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azriels-angels · 2 years

Text

Pain, Pain, Go Away

𓆩♡𓆪M a s t e r l i s t 𓆩♡𓆪

Azriel x Rhysand's Sister!Reader Smut

Based on this ask. Let's all thank Lia for writing while ovulating. I do deeply apologize for this being so late. This fic means so much to me, so I wanted it to be absolutely perfect. Check the warnings, angels. Enjoy💋

Warnings: Smut/period sex.

You wanted to die. You've never been in such immense pain before. Even though you've had your biannual menstrual cycles for nearly a century now, you've never gotten used to that gut-wrenching pain that made you thrash and groan into your bed. Not to mention the never-ending nausea and back cramps that came with it.

You'd decided to accompany Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian to the training camps today, wanting to see your friend Inara, the only female shop owner in Illyria. You'd thought that your visit would be over before your cycle came, but as soon as you felt that first cramp strike while conversing with your friend over tea and muffins, you knew you were doomed. The males you loved dearly had immediately ended their visit at the sound of your first cry. Rhysand flew you back to the House of Wind while Azriel and Cassian raked through the shops of Velaris to find the sweet goodies that helped soothe your cravings.

Rhysand placed a cool, damp cloth over your forehead, gently padding the beads of sweat that had formed from your distress.

"Thank you," You hummed after sighing in relief. The cold cloth did little to whisk away your fever, though, brought a sense of comfort, nonetheless.

"No need to thank me, y/n," Your brother's smug grin arrived as he continued to press the cloth over your eyelids. "Who else will tend to the sweet damsels in distress of our Court?"

As much as you tried to let out a laugh, you could only send him a tight-lipped smile before wincing at the new wave of pain that coursed through your womb. You clutched onto the soft, silk, violet sheets that covered your abdomen before groaning impatiently.

"When will they get here?"

"Soon," Rhys gave you an assuring smile, leaving the cloth atop your head before folding his hands behind his back. "Are you sure you want to wait for sweets?"

You let out a growl before glaring up at Rhysand, threat clear in your eyes. "You see the state that I'm in. Do you really want to witness what I'm like without my necessities?"

Your brother tipped his head back as he let out a throaty laugh. You could be in your bathing chambers, soaking into your large warm bath to ease your tense muscles. Though, you were desperately waiting on the arrival of your treats before doing so.

As if summoned by the mere thought of them, you could hear the two Illyrians shuffling behind your bedroom door. The golden handle began to twitch before it stopped, a small yelp coming soon after.

"You knock on a lady's door before entering," A muffled voice reprimanded from behind the door before you heard a firm knock.

Azriel.

You let out a delighted squeal, pleased that your treats finally came.

"Come in, you bastards," Rhysand called as the males entered your bedroom. The scent of your menstrual cycle hit Cassian and Azriel full force. The former shook it off much quicker than the latter, who ironically was nearing his rut.

"We didn't know what to get you specifically. So, we got you everything we could find." Cassian sent you a nervous grin, gently setting the pack of treats over your stomach before walking back to where Azriel stood near the door as you began to dive into the various chocolates and truffles.

"You two act as if I'm ill," You popped a raspberry chocolate egg into your mouth before smirking at the two very uncomfortable Illyrians. "I won't contaminate you, I promise,"

It was the first time Azriel and Cassian had seen you during your cycle. Any other time, you'd be locked in your room, the only male visiting you being your brother. You'd guess by their reactions that you were the only menstruating female Cassian and Azriel had been around so far.

Cassian let out a small scoff before standing on the other side of your bed, across from Rhysand. Azriel remained at the front of the bed by the door, his shadows seeming darker than usual and his wings tucked in tight behind him. But you only brushed it off, blaming it on his naturally stoic nature as you continued eating the chocolates. Cassian began to fold your midnight black hair into a simple braid, trying to find any way to help you.

"I didn't know you could braid," You quirked a brow at the war general.

"Don't smile at me like that. All three of us learned how in the camps. It's mandatory to learn how to make and tie rope,"

You let out a giggle, making Azriel's lips slightly rise though it vanished as soon as it came. Once Cassian had teasingly shoved you with his wing, pure territorial instincts warmed Azriel's blood. To say that he was attracted to you was an understatement. Azriel loved you differently than the way his brothers loved you. He loved you romantically and adoringly but kept it all to himself. It was too complicated for Azriel to let his feelings be known to you. It would also make things quite awkward between him and Rhysand. So he silently pinned after you, keeping all of his desires and fantasies of you in a hidden corner of his mind.

However, with Azriel's rut coming in a week, it was times like this where his primal desire to hide you from the rest of the world and fuck you till satisfied came in heavy. It also didn't do him or his shadows justice when your natural scent, mixed in with your menstrual blood, smacked him in the face once he entered your room. The shadows, of course, were mesmerized by the scent as well, immediately demanding that Azriel let them play with you, though not in the way you were familiar.

By the Cauldron, he needed to leave. Now.

Azriel swallowed, trying to clear his mind as he turned to Rhysand, reminding him of the meeting with Devlon and the new troops. The reason why they were there earlier this morning.

"The meeting still stands. It starts in half an hour,"

Rhys gazed at Azriel before looking back down at you.

"I can't leave her here alone,"

You slowly got out of your bed and stood, placing an arm across your womb, trying to refrain from cringing as another wave of pain sank its claws into your belly. "You go back to the camp. I was going to draw a bath right now anyways,"

Azriel nearly sighed in relief, mentally thanking the Mother.

"Azriel can stay with me," You looked up at the Shadowsinger, grinning.

Azriel's eyes widened. He looked like he was about to protest before Rhysand had cut in.

"The three of us have to be there, y/n. It'll be best if we reschedule,"

"No, this is an important meeting. You must go. Besides, we all know Az is just there to kick ass in case anything gets out of hand, which I'm sure it won't,"

Your brother only hummed, thinking it over. "I suppose you're right," Rhys then looked over at Azriel, who was trying to remain calm at the idea. "You don't mind looking after her, do you?"

Azriel's lips parted in defeat, though when he looked into your eyes, he knew he couldn't refuse you.

"I don't mind."

Rhysand nodded in approval. "Then it's settled. Cass and I shall be back this afternoon,"

Your brother sent Azriel a look of warning."Be gentle with her." The pointed gaze seemed to say before he placed a warm kiss on your temple and winnowed him and Cassian out of your bedroom and back to the Illyrian camps. Your violet eyes met Azriel's hazel ones before you blushed under his silent stare. Your wings slightly quivered in flattery.

You and the shadowsinger were alone now, which rarely ever happened. You'd always been accompanied by Rhysand whenever you were around his two other friends. Never intentionally. It just always ended up that way.

"I'm sorry for taking you away from your duties," You sent Azriel an apologetic grin. "I just don't think I can trust Cassian with my treats while I bathe,"

Azriel huffed, shoulders slightly relaxing as the sincerity in his eyes nearly made you melt into the floor. "Don't apologize. My duties mean little to nothing to me if you're in pain,"

But even with how earnest he sounded, you could tell that Azriel was still uneasy. As if the smell of you menstruating offended him.

You tried not to let your wings sag from discomfort and embarrassment as you made your way to your connecting bathroom. "I'm going to draw myself a bath now,"

Azriel gave you a curt nod and turned to stare out the window with his hands tucked behind his back, the shadows being the only thing that still watched you.

For Cauldron's sake, Azriel couldn't even look at you.

You let out a small sigh as you closed the bathroom door behind you; before taking in a sharp breath as another cramp took you by surprise.

"Fuck this," You muttered, peeling out of your leggings and Rhysand's oversized black knit sweater, leaving it in a pile next to the large tub.

You turned the faucet all the way to the left, ensuring that you'll have a nice, steaming bath to ease your tense muscles. Thoughts of the male who was only a wall away began to flood your mind as you climbed into the large tub, waiting for it to fill.

Cassian was a brother to you in the same way Rhysand was. You had the same affinity with Azriel too, but at least for you, it seemed much deeper than that. Yes, you joke around, vent, and spend time with Azriel as you'd do with Rhys and Cass, but it was still different. No one else's presence brought you that unshakeable sense of security, comfort, and unconditional love. That was why you picked Azriel to stay. You wanted—needed him in times of distress like this. But he wasn't close enough. Being only a few feet away from Azriel did nothing to help the ache in your chest that called out for him.

You let out a frustrated whimper; the water now reached your shoulders as you pumped jasmine-scented soap into the bath, making bubbles shape around you. Just as you slowly began to relax, a knock vibrated against your bathroom door, startling you from your tranquil state. The water and bubbles around you splashed, some of it overflowing onto the floor as you let out a groan.

"Y/n? Are you okay?" Azriel's deep, muffled voice came from behind the door. The way he huskily purred your name left you clenching your thighs together; your body responded with a line of blood flushing out of your sex and into the warm water.

"I'm doing better," You swallowed as anxiety seeped into your skin, your wings instinctively stretched to cover your chest. "Why?"

Azriel shuffled behind the door before his voice rumbled again. "I heard you . . . whine,"

You ran your hands over your face before furiously tugging on the strands of your hair, trying to reign in the groan of embarrassment threatening to escape your throat.

"Yes! My back is just a bit sore."

Lie!

Horny liar!

Azriel cleared his throat, mustering the courage to step out of his comfort zone, for he took his assignment to make sure you were comfortable very seriously. "Would you like a massage?"

Your head shot up from your hands; you nearly choked at the suggestion.

"From you?"

You could hear Azriel chuckle before saying, "Yes, from me—if you're alright with that, of course,"

A back massage did sound heavenly right now. But it was being offered by a male. Though, that male was Azriel. And who were you to refuse such a gift from the Mother?

"Yes," You sat in the tub a bit straighter. "I would like that if you don't mind,"

"I don't." Azriel grinned to himself though his heart thundered against his ribcage. The shadows, ever impatient, began slithering under the door. "May I come in?"

"Yes," You confirmed, bracing yourself to let Azriel see you in such an exposed state.

As soon as Azriel opened the door, his eyes and shadows honed in on you and you only. You sat in the tub, wings cocooning your body as your back faced him. Azriel couldn't help but let his eyes trail from the tips of your damp wing, so small in comparison to his, to the bubbles on your exposed back, your skin gleaming against the faelights. Azriel stopped his ogling as soon as you turned your head to look at him; cautious eyes studied him and the distance between you.

Azriel began taking tentative steps towards you, maintaining eye contact before dropping to his knees. That addicting smell of your bleeding sex drafted up Azriel's nose once again, though muted by the water, making it more bearable than before.

"May I?" Azriel gestured to your back. The shadows tested the unset boundaries as well, they slowly inched over the tub as they and Azriel waited for your permission.

"Yes," You dipped your chin, splitting your hair in two, placing each half over a shoulder. "You may,"

Azriel glanced down at your bare skin; the animalistic need to sink his teeth into your soft flesh came in heavy as his scarred thumbs slowly, gently began to draw circles into your shoulder blades. "You're in complete control. Say the word, and I'll stop,"

You only nodded, sighing at the feel of your muscles getting rung out by your brother's best friend. You tried and failed not to blush at the thought as you absentmindedly played with Azriel's shadows.

"Is this good?" Azriel asked after a few minutes of his rough hands gently pressing into your skin.

The massage was beautiful, just as the male who gave it. It felt so good that you had caught yourself twice on the edge of drifting off to sleep. However, even though Azriel was closer than before, even with his divine caresses, the pain of needing to be touched and pleased in more intimate places still drove you mad. If anything, the ache worsened, as you now wanted to be forced into submission, fucked out of your mind, pleasured until you couldn't—

Breathe. You must breathe. You are still in the presence of a male, a wildly handsome male at that.

At the slight reminder of Azriel's beauty, you couldn't stop yourself from letting out a small, closed-lip moan from leaving your throat.

Everything went still. Azriel's hands paused their ministrations, the shadows hung still in the air, and you froze as if the water had shocked you. Two long seconds went by before Azriel swallowed, continuing the massage.

Azriel forced a grin as he murmured, "That good, huh?"

You let out a breath, a small scoff as a ripple of heat smacked your cheeks and neck, coloring them pink.

Stupid.

Stupid, horny idiot.

"Yes, it feels very nice," You refrained from banging your head against the side of the tub, knocking yourself unconscious to save yourself from further embarrassment.

Azriel only hummed, skimming his rough thumbs lower before stopping at your shoulder blades, prodding at the muscle there. You let yourself lean back into Azriel's touch, the dam of your humiliation being released slowly with each exhale.

More minutes had gone by, and though you were no longer ashamed of the slip-up you made, your skin had still tinted with blooming shades of red. Your need to be fucked recklessly only worsened as you couldn't help but start to arch your back into Azriel's tender touches. At the slightly suggestive move, an inciting, wicked idea had popped into your mind.

"Azriel?" You purred, feeling your nipples begin to harden. "Can you go a bit lower, please,"

Azriel, oblivious to the trap you had set for him, only nodded before his thumbs advanced to your lower back. You let out a loud moan, arching your back further into the tub, submerging your breasts entirely into the water.

"Gods, just like that," Your provocative tone had Azriel's cock stirring in his pants, his hands slightly faltering as he tried to focus on the task at hand: making you comfortable. Though executing that task was quite challenging when you were arching your back far enough to expose your ass over the barrier of water and bubbles.

Azriel's shadows began to trace along the curves of your waist and hips as if taunting Azriel, beckoning him to grasp that delicious, uncovered ass of yours, maybe even tease the puckered hole and insert a finger or two. Azriel clenched his jaw in frustration, accidentally pressing too hard into your skin, making you to hiss in pain.

"Shit, are you okay?" Azriel immediately stopped his rubbing, trying to get a look at your face as he mentally cursed himself for being so careless. "I'm so sorry, I d—"

"Please don't apologize, Azriel," You breathed; the sexual tension that suffocated you and Azriel's more demanding touches drove you mad. You turned your head to look over your shoulder, a small, inviting smile lifting your lips as you made eye contact with him. "I like it rough,"

Azriel's eyes darkened, thumbs rhythmically pushing harder into your skin as his gaze flickered to your lips. "Good to know."

You only hummed in response, still looking at Azriel as if you were awaiting his next move. You wanted him to make a move. Azriel did not miss the challenging glint in your eye or the devious smirk you wore, and suddenly, everything clicked into place.

You liked it rough.

You wanted it rough. You wanted to be touched.

It was wrong. What they were doing—what they were about to do was wrong. But Azriel did not care. He'd spent too long silently pinning after you, never making his desires known in fear of offending his closest friend. But what Rhys didn't know wouldn't kill him. It would be their little secret.

You felt more than you saw. Azriel's demeanor had changed immensely. A dark, compelling power had cocooned your bathroom like a thick quilt. The shadows seemed to turn a shade darker, almost completely black as they surrounded you, getting ready to strike. Every nerve screamed at you to run, to hide before an unset boundary got crossed. But you knew that you no longer had the upper hand anymore, no longer had the power to run or hide. The power imbalance hung heavy in the air around you and Azriel. You became the prey, and him, the hunter as quick as flipping a light switch. But the submissive, more needy side of you had grown to find it thrilling.

"Y/n?" Nothing but pure dominance and authority laced Azriel's voice as he began to slide his marred hands up and down your waist.

"Yes, Azriel?" You held Azriel's gaze, not backing down just yet.

Azriel rose an eyebrow, taking your stare as a challenge.

"I've heard through the grapevine of a common symptom that females experience when menstruating,"

"Oh?" You smirked, urging him on.

By the gods, did Azriel want to wipe that smirk off your face with a good spanking. Punishing the sass right out of you is what he deemed appropriate for your attitude and what he'd take utmost joy in doing. But tonight wasn't about that. It was about you and making you comfortable and relaxed.

"Is it true, that when on your cycle, your breasts are prone to become heavy and sore?"

Your lips fell out of a smirk as you gulped, not knowing what to say; if you should reveal such a thing. But your body seemed to betray you. You felt yourself slipping into submission as you couldn't help but nod in response to the question Azriel had asked.

"Interesting," A knowing grin smoothed over Azriel's face, satisfied with your reply before he pressed on the matter. "I assume then that your breasts are sore?"

Your lips parted, mortified that you were being asked such a thing, especially by Azriel, yet you still let up another nod. Azriel hummed, mock contemplation as his scarred hands rose again, thumbs stopping right under your sternum.

"Then I suppose it would be best that I massage your sore, heavy breasts rather than your back," Azriel watched you slowly break, his grin deepening. "Would you like that?"

You only sighed in desperation before giving up yet another pathetic nod.

A low growl erupted from Azriel's chest making you whimper and throb at the dominance it carried. Azriel was not pleased, to say the least with your nonverbal bullshit.

"Yes!" You began to fret, knowing that you were treading hot waters. "Yes, I—I would like that,"

Azriel cocked an eyebrow.

"Please," You added, hoping that you'd soothe over Azriel's irritation.

Azriel smirked, pulling you by the waist till your back was flush against his leathers.

"Good girl," Azriel murmured into your ear as the shadows moved your hair to the side. You let your wings flare out to the sides, revealing your breasts to Azriel as he glanced down over your shoulder.

A low growl from his chest elicited goosebumps to rise across your skin as his thumbs flicked over your hard nipples. "So beautiful," Azriel breathed as you moaned back at the small pleasure.

You couldn't believe that this was happening. Couldn't believe that Azriel was playing with one of the most intimate parts of your body. The thought alone made you whimper, and it only got drawn out longer as scarred hands cupped your breasts, kneading the tight muscle there.

"How does that feel, angel?" Azriel ran his too perfectly plump lips up the side of your neck, moving your breasts in circular motions.

"Good, very nice," You sighed, turning your head to skim your nose against his as your violet eyes flickered to Azriel's lips. "May I kiss you?"

Azriel grinned at how gentle, how delicate you were being before he pressed his lips to yours, his only response to your request. You let yourself melt into the soft, closed-mouthed kiss; completely savoring it. And though it was not your first kiss, it definitely would be the one you'd remember forever. You lifted your hands out of the water and over Azriel's marred ones, still palming your breasts.

Something wet and smooth glided over your bottom lip—Azriel's tongue glided over your lip, asking to be invited in. You happily obliged, parting your lips slightly as you let Azriel explore your mouth with his tongue. You teasingly suckled on the thick, wet muscle, making you think about other parts of Azriel that you'd love to suck on.

At the small yet effective reminder of Azriel's cock, you couldn't help but slightly pull away from the kiss before biting down on Azriel's bottom lip. You earned a broken groan in return.

"I heard something through the grapevine too, about menstrual cycles," You breathed as you took Azriel in. His cheeks were tinted pink and his lips were swollen, his pupils were blown wide too, but you'd figured that your appearance mirrored his as well.

Azriel pressed his forehead to yours, his massage on your breasts had seized, yet he still kept them in a firm grip.

"I heard that pleasure—sexual pleasure helps ease the cramps,"

It was indeed new information that you heard from your friend Inara, the last thing she had whispered to you before Rhysand winnowed you back to Velaris. And though your cramps had long gone ceased thanks to the bath, you'd never miss the opportunity to bed the shadowsinger. Even if you bled.

Azriel's intense stare inspected you, understanding what you were implying at. He didn't want to fuck up now, didn't want to push you too far and make you uncomfortable.

"Is that something you'd like to try?" Azriel quirked a brow, letting go of your breasts as he soothingly rubbed your sides up and down. "With me?"

You placed a hand back onto your lap, the other slowly raising to caress Azriel's jaw. "Az, I've always wanted to do something like this with you,"

Heat warmed your cheeks at the confession, and Azriel actually seemed relieved at what you had revealed.

"Good," Azriel ran his hands over your hair before they tenderly held your face. "I don't think I can hold in my craving for you any longer,"

In an instant, Azriel slid an arm under your legs and the other against your back, underneath your wings before lifting you out of the tub. You let out an eager yelp as you wrapped your arms around Azriel's neck. Water and bubbles left a trail behind the two of you as Azriel carried you back into your bedroom, before gently setting you down on your bed. You were about to protest once he began to pull back, but immediately reigned in your fuss as you saw the shadows carry one of your bath towels, handing it to Azriel. He had easily lifted your hips and placed the towel over your bedding, underneath your back before a thick line of blood began to ooze out of your entrance.

"The blood does not disturb you?" You sat yourself up on your elbows, looking down at Azriel as he got on his knees before you. He let out a dark chuckle, hooking his arms around your thighs to yank you closer as he became face-to-face with your wet, bloody sex. Azriel nearly moaned as the scent of your arousal mixed in with your menstrual blood clouded his senses once again.

It was his undoing.

Azriel looked up at you, hazel eyes meeting your violet ones as his tongue darted out. He licked a long stripe from your hole up to your clit before latching his lips onto the sensitive bud; all while maintaining eye contact with you. It was an answer in itself that Azriel did not mind the blood one bit. Your eyes rolled back as you let out a breathy moan, sliding your arms down to lay back and enjoy the pleasure that Azriel was inflicting upon you.

It was when Azriel's teeth had slid over your clit when you squealed, squirming into the bed, causing Azriel to firmly grip your hips in place. Seeing you become so responsive to his small touches made him chuckle into your heat, the sound vibrating against your folds as your moans and cries grew louder. Azriel dipped his mouth lower, letting up on your clit as he drove his tongue into your blood-soaked cunt. You let out a strangled moan as you began to lift your hips with each curl of Azriel's tongue against your sensitive walls.

Your eyes were closed shut, unable to see a few of Azriel's shadows drifting down your belly button before wrapping themselves around your erect clit, the others flicking and pinching at your nipples, not wanting one inch of you untouched.

"Oh, gods, Azriel!" You nearly moaned, hands flying to tug onto Azriel's dark locks. "Az, it's too much,"

Though Azriel did not think it was too much for you at all. Especially when you hadn't even found release yet. But Azriel could do this all day and night. Though when a shadow crept down to his ear, informing him that Cassian and Rhysand were on their way, Azriel quicked the pace of his tongue slithering and curling into your sex. The taste of your arousal and sweet, metallic blood made Azriel nearly drool. It compelled him to have more, to take more. There was no way he could ever go back from this.

Azriel looked up at you, crying and withering into your bed, a beautiful sight forever imprinted in his mind before he slurped you up till his mouth was filled with your blood and arousal. Azriel withdrew his tongue from your cunt and gave her a sweet, open-mouthed kiss before his eyes flickered to yours. Azriel glided his tongue down your folds, watching and waiting for your reaction as he gently licked your puckered hole.

You yelped at the foreign sensation Azriel's tongue had brought you down there, a place you never thought was a spot for pleasure. At your quick, anticipated response, Azriel sent you a knowing smirk. Your blood was smeared across his lips, and his teeth shone with the bright, thick, sticky red fluid. You had almost found release at the sight. Almost. It was when Azriel had continued to lick your puckerhole before sliding two of his rough, scarred fingers into your cunt that caused your thighs to uncontrollably shake around his head.

You felt like such a whore; letting your brother's best friend worship you, finger-fuck you, and play with your ass while you bled made you feel so dirty. You were probably no better than the females at the brothel. Though you felt no shame. If anything you were grateful, proud that it was Azriel who had easily forced you into submission without him even giving you his cock yet.

The shadows' featherlight yet effective torture on your nipples and clit, and Azriel's tongue prodding and teasing your arse hole while his scarred fingers stuffed your cunt full made you see stars, made you cry and scream into your pillow as you felt your release bubbling to the surface.

"Azriel!" You cried out, though that only spurred the shadowsinger on further as he curved and rammed his fingers into you harder, abusing that perfect spot inside of you. "Az! I'm—I—"

You could not think, couldn't even say a single word that wasn't Azriel's name. On their own accord, your hips started to desperately hump the air as your cunt began to quiver against Azriel's fingers, pursuing your release. Sensing how close you were, Azriel curled his fingers against you one last time before forcing his tongue into your taut hole, flaring his wings in preparation.

The same time Azriel heard Cassian and Rhysand winnow back into the House of Wind was the same time you had found that euphoric high, cumming with a screech of Azriel's name as your pussy fluttered and throbbed around his digits. Azriel quickly withdrew his blood-soaked fingers from your cunt and shoved them into your mouth to shut you up. Any other time, Azriel would have loved to hear you scream his name, though not while your older brother was only a floor below them.

You removed your hands from Azriel's head, happily wrapping them around his wrists as you suckled the metallic taste of your blood and arousal clean from his fingers. The shadows had let up from your clit and breasts, now trying their best to soothe and comfort you by wiping your pleasured tears away and playing with your hair. Though Azriel had continued to explore and stretch your arse with his tongue, too entranced by the feel of you, enjoying this moment for as long as he could.

Azriel.

Rhysand's voice thundered through Azriel making him cringe and nuzzle into you further.

I'm busy.

Was the only response Azriel gave your brother as he removed himself from your ass before trailing quick, small kisses up your cunt and toward your belly button.

My office. Now.

Unrelenting command filled his voice, though Azriel wasn't having any of it, his silence answer enough.

Unless you want me to burst through her door and embarrass the both of you?

A talon of power had lightly scratched Azriel's mind, a threatening emphasis on top of Rhysand's warning.

Fine.

Azriel had sent back before slamming his mental shields back up. He stood to his fullest height, looking down at you, only to find that you were already staring up at him, still sucking his fingers. The shadows lifted the bed covers and wrapped them around you, knowing that they'd look after you while Azriel would be away shortly.

Azriel took his fingers out of your mouth as he dipped down to place a tender kiss on your forehead before cupping your cheek. "How do you feel?"

"Amazing," You beamed up at him, glowing with post-orgasm bliss. "The pain is gone. I guess the rumors were right," Your laugh sent Azriel's heart skipping a few beats faster as he grinned back down at you, tracing your lips with his thumb.

"I'm glad it worked," He chuckled, before reality at set into him. "Rhys is back, he wants me to meet him in his office,"

Your brows worried together making anxiety seep into Azriel's skin.

"Is he okay? Is Cass okay?"

Good. You didn't know.

"They're fine, I promise," Azriel slowly, reluctantly drew himself away from you, preparing to travel to Rhysand's study through the shadows. "I'll be back,"

Maybe.

"Good," You smirked, oblivious to the verbal and possible physical lashing Azriel was about to receive. "I still haven't had all of you yet,"

You reached out to palm the dent in Azriel's pants, unaware that you were not making his situation any better. But Azriel let you, dipping his head back, releasing a low, primal growl. He gently grasped your hand, staring down at you as he pressed a promising kiss to your small fingers.

Later. The kiss seemed to say. Azriel would make sure of it. Even if he had to take the two of you away to find some gods damn peace and isolation from judging eyes.

Azriel's shadows surrounded him in a dark cloud till he vanished out of your bedroom and into Rhysand's office.

Rhysand sat at his desk, fury a moonless night across his face. He asked softly, "Are you out of your mind?"

Azriel donned the frozen mask he'd perfected while in his father's dungeon. "I don't know what you're talking about,"

It was going to be a long night.

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pigeonwhumps · 1 month

Text

Rules

Pets of the Silver Screen masterlist

Taglist: @maracujatangerine @clairelsonao3 @whumplr-reader @whumpinggrounds @bbu-on-the-side

Multiple times over the years, Agatha learns the rules.

2.1k

CWs: BBU, pet whump, kidnapping, collar, beating, stress positions, dehumanisation, non-con nudity (non sexual)

Agatha juts her chin out, poise perfect despite the tip-toe position she's been forced into.

"My name is Miss Agatha Stanbury, daughter of Lord Kenneth Stanbury. Let me go and you may get out of this alive."

Foster Montgomery smirks, pressing his knife into her neck, blood beading along its edge.

"I think I'd rather keep you. Nobody's going to find you, certainly not after I'm finished with you." He drags his knife down her front, slitting her clothes. They mostly stay on, but it must be a very sharp knife to manage that. "Take them off."

"No."

He holds up the knife, reminding her. "What did you say?"

Agatha swallows but keeps her poise. She's going to be an actress, she can pretend she has nothing to fear.

"I said no. You have given me nothing to wear afterwards and I will not follow your disgusting commands."

"I have more suitable clothing for you later, if you earn it. But if you won't obey willingly I'll have to do it for you."

Agatha's barely had a chance to process the statement when she's slammed to the ground. All her bones are jarred and her nose explodes with agony. A boot seems to grind her into the floor as Montgomery removes her clothing piece by piece.

She hates herself for thinking it, but at least he lets her keep her knickers.

He grunts in satisfaction, and hauls her to her knees. She shoves his hands away and stands, but is back on her knees in less than a second.

"Stay." He reaches behind him and picks up a leather collar complete with tag.

Agatha doesn't move when he reaches out and buckles the suffocating leather around her throat, but not out of obedience. She just doesn't think she can.

She reaches up to touch it, but Montgomery smacks away her hand before she can.

"Don't even think about it. I'll only ever remove it if you need a punishment that might interfere with the collar somehow, so if you do so yourself I'll assume that's what you're after. But you do still deserve a punishment. Bend over."

Agatha swallows hard, the soft leather and cold metal buckle pressing against her throat. She doesn't move. She only came down for the season, she's not going to obey a kidnapper who's apparently obsessed with turning her into a pet.

He couldn't find a volunteer? There's enough of them.

She pitches forward onto her hands and knees as he pushes her over, pulling her knickers down.

"Bare flesh is best for this. Pets obey. They don't say no. They don't talk back. You need to learn this."

Agatha has never had such a thrashing in her life as she receives then. No-one's ever drawn blood before. She's not passed out enough by the end to receive a reprieve though – he orders her to clean the house, and woe betide her if he finds a speck of dust or blood.

She experiences it all as if from miles away. As if from the gathering she's supposed to be at right now, with entirely different rules. She's not in her body, most of the time, and that's probably for the best.

That day and the next, she learns the rules of being Foster Montgomery's captive.

1) Don't say no.

2) Only speak when spoken to.

3) Don't talk back.

4) Address other people as sir or ma'am.

5) Always obey immediately.

6) Don't remove your collar.

7) Punishments are always deserved, always hard, and given at the slightest provocation.

She adds an extra one from herself, too, which she knows is true. Montgomery giving her a collar is not just him being a sick bastard, it's theatre, another part of the pretense. Because even if he were to parade her in front of those she loves, everyone knows that only pets wear collars.

8) No-one's coming to my rescue. I'm not getting out of here unless I do it myself.

Over the next few months, the rules don't change. The chores are hard, and the punishments harsh, and a lot more of her is scarred now. Very little of what Montgomery does has any logic to it.

But she still can't find an escape. She fears she's sinking into it.

When she's hired by Hayes Fletcher, more rules are added to the list.

9) Don't talk to the other pet.

10) If you disobey, it won't just be you who's punished.

Eloise won't receive whippings, of course, and no canings during the shoot, but she can be put in stress positions, or starved, or have a bucket of water dumped over her head before being left in the unheated studio overnight. And Agatha has absolutely no desire to subject her to anything other than a good hot meal and somewhere better to sleep.

Rule 7 is underlined dramatically by the inspector's visit. In the aftermath, Agatha's arm and back throbbing, blood pooling on the frozen stone floor that her toes are just able to touch, Eloise whimpering from her own position, Agatha makes sure to add another two rules to herself (though the second is altered after Eloise's angry objections).

11) Don't talk about the situation to outsiders. It will only make things worse.

12) Don't break the rules. Even Only if Eloise agrees to do so.

Agatha could possibly escape during the transatlantic crossing. She thinks about it. Even jumping overboard might be better. But she needs to see Eloise again. Be sure that she's alive and physically unhurt (from the sinking at least, Agatha has no doubt she'll have been hurt since). Tell her that she's brave, and a hero, because if it had been anyone but fellow pets she'd saved, if she was anyone but a pet herself, her actions would've been lauded, but instead it's Hayes Fletcher who's being praised for having such a good pet. Which isn't right, it isn't fair, and Agatha can't leave Eloise on her own.

That's when Agatha solidifies the last rule for herself, that's been brewing since she first met Eloise but she's never stopped to think about it before.

13) Her and Eloise only have each other, and will always have each other.

Then the Great War comes.

Foster Montgomery signs up to fight. He leaves Agatha in Hayes Fletcher's care, who lends her to the munitions factory, for good publicity and probably money (money for Fletcher? Money for Montgomery? She doesn't know. But neither man is big into philanthropy). Eloise isn't there. Agatha follows the rules Montgomery has already given her, hating the fact that they keep her alive.

Another few rules are added.

14) Don't become emotional.

15) Never make a sound.

16) Just because you're working alongside people, doesn't mean you are one.

That last is... profoundly obvious, at times. When the rest of the workers get to go home at the end of their shifts and she is kept working, or if there's no-one else at all, locked in the breakroom until morning. When she's fed less than the others, or when she's beaten, or–

It's so obvious, even more so than when she was hired by Hayes Fletcher. She hates it. And she's so alone here.

The war will be over by Christmas, right?

1915. Foster Montgomery is dead, and Agatha desperately wishes she could thank his killer, if anybody even knows. She gets a new tattoo, signifying her ownership by Hayes Fletcher (luckily, she knows his rules, there's no new ones to learn there). The Munitions Act comes into force, and the regular bombing raids start.

Monkey's paw. She's not alone anymore, but it means that Eloise, and several other pets, have joined her in the munitions factory.

She teaches Eloise what she's learned about staying out of trouble where possible. They have a dedicated bunkroom now, pets crammed in on old bedding on the floors of the worst-maintained rooms. They learn that only a few owners have paid for their pets to be taken to air raid shelters.

Hayes Fletcher hasn't.

Night after night they spend, trying to stay calm as bombs rain down around them. Occasionally they're still chained or tied up at night, for punishments, and when that happens Agatha worries the most.

She learns one more rule.

17) Sometimes all you can do is pray.

The war ends. By a miracle, her and Eloise are both still alive. Hayes Fletcher goes back to producing films, albeit with less success. Agatha watches as pet liberation campaigns grow, and the next decade approaches with force. The world seems a little more hopeful, things seem to be changing.

Except for her and Eloise. Stuck with the horrible, spiteful little man, punishments getting worse as he gets more frustrated and blames them for it (or maybe he simply has nowhere else to put his anger). The world's moving on, votes for women are coming, and she can't help but think of what her life might be like if she hadn't been kidnapped all those years ago.

She remembers rule 7. And the last time was dreadful, and another attempt could get them both killed, but she mentions her rule to Eloise one night and Eloise agrees. They have to try, don't they? Sometimes, it's the only thing you can do.

A week later, the film studio burns down in the middle of the night. Arson, probably. By the time the fire brigade arrive to the burnt out husk Agatha and Eloise are already sneaking onto a train to London.

"If the both of you want rules, I can give you some," says Ira, clearly reluctant, "as long as we can go through the ones you already have first. Is that all right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Ira nods. "Why don't you write me a list then? We can go through them while Eloise is busy."

Agatha takes the paper and pen she offers, wincing as she sits down, heart skipping a beat. She's still not used to it.

At the end of the session, her list reads:

1) Don't say no.

2) Only speak when spoken to.

3) Don't talk back.

4) Address people as sir or ma'am.

5) Always obey immediately.

6) Don't remove your collar.

7) Punishments are always deserved, always hard, and given at the slightest provocation.

8) No-one's coming to my rescue. I'm not getting out of here unless I do it myself.

9) Don't talk to the other pets.

10) If you disobey, it won't be just you who's punished.

11) Don't talk about the situation to outsiders. It will only make things worse.

12) Don't break the rules. Only if Eloise agrees to do so.

13) You and Eloise only have each other, and will always have each other. (Ira says she can get rid of this one partially too, but she's not so sure. Not yet)

14) Don't become emotional.

15) Never make a sound.

16) Just because you're working alongside people, doesn't mean you are one.

17) Sometimes all you can do is pray.

The new rules are easy, and straightforward, and Agatha doesn't entirely trust them. The list now reads:

1) You belong to yourself.

2) You will never be punished, no matter what you do.

3) You and Eloise only have each other, and will always have each other.

4) Sometimes all you can do is pray.

Agatha kneels on the floorboards, trembling. It's her turn today, Ira asked her to clean and she said yes, she's not sure why except she's so used to not being allowed to say no.

She hopes she's done well. She hopes she's done well. She hopes she won't be punished.

Ira doesn't do punishments. But all the same, she hopes she won't be punished.

There's footsteps, then they stop.

"Agatha?"

"I've finished cleaning, ma'am."

A hand on her shoulder. "Agatha, please look at me. I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. Come on, look up."

Agatha obeys hesitantly. And gasps. Ira's eyes are dark and warm and how could Agatha ever have thought otherwise? Ira gets down to her level as Agatha grasps her hands tightly, pulling her into a rare hug.

"Rules one and two, Agatha."

"I belong to myself," whispers Agatha, still clutching Ira tightly, "and I will not be punished."

Ira's two rules. The only two she'll ever make.

1) I belong to myself.

2) I will never be punished, no matter what I do.

And there's a third, that Agatha has added herself, that she thinks she probably can after so long. Rule number 5, now Ira has been proven correct and number 3 has been partially removed (Agatha does not only have Eloise now).

5) Ira keeps her promises.

#whump #whump writing #bbu community #bbu #box boy universe #box babe #multiple whumpees #pet whump #kidnapping #lady whump #whumpee and whumper #whumpee and caretaker #pets of the silver screen #agatha stanbury #foster montgomery #ira waterhouse #not happy with the list formatting but nvm #historical whump

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quillsanddaydreams · 3 years

Text

i don't like you

james potter x reader

—author's note: This was a story from my main that I adored so I thought why not rewrite it? The plot is the same, my ability to tell a story however, has changed. James and you do not like each other. Not even a bit. I hope you enjoy ;) Please do leave a comment, it makes my day.

—warning(s): couple of harmless pranks, slytherin! gender neutral!reader (pronouns aren't used).

—word count: 3,431

Groaning, you got up and squinted to make out the details of your dorm. Shouts and rushing made your head thump. You slowly realized a god-awful smell was filling up your room, quicker than you could think. Squeezing your nose shut, you rushed out. Other Slytherins were alongside you, you could hear coughing all around. Your eyes pricked with tears, your throat felt raw. Seeing a very familiar messy dark-haired boy run away jeering; you sensed rage gripping your form like a vice.

Third time. It was the third time the same week that Potter and the elder Black brother had pranked you all. Except it wasn’t funny anymore. That was what pranks were supposed to be right? Something that made everyone laugh along? Looking towards Elodie who was clenching her eyes shut at the sensation, you made a plan in your mind. You knew it was crazy. But when did that ever stop you? James had never conversed with you. Nor you, him. Yet it was clear that he did not like Slytherins. Not one bit.

-♡♡♡-

James yawned, stretching his limbs for a new day. Scrunching his nose, he felt a flowery scent attack him. Maybe it was just Sirius with one of his experiments. Shrugging, he got up and into the shower. That day he had transfiguration, charms, and astronomy. Thankfully nothing with the snakes, they might still be sour about the prank they pulled yesterday. Getting out of the washroom, he hummed to himself as he passed Peter who was still fast asleep. Remus was asleep and Sirius was furiously scribbling on his homework. Always finishing at the last moment.

He didn’t realize the uniform he was putting on until he looked at himself in the mirror. And boy oh boy did he panic. Eyes widening almost comically, he rummaged through his wardrobe, everything a dark green color with silver accents. A note fell at his feet.

“Dearest Marauders,

Take this beautiful gift of green robes from me. I know not all of you deserved this, but then again, I didn't feel like any of you should be left behind. I know how much you love us, Slytherins. Why not showcase it?

With love,

(Y/n) (Y/l/n)”

“Sirius! Remus!” he called out. “Wormtail!”

Sirius didn’t even look up from his parchment, Remus let out a grunt in response. The only answer he got was a faint ‘what’ from the shared bathroom.

“Mates listen to this,” James said firmly, reading the letter out loud. That got their attention. “Our robes are all green. Vivid Slytherin green!”

Remus got up suddenly, with wide eyes rushing to check his almirah. He groaned loudly on finding them in the same predicament James foretold grass-like and smelling heavily of flowers. Sirius however, started crackling.

“What?” James bellowed, his nostrils flaring.

“Well, the sarcasm in that letter is…” He snorted, stopping himself seeing James’s frown. James shook his head as Remus glared at them both.

“This has a strong one-week dye,” he said, punctuating each word, infuriated. “There’s no way it can be removed before the expected time. Why should I suffer for all the things you two do?”

“And I am not suffering?” James quipped back as Remus just shook his head, huffing, and went back to his bed. James looked at Sirius who didn’t look worried at all.

“What? Aren’t you bothered at all?” James asked.

“I look great in everything,” he replied shrugging, making James want to punch him.

He dressed up quickly after, dashing out of the dorm towards the great hall. Ignoring the looks of the students from around and the snickers he looked for you amidst the Slytherin table. It was infuriating, how casually you ate your breakfast, almost oblivious. Stalking towards your place, he cleared his throat grabbing your attention. Your eyes sparkled amusedly, taking in his appearance.

“Why the hell did you do this?” he demanded.

“Now, that’s not a way to talk about the gift I gave you,” you said, batting your eyelashes as he scowled at you. You muttered a spell under your breath, waving your wand slightly before continuing. “I worked hard, you know?”

“You Slytherins are the best thing to walk on this planet!” he shouted before he could stop himself. His eyes grew large. Everyone’s attention now seemed to be on your table.

“Thank you, I know,” you smirked, challenging him. He narrowed his eyes on you.

“You put a speaking charm on me didn’t you?” he hissed as you put on an innocently sweet expression.

“Well, I thought you needed some help with words,” you prompted, getting better reactions than you hoped for. James growled, jumping up and down in annoyance. You tried not to laugh. Did. But the corners of your mouth turned up anyways. He looked like an idiot. The giggle you let out grabbed his attention, his cheeks turning a rosy red.

“I don’t like you,” he said in a rather squeaky voice.

“I don’t like you,” you retaliated. James hated himself for thinking the laugh you let out looking adorable. Anger, which was more of a frustration gawned on his skin. He knew exactly what he was going to do next. Giving you a sickly sweet smile, he enjoyed the slight shiver that went through your arm. Let the prank war begin.

-♡♡♡-

You rushed out of the bathroom, vexed. It had been a long exhausting day and this was the last thing you needed. Your skin was tinted green. Bright neon green. Elodie stared at you in stupor.

“What happened?” she asked and you couldn’t help the raucous whine that escaped your lips.

“I don’t know, okay? I was in the shower and after using soap, my skin turned freaking green,” you hissed as Elodie tried to calm you. You handed her a small piece of paper. “Oh and look what I found beside the shampoo bottle.”

Dear (Y/n),

A gift from me, to showcase your pride in your house. You could thank me later.

James.

P.S. This gift in no way means I’ve started liking you. I don’t.

“James. James did this; that bastard!” you said, nostrils flaring as Elodie rubbed your back.

“Well, it’s just hands and legs…”

“I'm gonna get back at him. Just watch me.”

Your jaw clenched. You knew just what you were gonna do. James started a fight with the wrong person. And you didn’t like him. At all.

-♡♡♡-

You were reading your book when you saw James pacing towards you, from the corner of your eye. Trying to keep a straight face, you fixed your gaze on the book in your hand. Yet you couldn’t help the twitch your mouth gave as he stood right in front of you, folding his arms.

“Wow,” he breathed through clenched teeth. You looked up.

“Real mature of you,” he said in a baby’s voice. It sounded like he pronounced everything through his nose. You made an effort not to start crackling right then.

“Well, one of us had to be, right?”

“Yeah. And giving me the baby voice makes you the adult.”

“I’d think so, yes.” You said brushing his hair. They were surprisingly soft. James glared at you.

“I don’t like you.” He squeaked as you raised an eyebrow.

“I thought we already established that. I don’t like you either boy,” You said, letting out a laugh.

-♡♡♡-

Adjusting your cap, you pulled your books closer to you. It was like everyone was staring at you. Specifically how stupid you looked. A whistle caught your attention. James, it had to be. When you turned towards the sound, you were sadly proved right.

“I like your cap,” he commented, clicking his tongue.

“Geez. Thank you. Just bought it,” you said, threateningly. Take one step James, I dare you; you thought. He didn’t get the message.

“I wonder how it would look on me,” he said, taking a step towards you. You hissed.

“Sorry, not gonna let you borrow it,” you tried to say in a normal tone, but it came out quite high pitched. James dared to grin.

“What if I just…” he said, coming closer as you took a step back, glowering at him in a warning. Not that he took it. He snatched the cap from your head as the long white hair fell. They reached your feet.

“James, give it back,” you warned and he put it on his head.

“Nope,” he said, his eyes full of mischief. You hesitated at his expression, he looked as candid as a child. Maybe you never noticed it, his hair fell round in pretty curls, framing his face. James winked, making you break out of your reverie.

“I think,” he said thoughtfully. “I think I’m going to keep this cap with me, I quite like it. If you want it back, you’re gonna have to take it from me.”

James took a step back as your eyes dilated. He turned around and started sprinting in that direction.

“James!” you shouted, chasing him.

People around you bolted aside, gasping at the scene. A ghostly white-haired student chasing after James as he chortled. It had been going for quite some time and everyone wondered who would win. Few in the favour of James, who had been pranking ever since he set foot in Hogwarts; a few for you since you were a Slytherin and Slytherins never lose. Others just shook their heads, wishing they would get it over with already the cat and mouse game was becoming rather tiring. No one however had the courage to raise their opinions out loud, lest they got involved in the prank war.

-♡♡♡-

“James," you said calmly, though the atmosphere made you anything but. Thick hot fumes rose from all around you making beads of sweat form on your forehead. "James, this doesn’t go in. We have to stir it first.”

“Why don’t you do it then? Little miss know-it-all” he snided. You looked at him fiercely. Slughorn had paired the two of you together for the next project and it couldn’t be more of a disaster. Only if he could just listen.

“I would if you let me,” you pointed out, finally taking over the shared pot. James watched you take a few breaths before starting to work on the potion. Muttering for ingredients from him now and then, you stirred the concoction. Soon, it started to show the exact signs given in their books.

James couldn't help but stare at you as you worked, humming to yourself all the while. You seemed cute like that, bending over the book, occasionally muttering to yourself. His face heated up when you caught his gaze. Luckily he could blame it on the heat.

“Could you cut some beetroots for me?” you asked, ignoring the way he flushed. James nodded, chopping them to the required amount. The two of you finished up fairly swiftly after that.

"So," you started after Slughorn left. He had commented on your work and applauded you both. Happiness was evident from the smiles on your faces. "Library at 4?"

James grinned, giving you a thumbs up. He packed up his stuff before turning to leave. You couldn't help but stare at his retreating figure, thinking, maybe he wasn't so bad after all. Shrugging, you shook away the thought and went your own way. There were things you had to get done that day.

-♡♡♡-

As time passed, the thought started becoming more predominant. He wasn't so bad, your mind reminded you time and time again. The more you started to know James, the more you believed in it. Constant teasing and bickering wasn’t something that became unheard of between the two of you. But it was more lighthearted now… almost as if you were friends crackling over a shared joke. James had somehow caught your eye again, in a completely different way.

It seemed you were noticing new things about him, like how he didn’t look at you with hatred. Come to think of it, was it even ever ‘hate’? Yet there was something soft about the way he gazed at you now, gentle even— you couldn’t put your finger on it. You had come to enjoy his goofy personality, the smile he gave when his eyes were light with mischief. Knowing where these musings led, you had tried your best to beat them down. What was it that you did not try? Remembering every single detail that made you despise him once, all those times your blood boiled at the prank he pulled but nothing— nothing ever worked and your heart still fluttered every time he complimented you.

Was it that bad an idea though? Liking James?

You shivered, pulling your sweater closer to you. Walking had failed to heat your body the way it always did and you reckoned that your deliberation also had something to do with that. It wasn’t about you liking him, your mind prompted, it was about whether he could feel the same way. And if you knew something, you knew that you couldn’t take the answer to be no. The skip in your step halted, and you couldn’t help the sigh that escaped your lips.

Path to the library couldn’t have been more daunting. That was until you saw James and Lily around the corner. Talking, laughing, and standing too close to be called friends. Evans, the one girl James was head over heels for, the one girl you never paid attention to much.

It was like the final shoe dropping. James and you didn’t like each other. People knew that you did as well. It was time you believed it too. Your stomach twisted up at the sight, your mood souring. You turned, walking away.

“Oi!” James called out to you, apologizing to the students he bumped into. You brisked forward, hoping to make it to your dorm. It didn’t work, James ran to catch up with you. Damn his long legs.

“Stop fucking running,” he huffed on reaching you. “Where are you going? We have a study session. You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”

You gritted your teeth.

“I was heading to the library but you and Evans seemed quite busy, so I thought against it,” you said, albeit aggressively. Jealousy was never a good color.

“We were just talking for a moment,” James explained. “I want us to complete the project first though.”

He looked at you, confused. It was hard controlling your anger right then. You couldn’t help the dry laugh that escaped your lips.

“Of course,” you said in a temper. “The faster we finish up the project, the faster you can get rid of me, right? Because you don’t like me.”

James’ smile dropped. Sadness gave way to rage. Of course, you still thought that even after all the time he spent with you.

“Yeah. I don’t like you,” he hissed, gritting his teeth. “So let’s complete the project, shall we? To get rid of each other?”

You looked away. It was the last thing you wanted to hear. You yearned for him to tell you otherwise, to apologize for his words, and to reassure you that it wasn’t so. That you two were something. Friends, companions, anything but this. Yet the bigger part of you told you that he was right. And you were nothing to him.

“Yeah, sure.”

-♡♡♡-

The following study session was tense. You two never worked quietly. Jokes, laughs, and incessant chatter filled the air when you were together. James had regretted his words as soon as they came out of his mouth. He watched your expression fall and a wall build up around you. Your eyes hadn’t met his since. It ate him up. Somehow he didn’t know how to break the bubble he created.

He hated seeing you close off to him.

You heaved a sigh checking the last lines you’d written and then looked at the clock. It had been two hours.

“I think we should stop. There are just two pages left, we can do them tomorrow and you’ll be free,” you said, packing up your things. James opened and closed his mouth as you picked up your bag.

“Hey, wait!” he said as you turned towards him.

“I didn’t mean to, “ James started, but you cut him off.

“James, it’s alright,” you said, taking a deep breath blinking away the tears that emerged. “I understand. You don’t like me, I don’t like you and we’re stuck together for some time. You don’t have to apologize for that.”

James sucked in a breath. That wasn’t right. At all.

“But—“

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you,” a voice came and you shifted to see Elodie. You looked over at James, whose eyes pleaded you to stop. But you couldn’t.

You left the library, walking towards your friend leaving behind the boy who stood transfixed at his spot. Why did he feel like he was losing everything? He grudgingly moved his feet towards the common room, your thoughts plaguing his mind. James heard a shout behind him, twisting to see Lily jog up to him.

“James, I was wondering,” she began biting her lip. “Maybe we could sneak out for some butterbeers today? It’s freezing and the snow looks heavenly.”

James found himself shaking his head. His mood was far too spoiled for anything.

“Not today, Lily,” he answered. “I’m tired.”

“Oh, I meant it as a date, you know?” Lily added hopefully. James considered her for a moment. It was everything he had wished for years. Yet he couldn’t feel the happiness that should have come with it. He wanted, no— he needed someone else, someone who made him far giddier. He needed you.

It was like a bolt striking him. He had never been so sure of anything else. Unable to keep the grin off his face, he spoke his next words in a rush.

“Lily, I’m sorry but I can’t,” he shouted, sprinting towards the dungeons. Running through the rather empty corridors he saw the snow which coated the grounds. His breath came out in puffs as he urged himself to move faster. He stopped when something caught his eye. You. Standing out in the snow, looking at the sky with a smile.

Moving towards you, he conjured up a snowball and threw it on your back. Your eyes widened in shock as you jumped, looking towards him.

“What now James?” you snapped.

He conjured up yet another ball and threw it at you. Your eyes grew larger and you glared at him.

“I wanted to say something,” he said as you conjured up a ball and threw it at him in response. He hissed at the icy sensation.

“Then say it.”

“I don’t want to get rid of you,” he said, throwing a snowball at you as your teeth clattered at the sensation. You threw a snowball in return, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Then stop acting as you do.”

He threw yet another ball at you.

“You make me act like that,” he stated. You threw a huge one in response.

“I make you act like an idiot?”

“Yes, you drive me crazy,” he said, throwing some snow at you as you grunted.

“Then why don’t you leave me alone?” you huffed as he threw yet another ball at you, making you cough and splutter.

“Because I can’t.”

“Why?” you asked, throwing a ball at him.

“Because I can’t leave the best thing that happened to me,” he said, making you stop. You stalked towards him and poked his chest with every word you spoke.

“I'm the best thing that happened to you? What is this? Some kind of sick prank? You don’t even like me,” you sobbed, frustrated and angry. That was how he made you feel. Everything all at once. James didn’t know how to answer you so he just took your hand away and cupped your cheek with his other one, leaning in to kiss you. Your eyes fell shut as feeling his lips against yours. You grabbed his shirt pulling him closer feeling his arms tighten around your hips, sucking his bottom lip. When you pulled away you both caught your breath.

“I promise those are the truest words I’ve ever said,” he whispered, his hair messier than usual. He cradled your face, pressing his lips against your forehead. You crossed your arms.

“I still don’t like you,” you said in faux anger. James let out a teary chuckle.

“I don’t like you either,” he replied, smiling.

—as for the taglist: I don’t make taglists, I have a blog @from-my-quill which is updated whenever I post fanfiction. You could have the notifications on for it and it will work just like me tagging you.

⟨⟨REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE APPRECIATED⟩⟩

#james #james potter #james x reader #james potter x reader #james x y/n #james potter x y/n #the marauders #marauders #james x you #james potter x you #james potter fluff #james potter angst #lily evans #sirius black #remus lupin #james potter one shot #james potter fanfiction #from anu's quill

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ktheist · 3 years

Text

in another life (i would be your man)

muses. hero!yoongi / assassin!yoongi / father!yoongi / lawyer!yoongi

word. 2.5k

genre. reincarnation au

time and time again, you find yourselves in the other’s absolute mercy.

mercy, which both of you know, the other will not grant.

“have you any last words, hero?” the grass shrivels up around yoongi all because hot air wilts the greenest of life.

a single bead of sweat trickles down the side of yoongi’s face as he looks at you without a shred of fear in the face of death.

“all the gold you’re hoarding... does it bring you happiness?” he says, as though already finding serendipity before you can even drive your talon into his chest.

“happiness!” you roar, mockery dripping off your word, “such humanly sentiments. you forgot who you’re speaking to, hero.”

“yoongi... yoongi’s my name” he sighs softly, eyelids fluttering shut, “say it.”

it is you who fall silent this time.

to say the name of the soul who’s bound to you not for love but for destruction... have you the right?

in your last life, a good few hundred years ago, he’s the one that drove the cross into your chest.

in the one before that, you burn him at the stakes for the wretched powers he held.

in this lifetime, even the armor made of the silver cannot withstand the weight of your paw, talon digging into his chest as he lays underneath you, ready to accept the heroic death.

“very well, if not in this lifetime, then perhaps the next...”

you live for three human lifetimes as the great dragon who brought the continent together. the humans, without their hero, are mere mortals. they learned better than to put their faith in one man.

in the next lifetime, you find yourself kneeling in front of a silver haired man - what a striking hair color for someone who’s supposed to be on the low.

“my hand’s gonna slip,” that gravelly voice still sends shivers down your spine.

“what-” you breathe out, eyebrows knitting together.

he takes his aim.

but there’s something wrong.

the angle he’s pointing at will graze your cheek and ear at most.

then he shoots.

when the bullet bounces against the cement somewhere a few inches away behind you, your body moves on its own. your leg sweep out to send him tumbling down onto the ground. your thighs pin his hips down so he can’t get up and you push the gun farther beyond his reach.

“why are you doing this?” you hiss, knife against his throat.

“don’t you think we owe it to ourselves to be happy?” yoongi says simply, too complacent for a man who’s about to lose yet another life to his enemy.

“that’s not how it works,” teeth gritted together, you press the dulled side of the knife harder against his snow-kissed flesh.

“then, how does it work?” he asks.

for a moment, you’re frozen in place. then you’re taken back to where it all begins.

you were a queen who poisoned her king before proceeding to ruin the kingdom until it remains but a memory to those who’ve lived through your tyrannical era. yoongi was the crown prince from a small country who enticed you into his chambers and kept you locked in a tower like a caged bird while he went to war with the neighboring kingdom with your kingdom’s army.

“i- i hated you for seducing me and locking me up in that tower,” you murmur, breath shaky, “a- and you hated me because i-i couldn’t be killed... because i was...”

“a blood sucker.” he finishes for you.

a flash of anger crosses your eyes and paint your vision red. you press the knife harder - no doubt there would be a bruise, “no matter how immortal i was... i died because of a broken heart. you killed me!”

“i was breaking my own heart for having to keep you locked in that tower but if i let you go...” he trails off, his hand coming to settle on yours.

it’s the first time you hear him choke up.

“so many died because of our love,” yoongi’s voice comes out barely above whisper.

“your sin is mistaking hate for love,” you flick your wrist, switching the side of the blade pressed against his neck to one that could cut through clean and swift.

but before you can seal yet another lifetime of your surviving, a sharp pain cuts into your arm, forcing you to release the blade, your free hand cupping the familiar circular wound that’s gushing with blood.

you push yourself off him, going over the ledge and jumping off to your safety. and yoongi’s left in the cold, night air, the coms in his ear buzzing back to life.

it’s six months later that he finds you, dressed in deep red, smiling seductively as you cling on a man twice your age. all of a sudden, he finds himself ignoring whatever his partner’s saying in the coms and approaching you and the man.

yoongi can barely remember what he said but he remembers the overwhelming feeling of relief when the man pushes you off and march out of the room, shouting russian vulgarities.

“planting a bullet hole in my arm isn’t enough, you just had to sabotage my mission, don’t you?” you’re on top of him once again but the ground isn’t cold and hard as he’s always remembered in the series of you pinning him down in differing lifetimes.

“have you thought about what i said?” he doesn’t look like he minds it anymore.

being pinned down by you, that is.

rather, yoongi quite likes the view of your cleavage when you lean down close enough to whisper into his hears, “i reflected on my past mistakes... and truly, i wish nothing more than to have you gone from my sight once and for all.”

then his index finger ghosts over the softest protrusion of the healed up scar on your arm. and you feel goosebumps on your skin.]

you leave in the morning, slipping out of the hotel room in that skin tight maroon dress, noticing the woman in the lobby, looking like what you would’ve looked like if you were waiting for your partner who went against orders and checked into a room in the very same hotel he was supposed to eliminate his target at.

sloppy. fucking sloppy.

yoongi never sees you after that. he got reprimanded and almost got eliminated by his own agency if it hadn’t been his father, the head of the extermination department who pulled some strings and buried the matter.

it’s a surprise he’s still alive at the age of of thirty-one, owning a lawfirm of his own and living the life he’s never thought he’d have.

a normal one.

then, he spots you, walking down the sidewalk holding a toddler’s hand and smiling down at him like he’s the most precious thing you’ve ever hold dear to.

“stop the car,” yoongi orders.

“s-sir?” the driver, surprised by the sudden request, hesitates.

“pull over!” it’s the first time the young man has ever hear his boss raise his voice.

so he does just that, but a block away from where yoongi last saw you.

he runs as fast as his legs could carry him. but the sidewalk is empty of a woman holding a child’s hand.

it takes another year of him searching records of faces and names. for you have many and unlike yoongi, he’s sure you have no one to pull the strings and make one blunder disappear.

then he finds you, under a pseudonym, of a certain kim hana whose child is named kim youngsoo.

“it’s me,” he announces, stepping into the light that pours past the window and over not even half of the room.

“mommy, can we order pizza?” youngsoo’s lively voice rings from outside of the room.

“yeah, why don’t you decide what toppings you want and i’ll be out there in a sec, sweetie,” your voice sounds heavenly - none of the guarded strain that he usually hears. but your eyes, they look like the eyes of a woman who would give everything to protect her most precious possession.

“so it was you... one year ago,” you say, ambling to the dresser where yoongi easily finds out your motive.

“the gun’s not there anymore, you really think i’d break into the house of an ex-assassin and not think to look for weapons tacked up somewhere out of sight?” he hears the frustrated sigh you make before you stand with your feet apart.

looks like you believe his words.

looks like you’ve got no problems taking him on with bare hands.

“he’s mine, isn’t he?”

a scoff.

“you’re pretty dumb if you think one night’s all it takes to get pregnant with your bastard child.”

“who’s the father, then? why isn’t he around?” he presses on.

and his questions have always been intrusive but you notice the weight of his every inquiry. as if he’d drop dead right this instant if you don’t answer them.

“he walked away, couldn’t accept that we had to always be on the move just because he had a baby with a wanted woman.”

and it’s not the police that wants you.

“his social security number?” yoongi shoots you another question.

“i don’t know. i don’t remember,” you say simply, a shrug accompanying your answer.

“number one rule of being an assassin: never forget anything,” yoongi recites easily, even after five years, he still recalls the drilling his mentor forced him through, “so that leaves us with one possibility: he doesn’t exist, this ex of yours.”

“mooooom.” youngsoo calls out, sounding too close for comfort.

“just a minute, sweetie. why don’t you take my phone out of my bag and get ready to dial up the number to the pizza place?” there’s a lightness in your tone.

envy wraps around yoongi’s heart before he even realizes it. how he wished you’d speak to him in that delicate, loving tone as well.

“look, i’m tired, i’m done playing games, i’ve been done since that night. i know i fucked up and i know some day i’ll pay for it but not tonight... tonight... at least let me have one last night with my kid.”

it’s the way the word ‘my’ and ‘kid’ fall naturally off your mouth that makes yoongi realize that he’s the one stuck in the beginning all along. that he’s the one who couldn’t move on from the past even though he sought to change the present and threw your world upside down when he decided not to take the shot.

before he can say anything, you’re already out of the door but he senses no rush in your footsteps.

“do you have the pizza place’s number down?” there it is again, the soft, tender tilt in your voice.

it’s a little faint but he hears it clearly.

and it may very well just be a trick to make him sympathize but what is he to sympathize with when he’s only here to ask for confirmation?

why do you treat him like death who’s finally come to take back your borrowed time?

well, the answer was simple.

“i paid off the bounty,” yoongi meets you at a cafe where he knows you’ll feel safer.

no assassin will make a move in broad daylight, in public, with his face out for the cameras to record.

“how much?” you sound like you just got another loan tying you down.

“enough that they can’t resist,” he states.

and before you can even say anything, he goes on, “i want to see him.”

“no.” you say curtly.

“he’s my child too.” he slides the white envelope he pulls out of his pocket to you.

it contains the dna results from the hair on the comb youngsoo complained he lost and yoongi’s own hair.

“he’s doesn’t need a father,” you don’t even give the envelope a second glance, “if that’s all-”

“that’s not for you to decide on your own,” he cuts you off.

it’s the firmness in his tone that makes your eyebrows rise. min yoongi has always been a gentle soul. even when he was driving a cross into your heart, he’d done it with the heaviest heart.

and for him to place his foot down like this - how very unlike him.

which is why, when he pulls, you pull harder.

“if you so much as appear in front of youngsoo, we will disappear and i’ll make sure you’ll never us again.”

and with that, you take out the blank check from your purse and slip it over to him. the check and the envelop laying side by side.

money isn’t the issue, you’ve managed to wire every single penny you have to different bank accounts before the agency could even freeze the one in seoul. it took several trips to japan, hong kong and china but you eventually got enough to start a new life with your new life.

and that new life of yours is being shaken by the presence of an entity of the past.

you begin noticing the men and women dressed in plain clothing standing a few feet away from where you and youngsoo go. they’re there, acting absolutely normal which makes it unnormal. always watching, always being on guard as if their lives depend on you and youngsoo’s security.

it goes on for another three months before you finally get tired of it and approach one of them, “call your boss over.”

youngsoo’s blowing bubbles at the park when a sleek black car pulls up at the curb and a familiar face steps out.

“you can see him every week on saturdays, one no-show and you’re out. also- i decide when he finds out,” you set the rules and yoongi looks like he a little kid who’s about to perform at his school’s talent show, “do we have a deal?”

“absolutely,” he nods readily.

yoongi’s hand moves on its own and he almost hooks his index finger around your pinky finger as if asking for some kind of emotional support. but he stops himself.

he walks beside you, watching as you walk out from under the shades of the tree, your expression instantaneously brightening when the sunlight hits, “youngsoo-ah,” you wave the toddler over.

his little legs comes running towards you, curious, bright eyes staring at yoongi and right through his soul. he’s never felt so bare and defenseless.

the only thing that keeps him from running away is the fondness in your voice. and the smile on your face that he’s never seen before, “youngsoo-ah, this is uncle yoongi, he’s mommy’s friend...”

yoongi musters the best smile he can - he never needed to try. it’s the people around him that force smiles to please him. never the other way around. never him having to smile so he wouldn’t scare off his son.

he crouches in front of the child that’s partially hiding behind you, “youngsoo-ah, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

#bts fic #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #yoongi fic #yoongi fanfiction #yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi imagines #bts imagines #bts scenarios #yoongi scenarios #bts au #yoongi au

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giorno-plays-piano · 4 years

Note

hey!! i love your writing sm💕 idk if you’re still taking requests or if you’re comfortable w a like platonic or father figure yandere. But how about yan! Steve Rogers where he kidnaps a teenage girl to be his daughter then shields her from the world to “protect” her kinda like rapunzel. if you don’t want to that’s no problem at all tho💕

Hi, sweetie! This is a very peculiar request, and I really, really like it! I guess I’ve made Steve a little softer than I expected, but here he is. Hope you’re going to enjoy this!

The one he cares about

Pairing: adoptive dad!Steve & Reader, Peter Parker x Reader (if you squint)

Warnings: yandere, obsession (non-romantic!), stalking, kidnapping, death of minor characters (but nothing too scary).

Words: 1870.

P.S. Just to clarify this is NOT an incest story, Steve does not harbor any romantic feelings for the reader, he loves her like a parent does.

__________________

Pacing up and down nervously like a caged tiger, Steve threw a glance at the clock on the kitchen wall, ready to take out his cellphone and give you a call. It was just 10 pm, but he felt something wasn't going quite right. Was everything ok at that party? Were you enjoying yourself? Did you finally confess to that silly guy Steve didn't like at all? What if he had already got you, Steve's precious little daughter, into bed?

Breathing in deeply, the man tried calming himself down. You were an adult. At one point you would start dating people, and it was perfectly alright, Sam reminded him the other day. You weren't some princess locked in a tower with Steve guarding you like an angry dragon. You had the right to love and be loved, create your own family, for God's sake. When he thought of you leaving him Steve was ready to break that kitchen wall.

No, no, no, it was alright. You loved him with all your heart, and no stupid guy could take it away from Steve. He was your father. Adoptive father, of course, but he did everything he could to make you trust and love him as much as you true family. You were calling him dad, after all. And even if you eventually married someone, Steve would always stay close to help and support you - and your kids, if you ever decide to have any. At the thought of him kissing the cheeks of his cute little grandchildren Steve had finally relaxed.

Oh, was it the sound of the front door opening? As much as he wanted to rush to meet you, the man quickly put on his apron he ironed this morning and turned to the heated stove to put a meat pie in it. Alright, alright, you were already home, it was perfect.

But why so early? Steve was really generous this time and gave you till 1 am - of course, if you took a taxi, not go walking the streets in the night. Did something go wrong? Did the guy reject you? Did he take advantage of you? Did he... do something he shouldn't have?

Steve felt his blood boiling. In a second he was ready to storm out of the kitchen to beat the shit out of that bastard who was stupid enough to hurt his child.

"Hi dad! I'm home!"

As you walked in, carrying your beaded clutch in your arms and yawning tiredly, Steve put a smile on his face momentarily, assessing whether you were hurt within a couple of seconds. No, apparently, you were alright: you moved just like before; your hair wasn't ruffled, and your makeup wasn't smeared eather. He had overreacted again.

"Welcome back, sweet pea." Steve moved closer to you, giving you a tight hug and a kiss on the forehead as you giggled softly, throwing your arms around his broad back. "How did it go?"

As your face turned gloomy for a fleeting second, he knew his sixth sense wasn't lying to him: something didn't go well.

"Nah." You brushed it off as you sat on the chair, carelessly leaving your clutch on the table and stretching your legs with a loud sigh.

"What is it, sweetie?"

Furrowing his brows, Steve sat across from you, his hands folded as he stared at you with worry. Shit, did this guy try doing something funny? Did he offend you? Oh, Steve was going to have a nice talk with him, a moron who thought he could do this to his little girl and it would never come back at him. Should he call Natasha? Maybe Bucky? He knew they were still in town. No, no, he would take this matter in his own hands and go have a nice talk with that stupid ungrateful ba-

"It's alright, I swear." You muttered and forced a smile, drawing his attention back to you. "He just... well, just didn't return my feelings."

"Did he reject you?"

For a second Steve felt both relieved and ready to go murder that kid in a cold blood. Rejected you? The prettiest and smartest girl in the town with a heart of gold? Who did that little shit think he was, rejecting Steve's precious daughter?

But it was better than him forcing you to do something you didn't want. At least that asshole didn't do anything inappropriate to you, probably too scared to face your angry dad who could crack his skull with one hand.

"Not like reject in the full sense of the word, but... um, I feel like he was a little scared of me." Your smile turned bitter, and you leaned onto Steve, pressing your forehead into his chest as you exhaled loudly.

Well, it wouldn't be the first time it happened. Everybody around knew you were the daughter of retired Captain America, and people were treating you with such caution as if you were some time bomb, clearly unwilling to make the world's first Avenger angry. Partly, it was a good thing since no one tried messing with you. However, you were also left pretty much alone, ignored by the majority for the sake of their own well-being. Although you had found several friends, dating someone was a completely different thing: guys were running away from before you even spoke to them.

"I'm so sorry." The man said quietly, rubbing your back and gently caressing your head with his other hand. "This is my fault."

You sighed, lifting your head and looking at Steve so tenderly he suddenly felt like he was the happiest man in the world. What, weren't you upset?

"Come on, dad." His heart sped up when you called him that, and he was ready to lift you up in the air, kissing his little girl's nose. "I thought he's different, but he's just a chicken like all other guys. I'll get over him soon."

"Hard to live up to our standards, I guess." Steve smiled and pinched your nose a little, making you laugh again. "But you need to know I am really sorry, sweat pea. I swear I wouldn't stand in your way if you decided he was the right guy for you."

Actually, Steve pretty much would, but you wouldn't know about it. Happiness of his only child was the only thing that mattered to him now: what was the point of being a parent if you couldn't make your kid happy?

"It's okay, really, dad. I wouldn't change the things as they are now. When I think what could happen if you didn't see me on the street that night... uh-huh." You didn't finish the sentence, not that you needed to.

If Steve didn't find you that night desperately searching for food on the streets of New York, you'd probably be dead now.

You were born to a good family, and you spent the first 11 years of your life in a nice place, having loving parents, the roof above your head and food on the table. You were just one more happy kid among thousands of others, neither better nor worse than all of them. It all changed when your parents were killed by two robbers who had broken into your house, and soon you ended up in an orphanage - you still had nightmares about this place. You spent a year there before you escaped, choosing the streets over an orphanage. Silly you, thinking it would be better.

When Steve found you, you were 13. Dirty, always hungry, acting like a little wild animal, you were no more pitiful than any other homeless child, ignored by the majority of people, but Steve saw you. He took you with him - forcefully, of course, because you fought him like a little angry cat, frightened to the core he was going to take advantage of you like all those people pretending to help you. But he didn’t. He was the one who had truly cared.

It took him months to get you accustomed to living in a house again with someone close to you. Steve spent even more time trying to make you trust him, make you believe he was your friend, somebody you could rely on, trust, see as a parental figure. You couldn’t even name all those people he hired to help you: countless psychologists and psychiatrists; doctors and nurses of all kinds; visiting teachers and tutors. Despite liking to live alone, Steve brought so many strangers to his house it felt like living in a royal palace with tons of court attendants. All of this was for you, the only person he cared about, his little child.

When you were 15, you started calling him dad, and that was the day neither Steve nor you would ever forget: he scooped you up and kept swinging you around till your head was spinning while he laughed and shouted how much he loved you, the best daughter he could ever had.

You never knew the extent to which Steve cared about you, following you secretly when you finally agreed to leave the house - he needed to know you were safe and sound. Of course, he was always there when he supposed someone wasn’t treating you right, and he did everything he could to keep his only child happy. Unfortunately, you were lonely until Steve found a couple of good friends for you, but it was alright. You were perfectly okay now.

“I love you too, sweet pea.” He smiled, caressing your head gently. “But you know what? Don’t worry about that guy. I actually have someone who I want you to meet, and he’s a really sweet kid.”

“Whoa, what? What kid?”

“Well, you know. Kid from work.”

“Dad, what work? What kid?” You rolled your eyes at him, giggling. “How old is he, at least?”

“A little older than you, but he’s alright. He’s been wanting to meet you for some time.” But before Steve wasn’t sure kid was the right guy for you, considering that he was still very much an Avenger and was involved in all kinds of dangerous situations.

“Dad, what kid? Are you talking about your superhero colleagues or something?”

“... yeah? I promise, you’ll like him. Peter’s a good kid.”

“Peter? Peter goddamn Parker?!” You exclaimed loudly, realizing he was talking about Spider-Man. “Are you joking?!”

“What did I tell you about swearing, sweetheart?” Furrowing his brows, Steve shook his head in disapproval, but laughed in the very next second, watching your guilty expression. “Alright, alright. I’m not joking. If you’d like to meet him, I’ll ask him to come tomorrow for dinner, ok?”

“Yes, please!”

As he took the pie out of the oven with you waiting at the dinner table, Steve thought about giving the kid a big lecture about what he was and wasn’t supposed to do to you, but he was more or less sure Peter knew what was right and wrong. Steve could spot that familiar glint in kid’s eyes when he was looking at your photo that Steve had been showing him proudly.

It would turn out alright. Your father was ready to do anything it takes to make you happy.

___________________________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @abyssaint @heeeyitskay @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherubwrites @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @iheartsebastianstan @lovelydarkdaydream @sarge-barnes-sir

#steve rogers #dark steve Rogers #captain america #yandere #mcu #mcu fanfiction #requests #peter parker #peter parker x reader

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

Oh okay well Danny tells Ryan that they’re “going to talk in the morning” at the end of the Was it good? peice and I would like to see that. Maybe Danny telling Ryan some of the things that happened to Nate and making him super uncomfortable? Idk I like Danny protecting Nate it’s interesting

CW: Referenced past torture and pet whump, referenced alcohol use, brief reference to dissoci@tion

Follows on Was It Good?, takes place the next morning

Ryan wakes up with maybe the third serious hangover he's ever had to find a glass of water and a couple Tylenol on the side table next to the bed.

His hip hurts, a strange tight ache over his old tattoo, and he feels like his mouth is full of cotton and his head has been used as a bowling ball. Fuck. He never gets hangovers - it's the family blood, Dad says, with a hint of his brogue and a slight smile. Just how the Michaelsons are.

Their liquor doesn't touch us the same, Patrick had said when Ryan asked, tipping a glass to him, eyebrow raised. That's why I import the liquor my own people once made.

It had made perfect sense at the time. Now, though... what people? The Michaelsons have all left Ireland. They're all here now.

In any case, it'd been his dad's shit he'd been drinking last night, and too much of it. The world's faint queasy spin tells him that, even if last night is still a mess of nonsense impressions slowly coalescing back together.

He takes the pills and drinks the water after, ignores the uneasy twist of his stomach, and pulls on a t-shirt, soft as second skin, and wanders out in that and his boxers.

Danny is up before dawn, every day, and today is no exception. His brother is sitting at the kitchen table, coffee in hand, staring out the window over the kitchen sink at the fading depth of night, finally giving way to pinkish sunrise.

When Ryan enters, those wide blue eyes move immediately to him. They are not soft, or sad, or lost - they are precisely focused, and the skin under the red of his scars is pale, nearly colorless under a smattering of freckles. Both of them pretend Danny's whole body doesn't still twitch with a need to slip to his knees on the floor as soon as someone enters. "You took, um, the pills?"

His voice is soft. And still Ryan feels unsettled, something between uncertainty and guilt. "I did, yeah." He moves to pour himself a cup of coffee, the peppermint mocha creamer he'd bought changing dark brown to silky tan. Not that you need much, with Danny's coffee.

Ryan could half believe in magic, really, just from seeing how Danny didn't seem to do anything different but his coffee is still always the best.

Danny's eyes are still on his back. He can feel the weight of them, settled there. His brother, who flinches and murmurs to himself and looks at anything but whoever is talking to him... staring. Directly.

He turns slowly around, and as he does the memory of his brother's voice slips in from the night before. Strong, and even. Angry. I want to talk about this in the morning. A Danny he'd thought had died up in Canada, resurrected, reborn to defend...

Ryan's stomach drops as the whole night, fuzzy but mostly there, slots into place. "Oh, fuck," He whispers.

Fingers around Nate Vandrum's neck, closing tightly, Nate's green eyes wide and lost in terror, calling him... what?

Pl-please, Ashley, please-

Danny snorts, glancing away from him and then back again. His hands are closed around his coffee mug so hard his knuckles are white under the scars there, too. "Not too, um, blackout drunk, then," Danny says. There's a wry sarcasm there, something so familiar and so lost to Ryan that it hurts to hear now.

This is how his brother sounds, a little irritated, cynical. Not weak and soft and pliable, bending to suit whatever he thinks he has to be to stay safe. This is the brother Ryan has lost, not quite resurrected maybe, but maybe opening his eyes beside the open grave.

He's somewhere between, Ryan thinks, between the angry, dancing boy who disappeared and the broken, frightened man Ryan brought back home. He's holding himself together like this, so carefully, fighting so hard not to slip away.

Ryan sits slowly down at the other end of the table and tells himself to have the courage to meet his brother's eyes.

He manages - barely.

"No, I... I remember."

"Good." Danny slowly lifts the mug to his lips, sips, sets it down again. Like he's acting out a routine of normal, each move robotic and tightly controlled. "You can't... be cruel to him, Ryan. Like that."

"No, I know. I lost my temper a little, that's all. It's... it's not that big a deal, Dan." Ryan rubs at the back of his neck and tries on a shamefaced smile. It falters when Danny's expression hardens, like lava solidifying to rock, harmless on the surface but still hot enough to burn.

"You could have hurt him, Ryan," Danny says softly. His voice is so low, and so strong - both at once. "You, um. You did hurt him."

Ryan nods, again. He feels like a kid sitting in front of his mother after getting caught skipping curfew. He feels like Danny skipping curfew, the disappointed annoyance from their parents. Ignoring that it had almost always been Ryan's idea to sneak out.

"I... I get that. I didn't-" Ryan takes a breath and groans, leaning on his elbows, rubbing hands over his face. "Fuck. I hear all the shit that bastard did to you, and I think, Vandrum was right fucking there, Danny! Right there! And he... did nothing."

Danny sets the mug down and it clatters with the trembling of his fingers, nearly splashing out entirely. Ryan looks up and catches the sight of a bead of red on Danny's lower lip, chapped skin torn. Redder than his scars, more immediate.

"He didn't do, um, nothing," Danny whispers, barely audible. His strength is fading, pulling back inside him. Ryan's brother will just... fuck off somewhere and the stupid goddamn puppy will be there instead.

Dr. Rosa has a whole thing about this, about trauma and Danny protecting himself, something about identity and like a lot of really uncomfortable questions about their childhood Ryan has no idea how to answer...

"What did he do, then? Huh?" Ryan finds his finger jabbing in the air, watches as if from outside himself as Danny flinches back. "Tell me. What did he fucking do?"

"He, um." Danny shifts, drops his hands into his lap. His hair, shaggy and unkempt, is a riot of red waves and curls around his face. "Watched. Or... helped. He-"

"Danny, please. I'm angry enough, don't make me even more pissed at this guy-"

"He, he didn't want to, Ryan." Danny looks at him again, and Ryan watches tears glitter in his blue eyes, one run out and get caught in the crevices dug in by scars, follow its map over cheekbone and down to jaw. "He hated it. But he-... but I-..." Danny breathes, that awful fucking thing he does now to calm himself.

Breathe on, hold for a few counts, breathe out. Again and again. Ryan knows what he’s doing, inside his head, and it makes him sick.

My name is Red and I belong to Abraham Denner, and then those stupid rules - and there’s like fifty of them - over and over again until his breathing calms, until his hands settle.

Until he’s good.

The bastard, the fucking demon piece of shit that laughs at Ryan on the stand... Abraham Denner taught Danny to do that. And now, free of him, the Denner bastard about to waste away in prison for life... He still does it.

He still needs it.

Ryan's eyes drop to the scars around Danny's neck, a collar he can't take off, and he swallows. His stomach turns. He pushes the coffee mug away, the smell and taste of peppermint are making him sick now. Too cloying, too sweet, too much in the face of his broken brother's pain.

"I'm alive because of... of him," Danny says finally. "D'you see?"

"Yeah, cause four years later he found a fucking conscience-"

"No. No!" Danny's hands slap down on the table, rattling the ceramic mugs, and his breath is faster, airier. Whistling, almost. "I, I... No. Because he, he, um... He suffered, for me. With me. For four years."

"You suffered," Ryan says, voice flat. "He watched."

Danny looks at him, and there is a darkness there, a shadow around eyes and mouth, that Ryan can't always see. But he sees it now. "He, um. Was made to watch. That... That's suffering, too.”

“Bullshit.”

Danny’s jaw sets. “Don't touch him again, Ryan."

"Don't plan on it."

"Please." Danny's voice drops, almost to a whimper. "Please, Ryan. He's-... He's the only real thing."

"What?" Ryan blinks, but Danny is already pushing himself up, moving away staring out the window at the sunrise as he dumps his coffee into the sink and rinses out the mug. Automatic, thoughtless cleanliness.

Danny doesn't look back at him. He's so tall, towering over everyone, and he is still so... very small, in his fear.

"Abraham could take everything," Danny says, lips barely moving, his eyes locked on the sky slowly turning blue with the morning light. "Everything from me. He did, he, um, he could... do it again. But he never took Nate."

He turns to look at Ryan, and there's a brief flash of Danny again, really Danny, his big brother's flash and fire, before it fades under the weight of what has been done to him.

"You could take Nate away from me," Danny says, voice low. Almost weak. "Please... Please don't, Ryan. Don't touch him again. Don't b-be Abraham, in this house. Don't... Don't. I need... I need, um, this time. With Nate, while I have it. Before he... Before it's over. Before he comes back for me."

He leaves the kitchen with Ryan still staring, guilt an inferno that will burn him alive at the pleading uncertainty in Danny's face, his voice. The door to Danny's bedroom opens and shuts, almost silently.

Ryan is left alone to say, to no one, "But... He can't come back for you. He"s going to prison."

Danny acts like Abraham Denner could just fucking walk out of it.

---

@whump-it, @bleeding-demon-teeth, @finder-of-rings, @burtlederp, @astrobly@whumpywhumper, @18-toe-beans, @pumpkinthefangirl, @special-spicy-chicken, @swordkallya, @moose-teeth, @untilthepainstarts, @whumpiary, @lave-whump @raigash @cupcakes-and-pain, @whump-tr0pes, @wildfaewhump

#daniel michaelson's story #ryan michaelson is a good brother #or he tries anyway #whump #trauma recovery #referenced pet whump #past torture #past pet whump #referenced dissociation #kind of - ryan doesn't understand it yet #referenced alcohol use #caretaker #angry caretaker #broken whumpee #recovering whumpee #ryan is so naive #sorry 'bout that bad arc that hasn't happened yet buddy #conditioning

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revasserium · 4 years

Note

Can i request 97 with tsukishima kei

hq!!reqs temporarily: closed ; all other reqs: open

send me a number a character and i’ll write you a drabble ;

97. sensual command tsukishima ; nsfw, 1,702 words

a/n: name-calling, edging, uh… tsukki being the sadistic bastard that he is???

“you don’t come until i say.”

he cocks his head, a smirk drawing up the edges of his lips even as you writhe beneath him. your (his) shirt rucked up high, your bra long since discarded somewhere on the floor along with your skirt. your panties are pulled halfway down your legs and he glances at them before shifting just far enough to the side for you to kick them off.

you bite your lips and pout up at him but he only quirks an eyebrow, as if daring you to challenge his unspoken authority. you huff, but avert your eyes, letting the heat seep into your cheeks as you shift your hips up to accommodate his fingers, long and thin and sure as they press into your already soaking pussy.

two. slow. too slow.

you let out a soft whine as he curls them inside you, probing for where he knows your g-spot will be, his thumb drawing lazy circles around your clit.

he hums.

“better keep quiet if you don’t want the whole house to hear.”

his voice is seeped in sarcasm, and beneath the light of the table-lamp, you could’ve sworn you saw his glasses flash.

he leans in, brushes his lips by your cheeks, his breath hot at your ear.

“if you don’t want them to know what a whore you are. for me.” he draws back with a widening smirk as he begins to work his fingers between your legs, the combined pleasure and humiliation curling in your stomach enough to make your toes curl. you squeeze your eyes at the thought, try to bite back to gasps and moans working their way out of your throat, but you that you’re fighting a losing battle.

kei always gets that he wants. and what he wants is to watch you fall apart for him, watch you beg for him, flushed and desperate and helpless.

in the quiet of his bedroom, the sounds of his fingers pumping out of your slick folds is nothing less than incriminating. and you wonder if the walls of his room really are thick enough to keep the rest of the house from hearing every detail of all the terrible things he’s doing to you. the thought makes another hot wave of embarrassment crest through you and you let your head fall back into his pillow, gasping as he presses his thumb down over your clit.

“eyes open. look at me.”

he props himself up over you, his eyes searching your face.

you pant, whimpering as he grins, leaning down to mouth at your lips at the very moment he presses a third finger into you, swallowing down your moans. he pulls back with a satisfied grin.

“my brother’s back from work, y’know. he’s just next door. think he can hear you moaning like that? getting your cunt fingered?”

and sure, you’d known that kei was something of a sadist, but now, it seems like the word is nowhere near strong enough to encompass the full spectrum of his sadism. you shake your head, your thoughts going fuzzy as he fucks his fingers into you faster, finally, finally picking up the pace, though you know in the back of your mind that it won’t be so easy.

it’s never that easy.

he grounds the heel of his palm against your clit as he quirks his fingers into your g-spot. your entire body arches off the bed, your mouth falling open, the white-hot fire flaring in the pit of your belly. you can feel it, tingling through your fingers and toes – but then, it’s gone. as quickly as it had come.

and he’s lifting his fingers to his mouth, his tongue flickering out.

he grins at the way you blush, brings his fingers to your lips instead, presses them to your mouth.

“suck.”

you do. the tangy taste of your own juices coating your tongue as you suck obediently on his fingers. you whine, your thighs squeezing, but he only smirks and leans down to kiss you, licking into your mouth with a low moan of his own. and it’s this more than anything that tells you he’s enjoying this far more than he’s letting on.

you can feel the hard evidence of his arousal pressing against your inner thigh, and in a moment of lust-induced defiance, you roll your hips up against it. you revel in the way his own hips stutter down against yours, how he gasps against your mouth.

but the next moment, he’s pinning your hips down with the palm of his hand, drawing back with a curious expression. he studies you, like a lepidopterist might study a new species of butterfly, pinned to a pillow before him. a grin curls along his mouth as he leans back down, his breath fanning out against your lips.

“needy little cunt, aren’t you? always so thirsty for cock.”

you whine, squirming against his hold. he tuts.

“ah-ah-ah – hold still. or else i’ll leave you tied up here till after dinner with a vibrator set on low.”

you still, swallowing as you blink dolefully up at him. he licks his lips, his eyes flickering over your face. a pleased smile breaks out over his lips and he presses a surprisingly gentle kiss to your mouth.

“or, i could just edge you till you pass out.”

your eyes go wide, and you make to sit up, shaking your head but he presses you back down, thrusting all three fingers back into you without warning. you keen, your thighs clamping down over his wrist but he forces them back apart with his other hand. and you know better now than to try and grab for him.

he sets a brutal pace, fucking his fingers into you hard enough to sting, building you up till you’re gasping, panting, chanting his name in desperate whispers.

“kei – kei – ah – nn – kei please i’m –”

“close?” he asks, slowing his hand down to a leisurely crawl.

you hiss, your hips jerking up to try and regain some of the tension that had been coiling up in your belly. you fist your fingers in the sheets, sweat beading along your skin as you fight down the urge to throw a fit.

he chuckles.

“ask nicely.”

you lick your lips. “kei, please.”

“hm…” he hums, cocking his head as if contemplating your request

you let your head fall back onto his pillow with a desperate whine.

“fuck me with your fingers, please – i’ll be good, i promise. i promise.”

“aw, you can be a nice little slut when you need to be, hm?” he smiles, curling his fingers inside you again. your hips jump, but he doesn’t relent, working up into a steady rhythm again, till you’re nearly blind with pleasure, right on the precipice of tipping over. it’s so close you can almost taste it.

he presses his lips to yours, kisses you till your head is spinning.

“not yet,” he says, whispers, mouthing down your neck, sucking a hard hickey into the smooth skin there.

“not yet,” he repeats, even as he draws quick circles over your already too-sensitive clit. you shake your head, your entire body trembling with pleasure and the pressure of trying to keep yourself from breaking.

“kei, kei – i swear – please, god, just lemme – lemme come –”

you can feel him grin against the skin of your neck. he places one last kiss there before pulling back to meet your eyes. his own glasses nearly fogging up from the heat of your skin. he grins.

“now.”

your entire body tightens around him. vaguely you hear him groan at the way you clamp down around his fingers, milking them as if they were his cock. vaguely, you register him fucking you through your high, pressing kisses to your exposed neck and collar before nosing up the hem of your (his) shirt till he can latch onto your hardened nipples.

you’re sure you’d made some sound loud enough to be heard throughout the entire house, but you barely remember, the sound drowned out by the torrent of pleasure crashing through you, wreaking havoc on your senses. you feel him pull his fingers from you, your hips dropping back down onto his sheets.

he smiles down at you, brushes back a strand of hair sticking to your forehead.

you feel him press his slick fingers to your lips once more.

“be a good girl and clean this up, hm? it’s your mess after all.”

you open your mouth and let him press his fingers into it, sucking them clean in a post-orgasmic haze. you lick your lips when he pulls them away, only to find his lips on yours once more. you briefly wonder if he likes the feeling of kissing your own essence from your mouth.

“need a few minutes?” he asks, his voice no longer hard or teasing. you nod, your eyelids fluttering shut as you curl into him, burying your face in his chest. you can feel the shape of his hard-on still pressing against your thigh, and you move your leg lazily against it.

after a few seconds, you lift your head with a smile.

“think i can suck you off before your mom finishes making dinner?”

his eyebrows hike up, but there’s pleased flush already tinting his cheeks.

“dunno. what if you can’t?” he asks.

you shrug, shimmying your way down to settle between his legs, tugging at the hem of his shorts. he lifts his hips to help you pull them off. his erection pops up, almost smacking you in the face. you wrap your hand around the base, and give the head a good lick.

the way his breath hitches makes your chest tighten with pride.

you fix him with a grin of your own as the dynamics between you shift.

“guess you’ll just have to sit through dinner with a boner then.”

#tsukishima kei #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu smut scenarios #tsukki #ya nasties #at the behest of a friend i am writing more smut to practice #bc i acknowledge that it's one of my weaker genres #i might be doing a smut-fest soon LOL just so i can get some practice in #im just tryna collect some prompts so i can make up a list for this would be smut fest #so. WATCH OUT FOR THAT COMING SOON GUYS LOL #haicuties

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joonkorre · 3 years

Text

what canst thou give?

@drarrymicrofic prompt: caught

yall cant expect me to watch the witch (2015) and not go insane trying to fit a quote into my work. also, this is the first time i ever write something veering into the 15+ category. so. go easy on me lmao

AO3

“Wouldst thou like to live deliciously?”

Draco’s breath catches in his throat.

“But only if you want to, of course. No pressure at all.”

It’s sweet, that tone, as sweet and numbing as the saliva dripping down his nape. If Draco is someone else, an unfortunate bastard even more miserable than he is, he might have believed it.

“I don’t know,” he replies, the unnatural chill on the back of his bare neck too visceral a feeling. Too real. “I think having to choose between that and rotting in a back alley is at least a little bit pressuring.”

“Not too much, though?”

“Oh, no, never.”

“Good,” Edmund whispers. At this point, Draco wouldn’t be surprised if that’s not even his real name, “good.”

Draco stays quiet. With smooth jazz crooning through the walls of bars and eateries to complete the easygoing ambiance of a mid-autumn night in Muggle London, it seems to be the least likely time of the year to find oneself bargaining for their life. But here he is.

“Now,” Draco’s pulse jackrabbits so quickly he can hear it. A delighted chuckle leaks into the night. “Your answer, please.”

When he doesn’t give one, the canines on his exposed shoulder threaten to break the skin. Unexpectedly, they lift off.

“You might want to think it through a little faster, doll,” the large hand pinning Draco’s wrists against the brick wall clenches around them, then drifts down his chest. Lays flat on his quivering stomach, a persistent pressure against Draco’s thrifted bomber jacket. “We have an audience.”

Draco sucks in the stale air with a hiss. He’s pulled his date this far into the alley because he didn’t want curious onlookers as they snog. Bad fucking idea that was. Still, the thought of strangers witnessing this horrid moment fills him with dread. They can’t do anything to help anyway, only to humiliate him even more.

“What—”

“Don’t look,” Edmund nips his ear lobe, “unless you want further mortification. You mortals are ashamed of the strangest things, I can smell it on you.”

Heat rushes through his body. Draco blinks, dizzy with… with something. He doesn’t know whether he wants to rebel, turn his head, and meet the stranger’s gaze head-on, or just rest his forehead against the grimy bricks and find reluctant comfort in Edmund’s instructions.

“What do you,” Draco murmurs, sour notes of alcohol floating back into his nose, “what do you propose I do then? Just stand here and wait for them to get lost?”

“You can make it easy for yourself and say no,” Edmund says.

Those canines are back on the base of his neck. The arm that isn’t wrapped around his middle slithers across his chest, calloused palm an anchor on his shoulder blade. Draco wonders if this looks intimate, possessive—protective, even—to their observer, when he simply feels choked. A mouse gripped within the gentle loops of a snake’s body.

“You’d look like you’re swooning in my arms while I drink from your,” the tip of Edmund’s nose travels up the length of Draco’s neck, ending at where his baby hairs are matted with cold sweat, “gorgeous, delicious essence. And it’d only take a blink of an eye. Our little voyeur would never know.”

“Merlin, can’t I have a single good date?” Draco grits out. “Just fucking say blood.”

“Oh, but you’re no fun,” Edmund says. “Being poetic has its merits, I think. Makes life interesting.”

“Life will be even more interesting when I get to live it, actually.”

The hand on his shoulder takes its time trailing to his face, and when it does, it tilts his jaw to the side. Draco’s eyes automatically slide shut.

“Oh, you will. Once you get used to the ‘undead’ part of it, life will be a joy to live.”

His hands shift against the grimy bricks, one seeking familiarity and warmth as it grips his other wrist, grounding him.

“You must’ve realized by now how anxious I am to have you by me, by us. If I’m not, I’d just pick you up from a club, drink from you, leave you behind that dumpster over there, and you’d wake up feeling hungover with no memory of me,” Edmund goes on, his face close. If Draco tries, he reckons he can swallow down the intoxicating spice of cologne wafting against his cheek. “But I’m not doing that, now, am I?”

Perhaps it’s not even cologne, perhaps it’s all Edmund.

“You see, the blood of mortals is our life force, yes, but few of them ever smell and taste like anything more than diluted shite. Blood like yours, though, that’s rare. Power like yours. That raw, untapped, repressed power hiding under masks and marks. Given enough time, enough resources, it can be brought forth, and you can prosper.

“It’d be a shame if all of what you are made of withers into nothing, don’t you think?”

Draco thinks and thinks. It’s all one can do when they’re held so firmly, quite literally stuck between a rock and a hard place. A bead of sweat trickles down his temple. Edmund kisses it away with false reverence, dotting another kiss behind Draco’s ear. Draco would have jolted if he has any energy left in him.

He realizes it now. Ever since the day Edmund’s gaze lingered a second too long, it was over. There is no one left to remember him, and if he ‘makes it easy’ for himself and says no, nothing will change. Sooner or later, he’d die without a purpose, alone.

What if he eliminates dying from the equation altogether?

He realizes it now. There has never been any choice.

Only one foggy, crooked path forward.

“Yes.”

Draco’s eyes open with a heavy drag, allowing in but a sliver of light. In the misty blurriness, he sees a smirk. One stark-white canine pulls the bottom lip inward, pierces through papyrus skin.

Draco’s vision darkens as red lips touch his. His nose clogs up for a brief moment, overwhelmed by the onslaught of scents and tastes. With every languid swipe of a clever tongue, copper as bitter as Charon’s obol forces its way into his mouth. A sharp needle of pain pricks his bottom lip. Draco flinches, tries to take a step back but the hand on his jaw keeps him close. One long finger sneaks into his mouth, prying it apart.

Swallowing the harsh tang of iron down, a rich, foreign sweetness floods his senses. It’s the nectar of late-June peaches and lingonberry syrup swirled in chamomile, coating his palate with a luscious glaze. A low moan escapes as his muscles relax. If it’s not for the steady hand on his stomach, Draco’s knees would have hit the dirty ground already.

“There we go,” Edmund whispers. His hands guide Draco to lean against him, back to chest, sending intermittent shivers to rack through Draco’s body. It’s cold, so cold, but he can’t pull away, just lets Edmund takes whatever he wants to take. “Good boy.”

“Don’t call me that,” Draco gathers enough of his declining wit to argue. “Sounds like you’re calling a dog.”

“Ah, you’re cute. The Sisters will adore you.”

“Sisters...” Draco says, the furrow of his brow easily smoothened by another leisurely kiss.

“Sisters,” Edmund says. The hand on Draco’s jaw edges to his neck, thick fingers adding a slight squeeze to the vulnerable valley on either side of his Adam’s apple. Draco sighs into Edmund’s mouth. “Surely you don’t think there’s only one of us out there?”

Not very certain of what to say, Draco purses his lips instead. Edmund lets out an amused hum and indulges him, sucking on his bottom lip. It’s good, so good, until it becomes sickening, like raiding the entirety of Fortescue’s stockroom. Being a creature of the night is rapidly losing its novelty.

“Okay, enough, enough, thanks,” he says, tapping the muscular arm around him and turning away. Edmund only continues his little ministration below Draco’s jaw.

He doesn’t know how long his eyes have been closed, so he opens them once more. It’s like… it’s like he’s been floating on thick water and is only recently dragged into shore. Rubbing the creak out of his neck, Draco squints.

Past Edmund’s sturdy form and angular lines, out in the main street, the thin crowd of pedestrians pass by in chattering groups and pairs. Opposite to the alley, however, one lone figure stands just out of reach of the street lamp. The yellowish light merely suggests their existence as they lean against the restaurant Draco and Edmund exited from earlier. The bright tell-tale red of a cigarette butt is visible but other than that, no detail to be discerned. Looks like someone who’s just minding their own business.

“You must think yourself funny,” Draco says, arching his neck to accommodate the kisses peppering his skin, “using my own shame against me. I doubt people even remember there’s an alleyway here.”

“Don’t forget that when a being has lived for as long as I have, has accumulated this much power, nine times out of ten, he knows what he’s saying. I’m powerful enough to catch the scent of every mortal walking by, even know if they’re actually mortals or not. Our little voyeur? He’s still here. He’s watching. He’s waiting for you, doll.”

Edmund pauses, then:

“And whether he’s a mortal? That remains to be seen.”

Draco pushes away as far as Edmund’s firm grasp allows, which is only a few centimeters away. Whatever his blood did with Draco’s own, it snaps him awake with startling clarity just as swiftly as when it’s reduced him to a little more than a rag doll. Everything is so sharp it’s almost disgusting, like his eyeballs are gouged out, scrubbed clean, then shoved back in again. Draco locks his legs, willing himself not to stumble.

“That makes no goddamn sense,” he says.

“You don’t feel them now, but wait until they set in,” Edmund tries to tug him back, shrugging when he doesn’t obey. “Your abilities. We’ll go back to the House of Collective tonight and when you wake up tomorrow, you’ll know what I’m talking about.”

“I,” Draco says. “Please say that again. With actual information.”

“So demanding,” Edmund leans back and looks at Draco like he’s seeing him for the first time, a hint of humor in his serene demeanor. “The House of Collective is where the majority of us in Britain frequent and reside. The newly Turned are brought there to be with their brethren. Trying to deal with these new abilities alone is what makes them go Rogue and lands them on the front page. Think Jeannette McDermott, the poor woman.”

Jeannette McDermott drained and devoured 6 people in a single weekend. The Aurors got to her first before the news outlets. Being a shut-in and hating being perceived in general—Merlin knows how she got bitten in the first place—the only pictures ever taken of her as an adult was of her mangled body, torn by her own claws and twisted into stillness. It was a once-in-a-century scandal that paralyzed Wizarding Europe for 2 months straight.

Draco frowns. “I’ve always wondered. How did she—why wasn’t she brought back to the House, then?”

“That’s what irresponsible Turning looks like. If we want to Turn someone, it must be carefully considered and planned, for there must always be more prey than predators. Such is the law of nature,” Edmund says it like it’s a walk in the park rather than changing people’s entire lives. “Deacon Frangos was careless—amateur little weakling—and wanted something more thrilling than, say, going to clubs for gullible drunks.

“During the official trial at the House, he confessed that he spent days working through her wards and broke in. Never expected that McDermott was a fighter. She couldn’t get to her wand, but she did have a knife. She stabbed him 3 times as he was drinking from her. Their blood mixed, and Frangos ran off to lick his wounds before we found him. That was Friday.”

“Merlin and Morgana,” Draco breathes, “that quick?”

Edmund only looks at him, silent as he waits for Draco to weigh his decisions. Or lack thereof.

“What about, what about my apartment? My things?”

“You’ll only be at the House of Collective until we get you accustomed to your new life, then you can return home. Or,” Edmund tilts his head to the side, “you can stay. It’s akin to a commune, there’s space for all. It’s in the middle of the woods, too, hidden behind extensive wards and Charms, very private. Don’t you love your privacy?”

“What, do you live there?”

“Yes! Just so you know, I built my own dwelling. It’s stunning, if I do say so myself. Marble floors, 5 balconies. Just added a new pool last month. Plenty of space to… christen, unlike your studio apartment.”

Edmund lets a casual grin grace his face, all jokes. Draco curls his lips. It’s a mystery for the ages as to how he’s ever found this man charismatic.

“I’d rather the, um, the studio apartment. It does have its charms. Checkered bathroom tiles, and, hmm, a working oven. I might paint the fireplace next week, who knows?”

“Big plans, big plans,” Edmund nods solemnly. “However, you will need to pay a visit at least twice a month for resources and news within the community. There are tons; we even have a matchmaking service so you wouldn’t have to explain yourself to some bumbling mortal and worry about lifespans. Isn’t that so very neat? But, you already have me.”

Edmund shoots him a wink. If he’s not, well, Edmund, Draco might think it’s attractive.

“I think,” he starts. His neck is aching something fierce the longer he looks back, so he turns to face Edmund directly, “we need to have a talk about ending this entanglement.”

“My,” Edmund adjusts without trouble, interlacing his hands behind Draco’s waist, just above his bum. “Must you hurt me so? After all we’ve been through in the past three dates, you want to cast me aside?”

“Those three dates were nothing more than bouts of insanity. My apologies, I was in a moment of weakness and was somehow fooled by your… Merlin, I don’t even know. Basically, you were a passing fancy that I will rue ever having for the rest of my life.”

Edmund sighs and lowers his head until it’s nestled where Draco’s neck joins his shoulders.

“My 161st love has broken my heart. Oh, how can I recover from this pain?”

He lifts his head up, meeting Draco’s unimpressed gaze with a smirk. “Perhaps one last kiss will be the balm I need. Come on, just one more for closure.”

Draco gnaws his bottom lip and wets the still-throbbing cut on it. Then, he rolls his eyes, sliding them shut. No big deal.

“You’re so generous, Draco,” purrs a deep voice right at the corner of his mouth. Draco parts his lips, breathing in the hushed words. “Can’t say I won’t miss this. Your blood truly is a delicacy.”

“Hurry the fuck up.”

Sweet, sweet wine.

Draco sags against Edmund’s strong chest, head lolled to the side, panting. They have stopped before it got too much this time, yet Draco still teeters over the edge of insanity with every suckle of lips, every caress of tongue. Edmund has been gentle, large hands cupping Draco’s face like he’s a priceless treasure made of opals and emeralds, combing through the slightly wavy hair Draco has grown out. He has fixed Draco’s shirt as he plucked off every scrap of sense remaining in Draco’s head, has stroked the purple marks in bloom, and covered them with the bomber jacket.

As Draco clutched those broad shoulders and wrinkled the expensive fabric adorning them, he had half a mind to demand Edmund to be rougher, to stop trying to savor it. Stop making it something to go breathless over.

Toying with the shiny button on Edmund’s wool suit, he reminds himself that it was smart to end whatever they had between them. Otherwise, he can see himself becoming addicted, and such a problem has no place in his life.

“It’s getting late,” he says. The street outside is still bustling with people, bursting with sound. The person leaning against the wall opposite is lighting up a new cigarette.

“Oh, doll,” Edmund hugs him tight. “Darling. You’re right, it’s getting late. ”

They stand there for a few moments more nonetheless, clutching each other. Then Draco sees it. Sees him.

As if on cue, the person straightens from their position against the wall. They step forward, one foot after the other, slack and loose, into the buzzing light. Draco can’t observe intricate details from this far away—has to wait until tomorrow, apparently—but he still has eyes.

A pair of snickering women stroll by, and the street seems empty for a split second. It’s enough for Draco to see large, black boots (Dragonhide, the part of his brain that never forgets Mother’s fashion books notes) and dark, well-fitted pants stretching over thick thighs. Sleeves rolled to the elbow, exposing dark arms with a myriad of pink-white scars. White button-up, wrinkled and stained, tied by leather harnesses crisscrossing at the chest, like the wearer has forgone changing after work and instead hurried off to deal with an urgent task. An unusual outfit for urban London, but somehow, it works.

Left hand tucked in a pants pocket, the other tapping the fine ash from a cig into a puddle on the concrete. It lifts to hover in front of full, waiting lips. One sleepy bloke trudges by, a heavy bag slung over his shoulder. A hazy billow of smoke spills forth lazily as the bloke walks out of view, opaque clouds masking an expressionless face before disintegrating into the night.

“Doll.”

Draco glances back at Edmund, who is staring at his lips. His hands run tiny circles over the small of Draco’s back.

“We decided on one kiss.”

“I know,” Edmund’s thumb swipes over the cut, as soft as a brush dipping into paint. “There’s still blood.”

“Obviously,” Draco says with a slight snort, “you bit it. Like a brute.”

Edmund’s reply comes in the form of his thumb pressing against the cut as if wanting to both stopper the blood and squeeze it out. Draco assists by opening his mouth, slipping the finger into moist warmth. And for some godforsaken reason, his eyes travel back to the street beyond.

This time, both hands are in the pants pockets. The cigarette has stopped its light bouncing, now lying still between pillowy lips. Like before, the voyeur is a statue amidst a sea of movement.

Draco swirls his tongue against the pad of the thumb, tasting himself and gulping it down. It’s bitter and sour without Edmund’s blood to sweeten it up, but he keeps licking until all he can feel is the saltiness of skin, the clenched fistful of his jacket against his hip, and—

And green.

“It’s getting late,” Edmund whispers against his forehead, his lips a touch away from kissing his fringe.

Letting the finger fall from his mouth, Draco whispers back.

“Okay.”

The voyeur never stops looking. Draco knows because neither does he.

“We’re never doing this again.”

Draco’s eyes glide back to Edmund. “I never thought you’d be the one to say that.”

“Me, too. But I’m serious,” the man says, but doesn’t clean his finger. “From now on, we keep our hands to ourselves.”

“And mouths.”

“Yes, those especially.”

Draco huffs out a laugh, “Okay. Very well. I’m glad we’ve reached an agreement.”

Edmund shakes his head, then blinks. He looks up at Draco, mischief in his eyes.

“Alright, Draco, you’ve done enough for the night.”

“Pardon?” Draco says, sliding his arm into the crook of Edmund’s. “You Side-Along us.”

“Of course, and I meant. Merlin, you’ve done quite enough. Oh, goodness, that’s pungent.”

Edmund pats Draco’s hand on his forearm and leans toward his ear.

“Say goodbye to him.”

Draco’s fingers tighten around Edmund’s arm in warning. He doesn’t say ‘goodbye,’ but he does look to the street light opposite the alleyway. Before the Apparition wrenches all the thoughts out of his head, Draco vows not to think about the expression on that face.

#drarrymicrofic #drarry microfic #drarry #drarry fanfiction #drarry fanfic #drarry fic #harry potter #draco malfoy #original male character #vampire #vampire draco #auror harry potter?#cursebreaker?#who knows #cigarette #how long can nancy go w/o writing the word ‘vampire’ challenge #there’s no particular purpose for that btw i just wanted to make things hard for myself #‘oh man i dont think im really that comfy w the idea of writing drarry being intimate just yet’#solution: shamelessly abusing the drarry tag to write about another pair that’s not even endgame #had a lot of fun writing edmund #was planning for this to be a lil sexy vampy moment then BOOM plot idea #wait why did i just realize that the house of collective sounds like a house’s name in ballroom culture #ykw it’s very fitting in fact vampires are all very queer #joonkorre writes

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the-great-bbe · 3 years

Text

Ready or Not!

Rhaenys crawls under her father’s bed. Mama was quite clear: they were playing hide and seek, and Rhaenys needed to hide her best from all the men looking for her. She stifles a giggle into her little hands. After the count of ten—ready or not, here they come!

or a quick little fanfic, about our favorite game of hide and seek :)

Lyrics of “The Hide and Seek Song” copyright by Headquarters Music.

youtube

Who wants to play a game? It’s time for hide and seek!

Mama kisses Rhaenys’s forehead. Egg sleeps in his cradle, despite all the noise coming from outside. It sounds scary out there, but Rhaenys is safe with Mama and Egg. Mama will never let anything bad happen to her, not even the nightmares that scare Rhaenys in the middle of the night.

“Let’s play a game, my sweet.” Mama’s hands are shaking, and her voice is high pitched. But everything must be fine, because they’re going to play a game. And not just any game, but hide and seek! “Listen carefully. Many men will try and find us, but we can’t be found by anyone. When the game is over, I’ll come get you myself, do you understand? You must hide very well, not even Balerion can find you.”

Rhaenys nods. “I’m good at this game, Mama! I’ll hide forever and ever and then we’ll have honey cakes after dinner.” Maybe if Rhaenys hides the best she can, Mama will let her have two entire honey cakes!

Mama kisses her again, and hugs her so tight that Rhaenys squeaks against her shoulder. “My little sunshine, I love you so much. Now hide. Hide!”

Rhaenys scurries off. Mama is really worried even if she didn’t say so. This game must be very important—perhaps Grandfather is playing too, even though he never plays games. So where should she hide? Maybe behind the barrels in the wine cellar, or in the gardens? No, beneath Papa’s bed! No one ever goes in his room anymore, and the space is so small that only she and Balerion can fit!

She tiptoes up the stairs, and closes the bedroom door so that it’s almost shut but not entirely. Closed doors are more suspicious in hide and seek, after all. Then she tucks herself beneath the bed, and arranges the heavy bedspread so that it’s not wrinkled. Rhaenys shimmies to the very edge of where the bedframe meets the wall, and waits.

She waits, and waits. She almost wants to go back and ask Mama for how long they’re supposed to play, and how many players. But instead she wiggles with anticipation. Mama was quite clear: they were playing hide and seek, and Rhaenys needed to hide her best from all the men looking for her. And Rhaenys is the very best at hiding! She stifles a giggle into her little hands. After the count of ten, or maybe a hundred—ready or not, here they come!

Rhaenys spies a shadow by the almost-closed door, and holds her breath.

-- Run, run, run! Time to run and hide!

Run, run, run! And now I’m going to find you, scurry off into the darkness.

Hurry, I’m behind you!

Don’t you speak! Hide and seek!

“Myrcella! Myrcella, where are you?”

Myrcella bites her lip. Joffrey is no good at being a seeker, he gets too angry and starts shouting for her and the servant children. And of course the servants come out, and Joffrey is so mean when he catches someone! But not Myrcella—she is the very best at this game, and she would rather fall asleep beneath this dusty old bed than let Joffrey win.

Mother tells her to let Joffrey win, to keep him from throwing a tantrum, but Uncle Tyrion says that it’s good for even the Crown Prince to be told no every now and then. She sniffles. One of the serving girls showed her this hiding spot, saying that no one ever looks under here since it’s so deep in Maegoir’s Holdfast and who can fit beneath a bed anyway?

Why does the Hand even have this room—maybe this is where Lady Lysa is supposed to sleep, instead of in Lord Littlefinger’s rooms. Myrcella isn’t supposed to know about that, of course. But she knows a lot. She knows that Joffrey isn’t going to be a very good king, and that Mother and Father should’ve never married, and that the mean old black cat Tommen wants to catch had another owner before. Myrcella heard Uncle Jaime speak about him once, and the person who owned the cat before. Uncle Jaime says many things about before Myrcella was born, but only when he is drunk and sad.

She twists a bit of string around her string until her finger turns purple. By now Joffrey must have found Sweetrobin and Tommen. She hopes that Sweetrobin cried and punched Joffrey in the nose. He gets to hit Joffrey without getting in trouble, since his father is the Hand. Myrcella is just a girl though, and must be a sweet little lady who lets Joffrey do whatever he wants. Last time she complained to him about cheating in games, he bit her ear. Mother wiped her tears and told her to bear it with a smile. Myrcella stopped complaining after that, but it still burns in her stomach.

Father says he won’t be like this forever, at least. Myrcella hopes so. She imagines him fully grown, but still the same way, and instead of twisting her arm he twists her neck. Just like Tommen’s kitten that bit him once. Joffrey let the poor little creature under Tommen’s bed, and Tommen screamed about monsters for weeks afterward. She sighs. There aren’t any monsters here that Myrcella doesn’t already know.

Myrcella hears footsteps down the corridor and holds her breath. Oh, if Joffrey finds her, he’ll tug at her hair and scratch at her arms! He’ll be so horrible, he always is! She’d rather die than be found by him!

Tiptoe through the cellar or crawl under your bed.

Anywhere you’ve fled, I am going to find you!

Stay inside the shadows, all you girls and boys.

Don’t you make noise, or I am going to find you!

“Are you afraid?” Myriame asks Arya, but she shakes her head. She refuses to be afraid. Not now, when they’re still hiding from the men who took Father away and locked Sansa in her room.

She shivers and Myriame pats her arm. She’s one of the serving girls—Arya heard Father call them Lord Varys’s little birds, once. Before everything went so wrong. But when Father was taken, a group of serving girls took Arya by the arm and hid with her in an alcove. They cut her hair, they dirtied her face, they shredded her fine dress and pinned a dirty pinafore to her shoulders. No more Arya Stark, just Nan. Nan, amongst Myriame, and Celia, and Delight, and Sera. Just another serving girl hiding behind curtains, nor beneath the bed.

“It will be alright,” Myriame whispers. “The only ones who go down here are us. Everyone else gets caught like Princess Myrcella. Those men won’t ever get us.”

Arya shivers. No one speaks of Princess Myrcella and how she disappeared without a trace. Did bad men steal her away like Father and Sansa? She dares to ask, “How do you know?”

But then their breath because there’s men outside their room. Their voices are harsh and drip with ill intent. One of them calls Sansa a whore and Arya wants to stab his eyes out with Needle. But then they enter the room and she squeezes her eyes shut and holds her hands over her nose and mouth. They can’t find her. They can’t! They’ll take her away from Father and Sansa, and who knows what they’ll do to Myriame!

There are four beds in this room, a servants’ dorm. Arya dares to peek. They check beneath one bed. Then another. One of the men cackles, “I can smell you, little girl! Where are you hiding?”

Neither of them dare to breathe. The man says in a high pitched mockery voice, “Ready or not, here I come!”

Arya burrows into Myriame’s side and waits to die. There is noise, yelling, shouting, terrible noise. Then there is heavy silence, only broken by Myriame’s breaths. Arya doesn’t dare open her eyes. Not for a second.

Myriame murmurs again that it will be alright, but Arya keeps her eyes firmly shut, counting the seconds.

Run, run, run! Creep up on my grave!

Run, run, run! Stalk the night away!

Scuttle off into the night! But what’ll be behind you?

Don’t you speak! Hide and seek!

Tywin barricades the doors shut in his wrath. How do two grown knights go missing in daylight?! And not just any knights, but his own—he needs Gregor Clegane’s bloodlust to scour the Riverlands, like a beast on a leash. And Amory Lorch is slime suited for the most unsavory tasks that Tywin cannot do. But they are gone, disappeared without a trace.

Just like his granddaughter Myrcella.

He sheaves himself onto his chair and pours himself a goblet from a blood red decanter. Years have passed, and still Cersei blames the Dornish. But even Tywin can’t point the finger at them, as there is no evidence at all. Myrcella simply played hide and seek one day, and was never found. Most likely some depraved monster of a servant took the girl for his own desires and threw her into the Blackwater, a fate entirely underserved for anyone of House Lannister. The fact that the girl was too sweet to harm a fly just makes the wound sting greater. Without her calming influence, Joffrey is an unhinged little bastard, and Tommen a spineless fool. What is Cersei teaching her children?

Not to mention she’s let both Stark girls escape! First Arya in the chaos after Eddard Stark’s arrest, then Sansa from a barricaded room! Last Tywin heard, they were both back in their mother’s custody at Riverrun. And Robb Stark is proving himself to be a wolf on the battlefield—he’ll have to deal with the boy himself. If he can stop him from overtaking the Riverlands and spilling into the Westerlands! Tywin could gouge his daughter’s eyes out for her folly. They will never get Jaime back, now that they’ve lost their bargaining chips!

Tywin hears footsteps lead up to his door and barks, “I am to be undisturbed!” He doesn’t hear them head back down the stairwell, and he growls to himself. Idiots, he is surrounded by idiots! He stalks to the door and swings open the door.

There is no one there. He blinks, then closes it. He turns back towards his chair, and the window is open. Cold sweat beads at his brow. He never opened that window, and yet the curtains blow in the wind.

A princess and two knights go missing in broad daylight without a trace. This must be the work of faceless Men from Braavos, paid to…to what? Myrcella is an obvious target, if less obvious than Joffrey or Tommen. But why Clegane and Lorch? Perhaps this is a Dornish ploy, as revenge for Princess Elia and her children—

Something falls over in his adjoined privy and Tywin swears he hears footsteps come up the stairwell once more. He steals into his bedroom without so much as a whisper, as one breath. He must hide. The wardrobe’s doors are swinging in the breeze. The Faceless Man will hear him close them, surely. But where else? His heart pounds in his temples and his vision swims. By the gods, are they already inside the room?

He looks down. It is insulting, but his only choice. Tywin squeezes himself beneath his bed and pushes himself towards the wall. The walls themselves are hollow, to allow the servants to attend without disturbing his betters. If he can find the trapdoor without alerting the assassin, he can survive this.

He is Tywin Lannister, the true ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. He will not die here! He holds his breath, and wills his numb hands to stop shaking.

Like a frog inside a skillet, a lobster in a pan.

You don’t understand that I am going to find you!

Be still as a mountain and quiet as a mouse, ‘cause any little sound,

And I will surely find you!

Joffrey is dead. Joffrey is dead! And the castle isn’t safe! Tommen scurries into an abandoned room deep in Maegor’s Holdfast. There’s just a trundle bed in the corner, boxes piled on top of each other in the center, and dust coating everything. Once, Myrcella showed him this room while playing hide and seek—but that was when she was still here. Even years later, no one understands what happened to her, or to Gregor Clegane, or Amory Lorch, or to Grandfather. Mother blames the wicked Dornish. Joffrey blames evil Northmen magic. But Tommen knows, he knows that it’s the monsters. He has seen them in the night! They are in the walls! They are beneath the beds!

Tommen told Margaery to run before he fled the wedding feast. He hopes she survives. But he can’t think of more than finding his hiding place. He’ll never make it out of the castle, not with the smallfolk starving and so angry at them. He’ll sneak out at night, before the monster goes feeding. And then he’ll head…somewhere. Anywhere but here!

Try as he might, Joffrey haunts his steps. His bloated purple face, the bile and blood spilling down his chin to pool in Mother’s lap. Mother screamed and screamed when he died, like the day when they couldn’t find Myrcella or Father. The monsters must have killed him too, like everything else in this castle. And now he is alone!

Tommen shrieks, and claws at his hair. He can’t breathe! They can hear him! They can smell him! He is next!

He crouches down on the bed in the corner. He wills himself to breathe but he’s too afraid. Joffrey is dead! Myrcella is dead! Grandfather is dead! Will they ever find his body?! Tommen chokes on his sobs and his entire chest aches. He hurts. It hurts. The fear, it hurts, make it stop—

He collapses to the ground. He writhes, and scoots beneath the bed, and muffles his screams into the dust and the dark.

Tick—tick—tock, are you ready or not?

Tick—tick—tock, listen to the clock!

Hasten off into the black, don’t waste another heartbeat,

Don’t you peek! Hide and seek!

Dragons roar from over Kings Landing, and Cersei sobs into her hands. She should be on the Iron Throne to meet the usurpers, but then they burned her Kingsguard at the gates and—and she panicked. She ran, and hid beneath a servant’s bed.

King Aegon Targaryen the Sixth, come back from the dead! With silver-gold hair and bronze skin and indigo eyes, thirty thousand Dornish spears at his back and that miserable little chit Shireen Baratheon as a bride with the Stormlands as her dowry! And Daenerys Stormborn, Queen Beyond the Sea, come to help her nephew claim his throne with their shared dragons! They each ride one, with one reserved for the sister that Lannister men murdered along with godsdamned Elia Martell! Cersei could scream, but then they’d find her.

She must escape.

If she makes her way back to Casterly Rock, then she shall be saved. No dragon can defeat the heart of the Westerlands! Cersei can still salvage this, even with all her family dead and her dreams scattered to ashes in her throat—

At least there is no valonqar. The prophecy took her children from her, but her neck is still her own.

At least she got to hold Joffrey as he died. Myrcella and Tommen had no bodies to bury. He was her first, and her last, and she prays that he found his siblings from wherever those wretched monsters stole them away.

Muffled footsteps creep from beyond the corridor and Cersei can’t breathe. A servant? A Dornish spear? A Dothraki? Daenerys? Aegon? A monster?

Bare feet enter the room, splattered with dirt and blood. One of Varys’s little birds? They skip to the edge of the bed, and a sweet voice rings out, “Found you!”

Swift as night and brutal as the Blackwater, a hand reaches under and grips Cersei by the hair. She screams as she is dragged out, and then she can’t scream because hands are at her throat and twisting—

Let the countdown begin!

10! 9! 8! 7! 6! 5! 4! 3! 2! 1!

Rhaenys peeks out from behind the door. All is still and silent. Not even the flies are buzzing. She stifles a giggle into her hands. Aegon raises an eyebrow, and she explains, “Everyone always hides under the bed. A child’s mistake, it can be forgiven with time and wisdom.”

He shakes his head, before resting his chin on her head. “You’ll never need to hide beneath the bed again, I swear it.”

“I know.” She trusts her brother. She loved him before he could even remember her face, of course she trusts him. Him, and their aunt Daenerys, and their family in Dorne, and all her friends hiding in the walls—Rhaenys shall never be alone again.

Her family are in the throne room, and she shouldn’t keep them waiting. How happy they will be to see her! How happy she will be to see them! The weight of years of hiding bows her shoulders. It is time for her to stop hiding, stop seeking, stop this game and take her place in Aegon’s circle. He will be so proud to see how she’s survived. Mama would be proud. But Rhaenys…well, old habits die hard.

She shimmies beneath the bed and pulls Aegon down with her. He laughs and she lets the shadows become her. Just once more. Once more, the darkness becomes her. Rhaenys bares her teeth in a grin. What better tool for a new king than a monster who knows where everyone hides? Aegon survived the last game between them, and she’ll keep it that way.

She tells Aegon to count to ten, and he holds his breath.

A clock ticks somewhere.

There are many who covet the throne. And the countdown begins anew.

Ready or not, here I come!

#becky blue eyes #asoiaf fanfiction #horror fanfiction #rhaenys targaryen

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cosmiccandydreamer · 4 years

Text

Insecure chapter 4

Paring (Otis driftwood x Reader)

(I do not own these gifs)

Masterlist is here please see warnings ⚠️

Mama and Baby were ecstatic on the wedding day; this was the happiest day for them. Rarely do they go to do such wholesomeness without ulterior motive like murder? The whole family helped with the event, Baby. You headed into the nearest small town to look for a dress, mama. Tiny cooked ( well tiny held things and watched), Hugo and Rufus helped set up the backyard decent with an archway. Otis, of course, was getting into fights with everyone, grumbling and bitching, but no one's spirit was dampened; they knew he just wanted things to go off without a hitch. “ WHAT ABOUT THIS ONE?” Baby squealed, holding up a bedazzled skimpy ….dress? If you could call it that. ‘’Mmmm, sugar that looks like floss on a hanger, I could see wearing that on the honeymoon but not that ceremony,” you chuckled lightly, chewing on your lollipop and looking back at the dresses, nothing here seemed to be standing out, and you were starting to get disappointed. You were not high maintenance, and a simple dress would be fine, but these weren't you. “ Baby, maybe we should look elsewhere, or I can just wear something I got at home. ‘NO, we are finding you something because this is the best store in town and you deserve something nice!!.

She skipped along to the other rack of dresses along the wall. You signed and watched her jump around from rack to rack; you loved her so much. She was such a free spirit, never seemed to have a bad day, and up for a good time; you couldn't believe you were finally going to be sisters officially “ unofficially.” You hoped this was what he wanted and didn't get cold feet at the ceremony. God, what if he did. The thought of that was terrible. Having been lost in your head, you didn't notice her hop up behind you with a new dress. ‘ LOOK! WHAT DO YOU THINK? DO YOU LOVE IT OR DO YOU LOVE IT?” She wiggled the dress in front of you, waving it and flashing her megawatt smile.

You have to admit this was a beautiful dress; it was a v-neckline embroidered spaghetti strap lace dress. It was an eggshell white and looked like it would fall right at your ankle. You walked over and lightly touched it; you pictured you and Otis exchanging vows in this; it was perfect, not too flashy, and not too casual.

Well, it was perfect until you saw the price. "Holy shit, Baby, we can't afford this! Have you seen the tag?" You pointed at it and started to slowly put it back toward the rack. " Ah no no, no no, this is the one we are getting your eyes lit up, and you'd look so beautiful; just wait, we're taking this home today" she shoved the dress Into your hands and walked over to the cashier who was a young early 20 something which had been burning holes in the back of her head this whole shopping trip. I mean, who could blame him? Baby was drop-dead gorgeous, and she knew it.

She skips over to the unsuspecting victim and turns on the charm; leaning over the counter, she twirls one of her golden curls in her fingers and smiles. " Don't you think my sister would look pretty in that dress Mr .. (a male name you like)? "Oh yeah, she would look great," he stuttered a bit and ran his head over the back of his neck nervously, little beads of sweat appearing on his forehead, he was already nervous, and Baby was just getting warmed up.

"So .. here's the problem, handsome," her voice thick with flirt and sass. "I promise to my beautiful sister over there that she would be able to wear that dress on her wedding day tomorrow, but it's a little out of our price range. Do you think maybe there's something you could do?" She pouts and leans over the counter a bit more, looking at him from under her lashes. " I don't know I could get in trouble, oh," he stutters, and his sentence is cut off when Baby grabs the end of his tie and slowly pulls it toward her. " Oh please It would mean so much to us, and I could make it up to you! maybe you can come over to our house this week, and I can show you how much I appreciate your generous nature" she smiled at him and turned her head; she knew she had him right where she wanted him. It was always fun to watch these interactions. It was like a dance or something or a lion stalking its prey. " I um I think maybe I can do something um just don't tell anyone " gulp "ah ok?" " Of course, sweetums, this will be our little secret" Baby took his hand and wrote down her address with the pen she took from his front his pocket; you laughed a little knowing the fate that awaited the poor fellow, she strutted over to you taking your hand in hers and led you out the door. Back at the house, the party was in full swing, every member of the house was partaking.

Spaulding was, of course, the officiant; he seemed to be almost as happy for this event as you two. What can he say? He loves to love! Finally, the moment came: one a buzz of excitement. Baby, of course, was your maid of honor and tiny walked you down the aisle. Otis wore his most clean flannel and surprisingly non ripped jeans ( he owns a pair of those ?!) His eyes widened, and a smile crept along his face seeing you come toward him in that dress. He couldn't believe how stunning you were and how lucky he was that you were going to be his forever. "Why, hello there, beautiful'' he lifts your hand and kisses the top of it, he leans back a little and eyes you up and down " shit, mamas, all this for me?"

Looking up at him and staring right into his blue eyes you smile " all yours handsome.” "ALL FUCKING RIGHT LET'S GET THIS PARTY STARTED. SURE THESE TWO WANNA GET THIS OVER WITH AND GO STRAIGHT TO THE HONEYMOON. YOU KNOW WHAT I'M SAYING HAHA! '' Spaulding's booming voice ripped through the backyard, causing you both to snap out of your love trance. " Alright, happy boy, you wanna go first? And try not to royally fuck it up in front of the lady hmmmmm?" " Shit shut the fuck up, cutter" he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny scribbled on paper that looks like he wrote and erased about a million times; he clears his throat " um yeah, so I wrote these, and I hope you like em and yeah here we go welp I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we're all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we'll ever have, the only home I've ever had, and that home is you.” He nervously put the note back into his pocket and cleared his throat; he read the vows fast as if to hurry and get past this vulnerable exposure as quickly as possible.

You were shocked, to say the least; saying that you weren't expecting much in the romantic department was an understatement, the fact he was able to muster up these words completely melted your insides. " So what the fuck? You just gonna stare at me or something? What are you getting cold feet now, a woman? You're just staring .. say something!" You look at a deep breath, suddenly aware of all eyes on you. alright y/n you can do this; you took a small piece of paper from your bra and opened it. " So I couldn't find the words for what I wished to say * clears throat," so I had to borrow them; in the words of Pablo Neruda: “I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way than this: where I do not exist, nor you.” Small awws and comments erupted in from the small crowd, "

WELL HOT DAMN THAT IS SOME HEARTWARMING SHIT" Spaulding well basically screamed, he took out the long hunting knife from his pants pocket. He handed it to you " ladies first, my dear" You had predicted that there would be some apprehension about slicing open your hand with a giant knife but the look Otis was giving you all the courage you needed, he was looking at you with a deep burning hunger, one that sent fire to your stomach and tingles to your core. With a deep breath, you sliced hard and fast into your left hand, never breaking eye contact with him; the pain was intense but forgotten, overshadowed by the lust growing more and more intense by the second you wanted your husband, and you wanted him now. You handed the knife back to Spaulding " alright happy boy, you're up" you clenched your hand close, feeling the warm blood flowing through your fingertips. Otis had a large grin by this point, hastily taking the knife and slicing it into his palm way faster than you did.

He moved closer, taking your hand and pressing it into his, the blood from you and him mixing. " I now pronounce you sick bastards husband and wife! " And with that last statement, Otis grabbed your face with his clean and bloodied hand, pulling you into a deep kiss; you linked your hands around his neck, pulling him closer.

Breaking the kiss, he takes your hand and slowly licks your large gushing cut, staring at you deep in the eyes the entire time; this dark, sick so very erotic scene made you take a deep breath in and bite your lower lip breath hitched. You softly whispered, "Otis…".. his eyes had become large and dilated with lust. That last whisper from you was enough to push him over the edge " Alright, y'all can get the fuck out. I'm about to do unspeakable shit to my wife, see y'all next week, no one bothers us, or I'll blow your head fucking off.” With that, he threw you over his shoulder and with a smack to your ass he took you into the house.

#otis driftwood #otis firefly #otis driftwood x reader #robzombie #house of 1000 corpses #the devils rejects #three from hell

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dreamlover31 · 3 years

Text

Love Will Find a Way: Chapter 2

At the end of an exhausting day at the shelter, Alexa returned to her apartment to get herself ready for her date with Rafael later that evening. After entering her apartment, she headed towards her bedroom where she left a trail of clothes in her wake as she went into the bathroom, she turned on the faucet and stepped into the warm spray of her shower. As the water cascaded down her naked form, the stress of the day had essentially been washed away along with the suds from the body wash, shampoo and conditioner; when she was finished, she grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her body.

After exiting the bathroom, Alexa made haste to the walk in closet, as she browsed through her wardrobe, she felt a little giddy at the idea that she was about to have dinner with the most well renowned ADA in all of Manhattan. After making a second sweep of her closet, she finally settled on a spaghetti strapped, maroon colored dress that practically screamed sexiness. Hmmm, I wonder if maybe this is too forward…I mean it’s a gorgeous dress but I just don’t want to give him the wrong impression, suddenly she was startled by the vibrations coming from her phone that laid on top of the dresser right across from her bed.

As she looked at the screen, she saw that it was a text from Rafael.

Hey just wanted to let you know that I’ll be a little late in picking you up, have to finish up some paperwork at the office, I should be there no less than 5 minutes.

After she read his text, she quickly sent one of her own telling him that she understood his situation and that she would wait for him, once it was sent Alexa continued to finish getting ready; she decided to go with the maroon dress and then picked out a pair of black four inch heels. From there she went through her jewelry box and decided on a pair of black beaded chandelier earrings and a choker, then she sprayed on her favorite rose scented perfume and went over to the long wide mirror that hung on the bathroom door, as she gave herself a quick glance over, she thought to herself: oh yeah, this is definitely the outfit…I hope Rafael doesn’t have a heart attack when he sees it. It was then that she heard a knock at the door, when she reached it, she opened it ajar only to find that it was Rafael standing there holding a bouquet of roses.

After she unlatched the chain, Alexa proceeded to fully open the door and stepped aside to let him in, as she turned around to face him, his jaw practically fell to the floor when he said:

“Wow…you look beautiful”

“Thank you, are those for me,” Alexa asked as she pointed to the bouquet in his hands.

“Oh yes, here”

After he handed her the flowers, Alexa went into the kitchen to put them in some water, meanwhile, Rafael decided to take an impromptu tour of tour of her apartment. Overall, he was impressed at how meticulous and coordinated the furniture was; a beige colored couch that sat in the middle of the living room as an oak brown coffee table laid out in front of it, a 50-inch plasma screen placed up against the wall on top of a TV stand that matched the color of the coffee table. Also, he takes note of the colorful landscape paintings that hung along the wall, when he finished looking across the room, he then made his way towards the bookshelf that sat on the left hand side of the room.

As he glanced at the collection of romance, crime and justice, and self-help books; he did not notice that Alexa had come up from behind him and placed her hand on his shoulder, he quickly turned around as she said:

“Sorry I didn’t mean to scare you”

“It’s alright, I was just admiring your collective works of art here”

Alexa smiled, “Well shall we make our way down to the restaurant”

After gathering her purse, they made their way out the apartment and upon exiting the building, Alexa slinked her arm around Rafael’s as they walked down towards the Italian restaurant. During their stroll, Rafael couldn’t help but peek at Alexa’s remarkable physique, her long slender legs, the curvature of her body and the pout that formed from her perfect lips that made it difficult for him not to lean over and kiss her. Alexa felt Rafael’s gaze upon her and smirked.

“Why don’t you take a picture it’ll last longer”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to stare”

“It’s ok I get it”

A few moments later, they made it to the entrance of the restaurant, before even entering; the smell of garlic bread and parmesan flooded their senses. Their mouths practically watering as they entered, Rafael made it known to the hostess that they had a reservation, after it was confirmed, she escorted the two of them halfway across the restaurant to their table. Once they were seated, a waiter came by to take their drink orders, both Rafael and Alexa ordered a glass of red wine. As he took his leave, the two of them looked upon each other while being surrounded by the chatter and commotion of the restaurant, a few minutes went by before Alexa decided to break the ice:

“So how’s work?”

“Ugh…brutal, I recently lost a case in which a television actor and his friend gang raped a woman in the bathroom of a nightclub”

“The Bobby D’Amico case?”

“Yeah”

“Oh man…I saw it on the news, but kudos to whoever leaked that video of the two of them almost raping that undercover cop. Those bastards got what was coming to them”

“I couldn’t agree more”

It was then that the waiter came back with their glasses of wine, at the same time, Rafael and Alexa placed their order. He ordered the chicken parmesan while Alexa ordered a simple pasta dish, as the waiter departed from their table again, the two of them continued their conversation:

“Listen I hope you don’t mind me asking but what made you decide to work at a domestic violence shelter?”

Alexa paused for a moment as she took a sip of her wine.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to…” Rafael’s voice trailed off but then Alexa interrupted:

“No it’s ok…um my dad he uh…he would use my mother as his personal punching bag, whenever he thought that she was cheating on him or for no reason at all. One time he beat her so bad that she bled out all over the kitchen floor, she had to have 20 stitches in her head.”

As she continued to describe the horrors of her childhood, tales that involved severe beatings and acts of emotional terrorism, small tears started to prick in her eyes. Rafael reached out to comfort her by placing his hand on top of hers as he looked upon her with eyes that conveyed to her that he understood her pain, with her free hand; Alexa wiped her eyes.

“I’m really sorry you had to go through that…I know what it’s like to live in a house where you don’t know what’s going to set a madman off”

“What do you mean?”

“My father was like yours…he took out his misery and self-loathing on me and my mother, I hated every minute of it, there were times where I’d pray for his death. Even though he’s been dead for 15 years, my hand still curls up into a fist whenever I think of him. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that it’s probably one of the reasons that I became a prosecutor…I wanted to provide a voice for those who were being treated like they were less than human beings”

“Wow…I don’t what to say”

“Well we all have a past, the trick is to not let it define us”

“True”

The waiter came back with their orders shortly after, when he left, they reached for their utensils and proceeded to dive into the fine cuisine displayed before them. During the course of their meal, Alexa and Rafael continued with small talk, but then he brought up the subject of her last relationship and all of sudden it was like all the air had been sucked out of the room.

“There’s really not much to tell Rafael”

“I’m sorry I don’t mean to pry”

“Alright…you want to know the story? I gave the guy a year of my life that I’ll never get back only to find out that he’d been screwing some piece of office trash on the side”

“If you don’t mind me saying, he was a fool to let someone as smart and as beautiful as you go…seems to me like he didn’t know what he had”

Alexa smiled as his words sunk in, it became apparent to her that maybe she had finally found someone who would appreciate her and possibly love her in the way that she deserved to be, once they cleaned off their plates, Rafael asked for the check. After paying the bill, he proceeded to walk Alexa back to her apartment building, along the way; Alexa thanked him for his kind words but he reiterated to her that he meant every single word.

“Well here we are,” Alexa noted as they stood facing each other outside her apartment building.

“I had a really great time tonight”

“Me too”

After a brief moment, Rafael leaned in to kiss Alexa only to have her pull away from him.

“I’m sorry, I just”

“It’s ok I understand”

“Please don’t take this wrong way, I really like you but I just want to take things slow”

“Alexa, It’s alright”

With that, they exchanged their goodbyes as she made her way up to her apartment, as soon as he had visual confirmation that she was inside, Rafael walked down the street and waved down a passing cab. Alexa looked out her window as she saw the cab drove by with Rafael in it, as she made her way towards the bedroom, she began cursing at herself for letting a golden opportunity get away from her; What the hell is wrong with you?

Tagging: @madpanda75 @laceybellerain @southern-magnolia @tropes-and-tales @thatesqcrush @teamsladsandgents @karens-imagined-world @itsjustmyfantasyroom @youreverycolor @misssirenlove @beccabarba @glimmerglittergirl @madamsnape921

#rafael barba x reader #love will find a way #raul esparza

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allidoiswritewritewrite · 4 years

Text

Mr. and Mrs. Barnes

AN: So... I watched Mr. and Mrs. Smith last night, then immediately got this prompt from writingexercises.co.uk and I figured I would try my hand at it. This is my first fic in YEARS and my first fic ever here, so be kind plz and thank you :) let me know what you think, or if you think I left anything out of the TW.

Pairing: Assassin!Bucky Barnes x Assassin!Reader

Word count: 1.3k

Summary: Mr. and Mrs. Bucky Barnes had a happy marriage for six years, until they realized they were competing assassins.

TW: Some violence, shooting, mention of guns and a knife

To save his own life, he knew he would have to kill her.

That much became apparent to him as soon as he realized the woman who took a shot at him on a job that day was his wife of six years.

He sat on a rooftop, legs dangling over the edge while a cut bled freely from above his left eye brow as the only evidence of the job gone wrong. His hair hung around his face, the sweat beading off his nose as he pondered his options.

Steve’s voice was droning on in the background, telling him how he told him so, and lecturing him about how could he be so stupid.

“You were probably just a job to her this entire time, Buck.”

Bucky didn’t think that could be true. With his eyes shut and his metal fist clenched, he looked down and remembered the night they first met.

Dusk was falling over a sleepy Seattle as Bucky tucked a sheathed knife into the waistband of his jeans, walking into the quiet bar to enjoy a drink.

As he glanced across the room, he saw her sitting there. Eyes shining in the neon lights hung up behind the bar, smiling to the bartender while she swirled a glass of whiskey around in one hand.

Her hair was a windswept mess, but her put-together pencil skirt and blazer suggested it was just a long day at the office.

He felt like he didn’t have any control as he walked over and took the stool next to her. Like a moth to a flame, he was entranced.

That’s how it all started, six years ago.

Staying in that bar until the last call, going back to her place and pulling at each other’s clothes as they walked through the door.

Bucky shook himself out of the memory. That was before he knew everything about her was a lie. Maybe he was just a job to her after all.

He thought back to the mission the day before when he realized what a disaster his life was.

Alexander Pierce, class A scumbag and member of the World Security Council, was set to be driving through that desert any minute.

Bucky’s M82 sat next to him, his music blaring next to him.

Who would hear it anyways?

That turned out to be his first mistake.

How was he supposed to know someone else was trying to take out his mark at the same time and place as him?

Five minutes after he settled in, a bullet hit the sand near him.

Looking up, he saw a figure aiming an M82 of their own his way.

He grabbed his backup gun, an AK-47, and turned it on them, raining bullets on their sheltered area before running to find cover.

As bullets chased him through the desert, he looked to the right and saw the SUV carrying his target flying through the hellscape.

He didn’t realize who his would-be killer was until he got back to Seattle, rain pouring down outside as he reviewed the tapes from the day’s failed mission.

When her hair blowing in the wind, lips puckered while she tried to take him out, he knew who she was.

That’s when he thought: what if I was her target all along?

He blinked away the thought and steeled himself, bidding goodbye to Steve and waved off his offers of help.

“I’m with you to the end of the line, pal. You say the word and I’ll be there.”

No, this was something he would have to take care of on his own.

To save your own life, you knew you would have to kill him.

Your marriage was an impulsive one, but everything always felt so right.

Now, though, as you sat in the quiet hotel bar staring down at the whiskey in your hand, things had never felt more wrong.

Everything about him had been a lie.

He was no engineer. Hell, he’d probably just been trying to kill you this entire time. You scolded yourself as you remembered the day you met him.

You had stopped by the bar on a whim. Someone else had taken out your target before you ever had the chance, and you knew you were in for a reaming when you got back to the office.

That’s how you found yourself sitting at the bar, sipping a whiskey and smiling at a comment the bartender made.

When a man came over to take the bar stool next to you, you thought it would be accompanied by another pickup line that would send your eyes rolling.

But instead, a sideways glance had you turning in your seat when you saw his blue eyes shining under the brim of his baseball cap, standing out against the dark strands of hair falling out of it.

Like a moth to a flame, you were entranced.

And so, that night led to a whirlwind of two months of dating, an elopement and six happy years of marriage.

Until you saw him, gun in hand, waiting to take out your target.

You shook your head and downed the rest of your whiskey, feeling it burn as it slid down your throat.

The sun shone down on the desert sands as you fanned yourself, waiting in the vacant shed for your target.

Alexander Pierce, secretary for the World Security Council and a treasonous bastard.

He had been selling defense secrets to the country’s enemies, both foreign and domestic. At least 40 people were thought to be dead because of his actions.

You wouldn’t sleep any less at night for taking him out.

You had been taking shelter in the shed for a couple of hours, gun already set up and a bottle of water sitting next to you while you waited, when you heard someone’s music blaring to the left of you.

Looking down, you saw him. Broad shoulders stretching out a white t-shirt with sand all over it. Sweat slipping down his arms under the hot sun.

When you saw the metal arm, you knew who it was.

How could your husband, the love of your life, have betrayed you like this?

What if he was just there to kill you?

You couldn’t bring yourself to shoot him.You shot around him, got him to run so you could make a getaway.

Alexander Pierce was long forgotten.

A heavy sigh left your pursed lips as you slid some cash across the bar, stood up and walked out.

It was time to take care of business.

You noted that his truck was already parked in the driveway when you arrived at your perfectly suburban home, but not a single light shown through the windows into the night sky.

Opening the glovebox, you pulled out your handgun, flipped off the safety and took a deep breath.

You held your head high as you walked to the front door, opening it with your gun held out in front of you. You knew he had to have heard you coming.

It came as no surprise when your gun was knocked out of your hand the second you walked through the door.

That was all it took to start a tussle through the lower level of your house that left everything in tatters.

The sounds of skin slapping furniture mixed with grunts could’ve sounded erotic if you weren’t battling to the death with your betrothed.

Your back slammed into the pantry door, his arm pressing into your neck and cutting off your air supply for a moment. Wrapping your arm around his, you were able to get him off you long enough to catch your breath and send a kick to the side of his head.

“Enough with the foreplay, Barnes. Let’s get this show on the road.”

He advanced on you, gun in hand but aimed to try to hit you with it.

When you ducked, you grabbed his arm and used his momentum to get him to drop the gun.

His legs swiped yours out from under you, sending you reeling to the ground.

You latched onto his legs to pull him down and stood back up, but he didn’t follow far behind.

A punch that landed on his nose sent him stumbling back, and you pushed him onto the ground with a kick to his chest.

But that sent him just within reach of the gun you lost walking through the door.

Grabbing his off the ground, you spun around with the gun pointed toward him, his stance a mere five feet away mirroring yours.

His voice shook while he questioned you.

“Was any of it even true? Or have I just been a job this whole time?”

You shuddered, the hand holding a gun shaking as you clicked on the safety and lowered it, managing a whispered answer.

“If you think I could fake how much I love you, go ahead and take the shot Bucky.”

The seconds passed like minutes. It felt like the silence might swallow you whole, chest heaving while you watched his eyes skim across your face.

Tears shone in both of your eyes as he lowered his gun and took a step closer to you.

“I’m with you ‘til the end of the line, doll.”

/ f i n /

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #assassin!bucky barnes #assassin!reader #assassin au #bucky barnes imagine

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willsimpforazula · 3 years

Text

Sokkla Month Day 7: Intimate

A/N: This is an ATLA + Fate/Stay Night (Unlimited Blade Works) crossover and this scene is inspired from S2, E10. Intimate memories count as intimate, no?

Saber - Suki

Rin Tohsaka - Azula

Emiya Shirou - Sokka

With that out of the way, leggo

-----

Sokkla Month Day 7: Intimate

Sokka's house

The mood was solemn, as the remaining two Masters of the 5th Holy Grail War debated on their plan of action. With the revelation that Archer, who Azula summoned actually turned out to be the Heroic Spirit version of Sokka and that he possessed a Reality Marble, and the shock of seeing him blasted to bits by Gilgamesh's attack still hung heavy on their minds.

Azula, who saw her servant looking very much like a porcupine giving up his life to save them.

Suki, who had to stand and watch the younger of the two Sokka's battle it out, the older and more cynical version blasting him again and again with round upon round of blades, delivering wounds that should have killed him hundreds of times over were it not for Avalon implanted within him.

As she finished bandaging the worst of his wounds, they all agreed that the Grail should be smashed into pieces, preventing anyone from ever trying to get their hands on it. Staring at the pendant in her hand, Azula exhaled and sighed "I never really had a wish that I wanted to be granted, just...I wanted to win it so that our family name could be held high."

"Sounds just like you."

"What-what do you mean by that!" she blushed, curling up into a ball before replying "A-anyways, we're getting ahead of ourselves." Just then, her stomach let out a low grumble, making her blush even harder.

"Hungry huh? I'll go fix us up something to eat. After all, I recall a certain someone describing 'hunger as an enemy', no?"

"Thanks." she mumbled, while it was now Suki's turn to blush.

------

Later that night…

After cleaning up the dishes, Sokka was about to turn the corner to his room when he heard hushed voices discussing something very important.

"....are you really sure, Suki?"

"Yes, I am sure of it. You have my thanks." Storing it for later, he pretended to not see them and walk off to take his shower. Fresh and clean, he pondered what could they have possibly been planning when he found his footsteps naturally come to rest outside her door. Summoning up his courage, he gave a few quick knocks when he saw light spilling from the crack. With a creak, a sliver of light beamed forth, before being occupied by a golden eye that belonged to an annoyed face.

"What do you want.?"

"Uh, did-did I piss you off just now? You seem to be in a really bad mood."

"That depends on what you say next."

"I-uhm, well-"

"You might as well come in instead of stammering. At least you can tell me your foolish ideas coherently."

"I trust you figured it out that you're going to fight Gilgamesh."

"Well, no actually. But I'm still going to do it regardless. I just feel like, like I've got the best shot at taking that King of Heroes down a peg."

"Then you must have figured out Archer's Noble Phantasm."

"Yeah that's a negative on that one." he sheepishly replied.

"Are you kidding me?!" she shouted. Shaking her head and pinching the bridge of her nose, she continued "Regardless, the only reason Goldie even considered both of you a threat was that with enough mana, either of you could actually stand a chance at beating him. It's also the reason why he called you both 'fakes'."

"But with my current reserves, I'm fucked if he starts pulling out all the stops. Ten of those Phantasms maybe, but that's like pushing it. Any higher, and I am toast."

"At your current mana reserves, definitely. But, there's one option we could try. Basically, you and I form a pact that allows us to share mana between us. It doesn't matter if you can't supply enough, I can, which means you can summon and sustain a Reality Marble long enough to kick that bastard's ass."

"That's a good idea. So how do we do it?"

"Well…." she breathed deeply, her cheeks turning as red as her trademark turtleneck sweater, "I-I-I'll have to transfer my Magic Crest onto you."

"I can't take something that important away from you! I mean, is that your entire family lineage's lifetime of work?"

"To win the most important fight of my life requires giving it my most treasured possession, as much as I hate to see it. Law of equivalent exchange, the first thing they teach new mages. Wait why are you staring at me like that?!"

"N-nothing! It's just, I was in awe of you and-and it made me realise just why I fell for you the way I did."

"This is hardly the time to talk about such things! But-but I guess, you, uhm, could let it all out if-if it makes you feel happy."

"But will you feel happy?"

"On one hand, I wanna see you just how deep the grave you're digging is. On the other hand, well-let's just get back to the task at hand okay!" she blushed for what must be the tenth time that night. Somehow, every other sentence that came out his mouth either had her seeing red or making her heart flutter and face pink.

"Azula?"

"What?"

"N-n-nothing. Let's get it started."

"Alright then. Just tell me what to do."

"Take off your clothes." she mumbled, covering her face as she faced the wall.

"What?"

"Did I stutter?"

"Are you sure?"

"Ju-just do as I say alright!" In a small still voice, she added "I-I-I'm going to be taking mine off too, it's only fair."

"Don't get the wrong ideas, unless you don't plan on celebrating Father's day. " she threatened.

"Okay okay, got it!"

"Then why the long face?" "For the transplant to succeed, both of us need to be in a deep state of rapport."

"I see."

"Do I need to take my pants off too, or is just the shirt okay?"

Snatching a rolled up poster, she began to assault him viciously while yelling "What the fuck do you think, you moron!", her face approximating the dye of her turtleneck at this point.

-----

Sitting on her bed, with both of them topless and the lights turned off, he could sense her rustling as she turned to him and said "Let's begin.", placing hand on his bare chest. Inhaling deeply, she started to utter her incantations:

Gib dem wandernden Vogel das Trinkwasser

Der von langen Weg kommt

Benutz den Vogelrahman

In dem der Schlüssel nicht angewendet wird

Ich spinne den Regenbogen in neuem selbst

Heisses Wetter, Regen

Wind, Schnee, Krieg, Ende, ununterbrochen

Nimm an, ohne anderer Meinung zu sein, ohne zu fallen

Es nimmt an, ohne zu fürchten

Ohne zu zweifeln

As he felt his circuits come alive and intermesh with hers, his eyes fluttered open in shock for the briefest of moments as now he and her were now forming the most intimate of bonds between mages outside of coital bonds. For all intents and purposes, they might as well be married. Meanwhile, Azula poured all her concentration into completing the transplant, beads of sweat starting to form on her forehead.

Sieg im Freund, der auf eine Reise entfernt geth

Suddenly, he found himself reading through her most closest memories, ones that she kept particularly close to her heart.

A headstone.

Clouds.

A rainy day.

A priest, handing over a strange looking knife to a young girl dressed in a kimono.

A hallway in school.

Sunset.

An empty courtyard, save for one person doing high jumps over and over again. There were many more, but they all flickered past him at the speed of light. With a start, he woke up to find her cuddled right up against him, her head nestled comfortably in his chest. Seeing her so peaceful, he decided to let her be and crashed back on the pillow, an arm snaking around her waist protectively.

Feeling a warm body next to hers, Azula jumped up in shock, grabbed the nearest pillow and covered herself as she flicked on the lights.

"Why didn't you wake me?!"

"Sorry! Did it work though, the transplant?"

"Of course it did. So flawless there's nothing else to do, so precise there'll be no side effects. So perfect that even that worthless fake priest would say 'Azula, you've done a fantastic job.'", her voice muffled by the pillow.

Turning to examine the upside down geometric fish pattern on his arm, he asked in slight amazement and awe "So this is it huh?"

"Stop gawking like a child, you'll get a fly in your mouth you know?"

"Thank you Azula. Really."

Noticing her golden eyes couldn't look at his, he asked concernedly "What's wrong?"

"You saw it, didn't you?"

"I didn't see anything, promise! My eyes were closed the whole time!"

"That's not the point, you-you-grr!" she exclaimed, ruthlessly smacking him with the pillow that she had been using to cover herself, not caring if her top was coming loose from her assaulting him as her eyes started to water.

"Ow! Ow! Sorry! It's not like I had a choice!"

"The next time I'll make sure to dig every last one of your embarrassing little secrets, you hear me!"

"Okay okay! Calm down Azula, we can talk about this later right? Right?"

"I suppose." she reluctantly huffed, her arms folded.

Giving her a light peck on the cheek, he held her close and replied "Let's get some sleep, we've got a big fight ahead of us."

"Fine, but I get to be the big spoon." "Sure."

Wrapping her arms around him, she snuggled up against him and sighed contentedly as Sokka pulled the blanket over them.

#fate #unlimited blade works #crossover #avatar #sokkla month #day 7 #azula would make a perfect tsundere don't @ me #sokkla

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chayacat · 3 years

Text

Devil’s Sweet Star (15)

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Ghostface x Female Reader

Rated M for Violence, Language and Smut

***

There is nothing better to keep the most precious memories and beauties of life than photos. All those moments that we want to keep forever other than in our memories, no one wants to forget them. Holidays, meetings, the first kiss, marriage, birth... Birthdays. In your family, every little moment of happiness has been photographed. And by the way most of the photos concern you. From your birth... to your degree.

Melina, at your request, had brought you your photo album, which your father had created the day he knew your mother. And it must be said that it was... unusual. And I'm not talking about the outfits of the time.

“Wow. I'm glad I didn't live at that time... A little too eccentric for me.” she said with a laugh.

“Me too... My father and mother said it was the best years of their lives. When they could do what they wanted without worrying about anything. But their clothing taste was horrible. My father kept this shirt for years, until my mother forced him to throw it away because it was too small for him.” You answer with a smile.

“in the meantime, you were a beautiful baby, a little plump but adorable.”

“I'd love to see you in a picture when you were a baby. I'm sure you weren't any better.” You replied with a laugh, Melina turning her head slightly embarrassed.

“I admit my defeat. Oh, did you get that stuffed animal for your first birthday, too? My mother had gone all the shops in the city to find her. And this plastic duck for the bath... a classic.”

You both continue to flip through the photo album while laughing at the various pictures of your father being a fool. In fact, out of 3/4 of the photos, your father is a fool. It was in his temperament, so was your mother. They had found themselves there, two people with the same joy of living. then you end up falling on a photo... very familiar. You and your parents, under the snow, posing next to the snowman and the snow castle you had made. It was a few days before Christmas. The best Christmas you've ever had.

You breathe deeply and you turn the page, spending your high school years quickly, most of your "friends" were true traitors who appreciated you just because you were the best student in the school. Then came your college years that allowed you to meet your real friends. Student nights were always in order and until proven otherwise, you never missed a single one. Even though you're not very friendly with alcohol, it was fun to see others drunk to vomit. Melina and you exchanged on your college years and if yours was pretty cool, for Melina it was hell. Essentially because she was often seduced by the worst bastards on campus. But after a few well-placed kicks, the problems were usually resolved. few came back after a blow to the crotch.

“Well, you were really popular.” you said looking at her.

“Too popular. you understand, a Mexican in my university, for guys it was the Holy Grail. Oh, she's such a beautiful picture. She's new, isn't she?” she said pointing at the last photo of the album.

This photo... your parents' wedding anniversary. You paid them the restaurant and you had the best night of your life... The last one. Tears flowed down your face one after the other, falling on the album. Melina handed you a handkerchief.

“What's happening to you? You don't feel good you want me to go and get a doctor?” She asks worried.

“No no, it’s fine. I just...i just miss them. I miss them very much, and let's say that... where they are it's hard to call them... it's a remote village.” you respond, wiping your tears.

“Oh...I see. Well, when you can take a vacation... go and see them. I'd love to meet them. And then who knows if you and Jed... Go out together, you can introduce them to their future son-in-law. I am sure they would get along.” She replied before receiving a message. “Speak of the devil... He's asking me to tell you that he's eating and that as soon as he's done, he's on his way to see you. you've become inseparable together.”

“Let's say... I don't know, from all the boys I've met... he's the only one I trust. With Mattew, of course!”

“I see. Ok! I gotta go. The hours of morning visits are almost over, I'm hungry and I'm working this afternoon. Rest well and... I can't wait for you to get out of here.”

You say goodbye to Melina with a wave of your hand before letting her go. You look at your parents' photo one last time before closing the album and placing it on the small bedside table. This album means a lot to you and for nothing in the world you wouldn't throw it away. All the best moments of your life are inside. You take a look at the bouquet of flowers that Jed gave you yesterday. Introducing him to your parents, seeing them get along, is something you wanted... but that will never happen.

“You’re mine”

These words resonate in your mind like cymbals. You don't know anything about him, but obviously he knows everything about you. At least about your life in Roseville. Maybe by getting to know him you’ll find something that will allow you to reveal to all his true face. It's a lead to exploit. It is said that curiosity is a defect but... Here your growing curiosity for Ghostface could bring it down once and for all.

Tell yourself you're playing chess with him. Every move you play, both of which will bring you closer to victory. But a bad move, a misstep, one small mistake and you'll lose the game. Except that in this case, it could be fatal to you, because it’s sure that if Ghostface understands what you are trying to do... He'll kill you for sure.

“I have to be careful. If I make a mistake, he'll stick his knife between my eyes. Or worse... he will go after all those I love. I have the lives of many people in my hands. I have to make sure they all stay alive, until he falls.” you whispered to yourself, before you breathe deep and lie down, taking advantage of the reason no one is there to take a nap. You need to rest, so you might as well do it while you're safe.

The fresh air from the beach makes your hair twirl while you watch off a couple with their child playing in the sand. This lovely family... It's yours. A smile appeared on your face, when the wind blew louder lifting clouds of sand. Soon you find yourself in a sandstorm, desperately looking for your parents. You shout their names desperately while putting your hand forward, your eyesight blurred by the sand. You hear them you call and then suddenly... There's nothing left. absolute silence. And a bloody smell floating in the air. a smell you'd like to forget. The storm rages and suddenly a hand grips you, his hand. You barely have time to see the outline of his mask as a blade crashed into your chest, piercing your heart.

You wake up startled, trying to catch your breath. It's a nightmare again. But different this time. As you gradually regained your mind, a hand landed on your shoulder that recoiled you with fear. When you look towards this hand, to find out who owns it, you suddenly feel relieved to see that it was Jed. You look at the clock and well...it was more than a nap.

“Sorry... I didn't mean to scare you. Everything's fine? You're shaking.” he said worried.

“I’m...I’m fine. Just a nightmare...That...damn Ghostface scares me even I'm far away from him. But I'm glad to see you.” You respond smiling a little at him.

You talk for about thirty of everything and nothing. Jed working from home since what happened, he doesn't really have any funny stories of the job to tell. He looked, with your permission of course, at your photo album, laughing from time to time on some embarrassing photo of you. His piercing blue eyes rose on you from time to time, and his face displayed that smile, his lips that you want to touch with yours.

“I envy you; you know. You've had parents who loved you, protected you and took care of you. I had... soulless bodies. I hope I will have the opportunity to meet them one day. With the life they've had, at least from what you've told me, I'm sure they have some fascinating stories to tell.” said Jed a little melancholic.

“I... I'm sorry, but it won't be possible. it will never happen.” you answer sadly looking at him, surprised by your response “If...if I tell you everything, I want you to promise me you won't tell anyone.”

He hesitates for a few seconds before nodding.

“I... I lied.” you start, seeing him a little confused. “Remember that man who came to the café? Mr Parkson? It’s...it’s not my banker. It happened just after my parents' wedding anniversary, 5...6 years ago. at the time I already had my own apartment and I was working as a waitress in a small restaurant. I came to see them all weekend, it was our little daily ritual. My mother made the meal and I made dessert. But that day... I've seen my life come to an end. The house was barricaded. Police prevented anyone from entering the house. And then... I've seen them. In fact, I saw the two body bags they were carrying. I collapsed. The worst part is that an hour before, I had spoken to them on the phone. In the space of an hour... I lost the two people I loved the most in the world. And I don't even know why.” you said tears beading at the corners of their eyes.

“I... I’m sorry. Really. I didn't want to make you relive such a terrible day. No one knew or saw who killed them?” said Jed holding a handkerchief.

“No. They were both stabbed. The police thought of a burglary that went wrong but... nothing had been stolen. And from memory... I don't remember them having one or more enemies. They were nice to everyone.”

“A free murder, then. Or maybe a burglary went wrong actually. But that doesn't mean they deserved to die. So, Mr Parkson is...”

“The executor of my parents' will. I asked him for time to think about it. And when he came, I asked him for another week. I am the only heiress, even if they had very good relations with my uncles and aunts. They should have their share. And yet I'm the only one. Now you know the truth. I trust you to keep this to yourself.” You said with a little smile.

“I will. I promise. I suppose... that I also have a confession to make... I lied, too.” responds Jed clasping his hands and looking elsewhere.

You're looking at Jed, surprise. Him, lying? No one is perfect but it's still hard to imagine Jed lying. But lying about what? What could be so bad for him to lie? Maybe his parents treated him even worse than he said? Maybe he just doesn't have parents? That he lived in a foster home? Which would explain why he was treated so badly...

“I... I already have girlfriends when I was younger. 2 to be more accurate. The first one we didn't go far but we stayed on good terms. The second...” He starts before looking at you, breathing deeply. “Her name was Carla. She was as small as you. Red hair, green eyes... And a natural beauty. She was different from the others. She didn't see me as a little nerd hiding in a corner, being humiliated by big morons. No, she saw me as a normal person. A lot of boys were circling her. But it was me that she had chosen. We stayed together for four years.”

“Oh... It's really adorable... You must have been a lovely couple, and you love each other very much.” you said touched to know that in the end, Jed met someone who gave him what he always needed: love.

“Yeah... we had an apartment of ours. We were happy. And one day... She became seriously ill. She rushed back to the hospital. I thought she would make it. That she would be better and that we could go home, and live as before. But the reality came back to me in my face. Even today, 5 years later, I can't turn the page. But it's not the worst.” he replied, his hands shaking.

“What happened?”

“... The doctor who took care of her let her die. He could have treated her. But he let her die. I found out about it when I found her medical records. I did research, talked to other doctors, and they all told me the same thing: there was a treatment that could have saved her. When I went back to see her doctor...” He stops for a few seconds, as if he were looking for his words. “I insulted him with all the names, and I denounced him in a newspaper article. But it didn't go any further. You have no proof Mr Olsen. They're just accusations. Nothing more. That’s what I was told. And that's how it ended. In total injustice.” He said, looking at you, his eyes filled with sadness, anger and despair.

You don’t know what to do or what to say. Why people are so... Cruel? He could treat her and he let her die! Not to worry about the opinion or reaction of those around her! It's purely outrageous. And it is men like this who take care of the dying. Without thinking, you stand up in bed, to hug Jed, which caused him to startle slightly. Deep down, you know he needs it, and that in this room, at that moment, you're the only one who can comfort him. And for nothing in the world you wouldn't want to let go. But after a while, he will have to go home.

“Everything you went through, you didn't deserve. You had the right to be loved. Life is so cruel... I wish I could have been there to support you. Whenever you needed it, I wish I was there.” you said hugging him a little more.

He did not answer. And for several minutes none of you dared to move. You made the first gesture and released him. Reluctantly, of course. You smile at him, a sincere smile, sorry, but a beautiful smile. Suddenly, without warning, he pressed his lips against yours. Soft, like silk, just like last time. But this time, it was he who took the initiative. He recoiled slightly and just as you were going to speak, a nurse opened the door, signalling the end of the visit.

“I'll pick you up tomorrow. Be ready, sleep well.” He said dropping a quick kiss on the lips before leaving.

It took you a few minutes to get your mind back, before you blushed of what had just happened. Jed kissed you. It was HE who kissed you. Not you. It was sudden, unexpected, it was... It was very nice. You would have liked to keep him with you, kiss him over and over again but unfortunately... you are not at home. The nurse gave you the care, while another brought you the evening meal: potato salad, a steak with carrots, a small cheese and a compote. It's like a school canteen meal. The evening came quickly, you know he's coming. It's only a matter of time before he...

“I'm going to think you're inviting me in, you know that?” he said, chuckling

“You're not going to tell me you'd rather go into people's homes by offense?” you respond looking at Ghostface.

“Oh? You're not insulting me tonight? No fear? What happened, did you gain courage by magic?

“Let's say that now I expect to see you every night... It's starting to become a habit. Then? Are you still playing the nice little Ghostface or are you that sadistic lunatic following me everywhere again?”

“Ha ha, we'll say both. But obviously I see you're feeling better. I can't wait to visit your apartment again every night. But I'm also here to tell you... that I'm preparing everything for that dear McKellan. You'll see when he's dead, you'll finally be in peace. Or almost.” Said Ghostface taking gently your face with one hand.

“I'll never be quiet while you're here. And there's no way I'm going to let you do that!” you said before you feel his hand tightening on your chin.

“You're really going to have to stop living in your fucking fairy tale. And you seem to forget that if you ever report me to the police... I'll kill you, or I'll kill your dear little Jed. Besides, I don't understand what you find him by the way...” he replied shrugging his shoulders, bringing his face closer to yours. “But I love women like you. Who resists me by using another man as distraction.”

You raise your hand to push him away and hit him, but you both heard steps. he finally let you go and miming you to shut up, he walked to the window and sent you a kiss before disappearing. If you wanted to know more about him, for tonight it's missed. But you know he'll come back to you.

And this time, you'll succeed. You lie down and close your eyes to sleep. And for the first time you feel soothed. Because even if this Ghostface is the devil himself... You have an angel to protect yourself.

And his name is Jed Olsen.

***

(Well, it’s done! To be honest I didn't think I'd get here, I thought I was going to get tired but finally I want to continue to the end even though I know that one day I'm going to confront this problem of the blank page ... But hey I'll cross my fingers so that it happens as late as possible! See ya!)

#dbd fanfic #dbd #dead by daylight #ghostface #danny johnson #jed olsen

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obeymeluv · 4 years

Note

Hi! May I suggested something with a little angst but fluff in the end? Where the boys see/think that the reader’s gone but somehow they’re actually alive and well. How would they react? Thank you! I’m looking forward to more of your work!

Hey there! Thanks so much for your support! I’m going to try to keep these on the shorter side because I swear I write books 🙄. I’m grateful for this prompt because I’ve been wanting to write something where the reader has a near-death experience and the boys save/find them (so it turned into more than a reaction. My b.) I just couldn’t think of what to call it ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Spoiler alert for mention of Barbatos’ powers in Lucifer’s part.

For Levi’s part: I don’t know if the Devildom has beaches or not, but let’s say they do :)

This features Lucifer, Mammon, Levi, and Beel. I don’t 100% have an idea for Satan, Asmo, and Belphegor yet. I’ll make a part 2 with them when I think of it.

Lucifer

To lose you was the biggest hit to his pride he could ever suffer. It hurt more than tearing off his wings when he fell to the Devildom. Maybe not as much as losing Lilith, but it was pretty close. He had not only failed himself, Lord Diavolo, endangered the exchange program, but the delicate mortal he and his brothers had come to love so much was gravely wounded--probably deceased--and that hurt most. In all your outings to the shopping center he never would’ve imagined someone would have an out of control pet. It had been so long since he’d seen someone with a pet down there!

It took three demons to pull it off of you (Lucifer being the last because he was stunned and trying to shield you instead of kill the damn thing). He’d seen you to the infirmary and gone as far as he was allowed. He couldn’t bear to break down in the waiting room so he took refuge in his study where a new mountain of paperwork demanded his attention: writing the accident report and telling your guardians the news.

And there he sat, just enough Demonus in him to spell and sign, while staring miserably at boxes that needed checking. He’d been trying to check ‘deceased’ for an hour (because you probably were). All his hope seemed small in the face of the blood and marrow and pink that he so vividly recalled. Lucifer took another hard swig--more of a chug--and let the bottle clank to the table with a force he wish he’d showed that damn animal. The eldest ignored the knock, and scowled, melting in his chair when you seemed to appear in the doorway.

“Come to haunt me, have you?” Lucifer slurred, looking so angry and empty.

“Would a ghost bring you coffee? I don’t think that’s a haunting.” you laughed as you set the saucer and cup on his desk.

Lucifer straightened a bit, eyes glassy with Demonus but bright with curiosity. “Impossible!” he breathed, the shock and rage burning in him like the Demonus had. There wasn’t a scratch on you and he knew where you’d been gashed and bitten and ripped open. He knew!

“Not when you have Mr. Time-Altering Butler.” you slid the coffee over to him with a smile, showing off your arms. Everything in perfect health. Melancholy Coffee and Demonus spilled over the report as he threw himself into your arms.

You were real. It was your smell. “Please forgive me.” Lucifer drew his wings around you both. “Please,” he buried a gloved hand in your hair. you simply touched his tear-stained face in response, rubbing his cheek.

Mammon

Mammon kicked the door to Diavolo’s palace open with such a fury someone might mistake him for Satan. He was in his demon form, wings caught somewhere between wanting to spread open in intimidation and pulled close to streamline his march towards the prince. Somewhere in his brain--the two percent that wasn’t pissed or sad--he thought he was an interesting sight right now. No glasses, full demon form, and walking like he was fixing to assassinate the prince. Barbatos tried to intercept him and Mammon had no qualms knocking him aside with his wings (right into an expensive-ass bust and column set up he’d tried to steal three months ago).

The noise was enough to alert Lucifer and Diavolo, who’d been in quiet council about your injuries. Mammon stomped up to the table, tossed aside the spread of papers, and slapped down Goldie. He took some half-folded contracts from his pocket and threw them down. Gold pulsed in his eyes, totally overtaking the blue gradient.

He was ready to bargain and wasn’t leaving until his greed was satisfied.

“Total obedience for the rest of my life,” he looked at Diavolo, his brows pinched with seriousness. “And Goldie so you never get another damn bill with my name on it.” Mammon slid it towards Lucifer. He swallowed the lump in his throat, cursing the ring of braided vine pressing against his thigh. Why couldn’t he just let you have jewelry from someone else? Why did he have such a fucking issue with seeing it on your finger?

Well...ripping it off turned out to be a good thing since it had been growing a vine up towards your heart. Some clever bastard child of a fairy and a vampire was slowly draining your life force through nature magic (which was harder for demons to detect), and had almost succeeded. Diavolo had made quick work of the guy but he couldn’t undo what had been done to you. “You’re the best bet they have right now, and I want in.” Mammon sagged into the table as he looked down, waiting for that contract magic to put that weight on his soul for eternity.

“I’m not interested.” Diavolo dared smile at him and Mammon didn’t stop to think about it being a playful smile. His hands went for the tie and he saw red. Diavolo stood up calmly, grappling easily with Mammon as Lucifer tried to physically separate them.

“How could you not be?!” Mammon was spitting at him. Trying to bite him and claw him. “They’re a human! It’s your pet project!” Mammon fixed his stance and started moving to pitch Diavolo over his shoulder like he’d seen Beel do when wrestling. “THEY FUCKING MATTERS!” he rolled with the prince, only to be captured in some sort of bear hug. He landed face-down on the stone floor and tried to slither out from under the prince, hissing and making all sorts of noises fit for a demon.

“Because I’m not dead? There’s no deal to be made.”

“Which I would have divulged, had you not tried to concuss me.” Barbatos went unheard behind you, dusting himself off. You were supposed to be resting in one of the palace rooms, and had somehow dodged the royal healers.

Mammon scratched his chin looking up at you as quick as he did. He could feel the tender spot and the blood starting to bead. You were pale and tired, but there you were. All safe and sound and giving him that ‘my lovely idiot’ smile he’d gotten used to. Diavolo’s weight finally left him, seeming to launch Mammon towards you. Hugging you close, nuzzling your face with his, Mammon breathed the greatest sigh of relief in his life.

“You’re alive! Holy shit!” Mammon cupped your head and continued to kiss it, steadying his heart. He’d calculated those odds of living after that much blood loss, and they were less than one! Does that make you lucky? Should you hit the casinos?

As if you could read his mind, you suggested good food instead. Lucifer refused to give Goldie back, insisting he try again at the House of Lamentation. You ordered in with what little Grimm you had saved. Mammon left your side long enough to unearth every hidden morsel Lucifer treasured in the kitchen and put it outside Beel’s door. Then it was right back to you, where he always wanted to be.

Levi

He wasn’t the most athletic of his brothers--or the handsomest--but there was something charming about the beach. It called to him. It was just like the aquarium wall of his room...sort of. Being around Asmodeus and his friends made him nervous, but sitting at home with the thought of you hanging out with Asmodeus and his friends was worse. Levi wanted to look out for you but could hardly bring himself to look at you.

You were cuter than a normie had any right to be. Almost grossly so. Levi just wanted to drown, ugh! Horns started to sprout under his hair as he envied how open and smooth Asmodeus’ friends could be when talking to you. At best, he squawked and lied or got too red to say anything coherently.

“Be a dear and take my darling Levi into the water, would you? He looks like he needs to cool off.” Asmodeus gave you a little wave and a wink. You took Levi by the hand as if it WASN’T a big fucking thing (spoiler alert: IT WAS), and led him to the water. Levi became someone else in the water; when the water touched his skin it soothed him and coaxed out his tail. It felt like a secret power-up, like he’d maxed out all his dating stats and could be suave and fast and interesting. You paddled and splashed around, played an unwinnable game of tag, and let Levi jet through the water with you on his back.

It was the craziest sensation, almost like you were skating on water! Even when he was careful and you were secure, hanging off of Levi’s back felt like holding onto a torpedo. Levi thought something bumped his tail but he brushed it off, thinking it was your legs. Suspicion grew in him, but that growth was cut short when you were ripped off his back and dragged underwater.

Ten seconds. Ten seconds AT MOST to kill that fish hybrid, but that was ten seconds traveling at crazy speed, going deeper than a human needed to, and being in teeth much stronger than your human body. He could smell the blood in the water and it made him sick. He should want to join in on the kill and take it all for himself--humans were a delicacy, after all--but that wasn’t anything CLOSE to what he was thinking right now.

Levi made sure you breached the surface first, shooting towards the shoreline as fast as he could move his tail. Someone took you from him; Levi held onto his tail as he stumbled through the sand. He vaguely remembered scooping up some clothes and his headphones as he followed Asmo to the towel you were laid on. Asmo conjured Solomon to work healing magic as one of his friends contacted emergency services to get you to the closest hospital.

Would you get taken back to RAD? Would they send you to a non-affiliated Devildom hospital? Levi cancelled the emergency call, ignored the envy hissing over the fact that he didn’t place it fast enough, and told Lucifer to stay on the phone with him as he followed behind (he might need to bring documents or something).

No way in hell was he leaving you at the mercy of demons in a non-RAD hospital! Someone might try to eat you! Centuries of raid battles and midnight releases totally prepared him to sit stock-still for hours on end. He planted himself in a waiting room chair stubbornly. Asmo joined him, trying to console him with all the things he’d left behind on the beach.

Lucifer tried to give him food but Levi refused it all. Part of him wanted to blink but he didn’t want to in case he missed a doctor. Not that someone would run by without giving an update, but they could. It felt like hours later, but you’d regained consciousness and had been patched up enough for visitors. Levi was the first in your room, practically vibrating with worry.

You took his hand, as difficult as it was in all the tubes and things, and Levi felt calm again. Just like the ocean. His little ocean. “You dumb normie,” Levi rubbed his eyes as the tears started to fall. You just squeezed his hand.

Beel

When you said you’d come to his game, Beel thought he’d be looking for you between plays. You’d been to his games a few times now, and it was always great to see you. Beelzebub felt like he played better when you showed up. It was rare he got traded out with someone when the game was on and the stakes were high, but he relished any and all chances to say hi and steal a bite of whatever you were having. He’d never seen the point of having front-row seats until then, and he was glad Satan traded his box seat access for them.

“I told you I’d be here!” you were happy as could be in your Devildom cheer uniform, waving the pomp-poms. Beel took his helmet off to really look at you, his cheeks reddening. “Surprise! Good luck!”

There was a passing thought of ‘oh man, no snack!’ but Beel couldn’t stop the dopey grin stretching across his face. Who organized this? Who CARED?! “Thanks.” Beelzebub smiled at you, slipping his helmet back on when one of his teammates told him to. His brain was somewhere between ‘do good because they’re watching!’ and being distracted.

It was clear the Devildom girls were doing super easy cheers and trying to give you a heads up for the next one. You looked so cute throwing your pom-poms and yelling for them! Beel got lectured way more than he usually did, but he ran like the tank he was. He’d steal glances at you, watch you point at the ball, and put his brain back on track. By halftime they had a ten-point lead and the coach was adamant on making it bigger.

It didn’t get any bigger. The game came to a grinding halt when someone on the enemy team tried to intercept the ball. They crashed into the Devildom cheerleaders and Beel’s stomach dropped. You didn’t have demon reflexes and were most likely to be hit. It was bad enough for a normal demon to hit you, but one that had weight training and strength training?!

Beel ripped off his helmet and resisted the urge to pitch the demon as far as he could. Did he do it on purpose? He wouldn’t, right?! Beel grabbed him by the cleat and dragged him off. The girls were doing what they could to pull you out from under him but were obviously afraid to handle you.

Demon strength was different from human strength. More deadly.

Beelzebub wanted to vomit. You looked...you looked bad. Dented. Bruised. Broken. He could hear the blood in your mouth and didn’t know if he should pick you up or leave you on the ground. He crawled over to you, tearing up grass under his hands and somehow not kneeing you in the face as he moved to hold the hand that looked okay. Your brain hadn’t totally processed everything.

He wondered if your body knew how much pain it should be in.

Medics rushed onto the field and Beel followed them out. Beelzebub gave an aggravated groan when Satan tried to clothesline him, standing still to let his older brother spin to his side. He didn’t realize that it looked like he was going for the player who hurt you until he tuned into Satan rationalizing--pleading--with him. Tucking Satan under his arm, Beelzebub barrelled towards the medics and into the ambulance. You were rushed into surgery and Beelzebub was rushed into the cafeteria before he could stress eat anymore chairs.

Part of him didn’t want to eat (and was surprised he could) but a bigger part of his brain convinced him that eating would mean things were okay. Normal. That means you’d be okay, too, because you usually were. Belphie and Satan sat with him as he ate, his appetite coming and going.

He couldn’t spend the night and when they wouldn’t let him see you the next morning, he was sure you were dead. Beelzebub grilled Lucifer for answers he couldn’t give. Your hospital team wouldn’t talk to him unless he was Lord Diavolo. Asmo’s sources swore you were alive but Beel refused to believe it unless he could see you. His appetite had dwindled to almost nothing, Beel sulking in his room.

His brothers tried to coax him out but nothing worked. The only thing that could pull him out was your pact mark, the energy tugging weakly at him. You beckoned him and he was more than happy to answer. Beelzebub appeared in your hospital room in a flash of light and smoke, giddy beyond belief. Tears and joy shriveled at the sight of you all bandaged, some parts thick with casts and suspended by special machines.

You looked like you’d been sleeping sitting up. Maybe you had to because of your ribs.

Beelzebub cautiously approached your bedside. He started to ask if you’d summoned him since you couldn’t work your D.D.D, but you interrupted him and he let you. Hearing your voice after two days was amazing! “Can you go get me some real food? The stuff here is terrible...”

“Anything and everything.” Beelzebub kissed your forehead after a laugh that woke his stomach up. Even if the nurses stopped him, he’d probably be able to sneak at least ONE thing into your room. He was a master at hoarding food, after all.

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