them out of his mouth with an obnoxiously loud pop.

“What? Did you really just do that?

“Yes I did.” He pulled her up lightly and slipped his cock into her. “Problem?” He barely had to push into her walls. She was slippery, and was able to fit most of his length with no problem, the stretch of his length being less noticeable than usual.

“God, you’re so gross,” (Y/N) tried to say disgustedly, but her tone was interrupted by a deep, grumbling moan that came from her chest.

“Yeah? Maybe a lil bit,” Miles chuckled, burying his face into (Y/N)’s neck.

Holding her hips, he slowly lifted her and brought her back down on his length. The still bloodied tips of his fingers left red marks across her thighs and hips and he moved her, and the movement left a sheer crimson tint coated over his dick.

“You know,” he said into her neck, muffled, “I can hardly tell if you’re bleedin’ a lot or just super fuckin’ wet. Starting to think it’s both, baby.”

She ignored his teasing and instead focused on how dangerously close she was coming to climaxing. Her walls fluttered lightly over him and she knew he noticed by how his breath hitched when it happened.

“Gonna cum? Hm?”

“Yes, ‘m so close,” she said, holding one of the arms resting on her hip to steady herself. “Can I?”

“Don’t gotta ask tonight, baby. When you’re ready, you go ahead,” Quaritch groaned, baring his teeth as he felt his own orgasm approach.

(Y/N) clamped down on him like a vice, holding him in place as she gushed and leaked. He found himself feeling much the same when spurts of cum came out of his cock.

A light pink mixture dripped from her hole, gliding down her thighs and onto the bed spread when Quaritch laid her back down on her side.

Her cramps had faded a bit, and while she was twice as sweaty as she had been, she felt like she could fall back asleep.

“You really weren’t grossed out by it?” she asked again, still feeling self conscious.

Miles turned her around to face him, a serious look spreading over his face.

“Not at all. Hell, I’d lick your pretty, little, red cunt now if you wanted me to.”

“You’re so fuckin’ nasty, Miles Quaritch.” She threw her pillow at his face, turning back away from him, but snuggling back into his chest. “I love you, though.”

#barleyxnighteye #smutfic #fanfiction #smut #smutty smut smut #avatar way of water #avatar recoms #avatar 2 #miles quaritch x reader #miles quaritch #recom quaritch #james cameron avatar #avatar 2009

660 notes · View notes

writingreadinglurkingandsmirking · 1 year

Text

You Should Find Another Guiding Light - Rafe Cameron x Reader

Dear Reader Duology: Part 1, Part 2

Summary: With you drunk at Kelce’s party, Rafe has to drive you, his ex, home. Neither of you are over each other and both of you know it, for better or for worse. That doesn’t make things easy. Not at all. Word Count: 3.7k+ TWs/CWs: She/her pronouns used, adult/profane language, descriptions of a party, descriptions of drunkenness, a guy being a weirdo, Rafe being a little bit crazy, angst with the potential for a happy ending, I guess. Note: The title is in fact a Taylor Swift lyric lol. I don’t know, I just wanted to dip my toes in the OBX writing arena and I just had this idea pop into my head and not leave me alone so here it is. I think I might end up doing a part 2 for this just because I don’t want this to be Sad, but we shall see.

Rafe heard the chant of, “Go, go, go, go,” from the other side of the house.

The chant didn’t interest him even remotely. Pretty much nothing about the party did, actually. And if it weren’t at Kelce’s house while his parents were out of town, he wouldn’t have even bothered to come. The high he’d been riding had faded nearly an hour ago, and the drink in his hand was not nearly strong enough. He wasn’t even buzzed anymore, this was boring. All these fucking parties were boring now. Had been since…well, long enough now.

“Rafe,” he heard to his left, while about to bring the cup to his lips. He cut his eyes to the side. It was Topper, a grim look on his face, lips turned firmly downward. Rafe raised an eyebrow, lowering the cup. “Get the fuck out here, I need your help.”

“What?” he asked, huffing as he put down his cup on the nearest surface. Before Topper could answer, though, Rafe noted the ongoing chants from outside. A chant that was exclusively a mixture of his ex’s name—your name, the reason that nothing was enjoyable anymore—and cheers. “Oh fucking hell no.”

“Yeah, exactly,” Topper said dryly. “Me and Kelce just had to stop her from doing a keg stand in a skirt.”

“I swear to God,” Rafe growled.

Rafe shouldered past him quickly making his way outside. You were dancing. He didn’t inherently have a problem with that. He loved watching you dance, in fact. Especially when you were drunk. But, that wasn’t even half the issue. He was torn between a mixture of fury and concern when he saw you, standing on top of the outdoor bar with some random guy holding your legs and trying to look up your skirt. The skirt that Rafe knew personally you almost never wore anything under. He couldn’t even imagine how drunk you were right now to not be flicking that guy’s hands off of you.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Topper advised.

“Shut the fuck up, Top,” Rafe retorted harshly.

He strode forward, landing his hand aggressively on the guy’s shoulder and squeezing it until the man winced and tried to pull away. Then, Rafe only squeezed tighter. The guy shouted in protest to the rough grip, but Rafe didn’t care. The tool still had the nerve to have his fucking hand on your leg. You hadn’t even noticed that Rafe was standing there yet, which was another mark to just how out of it Rafe knew you had to be.

“What the fuck, Cameron?” the guy demanded.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Rafe spat. “And what the fuck do you think that you’re doing?”

The guy, obviously far too stupid for his own good, smirked at Rafe. Actually fucking smirked. Rafe felt his blood pressure rising. Rafe saw, somewhere in his periphery that Topper and Kelce were both coming his way. He didn’t particularly care. He could easily handle this loser himself.

“You two aren’t even together anymore,” the guy said smugly. “So, last I checked she’s a free agent, isn’t she?”

“Oh Jesus fucking Christ,” Kelce muttered behind him.

Rafe paid no mind to it, hand moving from the guy’s shoulder to his throat. Rafe smiled at the shock in the guy’s eyes, an angry glint in his eyes. He ignored the other’s weak attempts at dislodging him and instead took a step closer, glaring down at the little fucker.

“Take your hand off her or you won’t have a hand,” he said flatly. Idiot that he was, literally being choked and surrounded by Rafe’s friends, the guy still didn’t move his hand. Rafe let out a harsh laugh, tilting his head to the side slightly, looking more pissed by the second. “We can jump from you losing the hand to me killing you. Your fucking choice.” Starting to go purple in his face, Rafe laughed at the guy again, not loosening his hold. He reached over with his other hand, peeling his grip off of your leg, squeezing hard enough that Rafe was shocked the bones weren’t cracking. “Wasn’t so fucking hard to listen, was it?”

“Rafe,” Topper said sharply.

Rafe glanced back at him and then rolled his eyes. He let go of the guy and threw him away, hard, towards the ground. A good friend as always, Kelce caught the guy, then he and Topper started walking the jackass out to make sure he actually left the party. Yeah, Rafe was going to have to make sure that he never saw that guy again. Or, if he did, that it wasn’t in public like this. Rafe turned his attention back to you and was startled to see you looking down at him already.

“Rafe?” you asked, cocking your head to the side, looking, quite frankly, like a confused puppy.

Clenching his jaw, Rafe reached up, patting the bare skin of your leg, forcing himself to keep it brief and not let his hands linger on the bare skin. “Come on, Princess,” he said firmly.

Your brow furrowed. “Fuck you! I’m having fun,” you slurred.

At that, Rafe let himself roll his eyes. “Yeah. I’m not letting you dance on the bar and do a fucking striptease. You’ll hate yourself tomorrow,” he said sharply. You glared down at him, but Rafe didn’t care, knowing that he was absolutely right. “Get the fuck down.” You didn’t listen, unsurprisingly—you never had—so he physically grabbed you, carefully maneuvering your body off the bar without exposing you to the whole party.

“Rafe,” you whined, “stop it. I don’t want to go with you!”

“Liar,” he said, scoffing before he could stop himself. When you were level with his face, he grabbed your chin and made you look at him. “Stop fucking fighting me before you flash somebody.”

You glared at him. “Who cares if I do?” you asked.

Once again, Rafe rolled his eyes. “I’ll take their fucking eyes out. But, let’s not do this, Princess. I’ve had enough shit today without this added on,” he said through grit teeth, losing the limited patience he’d started with. He helped you off the bar—manhandled you, really—until you were standing on your feet, using his body for support to stay upright.

“You have no right,” you said, sniffing.

“How much have you even had to drink?” Rafe asked, amusement overcoming his irritation for a second.

“Oh fuck you,” you repeated, pushing weakly at his chest, even though your hand tangled in the bottom of his shirt like it always did when you were utterly sloshed. “I haven’t even had that much!” You then took on a distinctly dizzy look, swaying and Rafe cursed, catching your waist to steady you. “See? I’m fine!”

“Yeah, you’re so fine,” he agreed sarcastically.

Without waiting for you to say anything else, Rafe started guiding you toward the exit. He nodded at Kelce and Topper as they passed. He ignored the looks on his friends’ faces as best he could. He didn’t need to think about the shit he’d get from them about this in the morning. No, instead, he focused on forcing you into the passenger seat of his truck and making you get buckled up. Only after Rafe got into the car and started it did you seem to register that you weren’t at the party anymore.

“Hey! Where the hell are you taking me? I’m not going home with you!” you slurred, clearly in an argumentative mood.

“No. You’re not. I’m taking you home. To your house,” he replied, patience coming back at least a little bit now that they weren’t in the stupid party crowd.

“Rafael Cameron you fucking suck,” you accused glaring at him.

“Why’s that?” Rafe asked, backing up and then putting the car in drive and practically peeling out of Kelce’s driveway.

You scoff at his question. It would be adorable if it weren’t at his expense, Rafe was sure. “First you fucking break up with me out of nowhere! And give me no explanation at all! And you take half our fucking friends in the end! And then you kill the goddamn vibe the second I try to have fun at a party,” you declare sounding genuinely pissed.

“That’s not—” Rafe began, stopping himself with a sigh when you cut him off.

“No! Shut up!” you demanded, hitting his arm, once, twice, a third time, until Rafe sharply pulled over and turned to glare at you. He was angry now, except his anger was short-lived. The moment he met your eyes and saw that yours were full of tears, he deflated. Your bottom lip trembled and Rafe had to actively count his breaths to keep from not reacting to it. “Why are you ruining parties now? Was my life not enough for you? You have to take the rest of the good things left too?”

Rafe inhaled shakily. He pinched his nose and tapped his fingers against the wheel and then looked back towards you. “You know you didn’t want someone else touching you,” he said calmly. “You hate when people think they can touch you at parties. You always have.” He took a breath. “I don’t want to see anything happen to you. Especially when you’re too drunk to think clearly.” You went to retort but Rafe shook his head. “No. Stop. Just listen to me.” You rolled your eyes and looked away. Rafe caught your chin and turned your face so you were looking at him again. “I’m not going to watch some losers take advantage of you. Ever. You think that’d stop?”

“Why do you even care?” you spat, displaying sadness more than the anger he knew you were going for.

“Don’t ask me that,” Rafe warned, shaking his head. “Don’t act like you don’t know already. The dumb act has never worked for you.”

You scoffed. “Oh? So you’re a coward now too on top of everything else? Cool,” you said. “Can’t even talk to me, huh?”

Rafe let go of your face and turned away from you, pulling back on the road and driving faster now towards your house. “You know damn well why I care,” he said through grit teeth.

“Do I?” you challenged.

“Princess,” he said sharply, “don’t do this right now.” He took a deep breath even though he didn’t want to. “You’re drunk.”

“And?” you demanded. “That makes me an idiot?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” he said, groaning in irritation. You swatted at his chest again. And truly, if this were anyone else, he’d have kicked them out of the car. But it was you. “Come on, Princess.” He tapped the steering wheel to manage the anxiety brewing in his chest at the thought. “We can have a conversation about it when you’re sober if you want. But I’m not doing this with you drunk. Fuck that.”

“Fuck you,” you reiterated as if you hadn’t already said it to him a thousand times that night.

Even with that declaration, you were blessedly quiet the rest of the ride. You fiddled with the heat on your side of the truck, getting comfortable, and just stared out of the window. And for the rest of the ride, Rafe could almost pretend that things were normal. The way that they should’ve been. Except that you were leaning on the door and not him. And that both of his hands were on the wheel, instead of one resting on your leg. And your stony silence, even when your favorite songs came on the shared playlist neither of you had gotten around to deleting yet. The silence in the car in general, really.

At your house, Rafe had to nearly throw himself from the car to get to your side before you opened the door and tumbled out. Even doing that, you nearly fell from the truck in an uncoordinated heap, stubbornly not wanting his assistance. He huffed and righted your feet on the ground, holding your waist and looking you over. You leaned into the touch for a second before seemingly realizing it, then you pulled wildly away, nearly falling again until he caught you.

“You can be angry after I get you to your room,” he said firmly.

“Fine,” you muttered, frowning.

Rafe went to move but you wouldn’t move. He tried to force you to move, but you resisted every logical piece of your mind, and every attempt he made. You were firmly stuck to your spot as if trying to grow roots like a tree. So, he picked you up again, carrying you to the door. Graciously, your parents weren’t in town and the house was empty, so no one had to see this disaster unfold.

He took your key and unlocked the door easily, locking it behind them for the time being. He didn’t really feel like risking someone coming in when he was corralling a drunk you and he couldn’t pay full attention to everything else. Then, he carried you upstairs like it was nothing to him. He dropped you gently on your bed and avoided looking at you as he grabbed a pair of clothes for you to change into. He went into your bathroom and got makeup remover, knowing that you’d be pissed if you woke up with a trace of makeup still on your face still.

As he walked back into the room, Rafe regretted leaving almost immediately. Your eyes were swimming with tears and a few were spilling down your cheeks. You looked away from him, trying to avoid his gaze, but he wasn’t an idiot. He’d noticed. You tried to scrub them away and he sighed almost silently. Rafe put the stuff down on the bed next to you and then knelt down in front of you. He grabbed your hands but didn’t say anything and waited.

“I hate you,” you said weakly, bottom lip wavering.

“I know,” he said, nodding. He cracked a fake grin. “I do too.”

“Fuck you,” you said, shaking your head. You sniffled and Rafe immediately knew that he wasn’t leaving for a while still. He stroked the back of your hands and waited once more. You always cracked. It didn’t take long, only a few breaths. “I love you. I…I fucking hate you.” You leaned heavily toward him and he wrapped his arms around you without hesitation. “I love you. I wish I didn’t.”

“I know,” he repeated. He pressed a kiss to the side of your head. He let out a slow breath, deciding that fuck it, it didn’t matter anyway anymore, not if he didn’t think you’d remember this in the morning. “I love you too, Gorgeous. You know that.”

You let out a watery laugh. “No I don’t,” you denied. He frowned at the words. “You left me. I…I hate that you left me. I didn’t do anything!”

Rafe sighed. “We talked about this,” he said quietly.

“Fuck you. You decided. We didn’t talk about anything!” you reminded him.

And that was true. He grabbed your chin again, forcing your eyes to meet yet again. This time though, he leaned your foreheads together. Your bottom lip trembled, but you happily stayed close to him. He took it as the tiny, tiny, minuscule win that was. He moved his hand from your chin to your cheek, thumb tracing a pattern up and down, soothing and slow.

“I need to make sure you’re safe,” he reminded you.

“You’re stupid,” you said, pulling away from him. “Just because we’re not together doesn’t mean I’m safe. Everyone knows that we were together. Everyone knows that to get to you they’d just have to use me. So I’m not suddenly more safe.”

“Safe from me,” Rafe gruffly corrected. When you open your mouth to retort, eyes alight with anger, he places his hand over your mouth. “Like I said, Gorgeous. We can talk about this later. When you’re not drunk. If you even want to still.”

“Oh? You’ll stop ignoring me then?” you asked from behind his hand. “Act like the adults that we are?”

Rafe rolled his eyes. “I haven’t been ignoring you. I’ve been giving you space,” he said. He let out a rough sigh, then shook his head, reminding himself that this would have to wait. “I promise we will talk about it if you want to. “Now can I please just help you change and get this stupid fucking makeup off you?”

Miracle of miracles, you didn’t try to fight him on it. So, he helped you change, ignoring the wandering hands and clumsy advances from you with ease. And then he forced you to get all the makeup off and brush your teeth. Then, he made you drink a bottle of water and settle in bed. You were pouting at him, tears still falling from your eyes—he didn’t know if they’d stopped since they started—that he brushed away lazily. Rafe sighed and sat next to you, stroking your cheek. Your hand landed on his knee, the touch almost hard as though you needed to squeeze his leg to remember he really was there. It broke his fucking heart.

“Come on, you gotta stop. We just got more water in you,” he said softly. “You know I can’t leave you when you’re upset like this. Not when you’re alone here.” He nearly winced at his phrasing when you seemed to cry harder for a moment. “Come on, Princess. You gotta stop crying.”

“Then I guess you can’t leave,” you replied shakily.

Rafe bit his lip, looking down at you. Knowing that he was already fucked anyways, he moved, pulling you practically into his lap. He held you tightly, glad that you didn’t even make an attempt at brushing the affection off. No, you leaned into the touch like you’d been starved of love your whole life. You laid your head right over his heart, eyes closed. He felt the way that your hands tapped the rhythm of his heartbeat into his arm. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“I don’t want you to doubt that I love you. I don’t want you to doubt that…that our relationship is…was real,” Rafe said. “I do love you. It’s just…hard, Gorgeous.”

You turned your head up to meet his eyes. He watched a flurry of intense emotions—every single one he’d ever experienced…more, maybe—flash through your eyes in a matter of seconds. You reached up and stroked his cheekbone…his nose…his lips. Then, you dropped your hand to lay on his chest, right next to where your head was.

“We’ll talk about it,” you declared. “I want to. We have to.”

“Okay, Princess,” he agreed softly. He knew that there was a chance sober you wouldn’t actually want to talk to him. He could ignore that in the meantime. He could live in this moment. In the false hope of a promised future where you did want to talk to him. “We’ll talk.”

You leaned up and pressed an incredibly short fleeting kiss to his lips before burying your face in his chest. He closed his eyes and held you tighter, wishing that things were…different. “Can you just…stay until I fall asleep?” you asked quietly. “I know you won’t stay all night, but…please?”

Rafe’s heart, again, broke for you. And he hated himself for hurting you the way that he was. “Yeah,” he said, voice hoarse. He stroked your arms, soothing. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep, Princess.” He knew it wouldn’t be long anyhow. Your eyes were already heavy, staying shut longer than they were staying open.

“I miss you, Rafe,” you admit quietly.

“I miss you too,” he said, equally quiet.

You paused. “I love you,” you said.

Rafe inhaled shakily. “I love you too. So much,” he said, voice sounding choked and short.

“Do you promise?” you whispered.

He paused. He had no doubt you heard his heart stutter in his chest. “I promise.”

Your eyes started to drift closed longer and longer while Rafe rubbed a soothing pattern up and down your back until he was sure you were asleep. You were incredibly beautiful in this peaceful sleep, with even breathing and a smile on your face. It was the happiest he’d seen you look in a while. He knew it was his fault. Again, he hated himself for it. It made him sure that he did the right thing even if it killed you both right now.

He had to leave.

He let out a sigh and pressed another kiss to your forehead, then another. He took the time to inhale your scent, memorize the way that you felt in his arms…to be with you again. Then, carefully, he got out of your grasp and stood. Rafe then settled you comfortably on your bed and tucked you in. He pressed a final kiss to your forehead then stood and walked to your bedroom door.

He had to leave. He didn’t want to.

For a beat, Rafe paused in the doorframe. He looked down at your sleeping frame. He longed to just lay down with you and forget the trials of the past two months without you. The hell he went through without you. He shook his head though. You deserved better. He was sure of it. He was almost certain that sober you would agree. Still, as he walked quietly down the hall, locking the door again behind himself, and slipping out back to his truck, he found himself hoping. Hoping that you would call him. Hoping that you would still want to talk.

He had to leave. He didn’t want to. He loved you.

In the quiet of his car, he took the time to look at his phone. Just after two thirty in the morning now. Your smiling face, still his wallpaper, looked back at him. He stared at the image of you, smiling at him like he was the sun, and felt his heart squeeze so tightly it took his breath away.

He had to leave. He didn’t want to. He loved you. You were everything, even now.

He started the car and started to drive back to his own place now. He tapped at the steering wheel again to avoid chewing at his nails like you hated—even now you kept him from bad habits he had, even if they were the little ones.

Rafe knew he wasn’t strong enough to stay away and he didn’t want to.

Even if it made him selfish, he hoped you called him—he hoped for a second chance.

684 notes · View notes

bookishdream · 1 year

Text

Stained Floors

Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader Synopsys: Reader gets injured while running from Singh's men and Rafe helps her Warnings: blood, cursing, guns Disclaimer: Rafe is so much out of character in this one. Also I have literally no knowledge of biological aspect of a gun shot injury, but I tried my best.

The sun was setting, when y/n made her way to the patio that overlooked John B’s garden and a little marina that was a few yards away from the Chateau. She brought a mug with lukewarm tea closer to her lips while drinking in the last rays of the sun, before it would finally vanish. She loved the golden hour, the moment when the sun was meeting the horizon and the moon was making its way higher and higher. The day was incredibly hot and all she needed was the cold breeze that would be brought with the night. However, her moment of peace and silence was about to end in any minute now, since the rest of the Pouges were coming back from whatever mess they had gotten into.

“Y/n!” She heard Kiara’s voice coming from the distance. She rolled her eyes and made a few steps towards the railing to see why her friend was yelling. When she laid eyes on Kiara and Sarah running for dear life, chased by two dangerously looking men, she dropped the mug and started running herself. Her feet hit the ground when she heard the first shot. Goosebumps raised on her bare arms, but she didn’t pay it more attention and put all of her will into moving her legs closer and closer to the marina, as to hide from the men. Kie and Sarah quickly caught up with her. Y/n heard another shot, this time nearby her. Then there was a third one, and she felt her body screaming in agony. Pain made her hesitate before taking the next step and Sarah had to grab her hand so that y/n wouldn’t fall. They found John B’s boat and fastly untangled the knot that kept the boat by the pier. Kiara as fast as she could, started the engine and soon they were putting more and more distance with their oppressors.

“Shit, shit, shit” The blond murmured, quickly assessing the seriousness of the wound. “Shit,”

“Fuck, Sarah, what happened?” Kiara questioned when she motioned for them to get down on the boat’s floor. Y/n turned her head as much as she could in order to see the position of the two men. She couldn’t see them on the pier, which was a bad sign, but all she could care about was how fast she was bleeding out.

“Y/n got shot,” the young Cameron replied, taking off her shirt and keeping the pressure on y/n’s hip. The shot girl hissed through her teeth at the sudden pain. “Oh, please, you survived worse than that.”

“Sarah, for the love of everything holy, I’ve never been shot,”

“No, but you’ve kissed my brother and, in my books, it’s worse than getting shot,” Sarah remarked, trying to divert y/n’s attention from the pain of her shot wound.

“Will you ever let me live that down?” y/n played along, because no matter how stupid it seemed, talking about something that wasn’t her blood getting out of her system was a nice distraction.

“Hmm,” Sarah trailed off, “No.” With her last word, she pressed the clothing even harder to the other girl’s hip.

“Fuck, you could’ve warned me,”

“Y/n, are you okay?” Kie asked, briefly looking into her direction, “Where should I dock?”

“Close to the city, I know someone who can help,” y/n replied, propping herself up on the side of the boat.

“I could help you,” Sarah offered, her eyes gleaming with worry. She was chewing on her lower lip, just like she did whenever she felt stressed.

“Sarah, love, you were the one being shot, not the one helping to patch you up,” y/n said, clenching her hand on the shirt and pressing even harder. She was still conscious, so that meant she could walk those miles to Tanneyhill.

“What if you drop dead on your way to this person?” Kiara asked, stopping the boat close to the pier.

“You won’t get rid of me that easily. Go find the others and call me when y’all are safe, yeah?” she said, smiling slightly to mask her own worry for her state. “Now help me out,”

Both Sarah and Kie took one of y/n’s arms and hauled her up out of the deck. “Be careful,”

“Always am,” she saluted and slowly made her way towards Tanneyhill. And towards Rafe Cameron, which she considered her last resort.

“Bullshit,” she heard Kiara’s answer, however she didn’t bother with reacting in any way.

Her steps were slow and she needed to pause her walk every so often. Her head started spinning from relief when she glimpsed the Camerons’ house, which she knew shouldn’t be occupied by anyone other than Rafe. Her steps faltered, but she still made her legs do those few steps that separated her from the house.

When she reached the main entrance, she raised her hand to knock. Y/n started to think whether it was a good idea to come here and basically beg Rafe to help her. But she got her, in her state and she wasn’t about to turn around. Praying that the door would be open, she pushed it, leaving a bloody mark on it. She cursed, promising in her mind that she would get the stain off when she got better.

“Rafe?�� she asked, her voice echoed in the hall. Still pressing the shirt down to her lower abdomen, she made her way upstairs to Rafe’s room. Hoping he would be there. “Rafe?” she reiterated, opening his door that was slightly ajar. She looked around his room that looked as neat as it could; the bed was made, no clothes were laying on the floor and the window was slightly open, letting in the cold breeze from the outside.

“One time I need him and he’s not here to get on my nerves,” y/n muttered to herself and immediately after congratulated herself on going crazy that fast. She heard a quiet tap and when she looked down, she noticed her blood had soaked in Sarah’s shirt and started dripping onto Rafe’s bedroom’s floor. She made her way into his bathroom, grabbing a bottle with whiskey on her way and undoing the button of her shorts. The bathroom was kept in light colors, white tiles and white marble counter with golden details. Y/n cursed again when she saw the open wound and blood leaking all around it. She took off her shirt and started looking around the room for a first aid kit.

She quickly made a mental list of every step she needed to take, so she wouldn’t die of blood loss. First, she needed to take out the bullet and she was thinking clearly enough to take the longest tong in Rafe’s kit and spill some alcohol on it. How Rafe would have medical tongs in his possession, she didn’t know. She was grateful, though. She sipped the whiskey, counted to three and put the tongs into her wound. Tears sprung free from her eyes and she grabbed the counter with all the force she could dig. The curses were flying free out of her mouth as soon as she realized she couldn’t take out the bullet by herself.

“Did you have to bleed out on all of my floors?” y/n abruptly turned her head towards the male voice coming out of the threshold. “I followed the dots and found you here, still bleeding.”

“Shit, Rafe, next time I will be wiping it down as I go,” Rafe rolled his eyes at her words, but his gaze quickly turned serious when he noticed y/n’s state.

“What the fuck happened to you?” He got closer and smacked her hands from her abdomen. “Are you stupid? Did you try to take out the bullet yourself? Do you wanna fucking die?”

Y/n closed her eyes and stopped her hand from punching him in his mouth. Her head was pounding and she could feel her conscience slipping. “Just help me, please,”

Rafe’s gaze softened at her words, he crouched and delicately put his palm on her hip to see the wound better. “There’s no bullet here, y/n”

“What?” she asked faintly, her eyes flattering open.

“No, don’t you dare close your eyes again.” Y/n nodded at his words, looking down at him. Her cheeks blushed at this particular position and she noticed a little smirk playing on Rafe’s lips. “Good, if you have the mental power to remember that, you have enough will to keep your pretty eyes open,”

“Stop fucking flirting, Rafe. What do you mean there is no bullet?”

“I meant that the bullet hit you, yes, but it only grazed your side. On the other hand, you’re bleeding like crazy,”

“When did you get so smart?” she clenched her fists on the edge of the marble counter when Rafe touched her hip.

“When I got shot myself,” he replied, taking the rubbing alcohol and a gaze. He soaked the material in the liquid and without any warning he pressed the gaze to y/n’s wound.

“Rafe for fuck’s sake, you’re just like your sister,” she cursed, nearly kicking him.

“I would’ve never thought that someone would compare me to her in this type of situation,” he smirked, wiping the dried blood around the wound. Y/n only rolled her eyes and she hissed again when Rafe lifted her bridal type.

“What are you doing?” she asked, confused.

“I’m getting you into bed, stupid. You need to rest,” he replied, gently laying her down on his soft, white, sheets.

“I will ruin them with blood, Rafe,”

“Let me grab the bandage,” after that he vanished into the bathroom again. Y/n sighed, her head was still hurting but she could see more clearly. When Rafe came back with the ligature, she silently sat up and let him do the work. Cameron put a big patch and stuck it to y/n’s wound then he wrapped her whole abdomen with a bandage and gently pushed her arms down, so she would be laying.

He put down everything he had in his hands and made his way towards the other side of the bed. Rafe laid down, propping himself up on one of the bigger pillows.

“I’m sorry I bled out on your floors,” she started, rotating so she would face him. He looked down at her and stretched one of his arms, indicating her to cuddle to his side. She clung to him and put her hand on his chest, inhaling Rafe’s scent.

“It’s alright, I’m glad you’re okay,” y/n could feel his steady heartbeat under her palm.

“I will also wipe the door clean,” she said a few minutes after they both fell into blissful silence.

“You bled out on the door, too?” Despite the question sounding serious, y/n could hear a pinch of humor in Rafe’s voice.

“By accident,” she smiled at him, looking up to meet his blue eyes. She sobered down after a sharp pain radiated from her side. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go,”

“Hey,” he used his free hand to lift her chin up, “I don’t care you marked the whole house with your fluids,” he shivered at his words. “I understand,”

“Thank you, Rafe, for everything,” she came back to her previous position, with her head in the crook of his neck.

“No problem, gorgeous,” Rafe gently kissed her forehead and with his reassurance, y/n closed her eyes.

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe obx #outer banks #sarah cameron #kiara carrera #rafe cameron

312 notes · View notes

tadpolesonalgae · 1 year

Text

Azriel x reader: Teeth and Talons - Part 6[*]

A/N: demon!Azriel just rubs me right. Also I’ve had this idea for this chapter for a little under a month by now so I decided to finally put pen to paper!

Warnings: handjob, a bit of oral (m receiving), smut, fingering, mosterfucking, kind of exhibitionism?, blood-drinking

-Part 5- -Part 7-

Azriel nearly groans when he opens his eyes.

He was gifted a few precious hours of sleep, having found the drop itself quite difficult. To a level that even his meticulous breathing cycles found it tiresome to deal with. And now he’s awake again, and his trouble is right before him.

You’re lying neatly on your stomach, blankets pooled around your waist while your arms hug the plump pillow beneath you. Your eyelids are slightly puffy from sleep, your lips smooth and—

The need thrums beneath his skin, instincts roaring at him to flip you on your back and slam inside, rut into you to relieve the incessant itch beneath his skin. You’re the bane of his existence in that moment. The perfect image of taunting purity, robed in white—he’d found it humorous at the time of giving them to you, knowing how quickly you’d be defiled—features peaceful, breathing even and deep.

He has to steady himself when you shift, sending a wave of your scent over to him. He wonders for a moment what you’re dreaming about; you seem like someone who dreams.

He hadn’t shifted last night. Had worried the need would be too unbearable—his instincts becoming a screaming tangle of curses and pleas inside his head, far too loud for him to manage sleep. Even if he knows you like it when he does. Which is vaguely amusing.

You act so prim and proper in almost every way. Even when he’s been inside of you, drawing those unholy sounds from your throat… And yet you seem to enjoy him the more dæmonic he is. He’ll often wake to find you curled against his side, back pressing into him with a pillow clutched to your front, between your thighs. It’s possibly the most unguarded you’ve been around him.

It’s as if his thoughts summon you awake, eyes peeking open, almost instantly latching onto his own. As if sensing that silent bond between you—even if, as a human, there’s no way for you to know.

“Hungry, Azriel?”

He growls low in his throat as he snaps his talons back in—having protruded while he was thinking about you, about your heat: being inside it, lapping over it, coming on it. He wants your mouth on him.

He needs to feel that pleasure.

You watch him quietly. On edge.

His eyes are fully black, which isn’t usually a good sign. And you would never admit it to him, but the dream you’d had was one of your more…lewd ones. That may or may not have involved him in some manner. Maybe concerning your shared trip to that river about a week ago. How he’d…

His nostrils flare, body stiffening, canines twitching, as if debating sliding out further but being kept in. You force yourself to swallow; calm yourself. “I am. What’s for breakfast today?”

Azriel’s blacked-out eyes stay locked on you as he rolls onto his front with beastly grace, muscles rippling with the smooth movement. This time, it’s you who tenses up. He prowls forward, and you have enough sense to keep still. You feel like any sort of movement will send him into fluid motion—whatever that motion is.

You stiffen, heart rate spiking, as his hand lands on your shoulder, ordering you to roll over. You silently debate disobeying him, pushing to keep still—you shouldn’t allow him to push you around like this. But when he gives another gentle wave of pressure, that’s firm enough you don’t think it wise, you follow him.

His hand goes with you as you’re turned onto your back; you suddenly feel cold on your front.

“Azriel?” You murmur, attempting to keep your voice level.

It’s as if his eyes have somehow become darker. They’re piercing into you, moving to be atop your body and traitorous heat starts gathering in your lower belly. He’s moving with that lethal grace of his, caging you in as he lowers himself to your neck and you’re certain he can hear your heart pounding.

Your breath hitches as he noses at your throat, scenting you. You wring your fingers together across your waist nervously as he takes you in, his heat practically melting into you.

His grip tightens on you, and you inhale sharply as his tongue presses against the side of your neck, dragging upwards slowly—so slowly. It’s lazy—leisurely. He’s taking his time…

No.

He’s savouring you.

When his canines scrape over your throat, your hands twitch, considering the merits of pushing him away. But he nudges your legs apart, and you flush, heart pounding wildly in your chest. “Azriel…” Something like a rough purr sounds, reverberating into you—deep and raw.

“Azriel…” you repeat, setting your hands on his upper arms. “Azriel, stop.” He growls slowly, barely raising his head as he opens his mouth over your neck, canines beginning to press in against the soft skin.

You try to squirm away, hands now pushing against his chest but he doesn’t budge. You begin to panic. You don’t know how dæmons work, whether they truly thrive off sin—maybe he needs this from you? Your teeth find your lower lip and you turn it over in your mind. Maybe if you give him a bit, it’ll help relieve some of the strain. You don’t think the gods will be angry if it’s done out of a will to help.

So you relax, arms snaking over his shoulders, fingers tangling in his hair and he groans, his hips rolling into your own.

“Just a little,” you murmur. “You can have a little…just to help.”

He snarls at the permission, arms wrapping beneath your waist, forcing you to arch into him, head falling back on the bed as you bare your throat—eyes wide at the abrupt movement. Then he’s biting, marking you with the print of his teeth, nipping and sucking. His hips buck against you, and you can feel him pawing at your night robe, shoving it out of the way and—

You gasp as you feel him against your bare heat, the hard length of him rubbing against your slick.

You shove away from him, trying to scramble back, but he snarls, lips curling back from his fangs. “Azriel,” you plead, “stop it. I don’t want this. Please, stop…” He doesn’t.

Instead he pulls back, forcing your legs apart as he slots himself between them, the tip of his cock pressing into the soft dip between your thighs. Fear pours through your blood as he prepares to push in.

You don’t let him, shoving your hand between your bodies, gripping him tightly.

He gasps, eyes widening as he stares at you. You’ve never taken him so tremendously by surprise before. He’s off kilter.

You shuffle away, shoving at his shoulder but keeping your hand wrapped around him, until you’re both on your knees before one another. He growls, beginning to reach for you but you shift your hand and he inhales deeply, gaze remaining on yours.

And suddenly you have power. Suddenly, you’re in control. And it feels good. Is this what he feels like? This heady, crackling undercurrent of untapped energy?

“Show me,” you stammer. “Show me what to do.”

His skin is buzzing with lightening. Thrumming with an incessant pull.

You’ve got your hand around him. You’re touching him. You’re doing the initiating. He wonders if this is what it’s felt like for you whenever he’s started. But you’re still human, so maybe those senses are blocked off.

“I’ve never…”

You’re saying something, but he’s finding it difficult to focus.

“I’ve never really…helped, before. Not like this…”

Your heart is thumping in your chest, arousal coalescing between your thighs. He can scent how wet you are, how easy it would be to slide home. Settle into his nest.

“So tell me what you like,” he hears you stammer, “and I’ll do my best.”

A low growl sounds, and he realises it’s come from him. He hastily tucks his claws away, sealing them beneath the knuckles of his skin as he settles his hand over your smaller one. Much smaller. You struggle to grasp him.

His mind is going blank—relaying over and over that your hand is atop him.

He’s struggling to keep his composure beneath the humming pleasure.

“Azriel?” You manage, nervously.

He might be furious with you for taking such liberties. Maybe you should release him… But then you’d be giving up the power you’ve suddenly found over him.

Hesitantly, you squeeze him tighter, dragging your hand up until you’re grasping below his tip. Something milky looking has beaded at his slit, and you swipe the pad of your thumb over it. The creamy coloured liquid smears, and he hisses, trembling. You repeat the action, lowering your hand before raising up to his head again.

His eyes are still black as pitch, but colour is flushing his cheeks, breathing deeply as he begins guiding you. His gaze remains latched on yours the entire time. Up and down, down and up. Over and over. He squeezes, encouraging you to hold him brutally…what you would have thought was painfully. But he keeps going, and you’re too nervous—enraptured to stop. The twist of his wrist, how his hand fits around the length of him perfectly, the milky sheen at his tip. You wonder what it tastes like.

A heady flush warms your body, a kick of desire so strong that, for a second, you want to push him on the mattress and take him in your mouth. Like he’s done for you. Maybe it’s his own way of showing affection… Making you feel good in a way he knows will satisfy you. The thought hadn’t occurred to you before. You’ll ask about that, later. Maybe.

Azriel growls low in his throat, twitching beneath your soft palm. He’s panting, blood heating steadily as he gets closer and closer. Quicker than he would have liked, quicker than usual, but you feel so good. And you initiated. You wanted him. It would be enough to catalyse any male’s release.

He’s so close now. Just a bit more…

You know he’s near. You don’t know how, but you can sense it. Sense that edge rising up to greet him. His eyes are closed in pleasure, having fluttered shut moments ago. So he can’t see you. The thoughts flashing through your mind as you again peer at that slit in his head, licking your lips. Maybe just a bit. If it really is how he shows affections, then possibly… You don’t let yourself doubt. You lean downward, continuing with the movements.

Parting your lips ever so slightly, you press them just beneath the head of his cock. A strangled sound comes from his throat, and you can feel his eyes on you. But he twitches again, which must mean he likes it. When your tongue flicks out over his slit, he releases a snarl in warning. One that—were you his kind—you would have understood. But you’re painfully human before him, and don’t understand, delivering tentative laps to his head as he releases.

You squeeze your eyes shut, features heating with embarrassment and… You shiver, aching between your legs. You can feel exactly where the creamy liquid has landed, spurting onto you, dripping slowly over the crest of your cheeks. You bite your lip against the urge to moan, tucking the desire deep inside of you.

Pulling away, you manage to slip your hand out from beneath his. He’s still panting. Staring at you. The whites of his eyes visible. You probably look…You won’t finish that thought for him. But as you meet his gaze, you see the familiar hunger, the need to have you, and something flutters deep in your belly.

Your hand raises gingerly to where his come is dampening your cheek, finger catching it on their pads as you pull away to look at it. Slightly shimmery, milky in its colour, still hot. Your eyes flick to his as he watches you keenly, strain evident in his jaw as he hold himself back from…whatever wicked intentions he has. You don’t think about much else, only his release on the pads of your fingertips as you peer at him with stark curiosity.

“Is it…can I eat it?”

His head goes quiet, arousal thrumming like a war drum in his blood, singing at your words. He manages nothing more than a nod. He’s not one to pray to the gods, he knows they don’t listen to creatures like him, but if he were any other being, he thinks he may have fallen to his knees at the nearest temple.

You raise your fingers to your mouth. Tasting him.

He can do nothing besides watch. Totally bewitched. Enraptured and enchanted so thoroughly he questions your mortality. You hesitate, then scoop more from your cheeks, steadily cleansing yourself as you deposit each drop in your mouth, eyes closing shut in concentration, trying to mark his flavour.

It’s only when you lean forward, making to wrap your mouth around him that he’s spurred into action, gripping you gently by the shoulders as you peer up at him nervously. “Can I not…Do you not want me to?”

Gods damn him he wants you to. Wants it badly. So badly, but—

“Rest.” The word is rough, and surprises even him. “Go have breakfast. We’re going out.”

————

Had you done something wrong?

You would have expected him to want more…unless he didn’t enjoy it. For some reason, the thought doesn’t sit well with you. You should ask him, but how would one even go about prying like that…?

You sigh, and instead focus on your surroundings. It would be a waste not to seize the moment, especially when he seems to have actually attempted to do something for you. Something nice.

A cool summer breeze swishes through your hair, playing with the wisps that have escaped their binds, floating on the slow wind. The sun beats down on the rolling grassland, earth warm beneath your thin soled shoes, tempting you to remove them—as unkempt and errant as it would be. Despite your time with him, the experiences he’s served to you whether aware of it or not, you still have a modicum of womanly restraint within, and will not yield to the hedonistic ways of those religious zealots who claim the god’s favour. As much as you wish to run bare-footed, unbind your hair, frolic in the summer’s sun. Even if you’re burning with desire to leap and soar. Even if you know he would have no complaints. It’s not like he’s ever shown appreciation for human customs—quite the opposite. They seem to be nothing more than puerile hindrance.

A surge of wind crests through the knee-high grass, making your light cotton skirts billow in the breeze, whipping at your hair again, tugging more of it free.

In the near-distance you can make out a forrest, trees bedecked with luscious green leaves, ranging from the lightest sea-foam green, to the deepest tyrian purple, to the reddest of burnt paprika. Carried on the breeze is the twittering of bird-song, the tweeting and whistling of those melodic voices that coast along the feathery clouds. Near the tops of the trees you can make out how some of the green leaves are already fading to raw sienna, readily yielding to the crisp touches of autumn.

From the crest of the hillock you peer down the side that’s bathed in buttery sunlight, lush moss coating the outcroppings of rock that would normally be dangerous to bare-footed folk. At the base of the small hill you can spot a splattering of colour—wild blues that border on indigo, blossoms that are too smooth a blend of orange and red, like bursts of vermillion, small buttercups dotting between shoots of pale yellow and purest magenta.

The breath steals from your lungs as you take in the sheer beauty of the scape, noticing the brook that winds its way down the hillside, babbling with the breeze in a flurry of words your human ears can’t yet decipher. The sun has long since seeped into the very marrow of your bones, warming you as if you’re bathing in a heated pool of gilded water.

“This is…” How would you even begin? You’ve never seen a sight like this, too accustomed to the burning sting of dust and the drying-out crust of sand as it whips and nicks at exposed skin. A landscape like this…it makes you breathless. Deprives you of words and thought. Just the billowing clouds dancing over the grassland, temperate and perfectly lovely.

“I couldn’t in my wildest dreams create a place like this…” you manage hoarsely. You turn to look up at him, “are we even in the human realm, or is this place blessed with divinity?” His eyes narrow at you, “if you’re asking whether or not we’re permitted to be here…” Your throat closes up. “I was not asking that. I did not think even one of you would dare set foot on holy grounds.” He rolls his eyes, and you stiffen. “Would you…?”

This time he snorts, descending the slope of the hill, moving toward its base.

“Azriel?” You ask, but he keeps to his fluid movement. “Azriel!” You repeat shakily, stumbling after him until you reach his side and step in front of him—not your wisest choice. But all he gives you is a rueful little smile, and vanishes—to appear behind you. He continues walking even as you twirl on your feet. You’re rooted to the spot. You can’t be here. You’re mortal, and if these truly are the holy grounds, then…

“Take me back.”

He smiles to himself internally before turning, features neutral as he takes in your stand of defiance. “Take me back right now.” Again, he offers that smarmy, little grin, “I didn’t say we were in your so-called holy lands.”

“Azriel,” you murmur, eyes wide with sincere fear, voice lowering, “tell me you would not.”

You sound desperate, as if it would be such an awful thing for a mortal to enter the ‘blessed lands’ of the gods, he thinks. “Your soul will not be forsaken, despite what your tampered-with scriptures proclaim,” he replies smoothly, watching keenly. You pause, then “that’s not what I asked.” He bites back a smile at your misplaced terror. Oh, how he would delight in taunting you further! How many ways could he deceive you with your limited and mostly incorrect knowledge of the gods? How he will laugh when you begin to discover their truths.

Instead he speaks calmly, if a bit coldly, “you are indeed in the mortal-labeled holy lands. But as I have already said, your soul will not be forsaken nor damned, nor will you rot alongside the Underking. As much as your liar- priests and priestess’ love to profess it as truth.” Your eyes widen at his bold claims, the brazen statements he’s making. “You understand the severity of heathenism, don’t you? To make claims such as yours…to make assertions like that will damn you to hell.”

He doesn’t remind you of your belief that he’s forced you to reside with him in hell. That would cause too many questions, and he quite likes knowing you won’t try to escape, if only for fear of what lies beyond the castle floor which he holds you in.

So he simply laughs at your fear-spurred actions. How many joys have you refused because of your misplaced faith? Never mind that, you’ll have plenty of time to live out whatever joys you wish to indulge in. You have a long life with him. He doesn’t dare consider potential complications with the Ritual.

“Your false scriptures claim that should a mortal man set foot on sacred lands, he will be struck down where he stands.” His eyes flick to the clear skies, not a thunder cloud in sight, “I see you’re still standing. By logic, they must be untruths.”

Your lips purse, but you remain rooted to the ground, refusing to take another step. Good.

His lips lift in a feral grin as he stalks toward you until you’re cast in shadow, wings flaring, “you refuse to move forward?” He asks, eyes gleaming with sinister promise. Just aching to rip into you, you think. But he is his own kind, and has been designed to lure humans like you to break the laws of your religion, to seduce you into failure and destruction, brought about by the hubristic nature of mankind. The kind you refuse to bow to. Even if he can shred you apart, you will trust in your gods—they have never failed you.

They’d never failed you until that night you’d been dumped in the forrest, bound and left for the beasts to fight over.

Then again when you’d been stolen.

Then again when you’d been dumped in that frozen wasteland, a new side of Hell.

Maybe they have abandoned you. Maybe you were supposed to die that night, yet he’d come swiftly in their place to fill the void the holy creatures had left when they deemed your time to be up.

But those are sweeping assumptions you’re jumping to. Maybe this is their way of testing you, to see if you’re worthy of those Elysian Fields, where only the bravest and noblest of souls may rest. A step above Heaven.

There must be a step below Hell, too.

The thought doesn’t sit well with you.

“I will not be coerced into failing my gods,” you reply firmly, planting yourself stably into the grassland, “I trust in their power, and their words. If they told me to leave my homeland and travel, I would follow obediently, without question or hesitation.”

“And what if one told you to obey me?” He asks mildly, teeth flashing in an animalistic grin that sets your hairs raising. He’s pleased when you falter on your self-righteous proclamations. “They wouldn’t do that.”

“Humour me.”

Your brows narrow as you peer up at him, arms folding over the front of your creamy coloured dress. What trick is he up to now? “I don’t think you know the meaning of the word,” you shoot back instead. Unsettlingly, you think his lips twitch in a smile. Unsettling indeed.

He looks down on you in that judgemental way of his—like he knows every thought that passes through your mind. It doesn’t make you laugh as you had expected. Instead, a strange sense of unease floats across your chest. You wouldn’t like if he could just peer inside of you. But you know so little about his kind’s powers.

“So you would disobey your oh-so-dear gods if their requests did not align with your own sense of right and wrong?” He asks, amusement dancing in his charcoal gaze. Charcoal—not hazel. “They wouldn’t do that,” you repeat again.

He merely shakes his head, “you are blinded by your misguided faith.”

“That misguided faith as you so brazenly call it is what will separate us in the afterlife, Azriel.”

He laughs. It’s cold and heartless. “And what have I done to make you believe I deserve those silver flames? What makes you believe death will claim me—or any of my kind?” He questions, something honed and merciless glittering in his eyes. “You are what you are. Death will claim all of us. Only the Mother is beyond its cold clutches. Even gods yield before that carver’s scythe.”

Darkness writhes around him, a stain marring the beautiful landscape. A smudge of evil amongst this sacred nest of divinity. A wolf in a children’s nursery.

“Careful,” he warns, smiling vaguely, “you’re starting to sound like one of those heathens you so despise.”

“My words are not an affront to the deities. I recite what is written in our holy books,” you defend, even if a shiver spider walks down your spine at his accusation. Men had been turned to candle-wicks for less. “You speak of the death of a god. Such a thing is not taken lightly.”

“Is that a drop of reverence I detect? I thought you had a particular distain for those divine beings,” you reply, staring up a him with half-wild eyes. You will not be pushed from your faith. You will not waiver or tremble.

“I find myself quite close with one of those divine beings,” he drawls, watching as you flinch, trying to sort whether he’s telling a truth or attempting to deceive you, “and I do not think he would be pleased to hear someone—a mortal, no less—discussing his eventual ending.”

Your blood runs cold beneath the blazing sun, leaving a sense of nothingness in the absence of your life’s heat. “I don’t believe you.” But even to your ears it lacks the bite it needs. The unyielding conviction you had spoken with before.

But instead of pouncing on the obvious soft spot, he takes a different approach, returning to the conversation that had started the heated debate. “Your belief aside, you think I would put you in a position of danger? You seem to be in possession of a somewhat sound mind. You should understand I do not wish to have a corpse for a bride. Or a wife. Even I could not reach you once you passed over. I believe you would make a rather dull accomplice.”

The chill deepens, but you raise your chin, staring him down. “I will not take another step. These are sacred lands not yet meant for me.”

It seems to be the answer he was waiting for.

He grins, an animalistic flash of teeth and fangs and then he—vanishes.

You feel the shift deep within your bones. Somehow the veil between your beings has thinned—maybe the holy grounds play a hand in it. Either way, you’re caught off guard as his snout shoves beneath your legs, making them buckle as you’re tossed high into the summer’s air, enough to make you breathless.

And then you’re plummeting back down, landing atop a powerful back, corded with beastly muscle that shifts and ripples with languid grace as his wings snap open, flaring as he moves to shoot high into the heavens, you still seated atop him.

“Azriel!” You gasp, enough sense about you to dig your hands into the thick fur at the meeting point of the tip of his spine with the slope of his nape with the broad width of his shoulders. And the very breath whooshes from your lungs as you’re launched high into the blue as those great wings snap downward, capturing the wind beneath them as you soar to the clouds.

You grip tight, hauling your body flat against him as the wind beats at you, accompanied by the thunderous booming of his wings as they propel him higher and higher—

Those are clouds he’s coasting. Clouds he’s surfing up and over and around. He reaches the base of one, spiralling upward in a tight circle, cutting at its edge as he flies, soars further and further and then he’s at its peak. A wide expanse of pale blue lies before you and your stomach lurches as he begins the deadly plummet.

“Azriel!” You scream, words snatched away by the wind as his wings tuck in. Your heart rate spikes, thundering like an echo of the leathery beat that had pulled you so far from the safety of land and earth. Blood rushes in your ears, pounding through your body with wild intent and he plunges.

The earth is so small beneath you, and you’re unable to pick out the hill you came from as he dives—mostly because you refuse to look. Your eyes would probably tear up anyway. Then you become aware of the weakness of the wind, how the cold is no longer biting at the skin of your calves, catching in the pools of your dress. But he’s dropping—you can feel it in the spasming of your thighs as the end rushes up to greet you.

You clutch tighter to him, nestling into the heat of his silky fur and you pray. Pray to every god you know. To the Mother, to your parents, to the king, to every force you have comprehension of that he’ll pull up.

Blood pounds and you feel yourself losing grip. Silver lines your eyes as you’re dragged down through the atmosphere—a millstone dropped into the ocean of skies, plummeting, sinking, dragging you to its depths. You’ll splatter. Faced with your own mortality.

“Pull up,” you mutter under your breath, not even a whisper. Your stomach spasms with the plunge, the effort of keeping yourself intact. “Pull up,” you beg quietly, hands trembling as you fall, the hill coming into sight—the mossy outcroppings, the splatter of wildflowers, the babble of the brook. “PULL UP!” You scream at him, tugging at his fur because one more second and it’ll be too late.

His wings snap open, catching the wind beneath them, leathery skin going taut but holding. You’re jerked on his back, grip being shaken free, and you lurch, as if about to be sent careening from his back to plummet the rest of the way. But shadows snake over your thighs, hug your waist, fastening you to him as he evens out, shooting across the grassy flatlands as he coasts the green sea.

He’s so close to the ground; you’re certain should he wish it, his talons could till the earth. He’s going so fast, hurtling through the open fields, moving with lethal motion, propelled forward by the powerful, beating muscle that binds his wings. Colour blurs by as you pass over dotted patches of wildflowers, leaving only gusts of wind in your wake, crystal-like water spraying to a fine mist as he shoots across a stream.

A laugh—young and wild and reckless—bursts from your throat. His shadows wrap slightly tighter as your grip loosens on him, allowing you to sit upright—that shield that he’s put in place blocking you from the air that would surely knock you clean from his back.

The caged woman inside of you breaks free, tasting the wind and the air and seeing the vivid whirls of colour, smelling the freshness of green grass, the crispness to the summer breeze, edged with the floral sweetness of wildflowers and the earthy tones of the forrest. Everything around you is alive, humming with unspoken life, moving to that unheard melody that keeps the harmony in nature.

You want to bathe in it. To unbind your hair, tear your shoes from your feet and throw your arms to the wind. You want to dance through the clouds as he does, want to shred the dress from your body if only so the essence of the world can fill you up, to shower your senses in the force of nature. Feel the heated grass between your toes, rinse your skin in the crisp and clear water from the spring, roll down the grassy slopes and sleep in the wildflowers.

You sit upright, and raise your hands from his fur, letting the weightless spiralling feeling grip your soul, feeling the billowing air breezing by. Joyous laughter spills from your lips, bright and sun-filled as you allow yourself to forget—just for a moment—about the world you come from. Forget about being a proper woman, forget about duties of piety, of obligations to honour your household. Instead, you exist. You are. You be. It’s wondrous.

More, more, more—

His wings flare, pulling him to a glide downwards, flapping as he lands smoothly on the grassland, not too far from your take-off point.

What?

“What are you doing?” You ask breathlessly. “Why are you stopping? Go again,” you push, but he remains grounded. “Azriel?” You question pleadingly. You want to go again. To soar higher and higher until the air is stolen from your lungs. To make the drop again and again. To feel the lurch of the world beneath you. To have the earth ripped from your feet.

But he shakes his shoulders in a gesture you take to mean get off.

“Just once more,” you breathe, fingers tightening in his fur as you lean closer to him, “one more ride. Please.” His head cocks, tilting to the side, eye curving round to see you on his back. What will you do for me?

Your heart pounds in your chest, adrenaline thumping in your blood. So many bargains, so many deals. Always one thing in return for another. But you need that high again. He’s given you a taste of the summer winds, how pure the air can be, how the world can tip as you dive and you need it again. Need to feel that insignificance—the unity with something greater.

So you make a reckless decision.

Your lips pull back from your teeth in a feral smile—one he’s given you before—then you’re swinging your leg over his shoulder, sliding down his silky fur as you drop to the mossy grass: spongey and soft. You turn to look at him, almost trembling with energy, sparking at the seems with inherent need and vivacious life.

As soon as your feet touch the ground he’s shifted, and you don’t allow yourself to fear him—only think of the skies and the clouds and that drop. You grab him by the hand, grin still splitting your lips as the sun shimmers in your eyes. You turn, tugging him along, moving as quick as you can as you drag him over to one of those patches of splattered colour, a section of wildflowers.

“You want me, don’t you?” You breathe, peering up into his dark eyes, writhing with darkness and malevolence and—hunger.

No second guessing, no room for doubt, you turn and step into him, hands snaking up his chest as you press against his body. He leans into you, arms wrapping around your waist as he pulls you tight against him, taking in your scent as he growls—half beast. “You’ll let me bed you in a field?” He asks, a taunting undertone to his low drawl.

You don’t let his words summon that flicker of shame as you shake your head. You look him in the eyes, peering up at him as his heat seeps into you—warm despite the chilly upper airs. “Lie down.”

His pulse stumbles at your words. Your command. The feral wildness reflected in your gaze. He can hear the thrumming of your heart against your ribs, how it’s pounding in your chest with a need to be free. “Lie down, Azriel,” you repeat, hands tightening on him with need. Barely hiding his reluctance, he settles in the grass, watching you silently for your next move.

That melody is still living inside of you, strumming your heartstrings; playing on your ribs, but it’s fading. You need to hear its symphony again, that cluster of chords that will make you feel the fire of life. You straddle his thighs, fingers working deftly on his ties to set him free and you hear his breath catch at your intent. Then a rough laugh sounds in the back of his throat, wetness gathering between your thighs in response. “You want to have it here?” He growls lowly, eyes piercing into you.

“Yes,” you breathe, gripping him in your hands.

He doesn’t get much warning as your mouth descends on him, tongue lapping over his head as you had wanted to do this morning, wet heat encasing him. He hisses an inhale at the sudden sensation, taloned hands fisting at his side as he feels blood drain from his head with such dizzying speed.

You’re tempted to keep licking at him, but you’re aching, and want to feel the wind on your skin as you ride him. It feels good, like there’s a greater current tugging you toward him, urging you on in your movements. It feels right.

So you scramble up his body, mouth opening over his own as you slant your lips against him. A sound rumbles in his chest as his hands grip your hips brutally. Your own hands drop to the hem of his leathers, pushing and pawing in attempts to remove his top as you moan against him, letting your heart-beat guide you to what you want.

“Azriel,” you pant between the flashes of teeth and the flicker of his tongue. You again grope at his shirt, pushing it up and he finally follows, removing it and you take him in, mouth practically watering as you actually take him in. Every scar, every swirl of ink, whorls of shadow decorating his skin with ancient marks that beckon and call to be licked and inspected.

“You’re look at me as if you haven’t eaten in days,” he purrs darkly and you can feel him against your thigh. Something fractures inside of you, splitting down your spine and lashing at the inside of your skin, flaying you raw with need so great it threatens to obliterate you.

He senses it, the war drums inside, sitting upright as he grabs you roughly, your arms snaking over his shoulders. You moan when he kisses you, a deep, wanton sound. Your hips roll, pressing against him and he groans at your desperation—for him. Thoughts begin to eddy from his mind as primal need slowly seeps through him, weakening his restraint.

To his surprise, you lift your dress, pushing aside your underwear as your fingers find your pleasure-centre. The loudest moan yet spills into his mouth and he swallows it greedily, hand tangling in your hair as the wind whips around you, sun still high in the sky. Two fingers press inside, and you curl them. You know you need to prepare yourself for him. He was gentle before—or you were ready for him. But this time you’re taking him of your own accord, and you need to be fully equipped to deal with him.

Your breath catches when one of his hands slides possessively down the curve of your back, squeezing your ass before slipping beneath your dress. Talons scrape menacingly against the soft skin of your inner thighs and you whimper with pleasure. His claws retract and the air is pushed from your lungs as you feel one of his fingers join your own. “Azriel…”

He growls over your mouth, tongue flicking your roof as his grip tightens in your hair, drawing more pleasing sounds from you for him to devour. “Is this why you prefer your dresses? For ease of access?” He manages between breaths. “Yes,” you pant, his fingers curling inside of you. He doesn’t believe for a second you’re actually paying attention to what he’s saying, but it sends an overpowering wave of fire lighting his spine regardless.

“Yeah?” He chuckles as you roll your hips against him, getting wetter by the second—he can feel it. Feel you. “You want me to start taking you whenever I want?” He growls, mouth leaving yours as his teeth graze your neck. Your breath catches, one hand tangling in his hair as you tilt your head to the side with primal need, “bite me.”

He snarls, pupils dilating at the whispered command. He follows obediently, fangs scraping over the scars, before sinking down. You whimper, gripping him tighter as he laps at your life that spills on his tongue, drinking down every damned drop he can before his saliva seals you away again. He’s tempted to take another bite.

But you’re tugging at him, and your mouth opens over his, the metallic flavour coating your tongue as you taste him. Then you’re pulling back, taking your fingers from between your legs, too—more room for his own that he presses inside. A groan drags from his throat as you push your fingers between his lips, whimpering as his tongue laps at your flavour, heat raising to his skin as he stares you down, the wet muscle in his mouth flicking and twining over and between your digits as he sucks that taste from them.

“Do it,” he growls, retracting his hand from between your thighs, guiding his tip to your entrance. You pant breathlessly, settling your weight over his head and you know you can just sink down and have him inside of you filling you up making you spill—

“Azriel,” you cry, burying your face in his neck, teeth pushing at his skin desperately, “Azriel…” You repeat his name again and again, chanting it as if it were an ancient spell to relieve you of pain and bless you with unending joy and life. Over and over you say his name as a scared mantra, whimpering and whispering it against his skin with aching reverence. Lower and lower, inch by inch, until you’re sat in his lap and the world spins.

You remain still, basking in the fullness, bursting with energy. Your hips wind softly over his, and you hiss at the pleasure, white spots dancing in your vision like feathers or blossoms on the breeze. Your nails press again his tough skin, raking at his back as you lift, then slide down.

More. You need more. You need that symphony to sing to your bones, need to melt into him, break under him, yield and reforge into molten pleasure until your screams turn to song.

Your hands find the hem of your cotton dress as you pull away. Then you’re tugging it up over your hips, over your stomach, over your breasts, throwing it to the grassy floor. Press against him, bare skin on skin, heat and life and beauty flowing freely between you but you need more.

You guide his hands to your hips, hooking his fingers beneath the cream fabric. His talons slice without you having to ask, and you pull it away, kicking off your shoes and toeing off your socks until you’re completely bare.

Tears brim at your lashes at the feeling, of being utterly naked to the world. You can feel the heated grass beneath your shins, the wildflowers caressing your skin, the sun beating down on your form, the summer air—crisp and clean—filling your lungs. And him. Him filling you from within, filling you until you’re about to burst, laying upon you gift after gift of experiences. So many you would never have touched had he not stolen you away.

You manage to raise yourself from his lap—then sink down, settling yourself on his cock. You moan, loud and unrestrained. One hand raises from your hip to cup your cheek, thumb brushing beneath your lashes, pushing away the dampness. You’re not sure if you’re anymore capable of movement. Of breath, of thought, of anything other than being entirely with him. Of being entirely his. With every bone, every breath, every thought. If it’s all his, will it ever be enough?

His hips buck and a silent moan spills from your lips, cock touching a sensitive spot that has you finally spurring into action because you want more and more and more and it isn’t enough. You raise up, and drop down, pushing him deeper inside of you, so deep you’re winded from the fullness.

“Azriel,” you whisper over his lips, tipping your head upward as you wind over him, finding your pleasure in his body, “Azriel, please.” You need him in that way of his, need him to obliterate you. Your nails claw at him, grazing the base of his wings and he hisses. Repeat it, gentler. He groans. More pleasure.

“Azriel,” you beg again.

He pulls back to look at you, something raw in his eyes, “what?”

“Shift.”

His head goes quiet, almost silent, and there’s nothing left in him to resist your request. His features sharpen, fangs protruding beneath his lips, eyes slitting to slivers of darkness then his iris’ turn black, swallowing the whites. Talons push from his knuckles, thick fur dusting his abdomen and then—

Your back arches, curving up into him as you cling on desperately. His cock shifts, expanding below the head to rub against that spot inside of you, to drag against it whenever he—yeah. That’s it. Your eyes have gone wide and glazed, winding over him with fluid ease, as if you’re following some innate rhythm inside of you that’s perfectly synchronised with his roar of harmonies.

“A little more,” you breathe, staring up at him, “just a bit more, Azriel.” He shifts further, fur raising to his stomach, finger merging to form three-toed paws, accented with razor sharp claws. His cock grows inside of you, swelling, and you think you could die. Right there. You could be peaceful. So happy and content.

He grips your hips, urging you to move, to find your pleasure. To give him his own, too. But you can hardly move with the sheer size of him, one shift of your body will likely send you— He lifts you up and slams you down. You scream, gripping onto him as your hips buck wildly, and he’s pounding into you, canines scraping and nipping to deliver that edge of pain that has stars and moons colliding in sprays of silver and gold inside of you.

He keeps going, raising your hips and slamming you down and the breath is knocked from your body as you free-fall through ecstasy.

And you shatter.

He feels you fluttering around him, clamping down and he can’t help himself—his teeth sink again into your skin. Bursts of lightening buzz beneath your skin as pleasure sings to your blood, sparking and fracturing and welding and reforming. Heaven spills on his tongue, finest ambrosia put to shame as he’s swallowed by his senses. Indulging in your divine decadence until he’s lost what he is.

It takes minutes for the both of you to come back down from the highs you’d flown to. To glide back down and fully settle takes longer, and when you’re finally able to crack your eyes open, and push up from his body to meet his gaze, you’re not quite sure what to do.

Something changed. You’d been working in tandem, flowing from the same beginning to the same end, blending at some point as you blurred and melted.

You barely manage the energy to pull back a little, to put some space between your bodies so you can peer down. You’re startled by the sight of the bump in your lower abdomen. He just watches quietly as you lower your palm to it and press curiously. Both of you hiss as you press his cock against you through your skin. He’s so big. So big you can see his mark from the outside. How full did he make you?

“I…” You rasp, but don’t know what to say. Instead his eyes gleam, though there’s still something raw in those dark hazel depths, “still want that ride?”

Both of suck in a sharp breath as you tighten around him at the kick of need in response to his double-edged question.

It takes a while before you’re able to ease off him, and you feel empty once you’ve slid out of his lap. Empty enough you’re tempted to scrap the ride through the skies and instead hop back on top of him.

He probably wouldn’t mind.

But instead you manage to make it to a stream, both of you bathing in the waters. You dry off quickly in the sun—even if small blades of grass litter your body. With a little reluctance, you re-adorn yourself in your crumpled cotton dress, though your underwear is done for. You attempt to tie the sliced pieces together over your hips, but Azriel only re-slices them once you’ve managed. You can’t tell whether it was accidental or intentional on his part.

The ride isn’t as intense as the first, both of you seemingly in need of something soothing and calming to replenish yourselves with after the frenzied coupling.

The winds are still pleasant, the weather delightfully temperate, and he flies until your stomach growls in protest. You would have asked him to fly more, if you hadn’t thought maybe he might be in need of food as well.

So you spend the afternoon lazing in dappled shade, gorging on berries and weaving wildflowers—you haven’t done so since you were a child, and take great joy in seeking out the colours and stems you want.

Azriel lazes at your back, shifted into a four-pawed form to settle at the base of a towering oak. He keeps his eyes shut, but you get the feeling he’s watching silently as he always seems to do for you.

It’s only when you approach him gingerly from the front that he cracks his eyes open. His large head raises from the sun-warmed earth, peering down at you with a blacked-out gaze. His attention runs over you, going from the crown of your head—where a corona of flowers sits woven into your hair—to your still-bare feet.

Hesitantly, you hold up the circlet of wildflowers, beginning to approach. He growls lowly when you set it on his snout—unable to reach his brow. With a heavy huff of air, he blows the small crown up high, letting his shadows guide it lower to rest atop your own wreathed head.

You blink, touching the crown inquisitively. He waits for you to kick up a fuss, to start crying or to stomp away, but you stay where you are for a moment, watching him warily—as you should. Then walk away.

His eyes close, settling his large maw down atop his paws until he feels a small weight press into his side. Shadows swirl to find you dosing against him, the sinking sun bathing you in orange light as you press into his side with a yawn. The second crown tilts slightly as your eyes close, head tipping to the side. You continue slumping until you’re laying flat against the ground, still nestled to his side as you usually do when sleeping.

It’s somehow good to know that behaviour isn’t limited to when you think he’s unaware. It’s good to know you’re settling into some more animalistic habits. Hopefully when the Ceremony comes, it won’t be too demanding of a change.

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020

#azriel #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel acotar #azriel smut #azriel fluff #shadowsinger #teeth and talons #demon!azriel #demon!Azriel smut #demon!azriel x reader

286 notes · View notes

fantasylandbitch · 1 year

Text

Summary: After being yelled at by Danny for saving Sam and not being on that ladder, and being accused of being Ghost Face by your best friend the feeling of being distrusted in an environment you called your second home made you retreat to your shared apartment in Greenwich.

Warnings: Wholesome in Laws, Suggestive smut?, Cussing, Movie references?

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 2.5 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 4.5 Chapter 5 Chapter 5.5 Chapter 6 Chapter 6.5 Chapter 7 Chapter 7.5 Chapter 8 Chapter 8.5 Chapter 9 (Chapter 9.5 Coming Soon)

When you arrived home, you give the taxi driver money before turning around to face your apartment building, taking in the LGBTQIA+ flags that adorn the area as you let your eyes wonder seeing that familiar bookstore you always go to at the corner of the street, and not too far from it the coffee/Tea shop that always has your favorite drink that you order made just for you to start your day. You start to really notice the differences between your home in Greenwich and the home you came from in Bowery just hours ago, you see the difference in the atmosphere, vibes, sounds, and feeling of the area, and for a moment you felt just a little bit of the tension and stress roll off your back as if you had a weighted vest on, before walking inside the building. When you unlock the door to enter your apartment you were half expecting to see your roommates playing video games in the living room asking you to join them and half expecting to see Tara greet you with a hug and maybe get just a bit of attention from Sam asking about your day by the door but you shut that thought aside, or at least you tried to as you close the front door while taking off your shoes putting them on a plastic mat that you can easily clean. Then as you make your way to your bedroom you stop by the window that gives you access to see the stars at night, enjoying the scenery. Upon entering your room, you close your blinds to strip yourself of your clothes and take a bath as you slowly but surely put your previous clothes in the hamper.

Then you enter the bathroom walking over to the shower to remove the shower head from its confines, lowering it into the tub before turning the faucet on to find the right temperature you desire. Then as you step into the tub you hear your phone going off hearing the familiar ringtones over time, hearing the songs you gave Sam and then again to Tara, then again to Mindy and Chad, and not once did you think of getting up from your spot to answer your phone. Instead, you tried to sit there in silence to clean yourself up until you stopped at your back only cleaning up the areas that you could reach without touching the bandage the paramedic had put on you. Later you dry yourself with a towel not realizing how much blood you both bled on and picked up causing you to throw the towel in the garbage after you had put on some comfortable clothes before heading to your living room with your phone in hand. You slowly open your phone so you can put it on silent, before placing it on the coffee table as you replace it with the remote control to your Roku Tv. Then you begin scrolling through Netflix wanting to put something on but you feel picky until you put on the movie The Fifth Element as you start getting comfortable on the couch placing the remote to the side to grab a pillow to hold as you lay on your stomach not wanting to put pressure on your wound and for a few minutes you indulge in the movie and as time passes you fell asleep.

You awake to hear a knock at your apartment door so you get up to answer it “hello?” you say tiredly almost in a whisper before quickly looking at the peep hole. “Sam? What are you doing here?” you asked.

“Tara gave me something to give to you so I thought I would just drop it off personally” Sam says with a smile as you open the door and she looks at you smiling brightly then before as you let her walk into your apartment. “You know for some reason I had a hard time finding your apartment”

“Really?” you questioned as you walk over to the kitchen not paying Sam any mind, “ I thought I’ve had you over plenty of times…maybe I got you mixed up with Tara for whatever reason.”

“Probably, coriño, probably” Sam said to you before she was pulled into your room.

(Probably. darling, probably)

For a second you heard a muffled scream and was going to open your mouth when you remembered that you had a scary movie on so you continued making dinner before you walked back into the living room only to find yourself alone. “Sam?” you called out into the apartment when you heard another knock at your door so you go to check it out “hello?” you say opening the door when a jingle on the Tv rang throughout the apartment.

You hear a knock on your apartment door. One knock, two knocks, three knocks, four, you go to see who's at your door and once the latch is opened, a Ghost Face is at your door.

You hear as you take a step back when you hear your bedroom door open “Sam run!” you yell as you turn around to run to her when you were stabbed by another Ghost Face.

One stab, two stab, three stab, four, they push you down onto the floor.

"Aggh!" you scream on the floor crying from the pain as you hold your stomach, bleeding out, when another Ghost Face appears before you.

Five stabs, six stabs, seven stabs, eight, they plan to make you pay.

You're trembling now, unable to defend yourself by any means as you watch the three Ghost Faces step into your view. Then the two Ghost Faces kneel before you as one pulls you up by the collar of your shirt forcing you to sit up in front of them while the other reveals their face. Your eyes widen at the person to your right. It was Tara and she had this crazed look in her eyes as she nodded to the person behind you when you felt that same familiar embrace. When you turned your head to your left, the other Ghost Face revealed themselves to be Sam "Sammy?" you questioned because you saw her when she came into your apartment earlier before you heard the sound of someone else taking off their mask and revealing themselves to be Richie.

Nine stabs, ten stabs, eleven stabs, twelve, he plans to make art out of your spilled blood.

But the jingle wasn't fulfilled. It was nothing but lyrics to a song now and it causes Richie to say "Back away, Sam, this bitch is mine to kill" he demands and it makes Sam and Tara look at each other when Sam tilts her head. The head tilt makes Tara smile wider as she nods at her sister's quiet request before standing up to walk over to Richie with her knife in hand as Sam tilts your head to the right so she can have access to your neck. She then proceeds to lick the blood off your neck slowly trailing up making you lean into the new feeling of her tongue hitting your skin as a light moan left your lips while she looked at Richie at the same time, waiting for her little sister to strike him.

Then Sam starts to sing "Nine stabs," she starts as Tara begins her assault on Richie "Ten stabs, eleven stabs, twelve." She continues, holding your stomach as she brings you closer to her body now sucking on your neck making you moan a bit more, and in between sucking your neck, she continues the song. "We plan to make art out of your spilled blood not once not twice but thrice, we want to see you fall" she sings when a dark laugh left her lips "Coriño stay sane for me and my sky we don't want to see you die…"

After Tara finished what her sister started. She walked over to where you were held before kneeling down getting close,Tara kisses your cheek before whispering in your ear "Now wake up!"

The sudden yell in your ear makes you wake up with a jump before you relaxed to the smell of Kirby's perfume as you feel her run her fingers through your hair to comfort you and as you open your eyes you also moved your head in the direction of the tv. You had noticed the movie Kirby was watching called Deep Rising a movie about heavily armed hijackers who want to loot a luxury ship only to find out it was occupied by something else. A movie you had watched with her by accident when you were sick and flicking through the channels passing a porn channel in the process making Kirby scramble for the remote when you both eventually find this film when you had cable. Smiling at the funny thought of how you watched your first movie together, you notice a bowl of food on the coffee table and along side it a mike's lemonade beverage and a cup of water to company it.

“Busy night?” she asked and you hummed in agreement.

“Something like that,” you say mumbling “What did you do today?” you asked Kirby who still had her hand combing through your hair.

“Well…Gale called me earlier saying that she found a connection between the three victims.. well the two, who had bought an abandoned theatre” Your ears perked up again at the number three making you stretch to hug Kirby’s hip when a surge of pain ran through your back causing your breath to hitch as you carefully take another breath causing Kirby to look down at your back. Kirby then brings your shirt up to reveal your bare back while you mumble to her about the pain as she goes to check on the wound that the paramedics worked on, so she lifts the bandage to take a look at how bad it is and she sighs at the sight.

“It’s honestly nothing, but you mean to tell me that you went to the abandoned theatre on 31 Canal Street?” you spoke with interest getting up as Kirby wondered how you would know anything about that theatre.

“Y-Yeah how did you know what street it was on anyway?” she asked you observing your features and you smiled at her.

“I had thought about looking into that place to build some kind of business but I prefer being a freelance graphic designer for new hard working businesses” you say picking up the bowl and smiled even more “Did you really make Past Puttannesca?”

Kirby nodded as she slowly smiled at you but eyeing you never the less thinking about what Sam decided to divulge to her about what happened last night. “Yeah I went grocery shopping for the apartment” she says as you looked at her with a sad face making her smile “Don’t worry about it, I plan to be in town for a few more weeks for this case so I live here now.”

The last part of Kirby’s sentence made you snort “Nice! It’s always great spending time with you Kirby” you say genuinely, making Kirby beam at you before she asked you a question.

“You know while I was at the abandoned building with your group of friends and a Gale who sounded interested in your character..” she stops her thought as you put down your bowl to look at her “How come you weren’t with your friends today?”

For a second your voice gets caught in your throat as your mind was thinking of ways to dodge her question when you found one “How come you haven’t done a background check on your city detective partner?” you questioned with a bit of an attitude.

While that was a great question to ask she did notice how you had just became a little hostile towards her not in a way that an injured animal would be but something different, she touched a nerve in you. Kirby’s known you for almost three years now so to know you wouldn’t normally be like this confirms to her that whatever this is must be a little serious. “Fine then, if you won’t divulge information about the other day then I won’t divulge the case with you further” she says facing the Tv as she picks up a mike’s cherry lemonade leaving you in silence until you cave for her.

The silence even though it is always welcoming to you, you knew Kirby had a way of getting what she wants and it makes you wonder why your sibling thought it would be funny to marry a woman like this when they are the total fucking opposite to her. But the kicker to you is that you're really invested in the why and who would do this to Sam and Tara in the first place so your curiosity got the better of you so you spilled what was on your mind. “Fine,” you said as Kirby smiled at the Tv knowing she won you over before looking over at you when her smile slowly faded. “Last night my best friend Tara accused me of being Ghost Face and then proceeds to insult me by saying that I only went to the same college to fuck with her and her friends for fame!” you say as you try to hold back from crying and started yelling instead “And it gets better! She told me that I am just like that asshole that people out there are feeling sorry for because she thinks I’m trying to fuck her sister because never mind being okay with being a little interested in her!” you yelled as your voice started to get deep letting Kirby know that you're almost at your breaking point, you were going to cry any second now. “And then…And then...Tara..” you started but looked away from Kirby as she watched you put your hand over your eyes as you got up from the couch to isolate yourself “Tara said…I was just like.. Amber…the bitch who manipulated her and who stabbed her in the fucking back” you say now sobbing near the window as Kirby got up from the couch to try and hug you.

All Kirby could do was hug you as she started to get emotional herself thinking back to the days of when she was in Woodsboro as she began to hug you tightly as you lay your head on her shoulder while she moved her left hand to your lower back so she wouldn’t press on your wound. You two stand there by the window for a while before she slowly but surely made you both walk backwards to the couch where she would allow you to lay on her stomach hugging you still “You know Y/n, in times like this, its always hard because we never know who to trust and who not to trust because people are so good these days at hiding how they really feel that they can literally blend in and hurt anyone they wish or are deranged enough to do so.”

“What are you trying to say Kirby?” you asked before lightly propping yourself to look up at her.

“I’m saying right now your friends are protecting themselves because they don’t know who they should fully trust yet and if you know you can trust your friends not to stab you in the back then you know who to keep in your corner despite the accusations.” You hum in response causing Kirby to secretly look at you as if you were a cat purring on her as a light smile slowly appeared on her face before she thought back to your earlier question. “I did do a background check on detective Bailey you know the person I’m working with by the way” she says as you look up at her again.

“Did you find anything suspicious about him?” you asked as you watched Kirby shake her head. “Well I don’t fully trust him because I think it’s really weird how a case like this would be given to him if his daughter was involved with Sam and Tara…something doesn’t add up” you say kissing Kirby’s stomach before getting up to finish eating your dinner as you take a sip of your mike’s lemonade drink.

“Got any hunches as to why you feel that way?” Kirby asks you while she put on a different movie as the previous film ended when she found a movie called Star Ship Troopers, putting it on as you take a deep breath.

“All I have Kirby, are ideas of possible ways Richie could be connected to this case even though that prick is dead not nessarily Bailey yet” you say as Kirby perked up, sitting up now to look at you. “I think Richie could be related to this case because someone in the media is related to him in someway or was friends with him.”

Your thinking is making Kirby think, ‘Why haven’t I thought of that before’ before saying “Shoot” she says smiling at your detective work even though you weren’t close to this case as she is “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I think someone is setting up Sam to discredit her for killing Richie making everyone think that Richie was innocent and that Sam who is “supposedly the killer” is putting “her crimes” on him to make herself look good.” You say as you finish your bowl putting it on the coffee table “Like someone is well I don’t know getting back at her for killing Richie like some kind of revenge arc in a movie” Your thoughts make Kirby nod in agreement.

“Then explain to me, why would Detective Bailey be interested in this case?” she asks because she noticed how you kind of went on a different track with your thoughts so she tries to steer you back to the path you were on a moment ago. But she does see the gears in your head working causing her to pause the movie in the mean time to talk to you without anything distracting you both.

“I could say this is sort of a classic movie of the Die Hard series” you start as you grab a tissue to blow your nose “He could be a dad who doesn’t necessarily have a great relationship with his kids yet and then he stumbles upon a case bigger than him so big it could make him famous except he wants the clout” and your answer made Kirby hum in response as you both look at each other.

Then Kirby breaks the silence “Do you want an ice cream sandwich?” she asks and you laugh at the sudden change in her mood. “Well do you or should I just eat them all myself?” she questions as she gets up to go to the kitchen bringing your bowl with her and you follow her.

“I’ll put the rest of the dinner away Kirbs” you say, making Kirby snort while you put food in a container so the food won’t spoil.

“Ew don’t ever call me that ever again, Y/n” she replies going through the freezer and causing you to go into a laughing fit before Kirby stepped away so you can put the food into the fridge. “Here, you fucking nerd,” she says handing you two ice cream sandwiches as you both walk back over to the couch.

“Thanks, you even bigger fucking nerd,” you say back making her snort again and before she picks up the remote, she asks you another question.

“By the way are you free on Sunday?” Kirby asks looking at you so she can get confirmation if you can stay by her side that day.

“No I have a meeting with a client in the Upper West Side at a restaurant called Rancho Tequileria so no unfortunately I am not free to hang out that day but I’ll be free after 10 or 11,” you say to her as you look over and Kirby smiles at you.

“No, that's okay I just wanted to see if you were available. Now let's watch this movie” she says pressing the play button as you both eat your ice cream sandwiches while watching the rest of Star Ship Troopers.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 2.5 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 4.5 Chapter 5 Chapter 5.5 Chapter 6 Chapter 6.5 Chapter 7 Chapter 7.5 Chapter 8 Chapter 8.5 Chapter 9 (Chapter 9.5 Coming Soon)

Stay in my mentions crew: @daddy-carpenter @lummaland @screechcat @grandpatrolnut @octavias-next-meat-bite @fanboy7794 @werewolfbansheelove

Scream 6 : A Love so Understanding Playlist

#sam carpenter #sam carpenter x reader #sam carpenter imagine #a fantasylandbitch presents a story #a fantasylandbitch presents a story: scream6 #core 4 #kirby reed #sam carpenter x y/n #autistic!reader

181 notes · View notes

literary-motif · 3 months

Text

IV. The Abyss Also Stares Into You

In which you experience the horrors. ~5,000 words

Warnings: drinking, implied talk of suicide

Overview // III. Mais, Vrai, J'ai Trop Pleuré!

Xanthus’ eyes did not leave you throughout dinner, the hunger in them not quenched by the excellent food before you. The air between you was laden with tension, the longing in his gaze nearly tangible.

You suspected he could see it reflected in your eyes.

You wanted his touch on your skin, feeling his arms around you as he buried his face in your neck and made you feel safe.

It excited you to connect with someone as quickly as you had with him. It was almost unheard of in society. All the people were either dull, unrecognizably false in the drawing rooms, or downright vicious.

Xanthus was different.

He was the fresh gust of wind you longed for in the lull of your life. You yearned for more, having only gotten a little taste of the poisonous happiness during your afternoon on the lake.

The burning intensity of his gaze made your knees weak, the butterflies in your stomach turning you giddy with excitement. You had never felt this way.

“Might I suggest we return to the drawing room?” he proposed, his smooth voice enticing you all the more. Your breath hitched at his proposition, already succumbing to him in your fantasy.

The settee was comfortable enough to lay on together, you thought. Xanthus ducked his head to hide his smile, rising from his seat only when he heard your breathy and eager consent.

The drawing room was as you had left it. You could not help the dissatisfied hum as you looked at the canvas before the window. It had slipped your mind that you had agreed to continue it in the evening.

Pressing your lips together, you looked at Xanthus. “Take a seat,” he said, motioning to the settee as he prepared a drink. Your heart leaped anew.

It could be possible that the kiss was only that, and your host did not intend to take things further. You were not convinced of it, however, considering his lingering gaze and the hunger you saw in his eyes. Still, being his guest and only here to paint his portrait, you did not want to jump to any conclusions.

Xanthus offered you a tumbler filled with a few fingers of what you recognized to be whiskey. “I had it imported from Scotland,” he said, sitting beside you.

There was plenty of room on the settee, but he chose to sit close enough that your legs were touching. You could feel the heat radiating off of him. You raised the drink to your lips. He left his untouched, simply staring at you.

The deep red of his eyes glowed in the candlelight. He looked ready to devour you, appraising you with roaming eyes as if you were a meal he had been looking forward to for days.

You looked back, lips slightly parted as you held your breath in anticipation. In a moment, he had plucked the drink from your hand, set it on the coffee table alongside his, and crashed his lips to yours.

The force of the kiss knocked you backward. Xanthus held onto you tightly, keeping you in place. His arms wrapped around you, lowering you onto the cushions as he took his time stealing your breath. Your heart was thundering in your chest, and you felt your mind growing hazy.

“Relax,” he chuckled against your lips, tracing a hand across your chest. “I can feel your heart.”

You could only pant, treading your fingers through his soft hair as you looked up at him, drunk on his touch.

He smiled softly at you, his gaze falling to your neck where he could see your vein fluttering. Closing his eyes, he licked his lips, allowing himself a moment to listen to the strong thumping of your heart, imagining how delicious your blood filling his mouth would be.

Reaching out a hand, he caressed the skin at the base of your neck. You ignored the discomfort of your stiff muscles burning under his touch, groaning as he applied more pressure. Something sharp grazed your skin, and you could not suppress a whimper of pain.

Xanthus froze, drawing back in confusion. “Are you alright?” he asked, frowning at you.

“Yes,” you reassured him quickly, embarrassed. You rolled your shoulders, massaging your neck. “I am a bit stiff from the carriage rides. That is all.”

He looked at you, seemingly in contemplation. Slowly, he placed his hands where your neck met your shoulder, massaging light circles against the stiff muscles. You winced, his touch burning but unwinding you as well. “Am I too rough?” he asked, continuing as you shook your head.

“It feels nice,” you said, closing your eyes. It was still uncomfortable in some areas, but you could feel your muscles unclench gradually under his touch. “Where did you learn to massage?”

“I did not,” he said, helping you sit up. You leaned against his chest as he worked on the muscles of your lower shoulders, and you sighed as you unwound entirely. “Do you feel better?” he asked, ceasing his ministrations to lower your relaxed body back onto the settee.

“Very,” you said gratefully, sinking into the cushions. You felt warm all over, looking up at Xanthus with half-lidded eyes. “Thank you.”

He looked pleased, his eyes darkening. “It is so easy to take,” he mused, licking his lips and caressing your skin. “It is much more enjoyable when I exert restraint and you” — he smirked — “come to me.”

He leaned down to kiss you again.

You buried your hand in his blond strands, urging him on by tugging on them. His lips against yours were like liquid fire, making you sink into bliss as you indulged in him.

You felt a faint prick in your neck, but you were too lost in pleasure to make sense of the dizziness washing over you, only listening to Xanthus’ satisfied hum as you sighed contently.

As quickly as you dove in, you resurfaced from this dreamlike daze.

The trance you were in ebbed away, and you found yourself thrust back into reality when his strong arms around you helped you sit up again. The world spun around you for a moment. You reached out a hand to grip his arm, steadying yourself.

Xanthus chuckled, redoing your top buttons and fixing your collar. He pressed the drink into your hand, waiting until he was sure you had grasped it firmly before letting go. Reclining on the settee, he licked his teeth in satisfaction.

“Thank you,” you slurred, blinking to fight the twisting of the world.

“Thank you,” he said smoothly, leaning over to retrieve a book from the side table. “I prefer taking a drink in company.” He flicked open the book, laying it on his lap before opening his arm, inviting you to lean against him as he read in the dim light. “I suppose the painting can wait until tomorrow?”

You slumped into his side with a mumbled agreement, closing your eyes and dozing for a while. The gentle rustle of Xanthus occasionally turning a page, and his even breathing threatened to lull you to sleep.

The estate was deadly silent. You heard no sound other than him and the whipping of the wind outside. It shook the trees, making the leaves rustle until you wondered if it rained, the drops harshly plummeting toward the ground.

If you stayed in the drawing room, cuddled against him, and listened to the soothing sounds around you, it would only be a matter of time until you fell asleep. It was a chance you did not want to take. “I should retire,” you excused yourself tiredly, stifling a yawn.

Xanthus gave a smile, one that was halfway between a self-satisfied smirk and a fond grin. You were too tired to categorize it properly. “Goodnight,” he said softly.

You trodded up the stairs in a daze, touching a hand to your forehead to try and shake the exhaustion clinging to you. It felt somewhat foreign. You were lightheaded. This was more than tiredness, you knew. You felt drained.

What exactly had happened in that drawing room? You could not tell. One moment, his lips were on yours, his arms holding you tightly as he pressed you into the cushions. The next, your head was spinning, a pleasure you had never felt before cursing through you as he wrung sighs from your lips, doing what, exactly?

You frowned in confusion, shaking your head to try and find some clarity. Perhaps the stress had gotten to your head. Thelast few days had been particularly challenging, after all.

You raised your hand to where the door handle to your room should be, but there was a solid wall there instead. Blinking in surprise, you took a step back, now fully awake.

There was no door there.

You looked around only to find yourself in an unfamiliar part of the estate. The moonlight streaming through the windows to your left was the only source of light as it illuminated the foreign hallway.

You walked towards a window, distantly running your hands across the pointed arch and looking outside. It was impossible to tell if you were on the first floor. It could have very well been the second. Had you walked up two flights of stairs? You were too tired to remember.

Muttering a curse, you looked around again. Xanthus had allowed you to roam freely, so you did not particularly feel guilty about exploring a little. You had to, considering you did not know where your tired mind had steered you nor how to get back to your room for some much-needed rest. All the corridors had their twists, creating something akin to a maze.

You sighed in frustration, exhausted. You wanted to sleep.

Walking a few steps in the unfamiliar corridor, you tried the handle of a door at random. It rattled but did not budge. You tried another. It was locked as well. How strange. You frowned in confusion, trying every door in the hallway to find them bared to you.

Only the last opened with a low creak as you pushed down the handle. You paused, standing in the entryway. Cautiously, you pushed it open fully.

The room before you was empty at first glance. You stepped inside to take a closer look, noticing the scratch marks lining the walls as if it had been the prison of some wild beast.

Deep lines were imprinted into the black stone of the walls and the floor, five beside each other. You traced them with your fingers, wondering what paw and its claws were strong enough to cut through stone. Something massive must have been inside that room, and it had been trapped, as far as you could tell.

A rotten feeling came over you as your eyes roamed the disfigured walls. The window on the other side of the room was strangely unbroken. In the dim hue of the moonlight, you saw chains secured firmly in the wall, the dark gray of the metal resting on the ground. They were there to secure whatever creature had devastated the room.

Your eyes widened at the thought. The shackles were enormous, far too big for wrists. You back away into the hallway.

What lurked in the darkness? You whipped your head around to see if anyone had watched you walk in.

It felt like you had stumbled on a secret not meant for your eyes. The room looked like something that should have stayed hidden. You had caught a glimpse behind Lord Claiborne’s cloak of secrecy and were terrified at what you had found.

The hallway was still empty.

You closed the door, holding your breath as the hinges creaked again.

Pretending you had seen nothing, you turned the corner quickly and continued finding your way back through what you assumed now to be the south wing.

Your heart was beating painfully. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as your eyes darted through the night, looking everywhere for signs of movement.

You had not meant to see it.

What had been chained up in there? What wild beast would leave scratch marks so deep in the walls, tearing through stone? What needed to be kept in chains, shackled to the walls, and locked away in a corner of this drearily lonely estate?

The more these questions raced through your mind, the less you wanted to find out. You were sure not that you had caught a glimpse of the tare that lay at the core of this estate, a peak behind the facade Lord Claiborne surrounded himself with. He kept things hidden for a reason.

Lady Alderton’s words echoed in your ear. He takes souls. Were they the people who found out his secrets? Were they those who strayed too far from the path and stumbled upon something they should not have seen?

What would he do to you if he found out you knew?

Your pace quickened at the feeling of being watched.

The storm was still raging outside, the wind howling as what you now were sure was rain splattered against the windows. You looked towards the drops running down the ornate glass. Your breath caught in your throat.

In the corner of the window, you thought you saw a thick, black mass looking in from the outside. It moved, disappearing a moment later.

Something was crawling up the castle walls! You spun around, trying to find anything in the blackness of night.

Was it inside already? What did it want from you? Had it seen you walk in?

Was it the thing supposed to be chained up in that room?

You panted, resting your back against the wall and fighting the dizziness of panic as you tried to keep as quiet as possible. Your eyes remained fixed on the line of windows. You shook in fear.

The windows were empty. The darkness was empty, but you felt eyes on you. Rummaging through your pockets with trembling fingers, you pulled out your matchbox. All thoughts of exhaustion were forgotten as terror shot through you, making your breaths come in short, strangled puffs.

You struck a match. It broke, tumbling to the floor unlit. You remained in the dark, eyes darting from window to window, dreading what you feared to find.

Tears pricked your eyes as you strained your ears, listening to every sound and trying to detect the movement of the thing you so keenly felt. There was someone in the dark with you.

Someone was watching you.

The terror cursing through you made your heart thunder in your chest. Your lower lip trembled.

You were scared. You were terrified, wishing for the first time in your life that you had stayed in London, between the bleakness, the smog, and your mountain of privileges as those less fortunate starved in the streets. This estate was cursed. There was a darkness here so much blacker than anything the injustice of the city could ever produce.

The creatures of the night were here — horrors and evils beyond your comprehension. He is the devil, Lady Alderton had said. If not, he struck a deal with him.

What portal to hell did Xanthus open? What demons were on the estate, scaling the wall and demanding entry?

You heard a rustle. You did not dare to move, barely even to breathe. Glancing around, you tried to see what was there but could not make out anything. Slowly, with minuscule movements, you pulled out another match.

Taking a calming breath, you steadied your hands, resolved to strike it on the count of three.

One.

Two.

Three.

It lit. You whirled around to hold the small flame into the darkness before you. It barely illuminated the hallway, but you saw that it was as empty as before. Carefully, you moved it in front of every window.

There was nothing there.

The sight of the reflection of light in the whiteness of eyes you had feared remained only an imagination. The image of sharp teeth bared in the night was only a product of your fantasy.

You were alone. It did not feel like it, but you were. There was nothing there.

There was nothing there!

You cursed your paranoia, shaking out the match and dousing the hallway in shadows again. This was ridiculous. You had thought yourself into a spiral of superstition and anxiety. There was nothing there, after all. You were safe.

Flattening your hands against the cold stone wall to your back, you closed your eyes, taking a moment to breathe.

It was silent, eerily still. When had the storm stopped? There was not a sound to be heard.

You strained your ears in the quiet, making certain that you were alone. You listened, holding your breath and trying to calm the frantic thumping of your heart. It was the only sound you heard clearly — and singing.

Shaking your head, you tried to get rid of things that could not be and concentrated. You listened again.

A faint melody came from the corridor of the locked rooms. It was a light voice singing nearly indiscernibly in the silence, not louder than a breeze of wind caressing over grass, but just enough for you to pick it up in the deadly quietness of the night.

You shook your head no. This was not happening. You were imagining things. The human brain was not reliable, especially under lack of sleep. You were imagining things. There was no singing. The silence was playing tricks on you. It was the wind and nothing more!

What was this choking fear that had taken hold of you? You were not usually so paranoid. Was it the unfamiliar dizziness? Were it the memories of childhood and nightmares awakened by the countryside? You used to be afraid of the dark and all the things that might be lurking in it, but that was years ago!

There was nothing to fear here. You were a respected guest. You continued walking in defiance of your fears, keeping one hand on the stone wall to ground yourself.

A black door was at the end of the hallway. It was unlocked but heavy. You opened it only enough to squeeze through and eased it into the lock while leaning against it to make it close quietly. You stood at the foot of a staircase. There was no way but up.

Despite the long shadows cast across the stone walls, you felt a sense of calm wash over you. The only entrance to this place was behind you, and the only way forward was up. You walked along the winding staircase, listening as the wind picked up again.

The spark of your curiosity reignited — no matter the gloomy darkness that had terrified you a moment before. Rubbish! No matter the locked rooms and the surprising decor. You were overthinking things! — and you decided to continue your investigations into the gloomy atmosphere of the estate and Lord Claiborne.

Lady Alderton’s words haunted you, but they seemed more absurd with every instant you spent in Xanthus’ gentle presence. They echoed through your mind when his eyes glinted with a foreign darkness. You took them seriously when his two staff looked at you with quiet solemnity like undertakers having gotten accustomed to staring into the ever-changing face of death.

This was not the way to your room. The air around you grew colder, making you guess that you were walking up the tower you had marveled at when first arriving.

You paused at the top, the fresh air a relief in your still rattled state. The scare you had given yourself still weighed on your mind. You fought your superstitions, walking towards the pointed arches of the lantern of the steeple. Gripping the stone, you looked out across the fields and the forest at the edge of the property, stretching far into the east.

In the distance, you saw a light burning in what seemed to be a little hut. The hour was late, and you wondered who could still be up at this time. The cloak of night obstructed your view of it, the moonlight your only source of light. It reflected on the roof of the building, reminding you of the glistening water you had seen in the afternoon with Xanthus.

The memory made you smile, and you looked up at the spire. It was the highest point of the estate. You longed for more light to observe the architectural patterns closely.

You leaned on the banister of the lantern, which looked more like a little gallery now that you paid closer attention to it. The stone was cold under your arms. You looked down. On the far end of the roof, a white piece of fabric fluttered in the wind.

Its harshness did not tear it from the spike it was entangled on. Your eyes remained fixed on it in a sort of trance. The white was stained from the rain, the once shining color now dulled. It looked like a piece torn from the fabric of a nightgown.

How did it get up here? The firmness with which it was lodged on the spike made it impossible for the wind to have carried it up. You leaned further to get a better look at it, trying to understand how it had reached the steeple.

How peculiar that it fluttered there, right at the edge of the roof.

A shudder of dread ran down your spine, coming from deep within your soul. Something about this did not look right. Something was amiss here. Your anxieties resurfaced, and you held your breath, eyes darting across the roof and its edges.

The overwhelming feeling of being watched returned.

You whirled around, trying to make out if there was something there. The roof glistened in the moonlight, and you looked hard into the blackness at the edge of it, terrified you would see a pale, white hand emerge. It would wrap around the edge before a wild face with sharp teeth and blood-red lips would appear with a hiss — revealing the creature that scaled the walls in lizard fashion.

It was absurd! You tried to reason with yourself. There was nothing there. The darkness was empty. It had always been empty. There was nothing there!

A hand shot out, grabbing your shoulder.

You yelped, flinching away from the nails digging into your skin. The grip was tight enough to bruise.

Your heart beat frantically, the panic nearly blinding because someone was behind you.

Someone was here.

Your grip on the banister tightened, afraid whoever — or whatever — was behind you wanted to push you off the roof.

Turning, you came face to face with Mr. Fint.

He looked at you with wide eyes, pulling you away from the edge with the force of frantic desperation. Gripping your shoulders, he shook you as if to wake you from a trance.

“Wha’ ‘ere yuh doin’?” he screamed, voice cracking in panic.

You tried to say something, but you were too stunned to speak. The vigorous shaking had made your head spin again, and the terror had only partly subsided. You were unsteady.

Taking hold of his arm, you squeezed it tightly, silently asking him to let up. He stopped, not releasing his tight hold on you as if afraid you would leap from the roof.

There was a faint tremor in his voice when he asked, “Are yuh alrig’?”

He took hold of your chin, searching your gaze before tilting your head to inspect your neck like Rosaria had done in the garden.

“‘ere yuh bi’en?” he asked fearfully.

“What?” you breathed, finding your voice again.

Mr. Fint continued staring at your neck. “Do yuh ‘ave a bi’e?” he said impatiently, his eyes flickering to yours and back down anxiously, his grip on you tightening.

Bitten by what?

The image of the horrible creature — pale, sharp, bloodied — flashed before your eyes, its teeth, and ruby eyes making you shudder in horror. You had never seen it before, not even in your nightmares.

Did Mr. Fint mean that bloodthirsty thing? You shook your head.

What nonsense! Your brain was scattered. You needed to collect your thoughts and rest for the night. Your superstitions were getting the better of you. The storm must have appealed to your fears, allowing the darker side of your creativity to run amok in your mind.

“I’m fine,” you said over the howling wind.

Had it not been eerily quiet a moment before?

You stepped out of Mr. Fint’s grasp, swatting his hands away. You pretended not to notice his lunge towards you as if in fear for your life. He held back only when he saw that you made no move towards the edge.

“Everything is perfectly fine. I— I got a bit lost in thoughts and found myself in an unfamiliar corridor, that is all,” you said, fixing your collar and trying to shake the experiences of the evening.

You were unsettled and longed for the warm comfort of the covers of your bed. You would be sleeping with a small candle burning tonight, and the key turned.

How paranoid! There was nothing going on here. You just needed to go to sleep. These fears plaguing your mind were fickle fantasies. Everything else was insanity!

Relief flashed across his face, and he nodded, gesturing for you to descend the stairs first.

You followed his directions, minding where to turn and which door to open, until you saw the familiar purple-blue of the stained glass window.

Every attempt at assuring him that you could make it back to your room on your own was ignored. Mr. Fint insisted on accompanying you to the door.

He opened it for you, giving you a severe look as he motioned for you to step inside. “Be careful,” he said, his cockney accent disappearing now that he was calmer. It seemed he had shaken the shock at finding you staring into the abyss.

You cleared your throat, waiting for him to let go of the door so you could shut it and lock it firmly. You longed to lay down and tapped your foot impatiently as you stood in the doorway.

Glancing around the hallway, he leaned close to you, making you tense. He made sure nobody overheard.

“Leave this place as soon as you can,” he whispered in warning, his eyes pleading for you to listen. It reminded you of the near-feral look in Lady Alderton’s eyes as she thrust you against a wall.

“I will,” you said, ignorantly pushing their warnings aside as you told yourself their biases were irrational — nothing was going on here. You were paranoid. There was nothing in the dark! There was nothing in the dark! — “As soon as I finish the portrait,” you finished stubbornly. “I will take my time to follow every one of Lord Claiborne’s wishes for it. He has been an excellent host, and I will be sad to part ways with him.”

Mr. Fint only looked at you, his expression unreadable. He scoffed, shaking his head a little. His graying hair fell into his eyes. His hand left the doorknob, hovering over his pocket.

You stared, mouth turning downward at the reminder of the heavy burden you carried in yours.

He looked uncertain, waging a silent war with himself as he held your defiant gaze. It was evident you did not take his warning to heart.

“I thought about my father,” he said, slowly pulling out a piece of paper.

Your heart picked up. It was a photograph. He unfolded it carefully.

“Then I thought of Lord Claiborne,” Mr. Fint said, his gaze flickering up to meet yours briefly, “the older.” He studied it closely in the candlelight as if it were a mystery that stole away his sleep.

He handed it to you.

The black and white picture was of two people standing side by side. The facade of the estate loomed over them in the background. You recognized the rose window and the outline of the steeple, which was cut off a third of the way up.

Mr. Fint pointed to the figure on the right. It was that of a tall man with dark hair and gentle lines on his face. He looked old but not too much, younger than Mr. Fint was now. “That is my father,” he breathed quietly as if afraid to utter the words.

Saying things out loud made them seem real, and you thought Mr. Fint would rather keep this an illusion or a trick of his perception.

Your gaze shifted to the other man, elegantly dressed and looking towards the camera with a burning indifference you had only ever seen in one man’s eyes.

A shiver ran down your spine. His hair was light — a blond nearly white — and his eyes dark. Had the photograph been in color, you would have seen the deep, ruby eyes that had been fixed on you throughout dinner.

Mr. Fint tapped the second figure twice, raising his gaze to make sure you understood the importance of what he was telling you.

“That is Lord Lawrance Claiborne,” he whispered. Twice more, he tapped the person who looked like Xanthus. “Lord Lawrence Claiborne before the Crimean War, over forty years ago.”

You remained quiet, tearing your eyes away from the picture to look at him. Thrusting the photograph into his hands, you shut the door, bolting it firmly.

Something was not right here. Things were no longer fine.

Annotations // V. Les Aubes Sont Navrantes

#the past is close behind #xanthus claiborne #xanthus x reader #sakuverse #zsakuva

29 notes · View notes