#Source || crimson-sun

[astrophileous]

Every Single Day

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Synopsis: When his daughter demands him to tell the story of how the two of you met, Spencer can't help but oblige.

Warning(s): dad spencer🥰, established relationship (eventually), parent-child relationships, alcohol consumption, brief interaction with a douchebag, made-up astronomy facts, made-up places, idk if there's any cursing but I'll throw it in here to be safe, implications of sex and nsfw themes (minors be advised), pregnancy, mentions of illness, mentions and/or implications of character death, topics of loss and grief, angst and fluff because I love the best of both worlds👍 (pls lmk if I missed anything)

Word Count: 7700-ish

Author's Note: hi 👋 I'm back again with another dad!spencer fic bc apparently I'm a sucker for him. I got a lil carried away with this one lol but anyways, I'm also writing this for the meet cute challenge hosted by the amazing and talented @imagining-in-the-margins so pls go head to her profile and show some love cause she's a peach ❤️ don't forget to leave a LIKE+COMMENT+REBLOG

Criminal Minds Masterlist

The air smelled of freshly brewed coffee. Against the wind, shades of crimson and orange swayed on the trees. Fallen leaves crunched underneath his feet to the cadence of his leisured steps.

Two deep breaths, in and out. Spencer Reid greeted autumn with the deep longing of an old friend.

Next to him walked a source of light bigger than the sun, jumping and bouncing excitedly on the sidewalk. Her tiny fingers emitted warmth inside of his hand. There was a skip to her step that reminded him of the innocence he had long lost. The innocence she now possessed.

Spencer loved this little girl beyond everything he had ever known.

"Puddle, Dee."

The tiny bundle of joy jumped to escape the small pool of water, grinning up at her father, who then began ruffling her hair until she evaded his onslaught with a shriek.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Pumpkin?"

"You never told me how you met Mommy."

Spencer glanced down at the 6-year-old, dressed gorgeously in her favorite floral dress, complete with a sweater that had entailed a hearty discussion about humans' perception of cold. It was only after he bribed her with the promise of a chocolate cupcake from Wakey Bakey did Spencer finally convince her to wear the woolen piece of clothing.

His daughter stared at him with a radiant smile peeking out behind a curtain of hair. A smile which Spencer always argued had belonged to you, even though the rest of Diana Aurora Reid was the splitting image of her beloved father.

"Surely I've told you before, Dee."

"Nuh-uh."

"Of course I have."

"No, Daddy. You haven't."

"Pumpkin, you know I don't forget stuff ever," Spencer said, looking at the little girl who was swaying along to the rhythm of her footsteps. "I used to tell you that story all the time. Back when you were still a baby."

Just as predicted, Diana let out a dramatic gasp as if Spencer had uttered the most offensive thing known to mankind; like claiming the earth was actually flat, for example. Spencer couldn't contain his grin upon seeing her reaction.

"But Daddy, that was so long ago!"

"Do you not remember, Dee?"

Diana shook her head.

"Fine. But Mommy must've told you the story already, right?"

"She has, but--"

"But?"

"But I wanna hear it from you."

Little Diana knew that her father could never resist her puppy dog eyes, especially garnished with that adorable pout on top. Once upon a time, you declared it sickeningly cute and annoying whenever Spencer would pull the same trick on you. When Dee started doing the same to him, you had simply laughed and kissed his cheek, letting him get a sweet taste of his own medicine.

Spencer smiled at the young girl next to him, squeezing her nose and relishing in the gleeful squeal that echoed from her chest.

"What do you wanna hear, Pumpkin?"

Diana held her chin, seemingly deep in contemplation before deciding, "Everything, Dad! I wanna hear it from the start."

"The start, huh?" Spencer hummed thoughtfully, his mind already reeling back to the first moment he ever laid eyes on you.

The story began on yet another ordinary Friday night.

Luck was on the BAU's side when the team managed to wrap the case they had been working all week just before Friday afternoon. By the time the sun was setting, their jet was already high up in the sky, en route from the state of Delaware to Quantico, Virginia. Spencer was looking forward to going home at a reasonable hour for once--maybe catching up on the four reading materials he had promptly pushed aside after his team was called to Delaware to work on the latest case--but that plan dissipated when Derek Morgan suddenly appeared by his side.

"Drinks. Tonight. Everyone's coming, and I'm not taking no for an answer," Derek said before dragging a reluctant Spencer away with him, ignoring the protests that the younger man kept grumbling under his breath all the way to the team's favorite bar.

Spencer just hadn't known it yet, but later down the road, he would spend the rest of eternity thanking Derek Morgan for dragging him along that night.

The Friday night crowd at Shaw's was borderline brutal, but fortunately for the team, a booth in the corner became vacant the moment they stepped into the threshold.

Two hours later, Spencer's fellow teammates weren't even close to calling it a night. The last chorus of "I Wanna Dance with Somebody" by Whitney Houston had just finished blasting from the speakers when Derek sauntered back to the booth, twirling a flushed Penelope Garcia in front of him. Spencer slipped out of the booth to allow them in--preferring to stay on the most outer seat instead of crammed between his tipsy friends' bodies--before sitting down once more.

"Hey, Genius," Penelope called, waving her empty beer glass in front of Spencer's face. "Be a darling and get me a refill, will you?"

"Garcia--" Spencer quickly snatched the glass from her hand before she could send it smashing against someone's head, "--are you sure you want a refill?"

Penelope scrunched her nose. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I think you're plenty drunk already."

"I'm not that drunk," Penelope denied, giggling when an unexpected hiccup interrupted her slurred words. "Derek, tell the beautiful Doctor I'm not that drunk."

"She's not that drunk, Reid." Derek grinned. "While you're at it..."

Spencer could only sigh when Derek slid his own empty glass across the table.

It was past 10 o'clock at night, and the crowd of people in the establishment seemed to have doubled in the couple of hours that the team had been there. Spencer had to squeeze himself through the ocean of patrons flooding the bar, barely able to move his limbs without other people's arms or elbows bumping against his ribcage.

Spencer was waiting for the bartender to complete his order when he happened to glance towards his right, catching sight of the concealed panic that triggered every profiler bone in his body.

Any other person would have taken one look at your face and presumed that everything was alright, but Spencer knew better. He recognized the frantic movement of your eyes, the tight press of your lips, and the impatient knocking of your fingertips on the counter. He only caught the tail end of your voice before discreetly listening to what the man you were talking to had to say.

"--so, unfortunately, I can't."

"I told you, Baby. My Veyron runs at over 260 miles per hour. We can go to Red Clover Hill and get you back home safely by twelve. It's simple math," the guy slurred smugly.

"Actually, that's not true."

The drunken man turned around at Spencer's interruption.

"Excuse me?"

"The Red Clover Hill State Park is approximately 229 miles away from here. Though theoretically, you could drive your Veyron at its maximum velocity, which is around 268 miles per hour, it's very unlikely you'll be able to maintain that speed for the entirety of the ride, considering the terrain you would have to go through between here and there. The fastest you can probably get to the park is in 60 minutes, give or take, and that's being generous. You would have to drive back to D.C. as soon as you arrive at the park if you wish to be back by twelve. It's just realistically impossible."

The man in front of him couldn't be less impressed by Spencer's lengthy rant.

"And who the hell are you?" the drunken guy said, pinning Spencer with a stare that was clearly supposed to be intimidating.

Spencer didn't even flinch. "No one. Just a guy who happens to know a lot about... simple math."

Your loud cough tore Spencer's attention away from the drunk man and towards you, who looked ready to burst from the laughter you were holding underneath. Even under the terrible lighting of the bar, Spencer could still pinpoint the hint of unspoken amusement glimmering inside your eyes.

"Sorry, Bill," you said to the man. "I really do need to be back home by twelve tonight. Maybe some other time?"

Bill didn't need to be told twice. He received the message loud and clear.

Spencer watched the other man scurry away, tail between his legs, before your charming smile enraptured him once more.

"Thank you for that. I was beginning to think he might never leave."

"Happy to help." Spencer smiled thinly, scratching the back of his neck even though the spot wasn't itchy. "What did, uh, why did he want to take you to Red Clover Hill, of all places?"

"Oh. That was... partially my fault." You grinned innocently. "I didn't know he was gonna be an insufferable drunk when he came over, and I was in the middle of watching this."

You pulled out a silver tablet from your lap. Spencer took a peek at the screen, seeing what looked like a live feed of the night sky--over North Carolina, judging by the visible constellations on the vast scene--stamped with the day's date at the bottom of the footage.

"You're watching the Roux-Nell?" Spencer deduced after gathering the facts: the live feed of North Carolina sky, the mention of Red Clover Hill State Park that harbored one of the highest grounds in North Carolina, including a collection of some of the most sophisticated telescopes in the country; you must have been planning to view that night's sighting of the Roux-Nell comet, its first time since the last one in 1927, and only its third one in history.

"Yes! How did you... don't tell me. You're an avid astronomy fan, too?"

Spencer's responding smile only made you beam even brighter.

"Anyway, that guy earlier, Bill, he approached me and asked what I was watching. So, I started talking about the Roux-Nell and about how I wish I was at Red Clover Hill right now since everyone keeps saying it's one of the best spots to view tonight's sighting. I thought he was genuinely interested until he started talking about his Veyron this, his Veyron that. I didn't even realize until a whole five minutes later that he was talking about his car!"

When you finally finished explaining, your eyes locked with Spencer's hazel ones before you seemed to cower shyly.

"Sorry. I can get a little excited when I'm talking sometimes."

"No! Don't be, it was--" Spencer stopped himself before he could complete his sentence.

What was he about to say?

Insightful? Entertaining?

Endearing?

Eventually, Spencer opted to settle for something safe and simple. "I get that way too, sometimes. A lot of the times, actually. So you don't have to apologize."

The fire flickered back inside your gaze following Spencer's admission. It burned brilliantly beneath the kindness you radiated, forged by the sharp intelligence he could see shining out of your eyes.

"So--" Spencer cleared his throat, attempting to shift the conversation in order to distract his racing mind, "--why did you tell him you needed to be back home by twelve?"

"Oh, that? I told him I'm donating blood tomorrow morning, so I need to at least get seven hours of sleep for the night."

"That's a clever lie."

You tilted your head slightly at his statement. "What makes you think it's a lie?"

"Because you're here. Nobody drinks alcohol before they're supposed to donate blood."

Your eyes flashed with surprise. "Not bad, Mister. You're very perceptive."

Spencer shrugged, trying not to appear too flustered by your casual compliment. "It's what I do."

You raised an inquisitive eyebrow at his reply.

"I'm a profiler."

"Profiler?"

"With the FBI."

"FBI, huh?" You hummed, something akin to intrigue swirling in your eyes. "So, you study criminals? Trying to decipher their way of thinking, why they do what they do. Dissect their past history for any related trauma, maybe even pinpoint a psychological stressor that could trigger a criminal behavior, that kind of stuff?"

Upon hearing your response, it was Spencer's turn to be intrigued. "Exactly that kind of stuff. How did you...?"

Grinning sheepishly, you pulled a professional badge out of your pocket, holding it up in front of Spencer so he could see the emblem covering its surface.

"Edgewater Psychology Center," Spencer read the words aloud, understanding dawning on him as he found your eyes once more. "You're a psychologist."

"Guilty as charged."

Spencer couldn't fight off his amused smile. "That explains it, then."

"You know," you began, leaning further against the bar counter to shorten the distance between you and Spencer, "I've never met a profiler in person before. Most of my colleagues, they have consulted on a federal case at least once in the past few years, but the bureau hasn't yet contacted me so far."

"Really?" Spencer took a step forward, closing the distance by a mere inch. "Sounds like a big loss for us. We're idiots."

You bit down on your bottom lip to suppress a smile, your gaze flicking between Spencer's own lips and eyes. For the shortest of minutes, nothing else existed in Spencer's world but you; your smile, your scent, and your kind eyes. You were a magnet carved out of his wildest dreams, and Spencer, well, he might as well have been made out of the purest of irons.

But before Spencer could get lost deeper in your relentless gaze, a shout of his name slashed through the air from across the bar. Back at the booth, Derek was waving his hand frantically in the air, stopping only when Spencer signaled him to sit back down and that he was returning in a minute.

"I have to go." He smiled tentatively, apologetically.

"Oh?"

Spencer tried not to revel too much over the small dip of disappointment at the edge of your voice.

"My friends. They, uh--"

"Oh, no, it's alright. You don't have to explain," you told him gently. "See you around, Mr. Profiler. Hope you have a great night."

With that said, you went back to watching the live feed on your tablet while Spencer, begrudgingly, trudged across the room with two refilled beer glasses in his hands, back to where his friends--minus Rossi and Hotch who were conversing among themselves at one of the standing tables--were waiting.

"Finally," Derek groaned once Spencer slammed the glasses down on the table.

"Who was that?" Emily asked as he slipped into the booth.

"Huh?" Spencer followed Emily's gaze, finding you perched up at the very end of it. "No one."

"No one?" Emily's eyebrows rose. "She didn't seem like no one from where I was sitting."

Spencer took an insanely large sip of his leftover beer.

"Holy shit, you like her, " Derek muttered. "He likes her. Pretty boy's got a crush."

"No, I don't."

"Yeah? Tell that to those red cheeks of yours." JJ chuckled.

Instinctively, Spencer touched his own cheeks as if he could physically feel the change of colors on his skin.

"I'm just tipsy," he tried to reason.

A collective scoff reverberated through the entire booth.

"What's her name, Spence?" JJ asked.

When a full minute ticked by without so much as a grunt of acknowledgment from Spencer, Penelope reached out and slapped the man right across his shoulder.

"Ow!"

"You didn't ask for her name?!" Penelope exclaimed.

"It didn't come up!"

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say, Reid," Emily noted before sipping her margarita.

"Nope. I'm not having this. Not tonight. Look at me, Sunshine." Penelope grabbed Spencer's face in her hands, forcing him to stare directly into her glasses-rimmed eyes. "I'm not letting you spend the rest of the night like this. You will get your cute little tushy out there and talk to that girl. You will get her name and also her number, maybe even ask the nice pretty lady out while you're at it. Now, have I made myself clear?"

Spencer barely managed to swallow his nerves before he offered Penelope two tiny nods.

"Good. I don't wanna see your face back here if you're not at least pocketing her phone number. Now shoo."

Penelope sent Spencer flying across the bar with a dramatic stumble. By the time he reached your side, Spencer was nothing less than a stuttering mess and a thundering heart.

"Hi," Spencer breathed out once he found your welcoming eyes.

"Um, hi?"

"I'm Spencer."

"Okay... Spencer?"

"Reid. Spencer Reid." He cleared his throat. "Sorry, it's just... I realized while I was sitting over there--well, my friends actually made me realize--that I, uh, never got your name. Which, you know, of course I never got it because I didn't ask. So, I was coming here, wondering if maybe you'd like to give it... to me?"

You blinked once. Twice.

By the third blink, Spencer wished the earth would open up and devour him whole.

"You want my name?"

Spencer nodded.

"What are you planning to do with it?"

"Call you?" At your bemused expression, Spencer quickly elaborated, "Not call like call. I meant referring. Yep. That's it. Although, maybe if you want to, I would love to call you as well. Sometime. And perhaps, you know, ask you out... on a date?"

Spencer swallowed the lump of nervousness in his throat. In front of him, you were pretty, even with the conspicuous scrutiny in your eyes as they assessed Spencer as if he was some sort of an enigma. Embarrassment burned hotter through his veins with every second that passed by. He was merely two exhales of breath away from dashing out of the door when you finally spoke up.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

Smiling, you produced an old receipt seemingly out of thin air and asked the bartender to lend you a pen, scribbling something down as soon as you had it between your fingers. When the tiny piece of paper emigrated to Spencer's hand, the Cheshire cat in him jumped out once he noticed the ten digit numbers written neatly underneath a name he could only assume as yours.

"Will that be enough, Spencer Reid?"

"For now," Spencer replied before grabbing his wallet and shoving the paper containing your name inside. "I'll call you."

"You better."

After Spencer's departure, you returned your attention back to the tablet in front of you. Barely five minutes later, though, your serene watching session was once again interrupted. Only this time, it was by the ringing of your phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi, this is Spencer."*

Surprised, you swiveled your head left and right, stopping once you spotted Spencer standing on the other side of the room. His eyes were trained towards you, and behind him, a booth of four people seemed to have directed their attention at you as well.

"Spencer?"

"I know this is very untoward," he began, "but would you like to go out with me?"

"Boy, you certainly don't waste any time at all, do you?"

"I believe it's called being efficient," he countered, making you laugh. "So, what do you say?"

"Sure," you answered, enjoying the way Spencer beam at you from across the room. "I would love to, Spencer."

A breeze blew gently against Spencer's face, caressing the tendrils of curly hair that had fallen over his forehead. Diana's little fingers started to grip his tighter as the wind strengthened.

"Did you take Mommy on that date, Daddy?"

"Of course," Spencer replied, reminiscing the exact day when he had picked you up in your apartment, sweat glistening on his palm as he clutched the bouquet of flowers in his right hand. "We went to see a Mark Rothko exhibition at the National Gallery of Art, and before I took her home, we stopped by Wakey Bakey to buy some lemon tarts."

Diana gasped. "Wakey Bakey?!"

The little girl's reaction compelled a chuckle from Spencer's chest. "Yes, Pumpkin. Wakey Bakey."

"What happened after that, Daddy?"

"What do you think happened after that, Dee?"

"Um--" Diana pursed her lips, deeply lost in thought, "--did you become girlfriend and boyfriend?"

"Yes, we did."

"And you got married?!"

Spencer laughed at Diana's apparent excitement over the prospect of her parents getting married. "We did, yeah, eventually. After I proposed to her."

"Oh! Oh! The proposal!" Diana exclaimed, jumping up and down in the middle of the sidewalk without a care in the world. Spencer had to tug her back towards him before she could harm herself or the other pedestrians. "Tell me! Tell me! Tell me about the proposal, Daddy!"

"You wanna hear the story about how I proposed to your mother?"

"Yes, please!"

Chuckling to himself, Spencer mumbled a quick fine before his gears had started turning towards a specific memory in his mind. Spencer was sure, even without his eidetic ability, there was no way he could have ever forgotten about the day in question.

The day you agreed to have him as your forever.

Spencer had fallen in love with you during the first date, right around the time of yet another one of his animated ramblings, where instead of shaming him to shut the hell up, you had simply stared at him in awe and said, "You're pretty when you talk."

The young agent was sure he couldn't get rid of the blush adorning his cheeks for at least an entire week.

By the time the fifth date rolled around, Spencer was absolutely certain that you were the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. It wasn't a surprise, then, that a few weeks before your first anniversary came up, Spencer had pocketed a diamond ring with a promise of forever on the tip of his tongue.

Combing the courage to take this historical leap was easy. Difficult was trying to conjure up the perfect proposal plan that he would deem worthy enough for someone like you. There were no rooms for mistakes. Spencer wanted everything to be perfect because he believed you deserved nothing less.

Which was why, in moments of desperation, Spencer ended up turning to his fellow teammates in the FBI for help.

"I don't know if I'm the right person to ask about this, Spence. Will only ever proposed to me after finding out about Henry, and we only got married after I thought he was gonna die on the field," JJ explained. "It was never the most ideal of situations, but I would never change a thing even if I could."

Unsatisfied with JJ's answer, Spencer proceeded to find the BAU's tech genius in her bat cave.

"Go big or go home, my friend," Penelope said following a 10-minute hysteria she erupted into upon learning about Spencer's intent to propose. "Splash out on the bottle. Don't hold back on the grandeur. Spend all of your savings if you have to."

"Garcia--"

"Fine, maybe not all of your savings. You should leave some for the wedding."

Spencer spent weeks mulling over Penelope's advice.

Working as an FBI agent didn't pay as well as most people thought it would, and Spencer's tendency to collect first edition books wasn't exactly an affordable hobby. It meant that as much as Spencer wanted a proposal filled with the greatest grandeur--just as Penelope had suggested--he didn't have a fat enough balance in his bank account to make his ideal proposal concept a reality.

And Spencer probably would have spent the limited fund in his savings down to its very last cent, had it not been for Derek catching him browsing through the internet for the cost of a hot air balloon ride.

"I just want to give her the perfect proposal," Spencer admitted after he finished revealing everything.

"Kid, it doesn't matter," Derek said. "Don't you see? She doesn't care about hot air balloons or any kind of grandeur. She only cares about you. There's no such thing as a perfect proposal. You're just using it as an excuse to put off asking her 'cause you're scared of what she's gonna say. But you don't need to. You two are so devastatingly in love, it's disgusting."

In the end, grandeur wasn't even present in the room when Spencer decided to pop the question.

On that particular night, Spencer arrived in his apartment just a few minutes before midnight. His aching muscles were calling for sleep as he toed his shoes off, but his footsteps soon ceased when he caught sight of his dimly lit living room.

You were fast asleep on the couch, face illuminated by the television light. Spencer's movements were careful as he knelt in front of you, studying the soft and hard edges of your features like historians would an ancient scripture. He couldn't help it when his fingers reached out on their own accord, brushing the softest of touches against the high point of your cheekbone. Inside its cage, Spencer's heart started to stir.

You were so beautiful.

Even after one year of being together, Spencer was often still taken back by how lovely you were. He adored every detail of your being, most fervently the scars that littered your skin in a constellation of stars. All of the places in your body where your scrutiny had wandered in a fleet of insecurity were the same places that Spencer wanted to worship for the rest of his life. In his eyes, you were eternally magnificent, and this thought clouded Spencer's mind as he went to shake your shoulder gently.

"Spencer?" Your groggy voice sounded meek in the comfort of Spencer's apartment, the same one he had been sharing with you since you moved in three months prior. Your lips tilted with the tiniest hint of a smile at the sight of him, and Spencer thought he would melt when your fingers instinctively reached for his face. "You're back."

"I'm back," he confirmed, leaving a trail of kisses on your palm. "Why aren't you in bed, my love?"

"I was waiting for you," you admitted. "I have something to say."

"Really? Me too."

"Hm?" Curiosity flared in the center of your eyes. "You first."

Smiling, Spencer leaned down to steal a quick kiss before saying, "Marry me."

Your breath hitched.

After a few seconds of silence, your nervous laughter filled his ears. "Right. That's a nice one, Spencer. Very funny."

"I'm not joking, sweetheart."

Spencer reached into the inside pocket of his satchel, pulling out the velvet box that had weighed down his bag by several grams for the past few weeks. Any remnant of sleep you still had in your eyes was instantly washed away the moment he opened the box to reveal a pretty ring sitting inside.

"I've had this for a while now," Spencer admitted. "I kept putting off asking you because I believed I wanted everything to be perfect, until Derek knocked some sense into my head and made me realize that I was just afraid of taking the leap. He's right, as always, but don't tell him I said that."

Spencer paused at your teary laugh, relishing in the melodic sound that made his heart nearly burst in two. "My love, I don't need the perfect proposal when you're the promise of a perfect life. Any life with you is the one I want to live for the rest of my time, and I want to start living that life from this point onward. What do you say, sweetheart? Will you marry me?"

Spencer never thought the word yes could sound so incredibly spectacular.

The celebration had started right away, commemorated by the shedding of clothes from each other's bodies, finalized by panting breaths and entangled limbs beneath rumpled sheets. You lay on the bed with your palm on Spencer's chest, his own hand tracing invisible patterns on the vast canvass of your skin.

Spencer watched as you stared at the ring circling your finger. "Do you like it? We can exchange it for a new one if--"

"Spencer Reid, don't you dare."

"Apologies, ma'am." He grinned, continuing the random patterns he was drawing on your skin before he spoke again, "By the way, you said you also have something to tell me."

You looked up at him with a blinding smile before scooting out of Spencer's arm and reaching for the nightstand. When Spencer saw what you had rummaged out of the bedside drawer, Spencer thought his heart had forgotten how to beat.

"Is that--"

"Surprise," you murmured giddily, handing over the object in your hand into Spencer's awaiting palm. "I found out yesterday, but I wanted to tell you in person."

Spencer sat up on the bed, staring with disbelief at the small item in his hand. He only realized he had started to cry when a drop of tears fell down, blurring the two tiny pink lines in his vision.

"This is... you're..."

"I'm pregnant, Spencer," you professed.

Just an hour earlier, Spencer thought the word yes was the best thing he could ever hear falling from your mouth. But as he held you in his arms, his lips catching yours once more in a heated kiss, Spencer realized that you had many more surprising admissions waiting to be said out loud.

And Spencer couldn't wait to spend the rest of his life listening to every single one of them.

"Daddy, are you saying I was already in Mommy's belly when you proposed to her?"

"Yes, you were, Pumpkin," Spencer said, smiling at the blatant curiosity in Little Dee's eyes. "You were a surprise we didn't see coming."

Diana's responding smile was a picture of satisfaction. The father-daughter pair continued to walk down the street until Dee's voice tore through the silence once again, "Daddy?"

"Hm?"

"I thought you said a man and a woman can only make babies after they're married."

Spencer's footsteps halted on the pavement.

The silence must have stretched for only a partial of a minute, but the expectant stare Dee was nailing against his face, along with the internal panic that had short-circuited Spencer's brain made it seem as if the world had skidded into a standstill. Frantic eyes darted everywhere for a chance at rectification, and Spencer couldn't stop the words from tumbling off his lips when he saw the worn-down sign of a florist up ahead.

"Dee, would you like to buy some flowers for Mommy?"

The little girl squealed an excited yes before skipping the few steps left towards the flower shop. Spencer let out a relieved breath at having narrowly escaped such a harrowing crisis.

Once Spencer stepped into the shop, a multitude of fragrances immediately enveloped his surroundings. Diana was lingering back and forth around the vibrant displays when Spencer approached, her tiny eyebrows frowning in the most adorable way as she assessed the rows of flowers in front of her.

"Have you decided yet, Pumpkin?"

"Can we get some of Mommy's favorites, Dad?" Diana requested, pointing her tiny finger at the display of flowers she knew to be your favorites. "And then we can add some of these daisies, too!"

Spencer couldn't fight the smile blossoming on his face as he asked the florist to assemble a bouquet made out of daisies--Dee's favorite type of flowers, the same one printed all over the dress she was wearing--along with your favorite flowers in the center. Diana stared in awe at the deft work administered by the florist, her mouth forming an "O" once the bouquet was wrapped and ready to go.

"Do you think Mommy will like them, Daddy?"

"I know she will, Pumpkin," Spencer answered earnestly, his memory replaying that first time he had come home bringing the same arrangement of flowers in his hand.

Spencer came home to the apartment in utter disarray, and yet, it still was the best view that he had ever witnessed in his entire life.

Ever since his office was transformed into a nursery, the books he previously kept in there had to be relocated to the living area. Most of them had gone by now--some donated, and some others sold at second-hand bookstores--but piles of them still littered in various corners of the room.

Apart from his mountainous collection of books, small trinkets also covered every available surface of the place. From the empty nursing bottles in the kitchen sink to the breast pump on the counter, and the tiny socks on the coffee table to the pacifier jammed between the sofa cushions; every single one of them contributed to the mess that his apartment had become. Yet as he paused to inspect every inch of the place, Spencer couldn't find any other emotion besides warmth flooding his chest.

Muffled footsteps padded towards the living room before you appeared from the hallway with a freshly bathed Diana in your arms. As soon as your eyes locked with his, the crease between your eyebrows automatically vanished.

"You're home."

"I'm home." Spencer grinned before welcoming you into his embrace.

He stole a quick kiss from your lips before bending down to smother a 7-month-old Diana who yelped in glee when Spencer began attacking her with kisses all over her face.

"She's been fussy since yesterday," you told him. "I think she missed you."

"Did you, baby? Did you miss Daddy?" Spencer cooed. "I can take her for a few while you rest. You look tired. Are you feeling okay?"

"Gee, Spence. What a way to a girl's heart."

"You know what I meant, sweetheart."

"It's fine, Spencer. I just got a headache, but it's all better now that you're here."

Spencer smiled as he kissed your free knuckles. "If it's any consolation, you're still the most heavenly creature that I've ever laid eyes upon."

A sneaky laughter rumbled past your chest. "Fine. I'll let you go just this once," you said before letting Spencer take a yawning Diana into his arms.

As Spencer carried Dee towards the couch, you noticed a bouquet of flowers lying next to the kitchen sink in the corner of your eye. You glanced at the young genius with a discreet smile before aptly transferring the flowers into a vase.

"These are pretty," you commented, joining your family in the living room. You put the vase in the middle of the coffee table amidst the books and various baby clutters before dropping yourself against Spencer's side.

"They're your favorites."

"I know. As usual." You smiled affectionately. "And daisies. You've never bought me daisies before."

Spencer's eyes gleamed. "I bought the daisies for Dee."

"Oh?"

"I think daisies are gonna be her favorite."

"You do, huh?"

"One hundred percent."

Spencer's eyes looked up from Diana to you then, whose own gaze had been kept intently on your husband and daughter. Darkness embellished the area underneath your eyes, and Spencer couldn't help but count the lines of fatigue that seemed to have multiplied on the contours of your face. Even then, Spencer thought you had never looked more stunning than you did at that moment; as his wife, the mother of his child, and the woman who owned the sole reign of his heart.

Confusion wandered into your eyes when you noticed Spencer's stubborn stare. A surprised squawk escaped your lips as Spencer unexpectedly captured them in a rather long kiss. When he pulled back, Spencer looked the very image of a man who was drunk on love.

"I love you. You know that, right?" Spencer confessed as he squeezed your hand twice in his palm.

"Spencer, what's going on with you?"

"Nothing. I just--" he paused for a chuckle, seemingly trying to find the right words to say before he could continue, "--I owe my life to you, sweetheart. For all of the times you have pulled me out of the darkness, to the light you've brought into my life. You and Dee are the reason I keep on breathing. Without the two of you, I'm nothing."

"Spencer," you breathed out. "Where did all of this come from?"

"I don't know." He shook his head. "I just wanted you to know how grateful I am to have you in my life and that you've brought Dee into ours. Everything worth fighting for about me is because of you."

The telltale signs of tears began to cast a shadow over your eyes. You pressed your hand to Spencer's cheek, feeling the rugged sensation of his newly shaved stubble stroking your skin. Spencer melted into the warmth of your touch.

"You're giving me far too much credit here, Spencer," you whispered. "Everything you are has always been your own doing rather than mine. All I ever did was cheer you on from the sideline. You would still have become the person that you are today even if I weren't in your life."

Spencer physically shuddered at your last statement. "Don't say that. I can't even begin to imagine a life without you in it."

"Well, even if such day does come, when I won't be a part of your life anymore, I know you're gonna be just fine. Because you'll have Dee with you--" you stroked Diana's head lovingly, "--and I know that the two of you will give each other enough love and strength that you won't even notice I'm not around anymore."

The frown on Spencer's face deepened.

"You're not allowed to leave me. Ever," Spencer decided childishly.

"Fine. I won't. But you have to remember--" you brought your palm towards Spencer's chest, feeling each rhythmic thrum of his heart which seemed to flutter ever so slightly underneath your fingers, "--I'll be right here if you need me. Always."

Spencer's own hand landed on top of your hand, entwining your fingers together without ever tearing his fierce gaze away from yours.

"Always."

The sun was shining down in flimsy rays when Spencer and Dee finally walked past the familiar gate. Glimmers of gold sneaked past the reddish leaves on branches before falling upon the ground.

Next to him, Diana was humming a melody that Spencer recognized from one of your specially curated playlists. Her little hands struggled to carry the gigantic bouquet that she couldn't wait to present to you. It didn't matter that the bouquet itself was nearly as tall as she was, Diana still refused to let Spencer assist her.

"I wanna give Mommy the flowers myself," she had told Spencer in a manner that reminded him too much of your own stubbornness.

After a couple more minutes of walking, Spencer's reverie was soon broken by the excited squeal coming from the little girl beside him.

"Mommy! Mommy!"

Diana dashed into a sprint before words of warning could fall from Spencer's lips. He watched intensely as Diana's little feet moved upon the ocean of fallen leaves on the ground. Her tight grip around the bouquet never wavered even when she ran up the grassed hill, all the way towards the destination in her mind.

All the way towards the headstone with your name written on it.

When Spencer finally got there, Diana was kneeling next to your grave with panting breaths, but the smile stretched on her lips was the biggest one that Spencer had ever seen.

"Hi, Mommy. I'm back with Daddy," Diana announced. "Daddy, go say hi to Mommy."

"Hello, my love." Spencer smiled before taking a seat next to his daughter.

"We brought flowers, Mommy! They're your favorites. I added daisies to make them prettier." Diana beamed before putting the bouquet against your headstone. "You're not gonna believe what happened in class yesterday!"

As Diana animatedly began to recount the funny incident in her classroom--somehow involving a boy named Patrick and a cup of slushie--Spencer watched over her with a permanent smile on his lips. The little girl loved to talk--a trait she obviously acquired from both of her parents--and Spencer knew just how much you used to adore listening to Dee's rambling at any time of day.

It must have been at least ten minutes later when Diana's story eventually whirled to an end. Her attention instantly shifted to the family who was paying their own respect just two headstones over, a small squeak of puppy tumbled from Dee's lips before she dashed towards the boy with a golden retriever pup beside his legs.

Spencer shook his head affectionately at his daughter's antics.

"I know we were just here a couple of weeks ago, but Dee wanted to tell you about the slushie incident herself," he said. "And, well, I can never deny the chance to visit you, love."

A loud laughter boomed a few feet away. Spencer watched as Diana ran around jubilantly with the little boy and his dog. The boy's father waved at Spencer from the distance, which he replied with an acknowledging nod.

"She's getting so big, sweetheart. Sometimes, I just wanna stop time and keep her as my little girl forever. I wish you were around to see how much she's grown." Spencer smiled ruefully. "I can't believe that it's been more than a year since you were gone."

Spencer thought back to the last few moments you spent on this earth. How just a few months prior, the doctor had advised you to stop the treatment and take a rest at home instead.

The chemo isn't working, was what the doctor was really saying. You should be spending as much time as you can with your family.

So, that was exactly what you ended up doing.

Spencer had quit his job at the FBI shortly after you were diagnosed, opting to take a full-time job of teaching where the hours were more humane and reasonable. The day you were discharged from the hospital, Spencer made a vow to himself to make every day as memorable as he could, and he was keeping true to it. Those last few months were filled with countless road trips, an unforgettable weekend at Disneyland, and visits to various museums across the states. Spencer made sure that each day was charged with love and laughter, a perfect day culminated by an equally perfect night, with you falling asleep in the safety of his arms.

Until one morning, when Spencer woke up to your cold and lifeless body lying by his side.

"Do you remember what you told me once? About how Dee and I would never notice you were gone because we would have each other?" Spencer recalled. "You were wrong about that, sweetheart. Your absence is the first thing I notice every time I start my day. The moment I open my eyes, I notice that you aren't lying next to me on the bed like you're supposed to be. I notice the cold imprints on the sheets where your warmth used to linger. I notice you in every corner of our home, but most importantly, I notice you in Dee."

Spencer glanced at his little girl, playing and running around a pile of fallen leaves with her newfound friend and his pet dog. His heart floundered at the scene.

"Everyone keeps saying that she's an exact copy of me, but I see glimpses of you in her more and more every single day," Spencer admitted. "She's the only anchor I have left now, my love. Without her, I'm lost. I try constantly, with whatever strength still resides in me, to give her everything she would ever need. Shower her with every ounce of love I have left in my heart."

A lone tear cascaded down Spencer's cheek. He quickly erased it away with a wry chuckle.

"What I would do to have a minute with you again, my love. I hope you know I'd give my heart and soul to have those extra sixty seconds just to stare at your beautiful face. To hold you in my arms one last time. I try my best to fill the void that you left for Dee's sake. Some days are difficult, and I keep thinking about how much better it would be--how much better off she would be--if it were you here with her instead of me. I'd trade places with you if I could. I fear that all of me would never be enough for her, because she needs you. We both do."

Spencer inhaled a breath, forcing the imminent wave of tears from breaking the dam he had masterfully crafted since the moment you were gone. He promised a long time ago never to allow the grief to consume him.

He still had his daughter to think about.

"I'm beginning to think people are wrong when they say time makes everything better. The pain never lessens. It just becomes bearable with time. Dee makes it bearable," Spencer confessed. "I can only hope I'm doing the same for her."

"Daddy! Daddy!"

Spencer hurriedly wiped away any sign of tears from his face before he caught Diana in his arms. Her innocent laughter was a balm to the gaping wound in his chest, and Spencer allowed himself to bask in the bliss that his little girl brought to his life.

"What is it, Pumpkin?"

"Look what Brian's mom gave me!"

Spencer looked at her tiny hand to see a plastic daisy ring gracing one of her fingers. He looked up towards the family in the distance, mouthing a thank you to the mother who waved him off with a smile.

"It's very pretty, Dee."

"Like me?"

The young dad chuckled. "Yes, very much like you."

"Like Mommy, too?"

Spencer's smile softened. "Very much like Mommy, too. Yes."

The exhilarated smile Diana rewarded him could probably light up the entire state of Virginia at night.

Five minutes later, Spencer found himself bidding you a goodbye, with Diana promising to visit again very soon to give you an update over the slushie incident that supposedly got Patrick in a lot of trouble at school. The air was getting even chillier as the two walked the path they had taken after arriving at the cemetery. Spencer tugged Diana closer to his side once he saw the familiar gate lurking a few feet ahead, keeping her safe while simultaneously seeking her warmth.

"Daddy?" Dee's voice arose shyly once the pair had reached the main street.

"Yes, Pumpkin?"

"I miss Mommy," she admitted quietly.

Spencer's fingers instinctively tightened for a split second around his daughter's hand. "I know you do, Pumpkin. You just need to remember, even if she's not physically with us anymore, that she's always watching over you and keeping you safe."

Diana nodded her head understandingly. "Do you miss her, too, Daddy?"

"Every day, Dee." Spencer smiled, glancing back towards the gate of the cemetery behind him. "Every single day."

#mentioningmargins #spencer reid #spencer reid x daughter #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #dad spencer reid #husband spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds x y/n #matthew gray gubler #mgg #fanfic

[10piecechickennuggy]

Rut - Alastor x Fem!Reader - Oneshot

WARNING: Mature content ahead. MDNI

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hazbin Hotel or the fanart featured above. This is a fan created work.

Word Count: 4,244

***

Clawed fingers tore at crimson silk, black buttons snapping free and clattering to the floor as the dress shirt was ripped open. Beads of sweat soaked into scarlet bangs, plastering the usually fluffy hairs against feverish skin. Ragged breaths rattled a heaving chest as they fanned across parched lips.

When had it gotten so hot? Was the air conditioning in the radio tower not working?

Everything felt too constricting. From his clothes to his own skin, it was as though he couldn’t breathe properly. Alastor growled in frustration as his bowtie was thrown to the floor.

Leaning over a panel of dials and switches, the radio demon raised a hand to his antlers. The velveteen covered bone itched - small shreds of the hair-like skin falling as he scratched desperately. 

The sensation did little to dissuade his discomfort. Nor did removing his monocle or allowing his other hand to dig into the skin of his neck. But even so, he couldn’t stop. 

Thin lines of sanguine trickled from now raw skin, the thick liquid eliciting a cooling sensation in its wake. A loud sigh escaped Alastor at the miniscule relief his spilled blood had brought. But the amnesty was short lived, retreating almost immediately and leaving a psoriasis of mounting intensity in its wake.

Air. He needed air.

Scrambling toward a window, the man almost didn’t notice his antlers crashing into the glass until the impact had caused him to stumble backwards and land on his ass. Rubbing his behind, Alastor stood and paused for a moment. 

Why did that feel good? 

It was as though his antlers were yearning to be rammed against something. The urge tickled and twisted its way down from the top of his head to the tip of his tail - the white and scarlet puff now standing straight up in alert.

Foregoing another headbut into the fenestella, he instead raised the glass gently. A welcome breeze struck against his face, bringing a shiver down the demon’s spine as his burning skin began to cool in the sulfur wind. 

Panting, he allowed his upper body to bend over the windowsill. His torso stretched outward and his head hung limply as he took in the feeling of relief once more. Had he a clearer mind, he’d have cringed at the thought of someone seeing him in such a desperate state.

But the act of leaning out the window brought another sensation. As if the universe itself were seeking to break him, he was struck by an alluring scent. Floral musk assaulted his nostrils, causing the demon’s head to jerk upward in search of its source. And when his gaze traveled down towards the hotel’s entrance, he knew it had been located.

Standing in front of the building was the establishment’s newest resident, Y/n. Her hair was pulled up, exposing the delicate flesh of her neck and shoulders, the sun dress she wore fluttering in the breeze. No doubt the autumn wind was what brought her enticing bouquet aloft, caressing the visible skin and shepherding her aroma to the radio tower above.

Scent was far from her only captivating feature. From her piercing eyes to the enthralling angles of her facial structure. From her beautiful hair down to her adorable toes and every sensual curve in between, the woman was downright breathtaking. A dangerous sentiment, given Alastor’s current state.

Leaning further out the window, his nose lifted as he inhaled deeply, Alastor’s eyes widened in awareness of his lower half now pressed firmly against the wall below. The rigid wooden surface brushed deliciously against his hardened member.

So that was it. It was that time of year again.

Alastor was rarely one to experience such basal urges. The occasions he did were more inconvenient and bothersome than anything, requiring time be taken from his busy schedule to satiate the primal desire. He clicked his tongue in irritation at his body’s betrayal. Crinkling his eyebrows together and exiting the studio, he began to ponder just how best to take care of the pesky dilemma.

***

Several hours later, Alstor had been able to quell the physical effects of his rut enough to emerge from his room. The demon was far from satisfied though, the urge to breed burning at the back of his mind. An incredible amount of willpower was needed to keep himself in check - far more than he would care to admit - or else he’d find himself locked away, stroking his cock raw in desperate search of release again.

After an annoyingly long period of such activities, the deer demon had grown so disgruntled with his own biology that he’d decided to just ignore it. He knew the strategy was flawed - that it could only work for a short while - no matter how many times he came, only allowing himself to truly mate would bring any true relief to his symptoms. But he had to get on with his life. He had duties and obligations that could wait no longer. Perhaps after he completed the day’s tasks, he’d hire a prostitute to satiate his sexual appetite. 

And then kill her, of course. 

He couldn’t let someone walk freely knowing how truly weak his rut made him. The thought of using another sinner and then beating her body into a bloody pulp caused Alastor’s signature smile to broaden. After inflicting as much pain as possible and ensuring she’d perished, he’d consume her flesh. His stomach growled in anticipation.

Whistling an old timey tune, he walked through the streets of Pentagram City. An overlord meeting had just concluded, meaning Alastor was now free to return to the Hazbin Hotel and fulfill his duties as facilities manager.  He just needed to make some quick repairs, meet with Charlie to discuss her continuing rehabilitation curriculum, and he’d be off to the entertainment district.

***

Moss-colored wooden panels now lined yet another wall of the hotel’s lobby. Why did there always seem to be a new hole in the building’s exterior walls? If it wasn’t one of Sir Pentious’ inventions causing another explosion, it was some nuisance of the week who thought they could best the Radio Demon and the Princess of Hell. 

Alastor couldn’t help but laugh at the memory of the latest attack, the pained screams of his victims as he strangled them to death with his shadow tentacles still replaying in his mind. They’d managed to blow a hole in the hotel’s facade, but some quick magic had it fixed in a jiffy. Standing back, Alastor admired his work when a familiar scent caught his attention.

Turning around slowly, he was met with the sight of Y/n descending the hotel’s main staircase. Every step she took was pure elegance, as though she were surrounded by an aura of grace and allure. Her vibrant sundress flowed behind as she walked, its deep V neckline exposing a fair bit of cleavage. Her pheromones permeated Alastor’s senses, working in tandem with her gorgeous appearance to captivate the man. When she’d reached the final step, her gaze lifted to meet with his and her lips curved up to form a dazzling smile.

“Hey, Al.” She waved before advancing toward him.

Alastor’s heart skipped and his cock throbbed. The uncomfortable itching sensation returned, his pulse increasing and his breath growing shallow. He briefly considered excusing himself - running to his room before he lost composure - but decided against it. He couldn’t let something as simple as biology and instinct get the better of him.

“Hello there, darling! How are you this fine afternoon?” The radio static came through especially thick as he spoke, distorting his voice to a near grumble.

A blush overtook the woman, her hands clasping together as she took on a bashful stance. Her current posture had her arms squeezing her breasts, causing the supple flesh to squish together and expose even more of her cleavage than had already been visible. 

“I’m alright. Just headed to the bar.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear before continuing. “Care to join me?” Her voice was soft and smooth, akin to satin.

Damn, this woman. He’d already made plans to take care of the issue, and yet here she was enticing him. But the longer he spent in her presence, the more he felt his desire grow. And the harder his cock grew, his body reacting to the female before it.

Forcing himself to remain composed, Alastor gestured for her to lead the way. He followed her silently to the bar, where they both sat before a frowning Husker. 

“Hi there, beautiful.” He turned to nod towards Alastor. “Boss.” The feline bartender bent down, the sound of clinking glass coming from below the bar. “What can I get you, sweetheart?”

Alastor didn’t miss the warm smile Husk offered his companion while only scowling in his general direction when addressing them both. When said female’s eyelashes fluttered and she began to fidget with the hem on her dress, the Radio Demon’s perpetual smile fell just the slightest bit.

“Sex on the beach, please.”

Red wings flapped once as Husker took on a devious smirk. He reached for a bottle of peach schnapps before speaking in a flirtatious tone. “Sorry to disappoint, but the nearest ocean is three rings down. Hopefully the drink is half as satisfying as the man making it.” 

And then the cat winked. He fucking winked. 

Alastor’s blood boiled, the urge to ram his antlers against the insufferable bartender was overwhelming. When she giggled at the other male’s advances, all he could see was red.

The deer demon growled as he stood from his seat, fluffy ears laying flat to his head. Clawed fingers gripped Y/n’s wrist and yanked her away from the bar. A surprised yelp escaped the woman as Alastor dragged her towards the staircase, his anger evident with every stomping footstep.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, her words laced with uncertainty. “Where are you taking me?”

He didn’t respond, only continuing to trudge forward as she stumbled behind attempting to keep up with his quick and deliberate strides. As they ventured onward, his other hand rose to dig at his neck, the itching sensation now unbearable as his body’s excitement and irritation intensified. By this point, the man was nearly operating on hormones alone. 

The pair halted at Alastor’s room just long enough for him to open the door before roughly pushing her inside.

“Hey!” Her voice was now raised as she stared down the man before her. “What was that for?!”

Shadow tentacles emerged from the room’s corners and encircled the woman, wrapping around her form with a vice grip. She squealed when the appendages lifted her into the air, her feet dangling above the carpeted floor. Her eyes widened when Alastor advanced toward her, his form appearing to grow larger and his antlers having extended.

When the pair were mere centimeters apart, his steps ceased. Bending forward, his nose brushed the crook of her neck before he inhaled deeply. Her scent was even stronger than before - like a hypnotic miasma the man could feel himself getting drunk on with every wiff.

“Umm, Alastor?” Her voice wavered as she questioned his actions. But she made no attempt to move away.

“Apologies, my dear.” His ever present radio static sunk into her bones, her expression visibly softening when he pulled away to meet her eyes. Oh how he longed to see that face morphed with bliss and pleasure as he ravaged her. “I simply couldn’t stand to watch that pestering feline continue his advances on what is mine.”

Her cheeks were brightly flushed, but she made no effort to deny his statement. Instead, when Alastor lifted a hand to cup her cheek, she leaned into it. “Perhaps you should claim me then.”

The noise he made in response was akin to a crackling purr, his eyelids drooping and pupils dilating in a lustful gaze. Tangling his fingers through her hair, his lips crashed into hers in a devouring kiss. His tongue invaded the wet cavern of my mouth when she moaned against him. She tasted of sweetness and desire, not unlike the musk of her arousal Alastor’s heightened senses allowed him to take note of. She wanted him, and the longer their mouths remained plastered together, the more their carnal need for each other grew.

Once their lips had separated, the shadow tentacles moved her to the waiting bed. Their grip loosened, allowing her limbs to regain blood flow while still holding her firmly in place. Her body rested against the plush comforter beautifully, her hair splayed out in a halo around her face as her chest rose and fell in rapid breaths of anticipation.

Alastor’s smile broadened, sharp teeth exposed and menacing in the room’s dim lighting. She was willing prey before a deadly predator, his perfect doe - compliant and eager. He climbed atop her form, the mattress dipping as he did.

Sharp nails clawed up the female’s sides as he drew into her neck once more, his tongue coming out to lick a long stripe along the supple flesh. Beneath the sodden muscle, he could feel her pulse quicken. The scent of blood flowing beneath her skin enticed the demon, who sunk his claws into her hips - fabric and skin tearing as his knee came up to brush firmly against her clothed cunt. The resulting whimper which fell from her lips was like music to the Radio Demon’s ears.

By this point, his pants had grown uncomfortably tight against his needy erection. Dragging his digits upwards, the sundress was ripped from her form as a shudder rippled through her. 

Long streaks of bloody claw marks ran up her torso, the shallow cuts bringing a new sense of exciting danger to the female. She began to writhe against the shadow appendages which still held her in place, but it was clear she wasn’t looking for escape. Rather, she struggled against her bindings in an attempt to reach out to him - to touch him as he touched her.

He paused to take in the sight of her black lace undergarments, appreciating the delicate fabric and the lewd implication that she’d donned them deliberately. A dark chuckle fell from the man as he hooked a single finger beneath the band of her bra, right at the point where her breasts met and pulled the fabric away from her form. “Tell me, cheri. Did you intend to spend your evening beneath me?”

She didn’t respond, only turning her head to the side and looking away from him. 

“Now, now.” He gripped her cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, forcing her to meet his gaze. His tone was akin to a parent chastising their child. “It’s rude to ignore someone who’s speaking to you. Especially when you’re at their mercy.” The ripping of fabric punctuated his statement as her bra was shredded, her breasts bouncing free with nipples hardening in the cool air.

“I could tell you were suffering, what with the time of year and all.”  Her voice came as a whisper, as if she were afraid of admitting to her knowledge of his rut.

Alastor sighed, his knee moving to bring some much needed friction to her clothed core. His trousers grew damp where he rubbed, her arousal soaking into the fabric. “What a foolish little doe you are, cheri.” Sitting upward, his pinstripe tailcoat was removed and tossed aside. His eyes took on a darker hue as he began to release his tie. “I am going to enjoy devouring you.”

The moment he’d finished the statement, the shadow tentacles pulled her limbs apart - spreading her wide for him. Removing his shirt and then her panties, he trailed a finger along the scarlet stripes on her side. Sticky blood gathered on his digit, which was quickly brought to waiting lips. Wrapping his tongue around the extremity, he hummed in approval. 

“Delicious.” 

An audible gulp came from the female as she watched the man before her with lidded eyes, her pupils blown wide. Two of the tentacles slithered up her form, encircling her breasts with a tight squeeze. A deep moan erupted from her throat as the shadow appendages began to move, squishing and manipulating the tender flesh whilst the tips toyed with her perked nipples in unison. Her breath came in pants, fists clenching and releasing as she allowed the pleasure to wash over her. 

The welcome ministrations happening at her tits had distracted the woman, who failed to notice Alastor moving downwards. She missed the sensation of his hands massaging their way from her torso to her thighs, nor did she notice when the man positioned his upper body between her legs. Only when she felt his tongue slide through her folds did she let out a surprised gasp. Looking down, she finally took note of the head of crimson hair buried between her limbs.

Alastor’s ears were laid flat as his mouth worked on her, lapping at the slick of her heat. His lips engulfed her pussy in a passionate kiss to her lower lips, tongue darting inside as his nose brushed her clit. His sharp nails dug into the skin of her thighs when her hips began to buck, holding her still against his face as he continued to eat her out.

He consumed her like a man starved, savoring the flavor of her arousal. Lewd slurping sounds filled the air as he continued to lick and suck at her center, eliciting moans with every breath the female took. Moving upwards, his lips came to rest around her bundle of nerves whilst two long fingers entered her now soaking hole. The digits moved in a scissoring fashion as he pumped them within her, his mouth providing suction to her clit.

It wasn’t long before she unraveled on his fingers, a sharp whine shuddering from her body as her walls convulsed. Alastor continued his actions, working her through her orgasm until finally she settled. Withdrawing from her, his lips and chin shone with the moisture of her arousal.

When the tentacles holding her in place withdrew, the woman looked surprised. She sat up, attempting to catch her breath as she looked at the bulge in her companion’s pants.

“On all fours, darling.” The order sent a shiver down her spine. 

She complied in silence, turning around to present herself to him. Her juices dripped down her thighs, pussy clenching around nothing as she waited to be taken.

The clinking of metal was the only sound as his belt slipped free of the loops on his trousers, before said garment was unzipped and allowed to crumple on the floor. Finally, his cock sprang free as his bottoms and underwear were kicked aside. The angrily flushed tip weeped beads of precum as he stroked it lazily. 

Climbing atop the bed once more, Alastor settled behind his mate and brought his member to her entrance. Sinking into her slowly, they vocalized in unison. A guttural growl came from deep within the buck’s chest as he bottomed out within her. Laying himself flat against her back, he took her dangling tits into both hands and gripped them as he stilled.

He wanted to savor this feeling - to commit to memory the sensation of her silken walls surrounding his impossibly hard cock. She squeezed him deliciously tight, already milking him before the true fucking had even begun. 

Gently kissing her shoulder, Alastor began to move. His thrusts came slow at first, his dick dragging against her at an agonizing pace as he withdrew until only the tip remained inside before reentering just as gradually. This repeated several times until the woman let out a noise of frustration, her hips jerking backwards in an attempt to increase the pace.

At her sudden movement, Alastor gasped. He hadn’t expected her to try and take charge - especially with him mounting her from behind. He was the male here. Perhaps he needed to remind her of their places in this sensuous act.

Quickly, a clawed hand removed itself from her breast and came to the back of her head before pushing. Her face landed sideways against a pillow, her eyes wide as she looked back at him. 

“Impatient, are we?” The demon’s voice held a malicious edge, his eyes glinting with dark excitement. “Allow me to ruin you then.”

He left no opportunity for her to respond before he began thrusting into her once more, fucking her in earnest. His hips pistoned against her, the squelching of fluids mingled with slapping of skin each time his dick was plowed into her dripping heat. He held her head firmly against the pillow, his other hand ripping flesh at her hip to keep her still. A cry of pained pleasure came from the woman as she took his brutal assault.

Continuing to pummel his doe, Alastor picked her up so they were both upright on their knees. Her legs spread around his as she sat back onto his lap. A hand encircled her throat, choking her sobs as tears began to form at the corners of her eyes. His hips incessantly slapped her ass with each repeated thrust.

Bringing his other hand from her hip, the bloodied palm drug against her chest before his claws pierced her skin once more. Ripping down her front, she screamed in a high-pitched whine that vibrated his hand on her neck. Sanguine rivers now flowed freely, staining the fabric below.

The scent of her spilled blood was now too much to bear. Continuing his brutal pace, the Radio Demon brought his mouth to the conjunction of her shoulder and nape. He needed to taste her again - to feel the thickness of her blood against his tongue. And so he bit down, his dagger sharp teeth sinking into feverish skin. Salt was the first thing he tasted as her sweat mixed with his saliva before a metallic taste bloomed within his hungry maw.

“A-Alastor!” She screamed, one of her hands quickly tangling into his locks. Her other palm slapped against his upper leg, supporting her unsteady weight. Her eyes closed as she hissed from the pain. But oh, did it hurt so good.

Drinking greedily, he began to choke her in earnest. He couldn’t have the other hotel residents overhearing. The hand in his hair moved to grip one of his antlers, its twin now clawing at the fingers cutting off her air supply. 

When her feeble offense against his vice grip began to lesson and the  hold on his bony outcropping waned, Alastor knew she was close to passing out. He could also tell she was close to her second orgasm, the increasing force with which her pussy clamped around him signaling imminent release. And so, he withdrew himself from her and released his chokehold. The wine that accompanied her gasps for air was almost heartwrenching.

Tears now freely fell down her reddened cheeks as she struggled to hold herself up on both arms. She was shaking, her expression one of hurt and expectancy as she turned to face him.

In an instant, he was on her again. This time, she lay on her back while he held her legs in a folded position with her knees against her chest. Not hesitating for even a moment, he sunk back into her and resumed fucking her with an unrelenting force.

Snarling into her face, his brows furrowed in aggression as he spoke. “I say when you can cum.”

“Y-yes, sir!” She hadn’t missed a beat with her response. Grasping his antlers with both hands, she held on tightly as he continued to take her.

“Good girl.” One of his hands slotted itself into the space where they connected, softly circling her clitorus.

He knew he was close to his own end. After just a few more thrusts, his cock began to twitch within her. Kisses were trailed from her lips down her jaw and to her collar, all the while grunts that crackled with static filled the space between them. Beads of sweat dripped from Alastor’s forehead as he sucked bruising hickies across her skin.

With each mark left in his wake, she whined like a bitch in heat. His body responded to her cries, eager to spill his seed and breed her. 

With the combination of his delicate ministrations against her clit, the pain of his claws and bites, and the pleasure of his dick battering into her, she had become a babbling mess. Single syllables and nonsense words flew from her mouth between pants and moans.

Licking the trails of blood along her chest, he mumbled against the fat of her breast. “Cum with me, Y/n.”

Two more thrusts into her needy cunt and they were both done for. Powerful spurts of cum painted her collapsing walls, coating her insides with his seed. He held onto her tightly, his pelvis pressed firmly against hers as he released deeply into her womanhood with a shouting moan. Wave after wave of blinding pleasure washed over them both as they rode out their highs.

 Collapsing atop her with one last spurt of his cock, Alastor sighed in contentment. Panting heavily and burying his face into her neck, they both began to come down into a glorious afterglow. 

“Feeling better?” Her arms were wrapped around his torso in a warm, loving embrace as her fingers traced mindless swirls across the expanse of his back. 

“Much better, my dear.”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #smut #lemon #rut #alastor #x reader #female reader #fem reader #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor x y/n #y/n #reader insert #self insert #explict #bd/sm kink

[highladyandromeda]

Shadows of the Heart

Prologue

Azriel x Reader

Summary: After years apart, Y/n returns to Velaris, bearing the weight of sacrifice and secrets from her past. Reunited with Rhysand and his Inner Circle, she navigates the complexities of rekindled friendships and unresolved tensions. 

Y/n’s powers are inspired by Scarlet Witch from Marvel. She is a sorceress living in Vallahan, with her family hailing from the night court. 

Word count: 1k-ish

Warnings: mentions of blood, wounds, but nothing particularly graphic

Azriel stood off to the side, quietly observing the cozy scene in the House of Wind's living room. There was Feyre, nestled comfortably on Rhys's lap, her giggles echoing softly as she leaned in to catch his whispered words. In the corner, Amren made an art out of lounging, a smirk playing on her lips as she peered over her wine glass. Cassian had wrapped an arm around Nesta, her head bent together with Gwen and Emerie, engrossed in a lively discussion about their latest read. The ambient buzz of conversation, punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses filled with Rhys's impressive wine, created a backdrop of contented harmony.

Azriel tried his best to shove aside the twinge of jealousy that crept up on him, watching his brothers and their bliss. He didn't want to feel like just an onlooker, basking in the warmth of their happiness, yet here he was. His mind wandered to Elain, who had opted for an early night. Would her presence have allowed him to drift away from this feeling, to find solace in her gentle smiles and tender gazes? It seemed chasing fae after fae with hearts as bright as the sun was his lot in life. Yearning for a sliver of light in his shadowed existence, a beacon like Elain, or Mor, someone to take him out—that's when he noticed it—his shadows, usually so still, began to stir anxiously around him.

In danger, in danger, they whispered, urgency threading through their murmurs.

In pain. Falling, falling, the ones closest murmured, their voices escalating into a desperate shout.

Springing to his feet, Azriel scanned the room, brushing off the puzzled glances thrown his way. Then, a sharp thud echoed, quickly followed by a cry that cut through the relaxed chatter. In a heartbeat, he was dashing towards the balcony, with Rhys and Cassian hot on his heels, all three propelled by the sudden urgency to uncover the source of the disturbance that had just intruded upon their peaceful evening.

Bursting through the balcony doors, Azriel was met with a scene that defied all expectations. Chaotic runes smeared across the floor in hasty, overlapping strokes forming an intricate magical circle. At its heart lay two figures: a faerie kneeling, her skin so pale it shimmered with almost ethereal light, ebony locks sprawling untidily about her. Her eyes, aglow with an intense crimson, matching the runes surrounding her, pierced through the night. Dark stains marred her robes—wounds, he realized, still seeping blood from her arm and leg. She cradled Mor’s head in her lap, their gazes locking in a moment so profound, that Azriel felt the world around him come to a standstill. He swore he felt his heart stutter, a memory long forgotten trying to urge its way out. Mor, his attention snapped to, was equally pale, her lips tinged a sickly shade of blue.

“What did you do to–” Just as Azriel began, he saw the female look behind him, exclaiming, “Rhys! 

“Y/n?” Rhys ran to her, his hands frantic, unsure of whether to hold her or lean for Mor. 

“Rhys” She began again, her breaths coming out in spurts. She grabbed his hand as he leaned down to hold her, “Poison…she’s been poisoned, needs tonic–”

Barely finishing her sentence, her eyes rolled back and she collapsed, Rhys’s hands halting her from hitting the floor. 

“Call for Madja” Rhy yelled. “Mor’s been poisoned and perhaps Y/n as well.”

Before Azriel could react, Cassian stepped up, carefully lifting Mor, while Rhys carried Y/n, both moving swiftly back into the sanctuary of the house.

They found a bedroom with two twin beds, laying one on each. 

Madja, a whirlwind of expertise, raced around both, focusing her skills on stabilizing Mor's precarious state. Meanwhile, Rhys was tasked with a grim duty, pressing down on Y/n's wounds, which despite the salves and a plethora of cloths, continued bleeding relentlessly.

"It's the runes," Amren interjected, her voice slicing through the turmoil like a blade. All eyes, save for Madja's, who momentarily lessened the fervor of her tonic mixing, turned to her.

"She utilized ancient magic," Amren stated, her declaration hanging in the air, dense with implications, yet devoid of further explanation, prompting Rhys to press for clarity.

"And that means?" 

The urgency lacing Rhys's voice caught Azriel off-guard. Who was this female, who seemed so familiar and why was she so important to Rhys? He felt a spark of anger at the way Rhys held her, despite knowing Rhys's heart belonged to Feyre.

"It means she offered her blood as a sacrifice. Likely to transport herself and Mor here. Inspect Mor for runes," Amren directed without pause.

Before Amren's words could fully settle, Madja cut through the sleeves of Mor’s dress, revealing an arm ensnared by crimson runes, mirroring those that marred the balcony. 

It was then that Azriel's senses sharpened, recognizing the scent that pervaded the air—a metallic tang he had initially overlooked in the chaos. Blood. Those runes, those symbols, all wrought from blood. Recollections of the massive circles they had traversed to enter this scene played back in his mind, causing his stomach to churn. It was reflected in Feyre's gasp as she rushed to aid Y/n, while Rhys was overtaken by a wave of nausea.

The room, already tense with fear and uncertainty, was engulfed in a silent horror as Madja's voice, though trembling, broke through the silence. "She's correct. The blood serves as an anchor for Morrigan's soul. The runes must bind Morrigan to..."

"Y/n's," Rhys provided, his voice steady in the thick silence.

"Yes, to Y/n's very essence," Madja concluded. "This means Y/n will continue to suffer, to bleed, until Morrigan shows signs of recovery. In exchange.”

A heavy silence settled over them, punctuated only by the rhythmic thud of Madja grinding her herbs, as the gravity of their situation unfolded.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author's note: Hi everyone! I’ve been a lurker in the acotar fandom for ages, this is my first time writing, so do let me know what you think. I'm not totally sure how far I want to take this series, but I do have longer chapters planned ahead.

#azriel au #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #acotar series #acotar #acomaf #acowar #azriel x oc #rhysand #morrigan #acotar fanfiction #azriel acotar

[hisui-dreamer]

omg omg !! HAPPY 2K RINNA <3 i’m so so proud of u and u deserve everything 💗 the event looks so fun hehe YOU ALRKEUADY JNIW WHI IN GONNANS ASK FOR

i really really love tulips so could i ask for lilia and tulips please? its meaning is perfect and deep love hehe CHEWS YOUR WALLS

good luck with your assignments and take all the time you need !! i love you and miss you mwahh

a crown befitting of you

Pairing: Lilia Vanrouge x gn!reader

Synopsis: his feelings had grown so subtly, so steadily, that he had not realised at all

Tags: fluff, developing relationship, reader eats lilia's food omg

Word count: 783

Notes: mil mil my favourite person ever!!💕💕💕 thank you so much ill work hard on my assignments 🫡 i hope you enjoy lilia hehehe >∪<

Masterlist

flower of choice: tulip

tulips are commonly asosciated with perfect and deep love.

Looking back, Lilia vividly remembers the day you arrived in Twisted Wonderland. Amidst the grand spectacle of the entrance ceremony, particularly with Grim's frantic attempts to avoid being captured, there was something about you that captured his attention. Maybe it was the distinct curiosity shining in your eyes, navigating through an entirely foreign world with a blend of composure and uncertainty. Whatever it was, he found himself wanting to reach out and make you feel welcome.

He started looking out for you without even realizing it. He began with small gestures, like offering help with your studies when he found you hunched over a book in the library or popping down from the ceiling to help you find a classroom. He enjoyed seeing your smile brighten whenever you grasped a new concept or conquered a challenge. It felt good to be there for you, to share his experiences and insights.

As time went on, your interactions blossomed into a regular occurrence. Hours seemed to melt away as you engaged in conversations about anything and everything, exchanging stories of your homeland and experiences while he eagerly recounted his adventures from various countries. Among the students, you were the only one to actively praise his cooking, willingly joining him in the kitchen. These shared moments became cherished moments for Lilia, feeling a connection forming between you that he couldn't quite explain.

But it wasn't until much later that he realized the true depth of his feelings. They had silently amassed over time, creeping up on him when he least expected it. Suddenly, he found myself thinking about you all the time, wondering how you were and yearning to see your smile once more.

Just as his thoughts drifted to you, a familiar laughter dances through the air, drawing his attention. Turning towards its source, he finds himself captivated by the scene unfolding before him. The sun bathes the school courtyard in a radiant golden hue, casting a warm, inviting glow upon everything it touches. There you are, seated on the grass with legs crossed, skillfully weaving delicate tulip flowers into a crown.

Curiosity piqued, he approaches quietly, not wanting to interrupt your moment of concentration. As he draws nearer, you glance up, your eyes shimmering with delight and a mischievous grin playing upon your lips.

"Lilia!" you exclaim, a hint of surprise colouring your tone. "What perfect timing! I've made something for you."

With a graceful flourish, you hold up the tulip flower crown, presenting it as if it were a priceless gem. Each vibrant petal seems to shimmer and sway in the sunlight, casting a spell of enchantment over the surroundings. The delicate blooms, ranging in hues from deep crimson to soft pastel pink, are meticulously arranged in a circular formation, creating a majestic crown fit for royalty.

"You made this for me?" he asks, a wry grin on his face. He can't help but think it suits you far better.

"Of course!" You reply, your grin widening. "Don’t you think it’ll enhance your cuteness?"

A huff of laughter escapes him as you delicately place the crown upon his head, adjusting it until it sits just right. He can't help but feel a rush of affection towards you, grateful for your kindness and the undeniable warmth you bring into his life.

As you step back to admire your handiwork, your gaze meets his, and time seems to stand still. He finds himself entranced by the sparkle in your eyes, the way your smile reaches all the way to your soul.

It is then, with the sun kissing your skin and the scent of tulips filling the air, that he realises just how deeply he cares for you. In your laughter, in your playful gestures, he found a love he hadn't known existed, a love that filled him with a warmth unlike anything he'd ever felt before. And as he looks into your eyes, his own heart overflowing with emotion, he knows that he has fallen completely, utterly in love.

"Rather than me," he begins, lifting the flower crown from his head and gently placing it upon yours. "I believe it enhances your cuteness far more effectively."

He watches with rapt attention as a delicate flush blossoms across your cheeks, like the soft petals of a rose responding to the morning sun. The warmth of embarrassment paints your features with a gentle hue, adding a touch of ethereal beauty to your already captivating presence. In that moment, your eyes widen slightly, reflecting a mixture of surprise and affection, like sparkling jewels illuminated by a ray of sunlight.

Truly, the deepest of loves.

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

#✧2k! blossoming bouquets✦ #twstnexus #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia vanrouge #twst lilia #lilia vanrouge x mc #twst lilia vanrouge #twst lilia vanrouge x reader #twst lilia x reader #✧millie🪭✦

[ph4ngz]

lust quirk bkg plssssss 😭😭😭

Lust quirk w/ Bakugo

Contains: pro hero!Bakugo x fem!reader, aphrodisiac(?) themes, reader and Bakubro are complete strangers, squirting, exhibitionism, almost getting caught, slight size kink? Bakugo is so sexy when he’s not ripping everybody’s head off :P

Lust quirk w/ Izuku here

Lust quirk w/ Shoto here

/-/-/-/

Bakugo, Todoroki and Deku had been on patrol for the past couple of hours. Cars were loud as they zoomed past, pedestrians just going about their days. All three of them were bored out of their minds until you'd shown up, having already split up and examined the entire area independently before meeting each other again. You'd been on the way to go grocery shopping when you spotted them, your cutest dress flowing short around your thighs with the middle cinched and tight to your waist.

"Izuku!" You yelled loud enough to steal the pro hero's attention from afar as you crossed the road, a few people turning heads out of curiosity.

"Hm?" Izuku hums, stopping to search his surroundings for the source of your familiar voice. He called your name in return as you weaselled your way through a small crowd to approach the group of guys almost half tucked away in an empty alleyway. One of them in particular stood out to you as you latched onto Izuku's arm.

He studied your appearance for as long as you studied his.

"Oh! Yeah- Todoroki, this is my friend Y/n! We've actually known each other since we were kids! Our mom's were really close, and so..." The green haired hero introduced you to the other taller boy, though his words ultimately ended up fading out as you became enthralled by another's presence.

Your eyes trailed upward from his chunky, heavy boots to the baggy cargo pants, secured by a khaki belt, that seemed to accentuate his figure. Then, the tight black vest that clung to his abs, some parts orange that were made to form an X across his chest. And finally, the matching, spiky mask that concealed his face.

All you could see was his crimson glare, beating down on you like the summer sun rays.

And were those grenades attached to his arms?!

What felt like hours passed by before a large, calloused hand shot into the corner of your vision. Slightly flustered after jumping, you spun on your heel to face whoever's hand thankfully distracted you.

"Nice to meet you." A rather unenthusiastic greeting met your ears.

Oh great, another one. You were starting to feel not so attractive the longer you hung around Izuku and his hero friends. This one had heterochromatic eyes, one grey and one a striking turquoise.

"Uh- yeah! Nice to meet you too!" You gave Todoroki both of your hands with a giggle, glancing to your side involuntarily every few seconds. It seemed the mysterious grenade-arms kept a lock on your attention.

He was taller, bigger than you. You'd guessed he was about twice your bodyweight, if the muscles protruding from his upper half were anything to go by. He came off as insanely powerful. Even his stance was intimidating, and you couldn't imagine what his demeanour would be like.

"Ah, Kacchan, this is Y/n." Deku stated a lot less enthusiastically than the last time. You wondered if maybe these two got off on a bad foot.

Hardly tearing your eyes away from handsome Todoroki's, you'd slowly aimed your vision upward to get yet another glimpse of "Kacchan". But this time around, you were temporarily stiff with surprise.

He'd pushed the mask he wore just over his hairline, revealing the most grumpy expression you'd ever seen. Even your roommate didn't look this irked when you'd eaten her favourite chocolate snacks that you found stashed away. You definitely would've been put off him if it wasn't for the overall 'Sex God' vibe he gave off. Although, his immovable frown oddly suited his boyish features.

Another hand was extended to you. His hand.

But before either of you could exchange a touch, a single word to each other, you'd been literally hit with the weirdest pain. Only after the sensation bloomed from within your body did you witness the pink-purple glow outlining your skin. You'd almost failed to register the fact that your feet were not on the ground.

The forceful impact of whatever hit you had spun and knocked you backward further into the isolated alleyway and you skidded to a stop.

"Y/n! Kacchan!?"

"Bakugo! Be careful!"

Being pro heroes and all, the three guys you'd just been surrounded by had spread out in a matter of nanoseconds. No hesitation present at all. Though one had stuck by your side and hurriedly crouched to your level on the concrete floor to finally encase his hand with your own and prop you up against a wall. It was all a blur to you from then, the odd pain you were experiencing in your groin not letting you regard anything other. You didn't even catch who'd stayed with you.

"Oi! Snap out of it!" A deep, gruff yelling in your ear does in fact snap you out of it, the volume interrupting whatever injury you've attained. Damn, you can hear everything all at once now. People are screaming and there's rapid footsteps to accompany the terrified sounds. You're appreciative of the copious stacks of delivery boxes shielding you from the panic.

You lean your full weight on the building behind you, not caring if the old bricks dig into your spine. Your ass is probably bruised due to the hard flooring you've been sat on for what feels like years.

A pained grimace paints your face as your head shoots downward to locate the ticklish feeling on your propped up legs, unintentionally ignoring the firm grip continuously shaking your shoulder. Blood is soaking through the thick strips of gauze knotted around your wounds. What... who...?

“Your knees hit the ground before we even knew what was happening. Shit’s not as bad as it loo… hey I’m talkin’ to you.”

All of a sudden you're breathing a lot faster. Oh god, you're freaking out! What if your injuries are really bad? Why are your insides on fire? Are you overheating? What if you're bleeding internally? What if—

Eventually you're forced to come face to face with those same eyes, that now unmasked crimson glare. Even in your current state, your mind can't help but engrave the blurry image of his concerned yet pissed expression, his flawless skin illuminated by the pretty hue of your glowing aura.

A particularly strong surge of NOT GOOD emits from your core.

"Hey, stop panicking. I'm here to help, you're gonna be totally fine."

The hero's hand is still atop of your messy hair even though he's got you paying attention already. Still recovering from shock, you give your guy another once-over.

Steadily crouched between your numb knees, a slight sign of respect evident as he's an inch or two away from bursting your personal bubble. Stressfully massaging the bridge of his nose. He looks no different compared to when you first met him earlier, bar the fact that his shirt may as well not be there at all.

Yes, the sight of this guy practically shirtless is heavenly. The very real possibility that you're the reason for his injuries if he's sustained any? Not so heavenly.

Oh but why is he so gorgeous? And why is the area between your legs so hot?

Shit. Your insides contract along to the mere thought of him.

"Bakugo, your shirt. You okay? Are you hu- hurt?" You ask whilst trying your hardest not to let your eyes zero in on his physical existence. It's sort of... out there, but you think the trigger for your internal aching might be the hero himself.

"You ripped it off me. Memory loss?" Bakugo spits cheekily, his heart unwelcomely thumping at how you remembered his name after Todoroki yelled it. Removing his hand from your head, he seems a little confused. Why're you avoiding looking at him?

Heat rises from beneath the skin of your cheeks now that he's jogged your foggy memory. What in all hell did you do that for?!

"Right— sorry. I feel so weird I- Mmph! Agh-" Your apology carries into a lengthy string of anxious moans. You didn't look at him that time.

"What the fuck is goin' on? You sick or somethin'?" He asks deadly serious.

Bakugo attempts to shift closer to your shivering form to use the back of his palm to check your temperature but you stop him just in time, instinctively pressing your hand against his bared chest.

"D-Don't! Come any closer."

"Yeah, must have a cold or something, getting a little hot." You continue from your outburst and half-lie to his face.

He rapidly observes your odd behaviour as you force yourself to ignore the obvious discomfort. Scanning your convulsing body to discover your other hand is unconsciously jolting between tense thighs, fingers pressing down the fabric of your dress. Your glowing skin is visibly sticky with sweat, and so is the shivering it brings once it dries.

Oh. Oh, he's figured it out. A quirk. Something to do with aphrodisiacs, maybe? He remembers his hero buddy Kaminari telling him about a time he fell under a 'lust' quirk in the past. Perhaps?

For some reason unknown to you, Bakugo stills. You think you can see his cheeks redden in your peripheral vision. Paranoid, you spare a fleeting glance below his neck. The hand you'd placed on his chest has been slowly making it's way down, the position you finally catch it in being dragged directly over one of his nipples.

Absolutely horrified by your own actions, the rest of your body freezing in place, your eyes find his. Except they're not looking for yours in return. Following his awkward line of sight, you come to find your hand desperately rubbing where it shouldn't.

"Hey..." The hero's gravelly voice sends exaggerated tingles throughout the entirety of your weakened body.

No longer unable to move, you rip your hands away and hug yourself as you wobble into a stand in one fluid motion. There's a little more distance between you now, but this view... Bakugo knelt in front of you, head level with your—

No, you tell yourself. Well, try to.

All you can imagine is his spiky hair clasped between your fingers to pull him closer into you, his beautiful features covered in your juices.

You're currently unaware of how he's discarding the dangerous looking equipment that dons his neck and forearms, setting them aside. You know, just incase.

The dirtiest scenes flash by one by one within your cloudy head, rendering you hopelessly horny. They keep coming, each and every detailed fantasy clogging your brain faster by the second.

The sting you'd felt just now returns, still as unexpected as the last time, yet more unbearable than ever. You twitch uncontrollably as the concerned hero stands straight, his intimidating stance looming over you.

"Touch— me!" You don't mean to demand, but this calls for urgency. So much urgency in fact, that you dare to press down on his shoulders until he's kneeling once more. Real classy.

"B-Bakugo, touch me. Please, it hurts! Hurts so bad— so fucking bad and, I can't control myself-!"

He's letting you do this. He's witnessing you fall apart right there in front of him. Speechless as you proceed to beg him for his hefty touch. Helplessly touching yourself all the while. What the hell is he supposed to do? He can't just whisk you away to somewhere more private and fuck you! And you're injured, so his first destination should be the hospital, right?

"I'm in my right mind— hah! I pro—mise!" You yelp, hoping to rid him of any thoughts about taking advantage of you. You want this. Need this. Even if you weren't in pain.

A shimmery substance trickling along the soft skin of your thigh from beneath your dress steals Bakugo's faltering attention. Damn.

Were his pants always this tight?

It seems you've noticed it too, voice small as an embarrassed "fuck" falls from your plumped lips. He angles his head upward, then back to your thigh. You're expectedly peering down at him underneath you, his and your face both filtered by the pinkish haze outlining your increasingly sensitive body.

"Jesus fucking christ... I—"

He knows that you're the only civilian who'd been attacked, Bakugo had seen the villain flee without so much as touching anybody else, too busy avoiding his Deku and Todoroki's attacks. He has no other duty but to take you to the hospital. So... why isn't he moving?

"Touch. me." A twinge of seriousness shows through your words.

Don't fucking do it, his mind warns.

Don't do it.

As if your display isn't enough, you urgently slip your trembling fingers into his messy locks and tug him forward into your hips.

Damn it!

"Don't tell me what to do..." He mutters somewhat guiltily, giving into his present and not his future. You're irresistible.

After giving your surroundings a quick study, Bakugo's lustful face inches closer to the streak of arousal that'd escaped from your soaked panties, the speed at which he does so being way too slow for your liking. Fluttering his eyelids closed in an act of shame, he lets his eager tongue drag over the plush, wet skin, simultaneously taking a handful of your calfs to keep you steady. He misses the way your teeth bury themselves into your bottom lip.

Bakugo collects your sweet sick with the flat of his tongue, mouth wide open making every laboured exhale audible. If he said he wasn't thoroughly enjoying himself right now he'd be lying. You scrunch your dress up and secure it with a free hand on your waist, dying to continue watching his frowning expression before it's hidden.

"Mmmmmnnnn," You whine impatiently, the sting intensifying the closer the shameful hero gets to the drenched cotton concealing your yearning pussy. His breath fanning out upon your body is driving you up the wall.

His stabilising grip travels upward by the back of your legs, stopping just under your ass cheeks. Just as his mouth reaches the lower seams of your skimpy panties, blunt nails dig in and you're sure there will be red half-moons left in their place. This makes you suck the steamy air in through your gritted teeth.

Tears are rolling down your flushed cheeks, frustration growing within you.

Then, right as you're beginning to become more aggravated by the non-stop aching, Bakugo nuzzles into your covered cunt, damping his nose and lips with your scent.

The irritating pain seizes completely. The fuse in you is set alight.

"OH— yes yes, fuck! Keep doing... that!" Trying to lower the volume of your uncontainable moans proves to be very difficult, but the commotion taking place not even fifteen metres away is hopefully loud enough to disguise your sobs.

His huge hands are cupping the whole span of your ass now, fingers having slipped under your thong, pulling your jittery form even closer so he can take it all for himself, shaking his head and inhaling everything you.

A groan emerges from his throat once your pull increases on his hair, the guttural sound going straight to your muddled head. You're practically riding his face with your back arched away from the wall, and Bakugo wants to cry at how hard you're making him. He needs more.

You're about to pipe up when you see him move away, but your desperate whining and pleading immediately comes to a stop after he pushes your underwear to the side and licks a clean stripe through your folds, separating them to kiss your aimlessly clenching hole.

"No! No, please... I said keep do- MNMN!" The fingers clutching at your dress grow limp, letting the creased fabric drape over the antsy man knelt at your feet.

You swear you're temporarily blinded by white when you sense a skilled tongue swirl around your swollen bud only twice, the lone sensations hurling you head-on into what you believe is the most unbelievably mind-numbing orgasm you'll ever experience. The initial shock preventing you from noticing how he flinches.

The hero pauses for a hot second and his crimson eyes widen with disbelief beneath you, but he continues to flick, swipe, prod nonetheless.

His cock was begging to be released from the confines of his pants to begin with. Now this new incessant twitching is gonna drive him crazy.

"Grr! Urgh!"

All you can do is growl and put as much effort into keeping still and not crushing Bakugo with your thighs as possible whilst you come undone, every sudden wave of numbing pleasure whooshing through you with an unrivalled force causing your throat to open and close up for a short moment.

After a while spent to come down from your insane high, he eventually reveals himself from under the light cloth, removing the hands that once had a harsh squeeze of your asscheeks and comfortingly rubbing your vibrating upper legs instead.

You're confused.

He's staring up at you in an uncharacteristically adorable way, akin to a lost puppy, observing breathlessly as you clock the watery sheen layering his nose, the way his long lashes are clinging together with a teeny sparkle to them. Oh shit. You clamp a hand atop of your quivering mouth, droplets still flowing from your waterlines and subconsciously relishing in the unbroken eye contact between you both. Bakugo speaks first, though you're too surprised to register it, ending in a mutual interruption.

"Did you just...?"

"Did I—?"

Not only did you cum less than a minute into it, you squirted all over the guy's face in doing so. Great going!

Bakugo wipes his chin and nose with the back of his thumb, licks his lips then lets out a huff that turns into an undeniably sexy chuckle. His smile...

"Fuuuuuuuuck."

You'd be embarrassed if it weren't for that now familiar sensation returning to reside within you. Something is telling you that reaching orgasm isn't the key to stopping it.

"I need you. Now." The annoying quirk induced pain has you tearfully mumble the words before you can even think them.

"I-I don't think I should— is this eve-" The unsure hero stutters pathetically, still proceeding to grab your panties by the pretty lace hem and quickly yank them to rest loosely upon your feet.

"H-hurts! Please!"

You're half expecting him to decline again after seeing the guilt ridden look on him once he stands up. Wow, you forgot how tall he is when you aren't mounting his face. A regretful sigh leaves him. Then a hesitant attempt to speak up again. Then finally,

"...Alright."

Without a second thought, Bakugo latches his lips upon your own to greedily tongue you down, letting the taste of your sweet cunt mingle on the tip of your tastebuds. His buff arms are caging you in, both of them soon reaching for his belt and the zipper of his cargo pants. He expertly undoes both without breaking the heated kiss once, now taking deep breaths through his nose whilst he frees his unbearably stiff dick and smears precum all over the length.

Suddenly, your legs give out due to exhaustion. Luckily your hero catches you by the waist and pulls you into his chest, turning what would've been another fall into a clumsy stumble.

"Hey, jump." Bakugo orders moodily, and you don't need to be told twice.

Putting all your trust into him, you do as he says, ultimately jumping out of your underwear to accidentally hook them up with one foot as you land in his strong arms.

"Atta girl." He praises deeply.

You use your last remnants of energy to get your dress out of his way as he's positioning you, and he's wasting no time in coating himself in your cum once he's gotten his arms wrapped under your bandaged knees. The repeated drag of his thick cock, up and down on your throbbing clit, is enough to drive you mad. Muscles locking in place and toes curling in your shoes at the overstimulation.

"Please please please please please," A string of breathy whispers falls from your sore lips and hits the shell of Bakugo's ear, causing him to bare his bottom teeth out of sheer arousal, animosity. Your voice does things to him.

The way your small selection of words is slowly chipping away at his self control, he can deal with.

"Hah- 'm serious! It stings! Bakugo..."

It's the desperate, almost saddened moan of his name that gets him to crack.

He plunges into you within an instant, exhaling what, to his slight embarrassment, sounds like a positively defeated whine. As if he's experiencing the same overpowering pleasure that you are.

"H'oh my fuckin' god,"

You'd actually forgotten all about the magical-esque hue surrounding your form until it starts to flicker. It's fading.

You're clung to him like your life depends on him, and he's loving all of it. Your legs constricting his waist and biceps, arms looped around his flushed neck, squeezing his toned body harder and harder with every laboured thrust, the way your sticky sweet pussy is adjusting and sucking on every inch of his dick making it increasingly difficult to move.

"How are you this—" Bakugo seethes, pauses to snap his hips up into you with a new amount of strength whilst simultaneously resting his head on your shoulder for some kind of fucked-out comfort, the same way your head is on his. "Tight!" He muffles into the crook of your neck, drinking in each debauched cry you bless him with.

"Ah, ah, ah!" You struggle not to bite your lolling tongue with how hard he's fucking into you, bouncing you on his perfect cock with just the power of his thrusts alone. You think he could please you the same without the wall as support.

He's hardly given you any time at all to get accustomed with his size and shape buried deep inside. Are you truly that fucking wet? You open your mouth with a silent scream, the enraptured hero having changed his pace to go even faster.

Well, if you weren't that wet before, you definitely are now.

Your coloured aura is completely gone, darkness of shadows cast by city buildings drawing a veil to conceal both of your animalistic deeds.

"Sho g-ood! Gonna cum shoon gon- cum shoon," Your lips are smushed upon his salty skin, shamelessly indulging in his delicious scent.

As if on cue, Bakugo comes to an abrupt stop.

"What are youMMPH!?"

You're roughly sandwiched between him and the bricks at your back, squished impossibly closer to his heaving chest, the new position spreading your legs almost painfully to accommodate his frame. The large, scarred hand that had clamped over your mouth the second you raised your head kept a steel grip in it's place. Leaving one of your shaking legs to dangle beside him. His wide eyes signal to somewhere behind him, informing you of someone else presence. Nostrils flaring with anxiety, you rear your head to the side.

Deku and Todoroki.

Bakugo turns his upper half away from you to check on them a second time, appearing to be holding his breath. Ah, he's still inside you, dick twitching and jumping with the involuntary clenching of your cunt. This must be torture for him, too.

You feel him tense and see his ruby eyes dart, like he's forming an urgent plan.

As smoothly as he possibly can, he sighs and rapidly takes his hand from your mouth to replace it with his tooth-marked lips. This kiss is much more hurried and passionate than the others, so much so that your senses are practically void of anything else but him. But that also comes to a stop.

The sudden lack of his taste enhances your other senses dramatically, allowing you to catch on to the quiet concerns of a suspicious green hero to his half and half friend.

"Wait, Todoroki. I think I just saw something."

"Like what?"

"I'm not really sure. I just caught this flash of something in the corner of my eye..."

You don't understand why he's acting so reckless right now when you could easily be caught until his hand returns to your face once more. You're absolutely bewildered.

Oh, god.

This sight is something you'll never forget.

Your hero is face to face with you, the twisted lace hem of your panties secured between his gritted teeth, thick eyebrows bowed with a silently pleading sparkle in his irises to match. 'Please, stay quiet' they say. This entire situation is fucking unreal, it's making you dizzy. The other hero had seen your cum-stained, saturated underwear from behind the cardboard boxes keeping you hidden. Mostly.

Deku is slowly sauntering in your direction when Bakugo has the audacity to resume moving inside your fluttering pussy, picking up the coil in your abdomen from where he'd left it just to tighten it again. Not once breaking eye contact.

And you thought he was reckless before.

"Maybe it was a stray cat or something." You hear Todoroki approach Deku's side.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. You're both so turned on, so close to one another's release.

Ecstasy consumes you as your hero begins to hump into you, not daring to pull away even the slightest bit in fear of the smacking noises. You wish he would've warned you beforehand, and he wishes he would've too.

No. No no no! He's gonna make you cum again! Your heartbeat is through the roof, and you try to warn him by shaking your head as quick as you can but—

The swollen tip of his length is repeatedly nudging the one spot within you that brings enough pleasure to have you sobbing. And naturally, you sob. Initial volume hardly muffled by his palm until he presses down too late. You're cumming even harder than earlier, you and him clenching wide eyes shut in sync at the feeling of your sex squirting all over his clothes, his scalding skin, his pulsing cock.

"MmmmHmHm-!"

"Uraraka! Hold on a sec!"

Bakugo's heart plummets. Shit! He can't stop himself. Not after that.

"Fuck! God— damn!" A muffled, strained groan escapes his narrowed throat into the panties in his mouth, along with your spellbinding cry, his greedy body too busy jackhammering your poor little cunt to notice Deku’s voice overriding everything. Including the obvious squelch emitting from your hole.

Two sets of running footsteps quickly fade away, relieving the two of you from a crushing weight on your shoulders as white hot ropes of your hero's cum coat your insides. One final burst of glowing purple-pink shows itself before you're deservedly rid of any symptoms caused by that bastard villains quirk.

At last…

You smile into space, warm and genuinely appreciative.

Bakugo removes himself from you, understanding of how his cum seemed to be the cure. You can sense his release sliding down your bare legs. To say he's been struck by love would be an understatement when you collect some on the tip of your finger whilst he stuffs your underwear in his pocket, to then teasingly suck on it once he looks up again.

The hero gawks at your exhausted but albeit playful display and proceeds to manoeuvre you so that he's resting against the wall with your back to his chest. Neither of you care about the intimacy, already comfortable together as if you'd known one another for years. You guess that villain was good for at least one thing…

An overwhelmed sigh from him blows past your hair.

"Don't think I've ever been so stressed out," He complains tiredly with his cheeks puffed out, dropping down to the concrete beneath him with you complying to curl up in his lap.

You close your eyes. It sounds like the commotion outside has finally come to an end, the city's usual ambiance having returned during your panicked moments. An amused giggle shakes your weak body.

"I hadn’t even asked you out yet and we’ve already fucked. Wanna get married next?"

"Pfft, shut up..." Bakugo replies with a snort, placing his spinning head atop of yours.

/-/-/-/

This took fucking forever

#bnha smut #bakugo katuski #katsuki bakugo mha #mha bakugou #my hero acedamia #mha smut #bnha bakugou #boku no hero academia #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo headcanons #bakugou smut #bakugou x reader

[cherrystainedlips2]

To Tempt the Weak

priest levi ackerman x fem reader | historical au | 5.5k wc | nsfw ★

!!!cw- sacrilege, blasphemy, power play, loss of virginity, vag penetration, choking, whipping, sex in a church | ao3 version

synopsis: Father Levi believes you to be a demon in human guise. His only solution? To fuck the evil out of you.

With your head lowered and your eyes fixed on your shoes, you quickly traced the Sign of the Cross before a prayer tumbled from your lips, echoing in the dim confessional.

The sole source of light, a ray of sun, seeped through the lattice that served as a barrier between you and the unseen priest on the other side - a divide between innocence and sin. Although he was nothing more than a silhouette, there were instances where you could feel his eyes upon you, leading you to stumble over your words or to stutter. 

When your prayer finally dwindled to a hush, a murmur sounded from the other side.

“Speak, child.”

And so, you obeyed.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” you began. Your words stirred a rustling from the other side. “My last confession was 17 months ago and this is my sin. I have harboured intense emotion towards another, Father. Of which… could condemn me to eternal damnation.”

“What emotion plagues you, child?”

“I…I dare not say, Father, for I am reluctant to utter such a thing within these sacred walls.”

“Child,” came gruffly from the other side, the force behind his words nearly palpable. “These walls were erected for sinners. If not here within these walls, where else shall you repent?”

You bit your lip, a bead of crimson blooming as you chewed on the plausible. His words bore truth - if not here, then where else should be more fitting? Yet, the hum of anticipation that pervaded the air made your palms slick with sweat and your tongue burdensome, as though it were forged from lead. The priest, however, remained silent, patiently waiting until you could muster your voice.

“I... I lust after him, Father,” you confessed a minute later, the admission leaving a foul taste in your mouth. 

The priest, veiled behind the lattice, did not immediately respond. The stillness was near unbearable until his voice cut through the quiet like a blade.

“...Lust is a powerful force, my child,” he said, his voice low and measured. “So it is not uncommon. It is part of the human experience, the human consequence, and acknowledging it is the first step towards redemption.”

You swallowed hard, relieved by his understanding, yet the sting of shame lingered. “I am aware, Father, but it feels... overwhelming. It consumes my thoughts, my prayers. I fear that it is all that I am.”

“Lust?”

You nodded, a gesture unseen. “Lust. It all but runs through my veins.”

“Well, the path to-”

“-Father, you do not understand!” you interrupted, your voice bordering on a whine.

“And why might that be?”

“I cannot help but act on it…I...I touch myself. My fingers meet my warmth most days than not, an insatiable craving that haunts my waking hours.  I find release as the sun rises, and again as it falls, the same man haunting my thoughts each night.”

“I see…” came the priest’s response, and silence descended once more.

You assumed that he was coming up with a satisfying response…something to quell your worry and to ease your mind. However, unbeknownst to you, on the other side of the confessional booth, a naughty priest was breathing raggedly into the palm of his hand as a tent grew in his breeches.

“Father…?” you called out, panicked. Had you stunned him into silence with your transgressions?

After a moment, there came a strained ‘yes’ before he cleared his throat. “Forgive me, pray continue.” His voice cracked. “For there is no surer way to be washed anew than to unburden oneself of everything.”

Your eyes darted to the side and you exhaled softly, picking up where you left off. “...I touch myself. And I imagine touching the one whom I desire. I imagine him taking me on this very ground with everyone watching, and within the confines of his house - loud enough for his neighbours to hear. For his neighbours to envy.”

The priest audibly swallowed.

“It is all just indecent up here, Father. Indecent, obscene, and vile. How can God find affection for one with a mind as corrupt as mine?”

“Child, how can He extend His love to any among us? We are all stained, all guilty of transgressions; it is His mercy that distinguishes Him.”

“But Father, do you, too, grapple with such earthly desires?”

“I am, after all, a man of flesh and blood.”

“Well how do you expel such thoughts, then? How do you quiet them?”

“With discipline,” he hummed. “Every thought that strays towards the profane, I counter with a prayer. Every desire that threatens to consume, I quell with a verse from the Holy Scripture. It is no easy practice, but one that I’ve grown to rely on.”

“And how might I cultivate such a habit?”

“Each time you find yourself stirred, turn to prayer.”

You pressed your lips together, tightly so, that your chin began to tremble. “...And what if it does not work, Father? That is what I fear most. What if the carnal urge is far too potent, that not even the Lord himself can tame it…that not even the Holy Trinity, in all their might, can dominate it in its entirety?”

“Do not speak in such a way,” the priest chided, his words tumbling out in a rush. “There is naught the Lord cannot overcome, and none the Lord shall forsake. Simply have faith.”

“I am trying but…”

“But what?”

You lowered your eyes, staring at your feet once again. The cool, worn surface of the confessional's wooden bench pressed against your palms. “Nothing, Father.”

And he said not a word in return. Not for a long while, at least. It was a silence that stretched on and on, a silence that threatened to engulf you, a silence punctuated only by a shaky exhale from beyond the lattice. "Tell me… are- are you a virgin still, child?”

“I am.”

He sighed, a sound laden with relief. “Then your temptation shall be greater than any others’, for the Devil desires to rob you of your innocence and purity.” He could see your hand rise to your mouth. “You must resist him, my child. You must counter your lewd thoughts with two prayers and quell your desire with two verses.”

“Father,” you whimpered, and his cock throbbed and pulsated. 

His chest heaved as he reclined against the bench, trying his hardest not to palm his crotch, though it was proving more difficult by the second. He found it repulsive and vile that he was growing aroused at a penitent’s vulnerability, at their struggles. But your whines and your fantasies had gotten the best of him. Perhaps, he too, needed to repent.

“It must be done, lest you wish to be defiled.”

You felt a surge of heat in your veins, a fire that burned your flesh. You knew not what to do, for you were torn between obedience and curiosity. What was this strange feeling that stirred within you, this longing that you could not name?

“Father,” you whispered, “please, have mercy on me. I do not understand what is happening to me. I do not want to sin, but I cannot help myself.”

He spoke in a stern voice, as if to scold you. “My child, you are under the influence of a dark and powerful force. A force that preys on the weak and the innocent. A force that lurks in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to strike. A force that you must resist at all costs.”

And it was then that you realised what this longing was. This longing that you could not name.

“Father…” 

You wished to be defiled. To be ruined by a darkness that you could not see, could not touch, but could very well touch you. You wished for it to slither into your room in the dead of night, to use you, corrupt you, until your legs could not hold you up any longer.

“Let us pray,” the priest declared, and rustling sounded.

You bowed your head. 

“God the Father of mercies,” he began, “through the death and resurrection of His Son…”

Your breast heaved, and your breaths grew short and sharp as a heat bloomed within you. 

“...has reconciled the world to Himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins.”

Your hand crept from the bench to the lap of your gown, slowly and without your registering it.

“Through the ministry of the Church, may God give you pardon and peace.”

Your palm glided across your thigh and to your clothed crotch.

“I absolve you from your sins, in the name of the Father…”

Your breath caught as a lone finger swiped against your slit, and you repeated the motion to re-experience the blissful feeling.

“...and of the Son…”

You threw your head back as your fingers picked up pace.

“... and of the Holy Spirit.”

Distracted by the heavy breathing that he assumed was a result of weeping, the priest opened his eyes with concern and peered through the wooden partition, through a small hole, scarcely large enough for a finger.

Through that hole he saw you, a vision of sin, splayed across the bench with your legs spread and your mouth ajar like a harlot who knew no better. 

He knew it. He knew it well, then. You could not be saved, for you were-

“Amen,” you moaned. 

The priest closely watched as your eyes widened and your fingers slowed, and as you hastened to compose yourself, even though you thought none could see you. You crossed your legs, concealing the dark stain on your gown’s crotch, before smoothing your hair and clearing your throat.

“It is alright, Child,” he said, eyes still fixed on you. "God has forgiven your sins. Go in peace.”

You nodded tautly. “...Thanks be to God,” you murmured.

The priest slowly nodded and inhaled, and he could smell your arousal from even from where he sat. It was a stench that filled the box, a poison that seeped into his nostrils. He could not wait to be rid of you.

He quickly drew the Sign of the Cross, his hand lingering on his right shoulder as if to ward off an evil. “You have confessed and sought forgiveness,” he said solemnly. He gathered his belongings, a Bible and rosary, and prepared to leave. “As penance, you must recite ten Ave Marias, five Pater Nosters, and one Actus Contritionis.”

“Yes, Father.” 

You bowed your head and kept it low, lifting it only to exit the booth when you felt it shake with the momentum of being closed. You rose from the bench, your soaked underwear rubbing against your thighs, before you turned the latch on the weathered, wooden door. 

Once you emerged from the confessional, you were surprised to be met with a dim chapel. Just how much time had passed? Your eyes flitted through the pews in search of another, only to realise the chapel was deserted, save for the priest whom you bared your soul to.

You looked for him then, head pivoting left and right until you caught sight of him upon the pulpit, blowing out the candles that adorned where he stood one by one. 

You strained your eyes trying to recognise who he was, following him in his graceful pursuit to each candle. It was only when he turned his profile that you recognised him. Father Levi. 

Warmth spread across your face as you recounted everything you confessed. 

In your yearning, you had hoped the confessor would be an elder figure, someone who you cared little for and someone certainly not the object of your desires. Father Levi must have known that it was him you spoke of - that it was he whom you wished would take you on this ground and within his home.  He had to have known.

The countless times he caught you gazing at him, fixating on the movement of his rosy lips, or that one instance when your gaze lingered a moment too long on his—

His eyes found yours over his shoulder, piercing through the shadows. You quickly averted your gaze to the floor. Christ, you thought, nibbling on your lips, had he caught you yet again?

With your head down, you scurried to the nearest pew and knelt, facing the altar. You shut your eyes and began to recite your prayers, your voice wavering slightly as your mind strayed to being alone with the mid-aged priest. He was so near - so within your reach, so alone. Was this fate?

On the fourth prayer, you heard a faint shuffling in front of you. Footsteps. But you ignored them. Alas, a cold hand on your shoulder is what drew you from your prayer, causing you to flinch.

“Be not afraid. Pray, go on,” Father Levi said, his handsome face smiling down at you. You remained at his waist-level as you recited them.

But how could you go on with him standing right in front of you? All you had to do was move your head, the slightest of the slightest, and you’d be kissing the fabric over his groin. 

Through the veil of your eyelashes, you peered up at the priest, who regarded you with a stern expression - as though he heard every filthy word you’d just thought.

He frowned. “It is alright, my child. God rejoices in your penitence.”

You held his gaze as your prayer poured from your lips. 

After a while, his austere demeanour softened, surrendering to something less severe as you reached your seventh Ave Maria. Your breath hitched as he began to rub your shoulder.

“That is it, you’ve but three more.”

“Yes, Father,” you whispered breathily, relishing in the tender pressure of his thumb gliding along the curve of your neck.

With closed eyes, you surrendered to the caress, a moment of long-desired fulfilment. Yet, in an instant, his touch transformed, slender fingers encircling your throat with a sudden ferocity that left you gasping for breath.     “I know what you are,” he snarled, bending over so his angular face was mere inches above yours. 

“Father, what are you doing?”

You tried to free yourself from his vice-like grip, to rise to your feet and gain some advantage, but he was too strong, and he forced you back down onto your knees. With a wicked smile playing on his lips, he leaned closer to your ear.

“Did you take me for a fool, child? Did you think I would not notice how you have poisoned me? Tainted me?”

A shiver coursed through you as his breath brushed your cheek.

“Please, Father, have mercy,” you begged. “Whatever I have done, please have mercy.”

“Mercy? You do not know the meaning of mercy. You’ve never even seen her, spawn of Lucifer.”

“W-What?”

In a tone that resonated with an otherworldly chill, he hissed, “Confess, child, for the devil has taken up residence within you. Your sins are a stench that even the hounds of hell recoil from.”

Then, fear gripped you tighter than Father Levi ever could. “Father, please, I am not what you think. I know not what you speak of.”

“You lie. I am not as weak as Adam. I will not be so easily deceived by Satan and his marionette. What other would be stirred by lust within the sacred sanctuary of a chapel, worse still, at the hands of a priest?"

“Father…please…”

“Do not grovel so. It is a pathetic sight. What worth is a demon if he is feeble?”

“So then I am no-”

The priest’s fingers dug deeper into your flesh. “Quiet with your nonsense,” was forced through clenched teeth. “I’ve grown tired of your excuses. You are a demon, sent to tempt me, to test my faith, to make me fall.”

“You speak of faith as if it were a fragile thing, easily shattered by the likes of me,” you retorted, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice with all of your might.

“Enough.”

 “Is this the strength of your faith, Father?”

“Enough!”  he bellowed, releasing your throat and shoving you into the pew as if eager to relinquish you from his grasp. Like you were nothing more than vermin. 

“You shall not make me falter. You shall not sow seeds of doubt within me, you cursed creature!”  His face contorted into something so uncharacteristically grotesque, filled with a rage so fierce it could cast angels from their heavenly perch.

With trembling hands, you instinctively sought your throat, quickly drawing in air that your lungs so desperately yearned for. Each breath a gasp that tasted of dust. Through your blurred vision, you could see Father Levi’s figure retreating.

“Father, where are you going?” you managed to croak.

“I am going to fetch the whip,” he said. “You need more than words to atone for your sins. You need agony. You need blood. You need God's wrath.”   You watched through lidded eyes as he ascended the steps to the pulpit and vanished behind the heavy drapery. You trembled against the cool floor and rasped the remaining of your ten Ave Marias. 

As you lay in your heap, something dawned upon you: You could have fled. You could have escaped and hidden within the refuge of your own abode. You could have condemned him. But instead, you remained, awaiting the lash upon your flesh.

Is this what you desired? Were you indeed…corrupted? A vessel for Satan? There was no other answer, for why else would you harbour such thoughts… and why else would your underwear be dripping?

You heard his footsteps echoing in the corridor, growing near’r and near’r, no doubt with the instrument of your punishment in hand.

You watched as he slowly descended the steps, brandishing a braided whip with a handle adorned with symbols of crosses and saints. The silver metal of the whip glinted in the dim candlelight as he held it aloft, but none shone brighter than his cruel smile.

He seized you by the hair and thrust your face into the cold floor where many had trodden, your arse high in the air. “Are you ready, child? Are you ready to feel the wrath of the Almighty?” he asked.

The flickering light from the remaining candles cast long shadows, gracing you with the ability to see his arm rise. You heard him murmur, “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

And then, you felt the whip strike your back, tearing your flesh, drawing forth a crimson tide. You screamed, a sound driven by sheer ecstasy, and he struck again. And again. And again.

You lost count of how many times he lashed you, how many times you cried out, how many times you begged for mercy only to appease to his iniquity.

“Oh, God!” you cried out at one point.

“How humorous. You are turning to the wrong Father for refuge. My God has forsaken you, little demon. He is unresponsive to your pleas.”

You buried your face into the crook of your sweaty arm, stifling a sob behind the prison of your teeth.

“Your resilience is admirable,” he snarled, his voice a low growl. “But futile. You are mine, little demon. And I will break you.”

As the whip found its mark on your arse again, the sting faint now, he fisted your hair and wrenched your head back to face the vaulted ceiling. “Now, tell me, just how did you do it? How did you poison me? How did you breach the sanctum of my mind?”

You parted your parched lips to answer, but he interrupted. “Do you comprehend the extent of the erection I endured tonight? No? Allow me to enlighten you, then. It hurt to sit. To think. All that consumed my thoughts was the desire to relieve myself within that confessional.” Your breath caught in your throat. “Which was unlike me. Unlike what I stand for…yet it was all I craved. I wanted nothing more than to pump my shaft until I had given my all. Until I was worn and spent upon that bench, and until you had finished in the room over.”

A strangled noise escaped your throat. He had seen you? 

“Yes, I saw you,” he admitted, a flicker of regret crossing his features as he realised his slip of the tongue. All he could do now was deflect. "Not only did I see you, but God saw you as well. Have you no sense of shame?”

Without thinking, you ground your hips back into his crotch, his bulge grazing against your clit. You both moaned before you could suppress it, and he quickly released your hair, his hand shifting to your hips.

“Sex-crazed beast. Sex-crazed demon.”

He ceased in his lashing, dropping the whip to the ground, and brought his newly freed hand to your other hip as you continued to grind against him. “You satisfy yourself during prayer and you satisfy yourself even now. Is that all that you are?”

“I told you, Father!” you moaned.

“You did,” he murmured, his grip growing tighter. “You did. You are a paradox. A sinner who revels in sin.”

“Yes!” 

“But when I am done with you, you shall become something holy.”

You only let out a whimper, one of which was laden with anticipation.

With your face still pressed against the floor, you shivered as the chill of the air unexpectedly met your skin as your gown rode up. It rose from your ankles to your knees, before the priest bunched it up over your waist.

“Your smell is so potent I can taste you on my tongue.” He hooked a finger around your underwear, slowly revealing your tight pussy to the chapel.

“You’re sodden,” he declared. “You’re filthy. It is only right that I, the vessel of sanctity, be the first to take you, to taste you, to fill you with my sacred essence to your brim.”

You licked your lips, salt coated in its cracks.  Your tongue lingered momentarily at the corner of your mouth, a fleeting contemplation. With all the desperation you could muster you whispered, “Purify me then, Father.”

The priest needed no more from you. He began to undo his cassock, slowly freeing each button as he watched your puffy pussy clench around nothing.

“Are you certain that you’re untouched?” he asked. 

“I am certain. I have allowed no other to touch me, Father. Pleasure has only been derived by my own hand.”

“And now, my own.”

Father Levi, with the speed of a starving man, unzipped his trousers and lowered his underwear, his cassock at his sides, before he freed his cock and held it in his hand. 

It was a burning red, far too long neglected, and bubbling with beads of precum at the tip. He rubbed his thumb across his slit before dragging it down his shaft, lubricating it before he’d press into you. For your sake.

“Try to still in your excitement, harlot,” he grunted as your hips swayed. As your bosom heaved. You reached an arm behind your back, fingers hoping to revel in the touch of another, but the priest swatted your limb away.

“We are not making love. Do not reach for me.”    His pale skin stretched taut over the hardness of his cock, the veins pulsing as he stroked himself with his calloused hands. He stole a glance upwards and feasted on the sight of you laid bare before him, his eyes round with greed. Oh, how you glistened in the candlelight.

He situated himself between your parted legs, leaning his weight forward against you. 

The warmth of his chest bore down upon you, his breath hot as it escaped his parted lips. He rubbed the tip of his cock against your folds, your pussy practically drooling, before he dragged it down to your opening and your thighs tightened around him.

“Father!” you panted, but it was not enough. Not for either of you. The feeling of him bare was enough to send you over the edge, but if you finished, then you knew there would be o more of this.

“Worry not,” he rubbed your lower back with his thumb, “The pain shall only be brief.”

The priest spat on the crown of his cock, anointing himself. Then, without warning, he shoved his cock into your tight, virgin pussy, a gravelly groan slipping past his lips at your warmth. He could hear a small wail from beneath him, from you, but it was muffled by the floor, by his breaths, and by the sound of skin slapping against skin.

Your cunt eagerly swallowed him, your walls gripping him so tightly that all the priest could do was groan. He relished in the pleasure of it all, his cock finally wrapped in the embrace of another, celibacy broken and ethics aside. Far aside. Granting him the freedom of animalistic grunts as he pumped in and out of you with a wild abandon.

But eventually, your pleasure gave way to pain, and you let out a second wail. “Father, it hurts!” 

A virgin’s first is scarcely easy, so Levi paid little mind to your suffering. To the feeling of your hymen tearing around the tip of his cock as he slid against your walls.

Perhaps, he should’ve prepped you first - softened your impending agony. But you were a demon. Demons needed no sympathy. Demons needed no mercy.

Instead, he rutted his pelvis into your plentiful, supple backside and said, “Your screams are a symphony, a hymn to the fallen. Let your cries reach the ears of the devil, for even he shrinks at the price you pay for salvation."

“Yes, Father! Yes, Father,” you chanted, toes curling at the sweet agony of his fullness.

“Do you sense it?” The nails of his fingers pierced into the soft skin of your round hips, leaving crescent moons in their wake. “Do you sense the ebbing of the darkness?”

You only nodded.

His grip tightened, the coldness of his touch a stark contrast to the burgeoning warmth that spread throughout your being. With hasty hands he shoved the skirt of your gown to your shoulder blades. “That is the Lord’s will. With every thrust I draw out evil, and with every moan it escapes through your breaths. Yield to it, my child.”

“I do, Father. Make me clean. Make me sacred - something the Lord can cherish.”

He leaned over and licked the contours of the welts on your back, born from the numerous lashes you endured. As you felt the warmth of his tongue against your even warmer skin, you mewled, and he pounded into you even harder, fucking you into the floor. “You shall be purified.” A shaky moan slipped past his lips, “Christ, you shall be purified.”

“Fuck, I…need you, Father Levi!” 

“You do need me. For whom else could save you?” A vulgar squelching echoed throughout the chapel, a product of your bodies and your pleasure.

“Only you, Father.” 

“Only I,” he affirmed. 

The priest watched with a slight frown as you took his cock, sucking it in with fervour and clenching around him until all he wanted to do was come inside of you. To fill your womb with him and watch as your stomach bloated. He was miserable.

Above all, he yearned to rub your swollen clit, to grasp your erect nipples, to fuck your mouth until his seed was all that remained. Until eventually, you’d have to swallow all of him. But he had to remind himself that this was not the pursuit of pleasure. That he could not act on his mortal impulses.

But as you writhed beneath him, your moans blessed to his ears and your juices dripping onto the floor, Levi felt that the Devil, too, might have made his mind his living-quarters.

“Stop that,” he whispered harshly, eyeing the sheen of your sweat, trying to focus on something else. 

“Ah-” you whimpered, your throat hoarse. “Stop what?”

“Tempting me.” 

“It is not by my will, Father. I do not know how to.” 

“It is by your will, vixen. Break the connection you have on my mind.” 

By now, your thighs had begun to burn, and your knees began to ache. You couldn't hold yourself up any longer. But as your form began to collapse, the conflicted priest seized your hips tighter and rammed into you from an entirely new angle.

You let out a surprised cry. "Yes, Father! Fill me up."

Your words were met with a grunt. You could feel his cock twitching and pulsing, ready to burst. And you too, were ready. With a shaky arm, you weaved it beneath your torso in search of your clit. The lack of stimulation was almost too much to bear. 

But as your fingertips ghosted your mound, a mere stretch away, the priest caught your wrist in his grasp and pulled your arm back roughly.

“Look at you now. How can you claim to not be a demon and yet act as you do?”

“Father, you’re hurting me.”

“For the wages of sin is death. But the gift of God is eternal life. You will not rob that from me.” His eyes, twin pools of righteous fury, bore into you, unrelenting. “Your pleas for mercy are but the siren’s song of the damned.”

Releasing your arm, he seized your chin once more, his fingers clutching your face as if fearing you'd vanish before him. ��Beg for forgiveness.”

When you said nothing, he pressed himself further into you, kissing your cervix. “Beg. Beg loud enough so that the angels above can thread through your words.”

“Father,” you began, your frustration getting the better of you. “Perhaps you are just weak.”

You heard a growl before a rough slap marked your arse. “I should just strangle you right here,” he hissed. 

“Then do it, Father,” you challenged, you begged, and the words cascaded from your tongue without a second thought. 

The priest pressed his nose to the back of your ear and drew in a sharp breath. For how long could he steel himself in his duty? “You are so…”

He dared not say more, afraid of what might come out. ‘Deliciously sinful’ died on his lips, and he exhaled softly as if to blow the remnants away. He then rolled his hips against you, heavy balls, aching for release, slapping against your backside rhythmically as he needily whimpered in your ear.

He had lost control. You could feel it in the way he clung to you, in the way he fucked you, in the way he moaned. It may have begun with the intent of purification…but it morphed into something else. Something more vulnerable.

The wet sound of sex was all the noise he could manage - all the noise you could manage. The two of you, bound by your own sins, were unable to utter anything else. 

As you arched your back to feel more of him, his breathing grew irregular and curt, and a low, guttural groan was all the warning you received before the warmth of his seed splashed inside of you, coating your walls and dripping onto the floor. You clenched around him, milking him for all he was worth as his thighs quivered and his nails split your skin. 

When he released all he could, cock still throbbing, he pulled out, his cum trickling down your trembling thighs and onto the floor, creating a puddle right beneath you. 

He withdrew his hands from your hips, and as his touch relinquished its hold, your body crumbled to the unforgiving ground, spent and bereft of support. A pallor of exhaustion clung to your form as you lay there, chest heaving in tandem with the rugged breaths from behind you. 

You hadn’t come yet. Would he-

“Cleanse yourself and then depart,” came harshly from the priest, and you peered over your shoulder to see him buttoning his cassock, his focus seemingly anchored to his hands.

“...What?”

His eyes lifted to meet yours, and for the first time that night, you noticed the grey hue of them. “Cleanse yourself and depart. There is a washcloth near the confessional should you need it.”

His abrupt shift was nothing short of maddening. You found yourself wobbling to your feet, attempting to conceal the parts of you that your tattered gown failed to cover - despite the fact that he had already seen your entirety.

Anger was not a sentiment you often indulged in - you seldom did. Yet, as he fiddled with the sleeves of his cassock, you felt a gale of fury brewing within.

“So, it seems I am worthy of your touch when it serves to satiate your desires, but once you have found your satisfaction, I am cast aside, relegated to being filth once more?”

“Thank you for your time. The angels weep over the heathen that was you.”

“Father!”

“I shall see you the coming Sunday.”

“I can hardly stand, I... it’s dark out, how shall I fare the walk home?” 

“Remain here, then. There are ample pews to choose from.”

“You cannot be serious.”

But he offered nothing in return. He turned and walked up the pulpit, past the heavy drapery once again, before dropping to his knees once on the other side.

“Father, please forgive me, for I have sinned.”

He truly was weak.

#attack on titan #levi ackerman #levi aot #aot fanfiction #levi smut #levi x reader #priest kink #corruption kink #levi ackerman smut #hierophilia #lettasfics #priest smut #ao3 fanfic #ao3feed #levi x you #levi x y/n #levi ackerman x you

[feyhunter78]

PLEASE UPDATE IM BEGGING THIS IS MY BRAND NEW LIFE SOURCE RN

I'm gonna assume this is about Pink Pastels, and gladly give you what you're asking for👀

Pink Pastels Pt 6

Description: It's time for Gabi's field trip, and wouldn't ya know, you and Miguel are in the same group.

Pt 7

Miguel’s never been a chaperone before. During Gabi’s Kindergarten field trip he was away on a business trip, but this time he made sure to be there, not just because Gabi’s class was going to the zoo, and she loves the zoo, but because of you.

There’s this need to protect you, like an itch beneath his skin. He can’t forget the look of fear on your beautiful face, or the way you clung so tightly to him, desperate and terrified. The crunch of that man’s bones beneath his fists, the fear that ran through your attacker as Miguel tore into him, talons and fangs covered in his blood, crimson drip, drip, dripping down to the pavement below, it was an almost ecstasy.

Your broken and discarded shoes are hidden in the back of his closet, along with your hairband. It’s pathetic, really, the makeshift shrine that’s beginning to form, and he knows that his actions could so easily borderline being creepy, but you’re his. He knows it. You’re meant to be together, and he’s simply showing his devotion.

“Papá, Papá, we’re here.” Gabi tugs on his shirt sleeve, her face lit up with pure, innocent excitement, and he resists the urge to crush her to his chest and never let her go.

“I see, where do you want to go first, Mija?” He asks, adjusting her baseball cap and making sure it’s snug on her head. He doesn’t want her face to get sunburned, but she hates the feeling of sunscreen, so they compromised.

“I want to see the hippos!” She says, bouncing in her seat as she turns to talk with her friends behind her, little, high-pitched voices discussing and debating which animals were the best.

“Mr. O’Hara, here’s your map, and safety packet. I trust you went over the info online ahead of time?” You hand him a manila envelope, smiling brightly at him.

Your hair is down today, the crown of your head covered by a white bucket hat, and you’re wearing jeans with a sage green T-shirt that reads SRE Field trip, in big white block letters. He’s wearing the same, everyone is, to ensure if a child is lost, they can be easily returned to their group.

He takes the packet from you, nodding. “Of course, can’t leave my chaperone partner to do all the heavy lifting.”

You laugh a little at that and continue down the bus aisle, handing out the remaining packets.

He lets Gabi pull him off the bus and is soon swarmed by five first-graders, each one a friend of Gabi’s—she makes friends so easily, something he can’t take credit for.

“Okay everyone has their groups, please stay with your chaperone, and your buddy, don’t go wandering off, and meet back here, at the entrance at three o’clock.” An older teacher says, before she gathers her own group and heads through the zoo gates.

You bend down to face the kids, an excited smile on your face. “Alright, what animal are we seeing first?”

“Hippo!”

“Lion!”

“Monkeys!”

“Seals!”

A chorus of answers rings out, and you turn to Miguel. “Mr. O’Hara? Do you have any suggestions?”

You look so pretty, the sun shining down on you, the casual outfit, the way you tap your finger against your lips in thought, clearly putting on a show for the kids. If he ignores all the others and focuses on only you and Gabi, he can almost imagine this is a family outing, not a field trip.

“Last time I was here, they had snow leopards?” He feigns ignorance, but when your face lights up, he feels that intoxicating shot of dopamine.

Snow leopards are your favorite animal, the one you’ve voiced your desire to go see many times while in the school’s teacher’s lounge. One which has cameras, that Miguel has access to. Obviously.

“They still do, they’re my favorites.” You confirm what he already knows, and the children immediately change their answer to match yours.

“Why don’t we go there first, then if the kids see any animals, they want to visit on the way there we’ll see them afterwards?” He suggests, still acting oh so innocent.

“What do we think? Everyone agrees with Mr. O’Hara?” You ask the children, straightening up and throwing him a smile when they all agree to his plan.

Miguel stands back behind you and the children, watching as you join them up at the glass, helping them read out the informational signs, and marveling over the big cats.

The environment set up for the leopards is lush, full of greenery and stone. Perches and outcroppings meant to mimic their homelands, and mounds of snow that they seem to disappear into, reappearing with a flash, causing Gabi and her friends to jump back in surprise then burst into giggles.

You soon join him, your arms tucked behind your back as you watch your students. “I think this is one of my favorite days of the year. I know it’s stressful, and tiring but seeing how excited they all are, just really makes me happy.”

“Gabi loves the zoo, we come here every year on her birthday.” He tells you, desperate to include you in their life, if only through shared pieces of personal information. “I’ve got all the photos in my office, my coworkers’ joke that by the time I retire I’ll have half my office wall covered.”

“I used to go to the aquarium when I was a kid, there’s something about standing underneath those giant tanks, with the way the light plays through the water—it’s breathtaking.”

You’re breathtaking. He wants to say, but he doesn’t. Instead, he says, “I know the feeling.”

You smile shyly at him, and for a moment he’s back on the side of your building, watching you through your window. He didn’t intend to be there, to watch you, he only wanted to ensure you were okay. You were fast asleep, hair askew, in a soft looking oversized t-shirt, the moonlight dancing across your peaceful face.

He couldn’t tear himself away, enraptured by the sight.

You let out a huff, and in his peripheral, he spies the name on your phone. Todd.

He hates Todd.

“Everything okay?” He asks carefully, his eyes on Gabi.

“Yes, sorry, just some personal issues, nothing serious.” You say quickly, sliding your phone into your pocket.

“Ms. Y/N, can we go see the hippos now?” One of Gabi’s friends, Emma, comes up to you, looking up at you with big blue eyes, her hand tugging at your shirt.

“Is that what everyone else wants to see?” You ask, gaze sweeping over the other children.

“Yes.” Emma says confidently, running off in the direction of the large animals, Gabi following closely behind.

“Girls!” You call out, looking from them to the others.

“Go, I’ll bring the others.” He reassures you.

You take off after them, and he gathers the remaining four children, who huddle around him like ducklings.

“Is Ms. Y/N mad? She looked mad.” One of the little boys—Tony, named after the Avenger or a family member, Miguel isn’t sure—asks him, chewing on his bottom lip.

This is that Tony, Gabi’s told him about this boy, how he’s very nice, and funny, but gets scared easily. She likes him, maybe not in a way she yet understands, or that Miguel is ready for, but if his baby girl has to have a crush on anyone, an easily scared little boy isn’t the worst.

“She’s probably mad at her dumbass boyfriend.” Dahlia, a girl he can tell is from the Bronx by her thick accent, speaks up, and it’s all he can do to keep from laughing at the scandalized look on Tony’s face.

“Don’t tell Ms. Y/N I said a bad word, but that’s what I’ve heard Ms. Melissa call him.” She says quietly when she sees Tony’s face.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.” He promises.

“Gabi’s right, you are the coolest.” Dahlia says, grabbing his hand and swinging it back and forth as they walked.

The coolest? He wanted to run ahead and scoop his daughter into his arms, she thought he was the coolest.

Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @miggyoharaswife, @badbishsblog, @imisshim2much, @wanderlustingcastaway, @lynn-9703, @sleepyamaya, @erensbbg, @sweetea85, @ilovemiguelohara, @natthernandez, @stxrrielle, @ihateuguys, @jenniferdixon05207, @blep-23, @luvisaaxoxo, @minimari415, @emerald-09, @violet-19999, @kenchosaikuo, @groovycass, @youcantseem3, @lovefks, @nightshxdex, @dusstory, @aesniri, @munsonssecretblog, @kirke-is-my-name, @starbearieee, @chatoicboy, @act1839, @needsleep3000, @totally-not-georgia

#meg's writing #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #Miguel's pastels #miguel ohara x y/n #miguel ohara x reader #atsv miguel #miguel ohara x you #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099

[roguelov]

Crimson Stained Petals (Chapter 5)

Summary: Set in the 1880s, rumors and mysteries swirled around a quaint town, mostly about a lord tucked far into the woods. Arriving in town, you could not deny your curiosities, but you were not here to stay. Or so you thought. Low on funds, and a job for a live-in servant advertised in the paper, you now found yourself in the home of Lord Morpheus - the source of all rumors. Passions and tensions will grow. Questions will be answered, but may come at a hefty price. And a promise may be broken. But, is Lord Morpheus, and those few residents, truly as scary as they seem?

Words Count: ~6.1k

Reader: Fem

Warnings: fluff, pining, heated makeout, bloodlust, some angst

Chapter 4, more chapters to come!

With a single exhale from the universe, days flew by on the breeze. Your once tense nerves for the party suddenly formed into bubbling excitement. Yet, before you could stew in such emotions, the day of the party arrived. As the sun slowly descended, you began to get ready and luckily Lucienne happily offered to help.

“You look stunning,” Lucienne commented as she finished up the final touches.

Your hands ran over the fine material. A bashful smile curled over your lip and you muttered, “Thank you.”

She smoothed out the dress once more. She stepped back, smiling at you. “Now go, you don’t want to be late.”

You stumbled out your thanks as she ushered you out of your room. You laughed then walked towards the front door. From the front entrance, Morpheus heard your footsteps and sweet melodic laughter. His back faced you, yet as you rounded through the corner he peered over his shoulder. In a single look, you revived his ancient heart.

You were draped in a matching color: an inky midnight black. The neckline plunged rather far, a revealing cut. Thick, velvet, straps looped over your shoulders with fine silver fabric mimicking tassels draped and swayed over your bicep at every fraction of your movement. The dark corset delicately cinched your waist, elongating your figure. Silver embroidery - swirls, spirals, with floral accents - trailed across the top of the corset. The same pattern was added onto the skirt, winding down the side and along the bottom. A single slit ran up the dress revealing the dark ruffling underskirt - or so the illusion. With every movement, a small train behind you swished. The final touch were silk black gloves pulled up past your elbow.

It was elegant, it was expensive.

It was also a gift from Morpheus for this special night.

Morpheus slowly remembered how to breathe again as he fully turned around taking you all in. “You’re beautiful.”

You bowed your head, feeling a heat rise to your cheeks, “Thank you.” It was such a simple compliment, yet coming from him it meant the world to you. “And you look handsome as well.”

Morpheus wore a pristine three piece all black suit. A notable design was the similar swirling, floral pattern on his vest, however it could only be seen up close. It was black on black, and still striking. His pale skin glowed against the void of color. His eyes sparkled like gems, blue topaz seen dangling from high society ladies’ ears and necks. He was the epitome of night, not an ounce of color on him this evening, not even his usual ruby.

“Thank you,” he smiled softly. He extended his arm out to you. “Shall we?”

You easily returned his smile, and looped your arm through his. “Yes.”

Morpheus led you out to the carriage, and the awaiting driver. He kindly opened the door for you and helped you in. For a moment, you were royalty. And you secretly indulged in the fantasy of riches and glamor. You were from wealth and not a lowly worker. You were about to have an evening of adventure and fun with your date -

Date?

Plopping down into the seat, you stewed in such thoughts as Morpheus joined you. He slid into the seat across from you and asked the carriage man to please go. It would be a long ride and it was best to start now. The sun had already set, leaving hints of its warm light still clinging on the horizon. Yet, neither of you panicked. It was a ‘midnight gathering’ per Robert Galding’s words.

You jerked in your seat as the carriage lurched forward.

Date? You thought again. Is that what you truly were tonight? Were you his date or was this a simple act of kindness? Yes? No? Somewhere in between? No, you were a simple employee who struck gold with such a generous employer.

Or, so you continued to tell yourself.

Even if a part, deep down, wished otherwise. A part of you with a voice so small and neglected over the years. If it could just speak, if it could just have this for a moment. But, perhaps it was best to not indulge in such dizzying fantasies. He was your boss and -

“Are you okay?”

Jolted by his voice, you snapped out of your thoughts. You blinked, staring wide eyed at him. “I’m sorry, what?”

Morpheus offered a soft lopsided smile. “You seem … lost in your thoughts I suppose, are you okay?”

You laughed nervously, pushing aside your previous thoughts. “I guess I’m a little nervous. I haven’t had much experience in parties.”

If any.

“I’m sure you will do well. It will be fun, a nice change of pace,” he offered.

You nodded. “I’m sure it will be.”

Hopefully.

He smiled, leaning back into his seat. “Relax, we have a long journey ahead.”

Your eyes dropped down as his leg gently bumped into yours, a small reassurance. Your heart flipped then quickly settled. His calm aura, his charming smile, the way his head tilted back further into the seat, how his eyes softened as you stared, you were spellbound by him.

His calmness radiated, making you calm.

In a few short hours, you arrived at an extravagant home - a mansion. Warm light oozed out of every window and opening. Soft chatter and laughter of people enchanted your senses.

Morpheus stepped out, graciously took your arm and guided you to the front entrance of the home. Standing inside the main hall, a man talked with a woman. His laughter was so loud and so contagious. His smile radiated. He was a dash of sun during these dark hours. His chestnut hair, flecked with grey streaks on his temples, was slicked back and nearly touched his shoulders. His chin was stubbled with a faint beard, a certain ruggedness to his otherwise soft appearance. His suit was a fine charcoal grey, soft and subtle, like the color of a rain cloud blowing away on the wind revealing the sun behind it, or grey found in the pebbles of a riverbed full of fish and life. He was a breath of life, and you were instantly in awe of him.

The woman giggled then shuffled off into the ballroom off to the side. The man’s warm eyes swiveled, locking onto the pair of you. His eyes instantly lit up. “Morpheus,” he greeted, smiling ear to ear.

“Robert,” Morpheus said with a far more reserved smile. Morpheus turned his head addressing you. “This is my dear friend, Robert Gadling. Robert, this is my company for tonight, (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

Robert reached over, taking your hand and politely kissed your knuckles. “Pleasure, and do please refer to me as Hob most of my friends do.”

“Pleasure, Hob. You may simply call me, (Y/N).”

Hob smiled, beaming and bright. “So, how do you know our dear dark friend?”

“Oh, well, I’m actually one of his employees,” you mumbled, slightly embarrassed. “I’m a live-in servant. I mainly do house chores.”

“She is my plus one,” Morpheus interjected. “And that is all I wish to hear from tonight.”

He didn’t need, nor want, more gossip.

Hob glanced at Morpheus with a certain flint in his eyes and nodded. He glanced back at you, still smiling, “Well, I do hope you enjoy yourself tonight.”

“Thank you.” You returned the smile.

Morpheus led you into the room. He greeted a few others and introduced you, but you quickly forgot their names. It was a bit overwhelming. He steered you to a table filled with refreshments. Picking up two filled glasses, he passed one to you. You both silently cheered before taking a sip. A sweet wine coated your tongue and down your throat. You hummed, thankfully for the alcohol hoping to settle your nerves.

Morpheus leaned into you. “I am going to speak with Robert, will you be okay by yourself?”

You couldn’t deny the quick douse of fear over your heart. Your eyes darted to the other guests who laughed loudly. However, you simply smiled at him. “I believe I will be, I’m more than capable of handling some social interactions.”

He chuckled lightly. “Good, I will be back shortly.”

He strolled off to Hob, who stayed by the ballroom entrance to greet any other late guests. You eyed the crowd, sipped your drink for a boost of courage, then decided to try to talk with others. You hadn’t spoken to many on your way in, you might as well see what these fine folk are like.

Morpheus slid up beside Hob. His eyes were still on you as you made your way to the crowd of people. Hob followed his line of sight and snickered under his breath. He turned to look at his dead old friend with his ever charming smile. “So, a mortal?”

Morpheus did not respond initially.

”Although. I did specify not to bring Lucienne, you still somehow managed to bring an employee of yours.”

”Is there a point you are trying to make?” Morphues tore his eyes away from you.

Hob continued to smile, one that was endearing and kind. “I’m simply glad you came.”

Morpheus was slightly taken back.

”It’s good to see you out again. You haven’t visited me in years, and had declined my other invitations so I’m happy to see you are doing well.”

Morpheus’s gaze slowly peered back at you amongst the crowd. Your smile was wide and beautiful, and your laughter was still the most wondrous melody he had ever heard. “I am, better than I have been in years.”

“Good.” Hob pushed himself off the wall. “I do believe it is time we start the party, I hope you don’t mind what I am about to do.”

Unaware, you laughed as a woman recounted her lively escapades with countless partners.

“Excuse me?” You twisted around to see the host, Hob, with his hand reached out to you. “May I have the honor of dancing with you?”

“Oh, um,” you hesitated, seeing how Morphues was nowhere to be seen. But, you couldn’t be rude to the host of the event. You carefully placed your hand in his, “Yes, you may.”

Hob smiled and led you over to the dance floor. It was nerve wracking. It wasn’t the honor of dancing with him, but also the first dance of the night. Your nerves must have been apparent because Hob joked, “You don’t have to worry, if anything I should be. I have two left feet.”

A smile tugged on your lips as your nerves settled. Hob gently spun you around and instantly the musicians - who eagerly waited - began to play a beautiful melody. Hand in hand, arm on waist and shoulder. hob led the two of you in a circle to the heart of the song. Quickly, and thankfully, others began to join. The dance floor was filled with a sea of people and a cacophony of noise.

“So,” Hob began as he twisted you around, “how did you come to know our dear brooding friend?”

You laughed once. “It’s not an exciting story, quite plain actually.”

”Tell me, if you can.”

”Well,” you sighed, “I travel often, and wanderer I suppose, never in one place for too long. I was in town and saw an advertisement in the local paper for a live-in servant to do housework. I was low on funds and decided to take a leap.”

Hob nodded, “I see, so happenstance?”

”Correct.”

”And I hope you do not mind me asking, but why haven’t you set roots somewhere? I understand the need to see the world, I also don’t stay still for long.”

“Like you said, to see the world and sometimes my feet are already moving before I can hear the call myself.” Your smile turned somewhat sorrowful. “I am always looking for something. I’m not sure what it is, but I’ll know it once I see it.”

Hob’s eyes softened. “And I hope you find what you are looking for.”

Suddenly, Hob’s eyes flickered behind you. A knowing smile curled on his lips. A new hand tapped on your shoulder and a familiar voice asked, “May I have this dance?”

Looking behind you, Morphues stood in the moving sea of spinning people with his hand offered out. You glanced back at Hob, and he gave a small nod. You can go, it said. You faced Morpheus smiling widely, “I would be honored.”

You placed your hand into his and instantly the world faded away. Taking your hand, he spun you around almost as if he was showing you off. He brought you close as his free hand landed carefully on your waist. Despite the layers you adorn, you still felt it.

“I hope Hob wasn’t too much for you,” he asked, leading the dance.

You laughed lightly. “No, not at all.”

“Good.”

Dancing with him, the world melted away. It was you and him, nothing else. Two hearted pounded in unison as feet echoed the chaotic beat. If others were watching - and they certainly were - you did not care. Sparks flew. Words needn’t be said. Each of you were utterly entranced. You danced and danced, pulling and pushing each other. The gap between the two of you seemed to shrink and shrink with every step and turn.

He was so close.

So tantalizing close.

Morphues spun you around, bringing your back to his chest. His hand laid flat against your stomach. His other hand held your wrist still leading the dance. He dipped his head, his hot breath fanned across your ear.

“Care to join me for a breath of fresh air?” He whispered.

You tipped your head back, and hummed, “Yes.”

Off the dance floor, and your arm looped through his, Morpheus led you away from all the commotion. Through the pair of double doors, he stepped outside onto the terrace. On the lawn, there was a cobblestone path leading to a fountain with an assortment of bushes and flowers lining the path. It was open, and freeing, with its rolling hills surrounding the property. You could see to the farthest home with its lights still aglow inside. You could imagine picnics in the sun, or tumbling down the hills like a child. It was gorgeous, yet the hills brought a silence unlike the constant chatter of the forest.

Morpheus guided you down the cobble path and around the fountain to a bench. He sat down, his back to the fountain and manor. It was a miser of privacy, but he was willing to take it. He needed the fresh air, he needed just a moment alone with you. He gazed up ahead at the twinkling stars and crescent moon. You carefully sat down beside him, however you did not look uo. Instead, you looked at him. He was the night. The color of his hair plucked from the dark corner of the night sky, his skin bathed in starlight, and his eyes were like two moons brought to life from legends.

He was a god of night.

Stunning, lovely, and frightening all at once. He was dangerous, you knew that. A man of power, and a man of prestige. And yet, you could not stop your heart from fluttering in his presence, you could not stop yourself from constantly seeking him out, you could not stop thinking about him.

Delusion, such blind delusions.

He was dangerous and charming, a wicked combination.

But, for a moment, you allowed yourself to live in these dizzying emotions. If just for a single night. Let me have this, let me pretend, let me dream. You leaned over, with your heart in your throat, and pecked his cheek. “Thank you for bringing me,” you whispered. “Even if I was your only choice.”

Morphues whipped his head. Surprise and confusion battled in his eyes. You were so close. He could hear your wild heartbeat, and he knew his own matched it. He could smell your impossibly sweet blood coursing through your veins igniting his courage while also driving him to near insanity. Your soft breath hitched, your lips parted, and your face under the moonlight beckoned him - like a moth to a flame.

Or a predator to its prey.

Your words finally broke through his stupor. “Only choice?” He repeated those words, almost unsure he heard you correctly. “My dear, it was never a choice. I brought you - I came here - to show you a good time. If anything I should be giving my thanks that you agreed to join me.”

”But, you didn’t have to, even if your friend heavily suggested -“

”If I did not wish to come, I wouldn’t be here/ And you have been so kind and wondrous with your stay. I wanted to repay your kindness.”

He didn’t have to. He didn’t need to say a thing to you, yet he constantly sought out your options and checked in on you. “Why?” You asked.

Why me?

“Because I wanted to, is that so wrong?”

”No, no, it’s not,” you shook your head, “I just cannot fathom that a man of your stature acts the way you do.”

It doesn’t make sense.

“Should I ignore you? Scold you? Treat you poorly so that you hate working for me?”

”No, I -“

He leaned forward, his hand rested on top of yours. All you saw and felt was hime. His hand sparked a fire across your fire and burned its way into your chest. ”Please, stop questioning my generosity. I do what I do because I want to. I wanted to bring you here, I wanted you to meet my friend, I wanted to dance with you, I wanted you to be here with me.”

You couldn’t breathe. He stole your breath, your thoughts, and any sane reasoning. Don’t. Don’t do it. Your logical side urged you, it was here to protect yourself. However, you could not hear it over the sound of your own heart, a heart full of want and blinded by rose colored glasses. You couldn’t hear it over Morpheus’s voice that sang sweetly in your ears. You couldn’t see reason when he was directly in front of you, and how his soft lips tempted you.

Damn everything for just a moment.

In a flash, you closed the gap and kissed him. It was short, a quick peck on the lips. You may have gathered the courage to act, but you didn’t want to overstep. You pulled away - a small sliver of space to breathe and collect your thoughts. Opening your eyes, you were met with the most beautiful blue imagainable, a blue which haunted your dreams. You leaned away as an apology formed on your tongue.

However, Morphues was a viper.

His hand shot out and wrapped around the back of your neck, bringing you back to him. His lips collided with yours. This time he wanted to savor it, he had a tasting and it wasn’t enough to satisfy him. He eagerly parted his lips, begging for entrance. And why would you deny him? It was messy, it was intense, and you wouldn’t want it any other way. You were set on fire by him, consumed by him.

He tilted his head, and slipped his tongue inside. Instantly, you moaned, unabashedly and surprised by how easily he pulled out such a sound by you. You gave yourself over, letting him learn how to make you sing.

And sing you would.

His tongue swirled around, making your skin flush. You grabbed the front of his jacket, pulling him closer. Your bodies flushed together like puzzle pieces. A hum rumbled in the back of his throat. His lips were impossibly soft and addictive. The touch and taste seared into your mind, a memory to always look back on. A hauntingly sweet memory.

More. He wanted more.

He gently lowered you down on the bench. His hands landed on either side of your head. He finally broke the kiss, staring down at you - you who was somewhat sprawled out so lovely on this stone bench. You looked delectable, you looked ravishing, you looked like a goddess he was ready to drop to his knees and pray to. Your chest heaved frantically. He could hear how your heart raced, and how it raced in tandem with his ancient one. You had brought new life back into this immortal.

Staring up, Morpheus was casted in the moonlight. An angel of mythos or the devil of temptation, you couldn't decide. However, in this moment, you frankly didn’t care. Salvation? You never cared for it, especially now. Under the moonlight, his eyes almost seemed to glow, unnaturally so. A trick of your drunk mind - drunk on alcohol, sin, and love. You reached up, caressing his face. He immediately leaned into your touch. He turned his head and kissed on top of your glove on the inside of your wrist.

A flare of desire and hunger swirled inside of him. It was deadly to play with them, but he couldn’t leave this moment yet. He weaned to savor every possible second until the clock struck.

Or before the monster called.

He kissed down your arms. You hummed, craning your neck. You threw your arm over his shoulder, not wishing him to leave. He nuzzled his face into your neck, inhaling your scent. He groaned.

Dear lord -

His lips traced over the vein in your neck. Your blood called out to him. He could feel the pulse by his lips, beckoning him. He tentatively kissed the crook of your neck. Hearing you sigh in delight, he continued. He trailed butterfly kisses up and down your neck, feeling you squirm under him. He slowly placed an opened mouth kiss on your neck and you shivered. Desire surged through him. His teeth grazed over the unblemished skin, and he thought it a crime to not tarnish it.

Part of him, lost in the moment, wanted others to see. He wanted them to know you were his. No hands shall touch you unless they want repercussions. He began to nibble on your skin. You breathed out a moan, drawing him closer. You didn’t dare let him leave now.

He could imagine countless nights tangled together. He could imagine you laid out on his bed, on his silk sheets. He could imagine how you called out his name like a prayer. He could imagine mapping out your body with his lips. He could imagine how your back would arch under his touch. He could imagine how your eyes would droop in lust and want. He could imagine himself begging for a taste. He could imagine you smiling and turning your head to reveal a faint scar where he already fed before. He could imagine how sweet you would taste and how the pain brought ecstasy. He could imagine -

His incisors lengthened, beginning to poke at your skin. Unaware, and drowning in bliss, you hummed softly. Morpheus slowly began to apply pressure. His once playful intentions were replaced with something more sinister. Pain and pleasure mixed. Morpheus could not, and would not, stop. He had you in his grasp, and all he wanted was a taste. Just a mere taste. Back in the garden, it wasn’t enough. You lingered on his tongue constantly all day and all night.

More. Just a little more, a voice growled in his thoughts.

However, pain grew to discomfort, it was no longer pleasure. You hissed. He felt it. He felt your heartbeat jump, not out of lust but fear. He smelled the surge of concern wash over you. It was bitter. He instantly lurched back. He hovered over you. You opened your eyes, meeting his. His eyebrows furrowed together as sorrow stained his eyes. You tried to say something - anything - to calm him, to keep this going. But, he was gone. He muttered under his breath, then ran off.

It happened all so fast, like in a blink. One moment he was drawing out such desires, the next he vanished. Like a mirage, a dream. Now, you were left on your back, breathless, trying to claw at the fleeting memory. You wanted to savor, to hold it close to ensure it was reality and not some fantasy of the night.

“I’m sorry.”

That was what he said. The two words finally caught up to your ears. He was sorry, but why? Why would he be apologizing? Was it you? Was it -

You sighed, deeply. The fantasy, the allure of the night, had finally washed away. You shouldn’t be delving into such delights. Not with him. You sat up, and ran your hand over your neck. You winced slightly under the tender flesh. You glanced back at the light of the manor, to the cheers of people and music. Now, you had to walk back and pretend to others as if they did not know what happened, as if the signs were not slowly forming on your neck.

You walked away, not daring to glance back at the space which held a new secret. It was best to get back to the manor, best to get back to reality. You shouldn’t mix yourself with him, you knew better. Slipping back inside, you scanned the room. No one paid any mind to you, perhaps too drunk to care. However, you did not see Morpheus, no signs of the regal dark king.

The idea of the ride back, those long few hours, weighed on you. The tension, the awkwardness, and the obvious confrontation was going to be unbearable. Yet, you continued on your search because you wanted to go back, you were done with this silly dream, done with your delusions. You only needed Morpheus to return back with. If you can find him, which was somehow proving to be more difficult.

You did, however, find Hob. He was leaning on the wall near the doorway to the main foyer and ballroom. He was watching over his guest ensuring they were still enjoying themselves.

You approached him, “Excuse me, Hob?”

Hob, who was enjoying a moment of solitude with a drink, smiled at you. “Yes?”

You glanced around once more, yet still no Morpheus. You sighed deeply, addressing Hob. “I’m sorry to bother you, but have you seen Morpheus?”

“I’m sorry, I have not.” Hob frowned, “Has something happened?”

“No, I just wish to go home now.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to see you go. But, I will keep an eye out for him. If I see him, I will tell you straight away.”

“Thank you, Hob, I appreciate it.” You turned and fell into the crowd, moving through the crowd of people trying to find him.

Hob sighed and leaned his head against the wall. “I suppose you heard that.”

On the other side of the entrance, Morpheus was pressed against the wall hidden in the edges of darkness. Yes, he heard it all. And, it pained him greatly. He ran his hand over his mouth, still feeling your lips and skin on his lips. Most of all, he felt his incisors still out seeking your blood.

“I did,” Morpheus mumbled.

“You should talk to her.”

“And do what?” Morpheus hissed. “I nearly killed her tonight, Robert. And I can still feel myself being pulled in by her.”

“And what should I do?”

“I’m not sure. I simply can’t be alone with her, for I am afraid I will hurt her gravely.”

Hob sipped his drink. “I understand.”

A silence hung over the pair. Hob watched as you circled the party still looking for Morpheus and even asked a few others. Meanwhile, Morpheus was only a few feet away.

“I’m surprised you brought her.” Hob whispered. “A mortal and one in your care, it’s just like -“

“Do not speak his name.” Morpheus’s tone was cold, and intimidating. Hob was crossing a line, one neither spoke of but knew existed.

Hob, however, quickly brushed over Morpheus’s threat. He wouldn’t speak his name, but he would warn his friend. “I worry about you, Morpheus. That is all, we all do. I just hope you understand what will and what always happens to mortals.”

“I am very aware of their lifeline, Hob.” More than most realize, he bitterly thought.

“… I … I just don’t want to see you hurt again.”

Morpheus frowned at Hob’s gentle tone. Hob was truly his closest, and only, friend he had. He trusted him without a doubt. “I believe we both know pain is permanently ingrained in our long lives.”

Hob snorted, taking another sip. “Yes, I cannot disagree with that.”

“Please,” Morpheus mumbled, completely broken. “Tell her I fell ill, or that I already left. Send her away in our carriage, and I will find another transportation home.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I can’t be near her now.”

“Okay.”

That was all Hob said, before he pushed himself off the wall and walked towards you.

Morpheus peered out from behind the wall, and watched. Hob smiled as he approached you, only for his smile to drop like a well timed act. He told a lie, and said to take a carriage home. Your face dropped, but before sadness could take hold you smiled. You thanked Hob, and wished him the best and to hopefully see him again. You held yourself high, and buried your emotions deep. You would not break, at least not now in public.

Morpheus’s heart squeezed. To think he caused this, to think he brought heartache upon you, it nearly ruined him. And in a way, he believed he deserved it. Was he not a monster after all? Did he not almost lose himself and try to kill you?

Hob, taking your arm, led you out. While, Morpheus slinked away into the darkness, into halls unseen. Like the monster he was. Hob walked you outside and saw you out. With a flick of the reins, with a whine of a horse, Morpheus now knew you were safely away from him. When Hob returned, he headed directly towards Morpheus casted in his shadows.

“She is gone.” Hob stated.

“I know.”

“And so how will you get home?” Hob asked.

“I have my ways.”

Anger and discontent roared inside Hob. “What will you do? Run the whole way? Ride a carriage and pray the sun doesn’t touch you? You are not even wearing the charm I gave you, how will you protect yourself now? You think you are faster than the sun, or do you want the sun to catch you? Or do you think my magic can do such great feats of sending you away in a blink or stopping the sun from rising?”

Morpheus’s lips thinned.

Hob sighed heavily, dropping his shoulders. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I am just worried for you.”

Morpheus’s expression softened. “I know and I appreciate your concern. But, I can see myself out.”

“Morpheus, please -“

“I will be fine, I assure you.”

Hob wanted to argue more, but Morpheus had been set in his ways. “Okay, but do make it back alive. If not for my sake, but for her sake.”

Morpheus blinked, then sighed. “I will. Thank you for inviting me, Robert. I do apologize for the inconvenience I thrusted upon you.”

Hob waved him off. “Nonsense, it makes for an exciting night, just keep in contact more.”

“You have my word.”

Morpheus was out the door before Hob could properly say goodbye. Outside under the moon, Morpheus tipped his head back, exhaling deeply. He opened his senses allowing the world to flood through him once again. Hob’s comment about running home was partially true. Perhaps if he was in his younger years, and if he had fed properly recently, he could have surpassed you in the carriage. However, he was older and muscles had not been used in so long. He had resigned himself to a chair and desk, dealing with stories and business. Instead, he could make it home before sunrise, but not before you. No, you would walk into an almost empty manor with questions and thoughts he could not answer.

No, not until tomorrow. Or if he had the courage to do so.

He looked towards the direction of home, towards you in the carriage vanished from sight. Inhaling, he turned then stepped once then twice then sprinted away. One moment he stood in the driveway of Hob’s home, the next Morpheus was gone. All that was left behind was the sounds of wiping wind, and regret.

Meanwhile, you stewed in your thoughts. Hob had lied. You knew that. It was evident on his face. Morpheus was not sick, he was hiding. But, why? Why the lies? What happened by the fountain? What changed?

And why did you care so much?

You closed your eyes, and rubbed your temples as a headache slowly formed. To think tonight ended in such an unbelievable way. You nearly wished to go back in time and warn your younger self. But, you couldn’t. So, instead, you sat here with bitter thoughts and a confused heart.

When you arrived at the manor, in the dead of night, you quietly thanked the carriage driver. He said nothing, only rode off. You slowly approached the door, and it dawned on you: you had no key. You internally groaned, but knew one person was home. Ringing the bell, you winced at how long it resonated throughout the silence. You, thankfully, did not wait long. The door swung up revealing a slightly disheveled Lucienne. Her glasses gone as she blinked trying to get her bearings.

“I am so sorry, Lucienne,” you apologized. “I truly didn’t wish to wake you, but I didn’t have any choice.”

Lucienne’s eyes landed on you, then darted behind you. “Where is Lord Morpheus?”

“Still at Robert Gadling’s. He had fallen ill, and insisted I go without him.” You so easily spewed out the lie you were told.

Her eyes widened, “Is he okay?”

“I believe he is, he is under Mr. Gadling’s care that I see no reason to cause concern.”

Lucienne nodded. “Right, well, I do hope he comes home soon.”

You didn’t respond to her statement. “May I come in?”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

Lucienne stepped aside and allowed you through. She shut and locked the door behind you. Turning towards you, Lucienne asked, “Are you okay?”

“What?” You spun around.

“Are you okay? Traveling alone and for so long, not to mention having to leave Lord Morpheus, I suspect you might be in some distress. Which is unfortunate after what I hope was a lovely evening.”

“Oh, yes, well the night was fun, certainly unforgettable.”

Lucienne smiled, softly. Her eyes were clearly tired.

“I should let you go,” you said. “You must be tired, for I know I am.”

She chuckled lightly. “Of course, goodnight.”

The two of you started to parts way, but Lucienne froze halfway up the stairs. “Oh! Before I forget, there is a letter for you.”

“There is?” You glanced up at her from the bottom floor.

“Yes, I went to the post office this morning and the worker there asked me to give it to you. I placed it on your desk in your room.”

Your eyes darted to the hall, to your room. “Thank you, and again I apologize for waking you.”

“Nonsense, it soothed me knowing you made it back okay. Maybe we can talk more tomorrow about your adventure,” she smiled, making her eyes crinkle.

“Yes, maybe.” You returned the smile, despite it not being as genuine as hers.

“Goodnight,” she hummed sleepily.

“Goodnight, Lucienne.”

Walking into your bedroom, you first started the task and annoyance of undoing the corset and peeling off the layers. You sponged yourself off, then threw on a nightgown and robe. You nearly crawled into bed, utterly exhausted when you remembered the letter. You changed course heading towards your desk. Picking it up, the sender was titled: Alvin Sheng. A pen name you recognized. And instantly, you were greeted with relief and dare you say some nerves. Opening up the letter, you moved to the window using the moonlight to read it.

My Dearest,

I hope this letter reaches you well while on your new chapter of your life. In your previous letter, you spoke of your new job - one you implied of utmost importance. I am impressed to say the least, but I do hope you know what you are doing. If anything - and I do mean anything - arises please do contact me. But, as you are like myself, I know you will accomplish what you set out. I just implore you to be cautious. So, all I want to say is I wish you luck, and I hope to hear - or to ease my old heart, see - from you soon.

Please write again soon.

Much love and sincerely,

Alvin Sheng

To you Alvin Sheng was your loving uncle, to most he was a nobody, however to the hidden dark world lying beneath it all he was a legend: he was Van Helsing.

#the sandman #the sandman au #vampire!au #morpheus #dream of the endless #vampire!dream #morpheus x reader #dream of the endless x reader #vampire!dream x reader #vampire!morpheus x reader #x reader #fem!reader

[bits-and-babs]

𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌 — 𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋

summary: With the Great Hall empty, you take an opportunity to gaze upon the Iron Throne without its ruler. You can't help but wonder what kind of monarch Oberyn would make. The King is dead, long live The King.

pairing: Oberyn Martell x f!reader

word count: 3k

content: 18+ MDNI. SPOILERS FOR GOT, (In order) Reference to death and vague mentions of gore, celebration of said death (Nasty character go bye bye), fingering, PIV sex. This is a @beskarbabs remaster — original post date 2021.

➛ oberyn masterlist | main masterlist | taglist

Summer sunshine bathes the throne room in a golden glow yet does nothing to dispel the cold, unnerving energy that reverberates inside the stone walls. Red refractions from the stained glass sun at the window at the head of the room leak across the floor. You can’t help but consider the stone flags are often streaked with that colour. That those who have paced the stone flags, their footsteps ringing out in the Great Hall, have given the order to paint the Seven Kingdoms that same crimson shade. 

Standing before the steps, you consider the Iron Throne seated upon them, its bleak colours contrasting the warm hues in which the sunlight drowns the room. The Throne surprisingly does not live up to your expectations. You had heard so many stories, forged of a thousand surrendered swords at the conquest of Aegon The Conqueror. Now it stands before you; you can hazard a guess that there are less than two hundred. 

Its symbolism is not lost on you. It had seated some of the evilest men, who had brought terror and despair across the Seven Kingdoms and its people. When you had arrived at King’s Landing and entered the Red Keep before the wedding, you had expected to see arguably the worst of them all, King Joffrey, stare back at you.

Now it was empty.

The crimson that daubs the floor in splotches reminds you of the events just hours before. Reminds you of the lifeblood that leaked from the young king’s nose and slipped down his pale, blotched cheeks, dripping into the golden collar of his robes at his neck. Reminds you of the bloodshot colour of the whites of his blue eyes and the way they seemed to almost threaten to bulge out of his sockets. A gruesome death for a gruesome king. 

You hoped that his mother’s screams, ex-queen regent Cercei Lannister, mirrored those of the countless he had killed in these halls so brutally. Hoped it would bring those dead some peace. That it please the Old Gods and the New so that the kingdom could find peace and crown a more considerate, less destructive sovereign. 

The Great Hall was quiet. With no king to keep the Iron Throne warm, there was no requirement for anyone to be here. With this knowledge, you slowly make your way up the steps, the sound of your soles scuffing the stone floor ringing out in the vacant room. This close, you could regard the details. The ridges of the sword handles catch your eye, and the hilts of the weapons all ensigned with symbols that represented their owners long gone. While it didn’t meet your expectations, it was undoubtedly a throne for a king. 

You cast your eyes over the armrests, reaching out to touch them. They seemed so uncomforta-

“It’s underwhelming, is it not?” 

You snatch your hand back from the Throne with a gasp, like it had scalded you, eyes wide as your head whips around to look at the source of the sound. 

Oberyn smirks, standing in the centre of the large floor before you. His warm energy radiates despite the distance between you, and the golden robes he wears provide some much-needed colour to your bleak, almost desolate surroundings. You had asked him to wear those patterns for the ceremony, confessing they reminded you of the sun-kissed beaches of home. Oberyn agreed, delighted to represent Dorne this way. 

“You startled me, my prince!” You exclaim, pressing your palm to your chest in an effort to steady yourself. Your Viper had always been stealthy. 

“Apologies, My Sun, but you were so lost in thought that I fear I would have startled you regardless,” he muses, slowly crossing the floor. He looks so at ease in these four walls, sauntering as though he owns them. In honesty, this is how Oberyn always acts, but he is expected to uphold respect in the Red Keep and appear humble. He certainly didn’t seem to care much for that expectation now. 

Despite this, he regards you with a whisper of concern. 

“Are you well? What you saw back there… It wasn’t pleasant,” he treads carefully, uncertain how you had handled the events of the wedding, given he had sent you away from the gruesome scene. But, much to your surprise, the only thing that you happened to find grim were Cercei’s pitiful cries of “take him!” You swore they still rang in your ears like the screams of squealing pigs. 

“Just fine, my prince,” you promise him, dropping your hand to your side. You were fine, honestly. While you weren’t often exposed to atrocities in Dorne, you had certainly seen your fair share of them. Choking to death paled in comparison. 

Finally, he steps upwards, making his way slowly up the levels to stand before you. You’re taller than him on the top step, so he cranes his neck to look into your eyes. There is a glimmer in the blackness of his pupils - vindication. 

“And so the boy dies,” he says, voice quiet as he reaches for your waist. He slowly brushes his palm up the curve of your waist. 

“He was a Baratheon, Oberyn,” you remind him, watching how his eyes trace the neckline of your dress. A knowing smirk flickers across Oberyn’s usually measured expression. He knows something you don’t. 

“So they say,” he appears to pick his words carefully, despite your isolation. The walls of the Red Keep have ears, and unsavoury words often come back to haunt the utterer. “I fear his pedigree has come into question.”

A frown pulls at your eyebrows, searching Oberyn’s guileful countenance for an answer to your unspoken query of ‘why?’

“You saw how that wretched boy acted. Are you to tell me he isn’t a Lannister?” He questions you, holding your gaze. His usually warm brown eyes have that very same intense look he aimed at Cercei and Tywin at the dinner. Abhorrence. How were you to deny what he saw, what you saw? Joffrey was a monster, the kind of cruelty he dealt only shared with one family- lion’s jaws would easily maul a stag. Regardless of whose blood had pumped his heart, he deserved every moment he suffered. 

“Well,” you sigh softly, agreeing with your lover, “I suppose if the shoe were to fit….” 

“It does,” he speaks, dismissing any question of the legitimacy of his opinion, “This is a triumph.” You nod firmly, the two of you acquiescing unanimously to this fact. It was of no consequence who Joffrey truly was. The most imperative truth was that his death had devastated the Lannister family, precisely what Oberyn had set out to do. While he couldn’t claim responsibility, it certainly didn’t diminish his appreciation in seeing the panic amongst the blonde-headed savages - the infighting. 

Oberyn’s hand creeps from your waist and down the small of your back, taking hold of your ass and gently squeezing it. His eyes are hooded as you look down at him, iris’ hidden as he gazes down the neckline of your dress. 

“This could be your chance to become king,” you muse, smiling playfully as his eyes snap up to your face, disgust evident if only briefly. 

“Live here in King’s Landing? As sovereign? I would rather be abstinent,” he muses with his own knowing smirk, “not even your bewitching looks could implore me to rule the Seven Kingdoms.” 

You huff, acting disappointed as you cross your arms across your chest in apparent dismay. Oberyn simply arches an eyebrow, the edges of his lips lifting up in intrigue at your little display of audaciousness.

“What is it, My Sun?” He asks you, clearly amused. You purse your lips slightly, playing coy as you reach for the collar of his golden robes and brush your fingertips over the silk, moving them down slowly until you hook them into the leather belt that sits loosely on his waist. You tug harshly, catching him off-guard and forcing him to move up onto the top step beside you. 

“Oberyn, play the game with me. We’re celebrating, remember?” You whisper, looking deep into his eyes. They always reminded you of the bark of the blood orange trees that grew in the orchards in Dorne, the wood a deep brown colour that lightened with flecks of gold in the light. His tan reminds you of the sunshine, his sigil, the very name he affectionately calls you. Everything about him reminds you of home. 

He regards you for a moment, knowing exactly what you want. You want him to imagine what it would be like if he was king- just for a moment. 

“Anything for you,” he murmurs, allowing you this happiness. You grin, launching into questions as you smooth your hands down his chest again, ignoring how his voice dips an octave.  

“What would you wear, My King?” You ask, smiling wide as he places his large hands on your hips. His palms practically eclipse you, which always makes you feel safe, even in King’s Landing. 

“I would wear golden silk,” he muses, turning you ever so slowly until he stands between you and the Iron Throne, his back to it. You watch him for a moment, the deviant look in his eyes, “I would wear velvet, and I would ensure you were to dress just as remarkably.” 

You allow yourself to imagine that for the two of you, always matching to ensure everyone knew you both belonged to each other. 

“And what would you eat?” You ask him, finding yourself lost for words just seconds later when Oberyn takes the initiative to sit himself upon the Iron Throne. He sits back, legs spread wide, looking up at you. Your blood runs cold, and you glance around quickly for a King’s Guard. There’s still no one around. 

“What would I eat?” He repeats your question, smirking as he retakes hold of your hips, “I would order that all the best foods of Dorne be delivered periodically, blood orange, pomegranates.” His palms work their way behind you as he talks, resting on your ass and pulling you forward. 

“Oberyn-” 

“We’d gorge upon the finest venison, the boar from the woods and wash it down with our wine,” he continues, pulling you forward until you were forced to straddle his lap, bracing yourself with your hand against the ‘head’ of the Throne, “We would want for nothing, the finest food always available to me upon my request….” 

Oberyn’s hands pull your hips down gently, rolling your hips against his. He’s stiff in his tight brown pants, his body disclosing his need for you. 

“And I would eat you,” he ponders cheekily, a smirk crossing his lips as he sees your surprise at his readiness to take you here, in the Grand Hall, upon the Iron Throne. You have barely a moment to snap out of your shocked stupor before he’s working at shucking your skirts upwards, fingertips grazing the inside of your thighs. 

Heat sparks up your spine at the realisation- he actually wants to do this. He wants to fuck you now, here. You spring into action almost immediately, working hastily on the belt that encompasses his waist. 

“As for activities, we would have magnificent feasts, drinking the night away. We’d fuck-” he punctuates with a spank to the bare skin of your inner thigh, causing you to gasp, “into the early mornings, with as many whores as you desire….” He trails off with a smirk as you slip the belt open and pull open his eggshell-coloured long coat, adorned with golden patterning to expose his bare chest under his low-cut tunic. 

As you work on the ties of his pants, fingers trembling with anticipation, he slips a finger into your exposed core, causing your back to arch into his touch. Your jaw slackens, the sensation electrified when accompanied by the possibility that anyone could just walk in. The two of you could be put to death for this, as it certainly constituted a charge of treason. 

“So wet for me, My Sun. Does the prospect of fucking me here excite you?” He teases unrelentingly, gazing at the needy expression on your face. You can feel him search for that spot inside you, the one he knows will have you positively dripping with anticipation. 

“I-I’m the one asking questions,” you say, wanting to sound assured and confident, but you find yourself rushing the words so as to not get cut off by a moan. It made you sound ingenuine. Your lover just smirks knowingly, slowly working in a second finger. You’re already so aroused that it doesn’t take much effort. 

“You are?” He murmurs, watching the way you keen for his touch, feeling your hips rock forward in search of contact with that sweet spot inside of you. If Oberyn put his mind to it, he could make you cum in seconds, but he liked to draw it out. Wants to torture you with pleasure. “Ask away.”

You let out a soft moan as his knuckle brushed your clit, fingers buried deep inside your cunt. Drunk on the building pleasure between your thighs, you allow yourself to consider for a moment what kind of king Oberyn would be. With a broken train of thought, as he focused on building your arousal, you find a half-answer of ‘compassionate and just’. 

“How would you wish for your crown to look?” You finally find the strength to ask of him. You work him out of his pants slowly, easing his cock out and brushing the swollen head with your thumb. Even through your lustful haze, you could imagine all kinds of styles he would wear, but always gold. 

Oberyn, though still moving his fingers, seemed to pause to contemplate this. His eyes searched your face, almost as though looking for inspiration. The silence of the Great Hall is cut only by your laboured breathing, the soft sounds of the fabric of your clothes rustling, and the wet sound of Oberyn pleasuring you.

The quiet is almost too much, and you find yourself growing anxious. Only as you turn your head over your shoulder to check for people does the Prince of Dorne take your chin in his free hand, forcing you to look back at him. He always did ask for your undivided attention.

“I ask they do not place a crown on my head,” he finally drawls in that pretty accent you had come to adore, removing his fingers from you and taking hold of the curve of your ass to lift your hips upwards and align you with him, “Just you on my cock.”

Before the words can settle into your bones, he’s sinking himself into you, using his hold on you to bring you down slowly. You both exhale shakily, the sound teetering on a moan and a whine as he stretches you out around him. He grits his teeth together, the muscles holding his jaw pulled tight as your warmth and tightness overwhelm him. 

You begin to circle your hips, grinding them against him as he leans back into the Throne, gliding his hands from your knees and up your thighs, smirking at the obscenely wet sounds that come from where he fills you. 

“Lift your skirts,” he murmurs, gazing up at you with hooded eyes. They are practically black, the pupils having swallowed the brown of his iris’ with need, “I want to watch myself fuck you, My Sun.” You whine softly, not in complaint but in contentment, as you bunch your skirts around your waist higher, exposing the sight to your lover. 

Oberyn doesn’t allow you to put in all the work, grinding his hips upwards to meet yours each time you sink onto his cock. Your head lolls back, enjoying the trail of tingling skin he leaves as his hands brush over the skin of your waist under your dress. You always claimed that Oberyn had sunshine in his fingertips, his touch leaving a trail of warmth as it brushed your skin. You can feel it now, the gentle heat that swirls under your skin as he drags his hand over your abdomen. 

And Oberyn just gazes up at you, dragging his eyes over every inch of you. He loves how your eyes roll back into your skull as he rolls his hips and hits something deep inside you that makes your toes curl. He feels the way the muscles in your thighs twitch at the sensation, and that’s how he knows he’s found it. 

“Right there?” He murmurs, voice so low and smoky that it creeps down your spine and settles deep inside your cunt. You can’t manage words, your voice stolen by the throbbing in your clit, so you just nod in agreement. 

Typically, he would begin to thrust harder, chase his high. But half of the reason this feels so good is the anticipation of being caught. He wants to drag it out as long as possible, so he uses the grip on your hips to slowly rock them back and forth on his cock, ensuring that each time he pushes into that spot inside you. 

You’re clamping down on him, wailing quietly as he teases you. Oberyn was brutal, never settling for anything other than blinding pleasure. But this is almost acute, so strong that you could cry- you do, tears welling in your eyes as he circles your hips slowly, his tongue brushing his lower lip as he watches his dick slide in and out of you. 

The sopping sounds of Oberyn’s cock continually slipping in and out of you ricochets off the ancient stone walls of the Red Keep. Your whines of bliss appear to spur him on, lighting something ablaze in him that had sparked with King Joffrey’s last breath. He’s almost delirious when he speaks but utterly sincere.

“I want you to conceive a child - here on the Iron Throne. I want you full of my seed, knowing he was born for the Throne itself.”

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[hxxsxxng]

JAY 박종성 - CRIMSON HONEY : II

Word Count : 1.5k

Genre : Fluff, Angst, AU

Content : mentions of blood, mention of bruises, the morning after, literally one implication of sex, stalking, teasing, missing person

Synopsis : what happens once she wakes up in her kidnappers house?

Authors Note : this is a filler chapter to give some insight of the characters morals and personalities, and because i don’t want to put smut in a somewhat innocent chapter. <3

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She is awoken by rays of sunlight peeking through the blinds. She is in the bed.. alone… where is Jay? Her eyes open blearily and she tries to focus them. Where the hell did she end up last night? There’s a dull ache in her lower back which she assumes is the source of the pain. She stretches her limbs, wondering how she got there, then remembers that Jay brought her home. After he had fucked her to unconsciousness, he carried her off the bed, placed her on the sofa, and told her that he would wait for her upstairs. That was the last thing she remembered before falling asleep.

Slowly, she gets out of the bed and walks over to the window, gazing down into the gardens below. It was quiet. There were no cars driving past, or birds singing in the morning. It looked like an abandoned area of the estate. The sky above her was perfectly clear of clouds and the sun glistened brightly on the surface of the lake, shining in bright streaks across the water, giving it an ethereal quality. She turns around as Jay emerges from the bathroom

He was dressed only in a grey T shirt and shorts. She looks him up and down appreciatively. He blushes slightly, walking towards her. “You’re awake…” He smiles. “Did you sleep well? ”She nods sheepishly, running a hand through her tangled, sweaty locks. “No… I am so sore.”. “Well, I’m sure your body isn’t used to the length of time I took taking care of you”. “What did you mean by that?”. “By taking care of you?”. “Yes, what did you mean by that?” She questions once again. “Well…” he begins hesitantly. He looks away from her, scratching his head awkwardly.

Suddenly, an idea strikes her. An idea that she desperately wants to follow through with.

She stares at him curiously, watching as he continues to scratch the back of his head, avoiding eye contact with her. “Well…? ” She repeats, raising her brows. He glances back at her, meeting her gaze and sighing in defeat. “I meant…” He pauses. “I meant taking care of you in the way that you liked. I took care of you like a woman should be taken care of”. She bites her bottom lip, feeling her cheeks grow warm. “Oh” she breathes. She doesn’t know whether she should be flattered or embarrassed.

“I don’t think you realize that this was just a random impulse decision. I didn’t choose you randomly in that alley. I planned it. I’ve been following you around for months, peeking into your window, listening to your phone calls with you boyfriend…just to know who you are and what you like.” he explained.

“He isn’t my boyfriend anymore..” she said with an uncomfortable look on her face and an awkward silence following.

“So…you stalked me?” she says, feeling somewhat embarrassed. He grins. “Maybe”. “And you chose me because…?” she inquires.

“Because you seemed like such an easy target. Like anyone could pick you out of a crowd and take advantage of you. Not that anyone would try to…I mean…well…” He clears his throat nervously. “Like you saw before, I’m an evil bastard. And you seem to be exactly my type.”.

She smirks and laughs at him. “Evil, huh?” She mutters.

She hear her phone buzzing vigorously against the mattress, taking her attention off of Jay. 34 missed calls from Mom and 7 texts from Dad. Ugh.. and 12 texts from her ex Jake. She swipes the screen and sees all of the notification messages. Her stomach sinks. She can feel the panic rising up in her. How the hell does she explain any of this to them? “I’m sorry, Jay…my parents…” She starts to say. She watches as Jay’s expression drops. “Ah, yeah. Your parents. Yeah I get it...we can talk about that later.” He turns around and heads towards the door. He stops briefly and looks back at her. “Go shower. I can make you some breakfast and hopefully you can start feeling better.” he says before exiting the room.

She sits up on the edge of the bed, clutching onto the pillow next to her. Fuck. She needs to tell someone, call her father. Or tell her mom. Someone…who will listen to her, not judge her. She quickly jumps up, and quickly walks to the bathroom.

Upon entering the bathroom, she inspects her damaged body. Bite marks, bruises on her neck, and dried blood on her chest. “What did he do to me?” she questioned. She touches the skin around her neck gently, wincing slightly as her fingers came into contact with the raw skin. She examines her body for anything else but there were none. She grabs a wet wash cloths and dabs it on her. She frowns slightly as the water runs cold against the cuts and wounds. They sting, but she knows that they won’t heal as soon as she gets them properly cleaned up.

As she towels herself dry, she glances over her shoulder at herself in the mirror and finds Jay’s reflection looking back at her.

“Jesus how did you get in here so quietly” she said startled. “I thought you were making food”

“I was” He said as he steps inside the bathroom behind her and stands directly behind her. His arms wrap tightly around her waist as he bends forward and rests his chin on her shoulder.

She gulps. “But…how?”. “I’m pretty stealthy for someone who has been alive all these years” he says trailing kisses down the bruises on her neck.

He reaches her collarbone slowly and gently sucks at the skin around her neck until it reddens and she feels hot, flustered breath brush against her neck and lips against the skin. She bites her lip to stifle the moan threatening to escape from her mouth. “Jay” she whispers breathlessly. “Hmm?” He replies, his words muffled slightly from his lips pressing down onto the sensitive area on her neck.

She swallows. “Your hair smells good” she blurts out. He smirks against her neck. “Does it?” he asks teasingly.

“Yeah, I’ve never smelled something like yours before”. She feels his nose touch her neck. She closes her eyes, relishing in the sensation. “Really? What’s my scent?”. “It’s…sweet. Like honey” she answers truthfully. But really, she couldn’t get enough of Jay’s scent and his arms around her. His presence seems to fill every empty space in her heart, leaving little to no room for anything else. She can sense that Jay senses her change in demeanor and he pulls away from her to look at her face. He raises one eyebrow and grins, his eyes sparkling mischievously.

“Sweet? Really?”. She smiles shyly. “Yeah…”. He chuckles lightly. “That makes two of us” he admits. She tilts her head and smiles at him. “I love the smell of your hair, by the way. You always smell nice.”he says, nuzzling his nose against her forehead and inhaling deeply. “Your scent make me crave your blood even more. It is hard to fight back the urge to bite into you right now” he admits.

“What is stopping you?” she teases.

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[since-im-already-here]

'Permit me to remind you'

Klahadore drabble

(Image Source: https://woka.com.ar/?s=captain-kuro-by-@tsuyomaru-one-piece-pictures-one-piece-qq-3Go3Y0Ua)

Word Count: 2,005

The night began as the sun bid farewell to the sky and greeted the stars with familiarity, deeming it an appropriate time to get into bed with a nice warm drink and cosy pillows, which is exactly what you were doing for the young lady Kaya. Reaching for the scorching pot of tea, you pour her a small teacup and bring them over to the newly tucked in and settled Kaya as she reclines against her cushions.

“Klahadore is insistent that I ensure you drink your remedy, my lady. I hope the flavour has improved with the small amount of honey I've added. A little sweetness goes a long way,” you directed her, she nodded and gave a small apprehensive smile. Her illness was depicted in her pale face, hollowed eyes and the dryness of her mouth. You returned her smile before reaching behind your back and collecting a few of the sugar-coated treats you had managed to swipe from the kitchen without the staff noticing. With a sly smile, you offered them to her, 

“Speaking of sweetness, I stole some biscuits from the kitchen stash for you,” you gave her a small wink, offering a final hushed command of, “Don’t tell Klahadore.” 

Kaya begins to giggle at your comment, but immediately slips into a sinister and dry coughing fit, prompting you to reach behind her and pull her into a more upright position to clear her airway as she finishes her collection of raspy, dry breaths. You wince as she coughs into her hands, offering her your handkerchief you keep tucked within your sleeve to collect her illness parting from her lips within. 

“I don’t feel well enough to drink right now. I just want to sleep, please?” Kaya wheezes through her words. From hearing her shaken breath and dry wheeze, you decide that, just for tonight, she can skip her remedy. You place the tea and the biscuits back onto the tray you brought them in, ready to face the disapproving tone and glare of the chief of staff. The same chief of staff that you, two nights ago, shared in an interesting experience with. 

It seemed all it took for the both of you, was a bottle of sticky-sweet port wine shared in the afterhours of a particularly long day of tending to your duties as lady’s maid to the young Lady Kaya. Once the staff bid you both goodnight for the evening with a curt nod and a small, polite smile; a small glass of wine shared between two leaders of staff was followed by another. And then another.

As our memory drew into a small haze, you walked throughout the halls with the full tray clutched firmly in your hands. You were unable to recall the moment from when you had finished the last of the sweet wine to having your arms draped around the neck of your raven-haired coworker. 

Your lips pushing against each other, gasping for breaths as your limbs entangled in the wine cellar against the racking barrels as they syphoned the crimson liquid into the barrels below. This was not how you expected the night to progress; but the two of you had many moments you could’ve considered flirtatious leading into the evening’s event. 

Closing your eyes now; you could still feel his breath fan against your neck as you controlled your verbal gasps and whimpers against each other’s flesh as your bodies joined at the lips. You could still feel his hair falling onto your forehead as he drew away from your neck to gaze longingly into your eyes. The awkward feeling of his glasses inching down his nose and falling onto your face. You remember feeling his hand remove itself from your hips, your jaw falling slack as you witnessed him press his inner palm against his glasses to redraw them atop his nose, only to then force it way under your shirt to grasp your hip again - the warmth of his gloved hands welcome against your flesh.

You knew it was not becoming of a lady to join in entangling yourself with a gentleman in such a way, especially in a place as exposed as a wine cellar. This was not your first dalliance with a man, but it was your first with a colleague. 

Reopening your eyes, you attempt once more to rid your thoughts of their waves of memory, the warm feeling of anxiety and loss of control clawing their way from your chest to your jugular; discomfort clutching at your lips and souring the flavour. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We need to stop,” you whispered in between his bruising kisses atop your lips, “someone could hear. Someone could-.” Your words were syphoned into the mouth of your lover in a similar likeness to the barrels racking beside you.  

“Just a little more,” as he pressed his lips into your neck, tongue swirling at the pulse and feeling the elevation in your heartbeat. “Please, darling. Just-...” He trailed a flurry of exuberant oscillations of his smooth lips against your jaw to your cheek, “-Please.” 

He began losing himself in the feeling of your body wrapped around his, your arms around his shoulders and his own raking over your hips to grasp the flesh of your back in a desperate clawing motion to clutch you closer. Another kiss was shared in a long and drawn out caress, followed by another. Then another. The stagger and rapidity of his kisses did nothing to deter the intended silence being met in the air; your whimpers painting the atmosphere with their melodic serenade. 

“Klah-’’ you squeaked, another attempt to steer his passionate kiss to a halt being met with no reaction. This verbal warning didn’t seem to sway him in the slightest. It almost seemed like his name meant nothing to him in the heat of the moment. 

It wasn't until footsteps were heard that it broke him from continuing to chase the feeling of your lips against his own in exuberate moments. At the rise and fall of pattered footsteps against the cement floor, heels clicking and echoing within the chamber as they made their approach. The fear of being caught by his colleagues was all too much for both of you; yet you were still entangled within each other’s arms as stiff as the portraits painted above the cellar walls. As they retrieved a bottle of wine, they left the cellar with their heavy-laden footsteps trailing behind them in tow. 

You both breathed a small sigh of relief as the cellar door closed behind the unsuspecting coworker, your smile breaking against your lips as he turned back to face you again. His eyes softened when his gaze met with yours seeming to, just now, remember that you both were working. He leant forward to rest his forehead against your own, the glasses again falling from the top of his nose down to the tip and brushed against the tip of your nose. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Lost within the spiral of your own thoughts, you start to wonder if it was just one night to him. Did it mean as little to him as he made it out to be? There was no whisper of a word or a murmur to inform you of anything other than the sort. No acknowledgement of the event even occurring the following day as you fell into the rhythm of working together in perfect synchrony. 

Continuing to the kitchen, you set down the full tray of hot blue tea and stolen biscuits against the sink to prepare disassembling the arrangement meant to be presented to the lady under your charge. At eyeing the sugary treats atop the porcelain tray, your anxiety begins to elevate with the rapidity of your heartbeat that you did, indeed, steal those biscuits to bring to Lady Kaya from the pantry. And you did, indeed, bring the full tray back down to the kitchen, knowing full well that Klahadore would be less than pleased that Kaya did not drink her remedy that night. 

Hearing the barely audible tap of soft shoes upon the kitchen floor causes you to briefly halt your disassembly of items, retracting your hand from the handle of the teapot you had begun to pour down the sink. Resetting it upon the tray, you rotated your neck to rid it of the small click within before narrowing your eyes and curling your lip. 

“Why is the tea here?” the smooth voice purred from behind you, “She needs to have her tea daily, Dear. And biscuits? You know better than-.” His voice halted as you thumped your palms first on the kitchen counter before turning to face him.

“Klahaore, I don’t know better. I know best,” you challenged him, your brows decreasing their position on your forehead, “A simple biscuit will not cause her harm, and we both know she needs something in stomach or she’ll feel sick from the tea as it hits it.” You stepped closer to him, raising your chin to glare into his eyes. His jaw slackened slightly, his breath hitching at your verbal challenge and the proximity you drew yourself within.

After several unspoken and silent moments pass between you, he clears his throat and readjusts his glasses with the heel of his palm. His mouth begins to open to begin another order towards you, only to halt at your next interruption.

“If that will be all, I shall take my leave for the night,” you rotated your shoulders, standing firm in your upright and formal posture and awaiting dismissal from your superior. Klahadore furrowed his brows, not truly understanding where this animosity and surliness had come from.

"See me in my office," he ordered, stepping closer to your body. You stepped back from his approach, unbreaking in your defiant expression nor the rigidity in your posture.

“My working hours begin between the time my lady rises in the morning, and concludes once she is settled for the night,” you quipped in return, “If I am to be required to attend a meeting with my superior, I will do so in the hours I am employed within.”

"I am giving you an order, darling. You will come to my office now," he informed you, his tone strong and low. He stepped towards you once more, which you followed by stepping back to keep yourself an arms length away.

"And I am saying I will not," you smirked in return. His eyes darkened, his jaw tensing behind his pursed lips. 

With that small smirk, you begin to push yourself past him, only for him to grab your wrist firmly and pull you against his torso. Your eyes fill with disdain as you glance up at him, though you imagine it isn't too threatening with your cheeks flushed with the contact he was providing to you. He holds you wordlessly, staring down into your eyes with a final warning-look. 

“Sir,” you spat, looking down to the position his hand was remaining circling your wrist within, before floating your gaze back up to his spectacles framing his dark eyes. He breaks from gripping your wrist and hovers his hand to the side of your face, almost brushing the heel of his palm against your cheek in a gentle caress. 

“We need to discuss what happened in the wine cellar,” he whispered in such a low and intimate purr of his voice, it prompted your cheeks to flush with further warmth than the initial contact of his grasp on your hand. You gulped back your collected saliva in your mouth, darting your gaze between his eyes.

“And what happened in the wine cellar, Klahadore?” you feigned your ignorance, recollecting the exact moment he was referring to but choosing to play coy with a smirk threatening to find residency back atop your lips. 

His lips ticked up to the left hand side of his lips as he stooped lower to your face, whispering gently in another purred tone.

“My darling, permit me to refresh your memory.”

Apprehensive tag list @fanaticsnail @writingmysanity @sordidmusings

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[novacqnes]

hi hello!! may i request a ellie x wife!reader (cause i love ur detective ellie fic so much oh my) where’s the reader is jealous of this new girl in jackson being mentored by ellie on shooting lessons and the girl is being flirty towards ellie to a point where she’s caressing ellie’s muscles 🙄 ellie notices the reader’s jealousy that leads to taking the reader to a “private” shooting lesson and they just show that they only belong to each other 🤭

lesson learned // ellie williams

warning: angsty; guns, jealousy, possessiveness, smut; face-sitting, oral, dirty talk, fingering (switch!ellie)

pairing: ellie williams x fem reader

a/n: this is by far the longest fic that i’ve written so it took me a while but it is finally done! thank you for sending a request :)

to say you saw red would’ve been an understatement. sure, it acknowledged the magnitude of anger behind an individual, illustrating it as one of the most powerful colors— one of vengeance, fury, and rage. yet for that very reason, it rendered the phrase useless to you because the emotions you experienced weren’t that of blinding rancor. rather they were that of a distinctly unique type of jealousy. it was the type that blurred the lines between anger, drawing in facets of passion and love that transformed the film of crimson over your eyes into a piercing navy blue.

through the blurry hue of your gaze stood a vast field that made your passion seem almost minuscule in comparison. dozens of people stood in the dry grass, thick beads of pestering sweat clung to their skin as the sun’s wrath strengthened. in your ears the loud reverberating sounds of bullets whirred by, enough to be heard from a mile away however you weren’t phased by it. your attention was centered elsewhere just a mere few feet away from where you stood.

monique? or maybe it was monica? you watched as she stood clueless with bright red cheeks that served as nothing more than a taunt to you. her fingers snuck tightly around the grip of the gun and her posture deformed. it all seemed purposeful. you couldn’t fathom how she could survive for so long without even knowing how to hold a gun properly let alone fire one? by no means was she a pro, yet every giggle and glance at her mentor seemed like a ploy to get closer to the woman.

unsuspectingly ellie stood behind the woman, a bit too close for your own comfort. she wore a white tank top and tight blue jeans that molded against her body. offering you and monica the clearest of views. repeatedly your eyes were drawn to her arms, their shape, and more specifically how her muscles contracted with each slight movement. the sight stirred a pit of warmth inside of you but the flirtatious glances from monica morphed it into gut-wrenching nausea.

“like this, el?” she cooed, her voice light and ditzy. she loosened her grip around the pistol as she leaned into ellie’s touch. her gaze cautiously trailing back towards your wife’s arms. her name mimicked a wretched poison rolling off the tip of monica’s tongue. it felt foreign to your ears, spurring a loud ringing sound through them.

“here, i’ll show you.” she moved, taking the gun from monica’s hands as she demonstrated the right form. the newbie watched carefully as ellie extended her arms out, lacing both hands along the black grip. words flowed from her mouth yet you couldn’t make out a thing. fierce nearby bullets made it so ellie’s voice was beyond distorted and the only source of reliance was the stomach-churning image right before you.

much of it was a blur although you remember monica’s fingers gliding along the smooth surface of your wife’s skin. they trailed over her biceps lightly before making their way to her shoulders. her movements were subtle and slow, causing your chest to tighten with each one. fresh hot tears brimmed the corners of your eyes and a distinct bitter taste plagued your tongue. all you could do was watch for what felt like hours as the woman you loved was touched by someone else— in such a casual manner.

there was something so arrogant and brazen about the way monica looked at ellie, even in the way she caressed her. it was as if it was all a game to her and with that, you couldn’t stand to remain in the scorching field anymore. with your vision blurred with tears and hazy blue splotches, you turned sharply on your heel, narrowly dodging the onslaught of incoming bullets.

jumbled, poorly pieced-together thoughts clouded your mind on the way back to the home you shared with ellie. the memory of her and monica seared its way into your mind despite your best efforts to suppress it. you needed to believe that it was nothing. otherwise, you were bound to drive yourself insane. you trusted ellie and there was no denying it, she wouldn’t allow it to go any further. nevertheless, it didn’t feel good having to witness it.

at home you curled up on the couch, basking in the serene silence as darkness fell. she was late again. it wasn’t entirely unusual for practice to run late yet it didn’t soothe your doubts. you loathe to admit it, truly, but you couldn’t really breathe without her. even now, your lungs felt like they were closing in on themselves, the longer you waited, the more it hurt, and you cursed yourself for caring about the stupid lesson.

the loud creak from the wooden door yanked you from your thoughts. ellie emerged from behind it, her collar drenched in sweat. short auburn hair was pulled back between her ears giving you a prime view of the freckles splayed across her cheeks. they were flushed pink, only deepening as she set her sights on you seated across the room.

“hey, i missed you earlier…” she whispered, shooting you a quick grin. a deep warm feeling engulfed you as she sauntered over collapsing beside you on the couch. dark crescents took shape under her eyes and the fatigue was palpable but nothing beat the feeling of having her all to yourself.

“thought we were gonna walk back together?” ellie trailed her fingers along the side of your face, brushing the pad of her thumb on your cheek. you shrugged, moving closer. her skin felt warm and dewy pressed against yours. it nearly distracted you from the memory that hung over you like a looming gargoyle.

“i was tired,” you muttered, your voice bordering on a sharp but short tone, easy enough for ellie to detect. she didn’t address it right away but her eyes did. for a moment they settled on you, hints of confusion glimmering in them yet neither of you dared to bring it up first.

“you feeling okay?” specks of doubt reflected in ellie’s gaze as she studied you, concern seeping from her voice. maybe you really were losing it. jealousy had a way of manifesting itself through physical symptoms, stomach aches, chest pains— sudden changes in behavior. ellie brought her hand to your forehead feeling for a temperature as she leaned down. you weren’t entirely sure if she was aiming for your lips or temple, to be honest, you didn’t spare a moment to figure it out. you couldn’t kiss ellie— not without the image of monica pervading your thoughts. hence you didn’t, dodging the small peck from your wife’s lips.

ellie’s brows furrowed into an arch, “what was that for?” small, but prominent lines formed on the top of her forehead. confusion flickered in her expression as instant regret mounted onto yours.

“it’s nothing— just not in the mood. are you mentoring monica again tomorrow?”

ellie shrugged, “probably, why?” there it was again, that fucking look that made ellie want to drop down to her knees and apologize— and for god knows what? it all made sense. however, your response further solidified it. ellie hadn’t thought about monica since their lesson. but even the smallest mention of her from your mouth was drenched in envy that she couldn’t quite fathom. she was yours and yours entirely— surely you should’ve known this?

you hated this kind of silence, the kind that in its true form was the loudest. draining out every inch of sound in the room. it remained that way as ellie inspected you, piecing apart every aspect of your being, from the shift in your pupils to the steady inhale of your breath. abruptly you rose from the couch mumbling a low “forget it,” as you left your wife behind.

ellie felt more confused than she did conflicted. she wanted to call after you, maybe even follow yet she couldn’t bring herself to move. surrounded by silence she sunk back into the linen couch, bringing her arms behind her head. she needed some way to prove it— some way to reassure you and it was apparent that she wasn’t going to get anywhere tonight, but she could at least try.

icy tension filled the room faster than ellie could blink. unmoving, you remained on your side of the bed, eyes fixed on the cream-colored wall. the mattress dipped down beside you, accompanied by a warm earthy scent that filled your nostrils. slowly ellie brought her arms to your waist, pulling you towards her chest. the immediate reaction was cold although you didn’t move away. neither of you uttered a word, but in truth, the lingering uncertainty said more than either of you could for the rest of the night.

bright rays beamed through the curtains, followed by the sounds of clinking steel that yanked you from your slumber. the bed felt lighter, even more lonely. it was normal for ellie to leave in the morning and that wasn’t the issue— it was who she was leaving for that agitated you. that smug face and whiny high-pitched voice that would consume your wife’s time for hours on end. and you feared this morning would be no different.

you ambled into the living room to find ellie prepped for yet another shooting lesson. she wore a brown flannel shirt that fit loosely around her arms. blue jeans that clung perfectly to her legs, offering you an ample view of the soft skin along her waist. on the table, in front of her a black duffel bag stuffed with bullets, guns, and glass bottles.

“up early again?” you whispered, joining her alongside the wooden table. an ounce of annoyance crept into your tone despite your attempts to suppress it.

ellie slipped a hand around your waist, pulling you towards her as a small smile took place on her lips, “i’m taking you out today….”

quick palpitations reverberated against your chest with ellie’s words and the pesky fleeting feeling of jealousy seemed further than ever. you flung your arms around her neck, sucking her into a warm embrace. for just a slight moment there wasn’t an inkling of doubt— with the exception of the next few words that sounded an awful lot like “….to the field.”

“i’ll pass,” you said sternly, dropping your arms at your sides. any semblance of prior excitement that you’d exhibited vanished, leaving ellie beyond conflicted. this was the only way for her to prove that you had nothing to worry about. the only way for her to truly do so is with your trust. which she wasn’t sure she had at the moment.

ellie began, “y/n—“

“i said no. if i wanted to watch monica stick her tongue down your throat i would’ve stayed yesterday….i don’t even need shooting lessons,” you spat, with a bit more venom than intended. the guilt gradually began to creep in— marriage was built on trust. there was no reason for you to feel this threatened— this possessive.

secretly you wanted ellie to protest, another side of you, tucked away even further would’ve even liked to see her beg. although none of that came. rather she merely stared at you with pools of olive green peering into your soul. after a few seconds, they flickered between yours, and an unlikely sound filled your ears— low chuckles?.……was she laughing?

“what?” you sputtered, fervent heat rushing towards your cheeks. a vibrant peach hue reddened ellie’s cheeks as she shook her head fighting to contain the outburst.

“you missed the target yesterday… each. time.”

“so?” your entire face felt like it was set ablaze. you’d been too occupied with monica and ellie to truly put any effort into your shooting. to be completely honest you had no idea that ellie was even watching you begin with— that thought alone made you feel more secure.

“nothing— but you’re getting kinda rusty, no?” she smirked, loading the first round into the magazine of her gun.

“oh please— i’m as good of a shot as you. i was just having an off day,” you blurted, crossing your arms over your chest. she could sense it, the restless urge emitting from you. with each retort you grew even more defensive and right where ellie wanted you to be and she took great pleasure in stirring it up.

she outstretched her palm, in it lay a black revolver. she whispered her voice low and enticing, “listen i hear you… but you wanna prove me wrong?” her offer hung in the air— longer than anticipated. there was something provocative about the lack of subtlety in her tone, and the microscopic gleam in her eye that only urged you to take her up on it, so it was settled.

the field was vast, populated by expansive patches of brownish-green pasture. short hazel-colored tree stumps were scattered about at various distances, making it a prime spot for target practice. the sky was a misty blue, struck with a fiery orange and lemon hue that engulfed the area surrounding the two of you. high-pitched chirps ran through the air and slowly you realized just how quiet it was. in fact, the two of you were the only ones there.

“where’s everyone else?”

“it’s a private lesson,” ellie said, propping up the last of the bottles. the smirk in her voice was as palpable as it was scheming. she’d failed to mention that the two of you were going to be alone and surely it was purposeful, however, you couldn’t quite pinpoint why.

you removed your gun from your belt, joining ellie on the outskirts of the field, “you didn’t mention that.”

a small grin crooks the ends of her mouth as she turns towards you, “does it make a difference?” her eyes appeared even more radiant with the rising sun brimming the horizon. you shook your head lightly, sneaking one last glance at them.

“the first person to clear all the bottles wins.”

“what’s the winner get?”

“depends on you, babe,” ellie announced, extending her arms out in front of her body. fuck— it was difficult not to look at them. bright rays from the sun illuminated her muscles so that the skin you could see appeared as if they were glowing. the sight struck a mild but nevertheless alluring chord deep inside you. so much so that it nearly caused you to miss ellie’s cue.

her voice echoed, “three, two, one,” ripping you from your thoughts. immediately the loud crack of bullets whipped into the air, as the two of you mowed down the first round of glass bottles. there wasn’t much time to think before you were onto the next, sprinting to the next row of targets with ellie on your heels. the steady pump of your heart escalated to a rapid thump that pounded against your poor chest. you could feel her eyes on you, watching— calculating your every movement and it only pushed you to move faster.

it was down to one more row at the very edge of the field. your legs felt like they were bound to give up at any moment but you forced yourself to continue, stomping on the brown weeds beneath your feet. out of the very corner of your eye, you could see her drawing closer with each step and the sound of hasty fire trailing behind. slowly, your breathing became more labored and your form even more sloppy— if this was ellie’s fucked up way of trying to improve your shooting then she was doing a terrible job at it. you stepped towards the last bottle gearing up to shoot when you were met with a low…..

click.

“no—no out of all the goddamn times—“

click.

the chamber was full— you were sure of it. this was not the time for a fucking gun jam. you extended your arms out once more, hoping— no praying for a miracle when you were met with that same disparaging…

click.

quickly you realized there was no gunfire looming behind you. in fact all that was left of ellie’s targets were meager green glass pieces that littered the tops of tree stubs. the only sounds pervading the air were the pathetic clicks that left your gun and the vile language that left your lips.

ellie began, “here let me—“

“i don’t need your help,” you muttered, sharply turning your body away from her. the words were uttered with an underlying layer of her that you hoped she wouldn’t be able to detect. her hands were the first to make contact with you, settling along the small of your back. the touch was gentle and meticulous, reeling you back to reality.

“y/n, look at me.”

her voice was smooth and velvety, clashing with the tough exterior that surrounded you. she moved her free hand over yours, slowly taking the gun from you. a part of you was afraid to look up, afraid of what it meant. looking into ellie’s would force you to be vulnerable in a way that you hadn’t been in your marriage yet. still grappling with the cracks of insecurity that fractured it.

“i canceled those lessons so i could be here with you,” she whispered. the air was perfectly still and so were the creatures that existed in it. although it felt like the two of you were the only organisms there. ellie was close enough so that you could hear the light beat of her heart against you, ushering you to return her gaze.

“but what about—“

“nothing else is more important to me,” she cooed, bringing her hand up to your face. there she ran her hand along the underside of her jaw before taking your hand in hers. the two of you walked towards an empty tree stump where you sat in silence. allowing the remnants of her words to linger in your mind. the stern emphasis behind each word made your heart skip a beat and nearly forget why you were so upset in the first place.

ellie spoke first, “i need you to hear me when i say this— i don’t think about anyone else, it’s almost like there isn’t any room to think about anyone else. and i didn’t really get it at first when you ran out.”

“get what?”

“why you’d be jealous of her? I thought about talking to you, trying to reassure you but… i don’t think any of that’s gonna work,” she shrugged rubbing a hand against your thigh. there was something so subtle, even more so suggestive about her word choice— hell even the way she said them. blatant arousal was laced behind her voice and it shot straight to your core.

“you have to tell me what you need. how can i prove it to you….” her voice was so unbelievably calm and hot. feverishly hot. it took a moment for a proposition to process. she wanted you to tell her how to please you— and she was completely surrendering herself. this was her way of proving it— proving that she was all yours.

“what do you want?”

“take your clothes off.” it came out faster than you could think but nevertheless ellie complied, beginning with her brown flannel she undid the white buttons, stripping the clothing from her scarred skin. she then moved onto her jeans, pulling them from her sculpted legs. ellie made sure to prolong the process, her eyes never leaving you as she removed each and every piece of cloth from her body. soon she stood bare, ready for your next command.

“you wanna make me feel good?” you purred, ushering ellie closer. she sank to her knees before you, nodding as you cupped your hand to the side of her face. you pressed a slow, magnetic kiss to her pink lips before glancing over at ellie’s duffel just a few feet away. in it was a small black tarp that on regular occasions was used for collecting the glass left behind, but you had other plans for it. following your gaze ellie reached for the plastic laying it down on the grass beneath her. there was something so infatuating about her compliance that drove you insane— in the best way possible. she seemed so eager, so desperately ready to please you.

“i want you to lay down— don’t touch yourself.”under ellie’s watchful eye, you stripped yourself down to nothing, giving her an ample view of your naked body. she bit down on her lip, wrestling with the urge to touch herself and you. soon you join her on the tarp, straddling her as you lean forward.

“you can touch me, baby,” you whispered, softly nipping at the sensitive skin along her neck. her hands trailed up your thighs, sinking her fingernails in before moving towards your back. you clasped onto her face, pressing your lips against hers fiercely. ellie’s lips moved south, showering your exposed tits with sloppy kisses. in both hands she cupped them in her palms, sucking a nipple into her warm mouth. she ran her tongue along the sensitive flesh, feverishly sucking as you clutched onto her.

“how’s that?”

“fuck— it’s so-so good,” you hummed in between moans. ellie’s pace continued leaving you at a loss for words. you spared just a few more moments before pulling away, breathless. her eyes were hungry and lustful glimmering in the midst. just below, her sweet lips appeared so soft and tempting. sexy wasn’t nearly enough to describe it. a sudden urge plagued you and it began at your wet core. you needed to feel her, more specifically her mouth against it.

within a few mere seconds, you instructed ellie to lay back, bringing your wet pussy to her lips. the contact was cold, sending a brisk chill up your back. she started off slow, tentatively dragging her tongue against your lips before fully pushing them forward.

“don’t— fuck— tease me,” you writhed, bringing the pads of your thumb to her nipples. you circled them around it, drawing muffled moans from ellie’s lips. she spat up, lapping up the wetness from her core. she hummed at the taste, sucking your sensitive clit into her mouth as you pushed yourself against her. your hips began to take up for themselves, grinding against ellie’s mouth with no end in sight. you could feel it— parts of your vision beginning to blur and simultaneously the frenzied flicks of your wife’s tongue sped up.

“like that? like the way i fuck your face?” you spat, pressing your eyes closed. it was practically impossible for ellie to answer yet everything about the way tasted pointed toward a yes. her hands raced up to your ass as she squeezed it in her palms, desperately trying to find a way— any way to push herself closer.

“you want me to finish all over your face? is that what you want?” your movements became much more rushed, vigorously chasing after a high. white spots slowly came into view and your posture was unsupported. ellie took advantage of your weakened state, craning her neck upward. she focused on your clit sucking it torturously slow until you were a blubbering mess above her. she pushed on, singalong out the sensitive flesh as streams of pleasure tore through your body, faster than you could fathom. soon with enough strength, you pulled yourself from ellie’s body, collapsing alongside her.

“what else do you need?” she mumbled, twisting her neck in your direction. her face was beet red and slick with your fluids, and it only fueled the twisted pleasure at the center of your pussy. you shifted toward her, slowly kissing up the blue vein that decorated the side of her neck. once you reached her ear you nibbled on the lobe, ever so softly running your tongue on the top, “i’m gonna take care of you now.”

quickly, you repositioned yourself at ellie’s pussy, hovering above it as she spread her legs. they were covered in goosebumps that seemed to multiply as you drew closer. between them you settled, kissing along the inner part of her thighs. you could feel her tremble against her, pressing her eyes closed in frustration.

“i want you to look at me el….i wanna see those pretty eyes,” you cooed, bringing your lips to her core. she jumped back but you eased her towards you. once she was comfortable you brought your tongue to her dripping slit, sucking her needy clit into your mouth.

“holy—shit.”

tears brimmed the corners of ellie’s as she forced them open. you kept your gaze on her refusing to look away, she looked so beautiful like this, so exposed. you adored the way she simply melted on your tongue allowing you the chance to taste the deepest parts of her. after a while you spat down on the pads of your fingers ushering to ellie’s pussy. slowly you pushed in your index finger, watching as your wife’s walls clung to it— hot and even more desperate.

“fuck y/n— i need more,” she panted, gradually moving her hips your hand. you were more than delighted to grant ellie her wish, pushing your middle in. filthy sounds of her wetness and choked moans filled the air, replacing the peaceful calls of songbirds and insects. you worked your two fingers inside of her, pressing up into you felt the spongy tissue of her g-spot. without hesitation you curled your digits up to meet them, teasing ellie to no avail.

“i’m gonna come— please let me.”

she soon began to writhe against the tarp, allowing even the foulest obscenities to fall from her lips. you could practically feel her getting closer, along with the vehement grip of her feverish walls.

“go ahead baby…so fucking wet for me, and so so beautiful,” you whispered, gingerly talking her through the rapture that engulfed her body. ellie’s legs shook violently against you and her vision briefly became blinded by hot tears. you crawl upward to the top half of her body, placing soft kisses all over her face. there, a moment of stillness left the both of you breathless.

upon first opening her eyes you were the first thing she saw. she moved swiftly pulling you in a fierce kiss that lasted for what felt like ages. for a moment the two of you held each other in a moment of newfound trust and understanding. there was no need to say it. undeniably ellie was yours as you were hers. and nothing felt more satisfying than having physical proof of it.

“i’ll stop if you want. the lessons with monica,” she whispered, tracing circles into the side of your arm.

“no need.”

surprise struck ellie’s face as she gazed down at you, eyebrows drew back “you sure?”

you grinned at her with a new, vibrant light beaming out of the corners of your eyes. you pressed a quick kiss to her chest, propping yourself up against the soft skin as you smirked, “never been more sure.”

#the last of us #the last of us 2 #tlou #tlou 2 #ellie tlou #ellie williams #tlou ellie #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x fem reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x y/n #ellie x female reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #ellie williams x you #ellie williams smut #ellie williams angst #ellie williams fanfic

[theghoulgirl]

Adoration (Keith Kogane/Reader)

A 1,300 word oneshot that takes place after the war in which Keith and the reader both live together. Pretty much a slice-of-life in which they both get ready for bed on a cold winter night. (18+)

I also know I am writing for a pretty lifeless fandom, but alas, I wrote this because I wanted to. Not because I expect much traffic to come across it. If you do happen to stubble upon it, then I hope you enjoy!

As the sun wore down on the horizon, it covered the small town in a frigid chill. Luckily the two lovers were tucked away indoors in a desperate attempt to fend off the cold that crept outdoors. But despite their attempt, the youngest of the love birds could not effectively beat the freezing temperatures that had washed over the country. 

“Keith, my dearest?” 

“Yes hon?”

“I actually cannot feel my hands anymore.” Keith and (y/n) were snuggled up on the leather loveseat that sat in the living room of their house, with the memories of war behind them in the not-so-distant past. To further prove her point, she decided to stick an ice-cold hand under his shirt and rest it on his stomach.

Keith let out a surprised gasp and gently shoved her away with a bellowing cackle. “Dear god, go take a hot shower or something! What the actual hell, how is that human? Are you human? That’s not human. ” 

(Y/n) let out a giggle at his rapid fire comments. “I’m not so sure I am anymore. Or maybe you’re not human, especially considering you are still as fiery as a furnace.” 

“Yes. I am not fully human, we know this.” Keith waved his hand in a small circle. 

“But that?” He pointed down at her hands “That is not human. I know human, and this ain’t it.” (Y/n) rolled her eyes at his antics and sat crossed legged next to him with her arms stretched above her head. 

“Well it’s nearly a blizzard out there! You also won’t let me turn the temperature up, so I’m cold!” Although he is right about taking a shower. It’s nearly time for bed and my face feels incredibly gross. (Y/n) stared at Keith’s face in contemplation. 

In a moment of courage, she whispered “Take a shower with me?”Keith shot her a gleeful smirk.

“There wouldn’t be any actual bathing if I joined. So, unfortunately,  I am going to have to pass on your tempting offer.”

“But it would be fun and then I’d get to have, not one, but two different heat sources.” A crimson heat spread across her cheeks at the suggestiveness of her first comment. The corner of Keith’s eyes crinkled as his grin widened, and he patted her on as a sign to get up. 

“Now. Go get a shower. You’re an ice cube and I do not have a nuclear core to keep you warm.”

“Fine. Fine. I’m going.”

After her vision cleared from standing up too quickly, (y/n) wrapped her jacket closer to her and waddled to the shared bathroom. She turned the shower nozzle to the highest setting, which could be equated to the surface temperature of the sun. While waiting for the water to warm, she removed her makeup that has been resting on her skin for far too long. Keith decided at the moment the mascara was being removed, to walk in and lean against the door frame with an adoring expression. 

“Your eyes look like a raccoon.” 

“Fuck off Kogane.” He let out a playful ‘no’ in response and squeezed her waist with one hand as he passed by to grab his toothbrush and toothpaste. Keith nudged her hip with his to get her to scoot over so he had access to the sink. During the time that Keith began to brush his teeth, (y/n) had removed the rest of her make-up, racoon eyes included. She then began to notice the toothpaste foaming around Keith’s mouth. 

“Keith, my love, have you been out in the woods recently?” He cocked his head to the side in confusion at the strange question and spit a wad of toothpaste into the sink. 

“Not recently, but I did go this past weekend. Why?”

“Because you look like you caught rabies. Think we may need to get the vaccine for it.” (Y/n) smiled mischievously at her punch line and started to undress. Keith rolled his eyes at the joke and rinsed out his mouth. He grabbed the edge of his shirt and wiped off the excess water from his face. 

“Ha-ha.” Keith sarcastically replied. “Very funny. Truly, a master comedian. Seriously, we should sign you up for the giggle hut.” 

Now in the steaming hot water, (y/n) replied. “Oh yeah? Well I think you and I should do a dou act. We could call ourselves ‘The Racoon and the Rabies Virus’! Our entire act is just Steven King’s Cujo, but with a rabid raccoon instead.” Keith let out a genuine laugh at the comment and began to exit the room. 

“Well, while you’re in there, I’ll be sure to send an email about our inquiry.” He shut the bathroom door with a soft ‘click’. 

After the shower, (y/n) emerged into the bedroom with two towels wrapped around her hair and body. She began to rifle through her closet looking for pajamas, but also kept an eye on Keith’s side of the closet. 

Keith sat on the bed with his legs bent and a tablet resting on his thighs, but his attention was solely on his partner the moment she waltzed in. A bright blush unfurled across his face as (y/n) tossed clothes onto the bed. With the last throw of a shirt, that does indeed belong to him, he snapped his attention back to the tablet and cleared his throat. 

“I-um.” Keith bit his lip and began to fidget with his hands. “You know you’re indescribably beautiful, right?” 

A wide smile bloomed across (y/n) face at the compliment, which normally is not verbally expressed by Keith since he uses physical touch or action as a medium of love. Though, along with the smile, her face also began to flush and she vocalized “I know my love. But it will always mean a lot coming from you.”

The two lovers gazed into each other as they got lost in the wonderment and adoration of the other. 

What have I done to deserve someone as wonderful as her?

How in the world did I find someone like him?

As the sweet moment passed, a slow awkwardness began to settle in the air. (Y/n) started giggling. “It’s going to be very weird now when I take off my towels to put on my clothes.” 

Keith laughed along at her comment as a playful look shot across his eyes. “No, it’s only weird if we make it weird. And my dear, this is not the first time you’ve gotten dressed in front of me, let alone have been nude.” He let out a sound of surprise as he dodged the towel that came flying at his head as (y/n) took off her hair towel. 

“Put that over your head. I do not want you to look at me while I get dressed.” Keith, while laughing, obliged her request and draped the towel over his head. (Y/n) swiftly got dressed. 

Keith looks like a sheet ghost. 

“Okay, you’re in the clear.” Keith pulled off the towel and chucked it into the hamper. He picked up his tablet and put it on the side table before he opened up his arms as an invitation. (Y/n) approached the bed with a shy composure and lifted the duvet to crawl in and cuddle into his arms. She turned and rested her cheek against his shoulder and pressed a small kiss to his collarbone. Keith in response pressed a lingering kiss atop the crown of her head. They both took an individual inhale and exhaled as they sunk into the soft comfort of each other. Keith rubbed his hand up and down her shoulder as he said “Want me to turn off the lights?” 

(Y/n) nodded in reply. Keith slapped the switch that was above the headboard and settled deeper into the pillows. 

Despite the frost that was forming spirals on the window, the cold that was seeping through the floorboards, and the radiator rumbling in the basement, the lovers were both toasty between the heat that had formed between them. As the night wore and the wind grew colder, they dozed off into a dreamless slumber.

#Keith Kogane #Keith Kogane x Reader #Keith Kogane/Reader #Keith x Reader #Keith/Reader #Voltron Fanfic #voltron legendary defender

[screamingcrows]

Kisses. 🎲🫶

Kisses 🤝

You rolled 6! That's one gentle peck (not from a bird, I promise)

"We're leaving."

"We're wha- hey Zandik!"

You winced at how every student in the House of Daena turned towards you, their stares unforgiving in silent condemnation of the careless disturbance. Zandik merely huffed, light blue curls bouncing with the shake of his head; unbothered by the countless eyes on him.

How did he, loudly criticised at every gruelling step forward, carry himself with such an air of confidence?

Too late did you realise that the source of this contemplation stemmed from observing his gait, hips swaying lightly and shoulders pressed back as he walked away. Away from you. Right.

It was hardly satisfactory conduct in the opinions of your peers, too loudly shutting your books and stuffing everything haphazardly into a bag. It didn't matter, dew under the sun. They would talk regardless of what you did and how, such was the price for befriending an outlier.

Not that it mattered, not when Zandik's eyes lit up, drowning the stars in a crimson ocean while wild theories spilled from his sculpted lips. You caught up halfway to his preferred exit.

"What was that about? I wasn't done studying," you did your best to sound angry, ignoring the warm feeling of your palm against his shoulder, the uniform soft against your skin.

No doubt he was softer still underneath.

"And yet, you clearly have no qualms leaving prematurely, tagging along like a lost puppy" he sounded just a little smug, a tone you knew well enough to leave the bait alone.

"You specifically said that *we* were leaving."

"And you did as I said like..."

He raised his eyebrows, flashing you a sharp smile that had your heart fluttering. If there was one indisputable truth in this world, it would be how this man would one day be the death of you, of that you were certain. And as such, a scowl settled on your features, rolling your eyes before reluctantly completing his sentence.

"...a dog"

He chuckled slightly, relishing in another victory. It was comfortable, days spent attending classes, discussing what you'd each learned whenever your schedules would allow. Nothing was truly unattainable as long as he was by your side, your combined strengths blending seamlessly to form a reassuring net, always prepared to catch and cradle whoever should stumble along the way.

A brief brush of his lips against your forehead was enough to pull you back to the physical plane. The gesture set your veins ablaze, the stares burning into your back paling in comparison. He'd never done anything remarkably comparable in the presence of others. It tingled.

With his hand adorning your wrist, he led you outside in the direction of his dormitory.

"I had noticed you were beginning to lose focus anyway. And I have exciting news to share," his breathing came a little faster, "I will show you the details in my room. But I have made a breakthrough in my tinkering."

Without hesitation, your pace quickened to match his, hand shifting to allow your fingers to entangle. Was he not so reliant on time ever moving forward, a prayer to relive this uncomplicated moment forever would've already left your lips.

#he's a dork he's full of sass but most importantly he got that ass #i need to shake him actually #like a peper shaker to see if the little bird creatures will dislodge from his head like dandruff and spice my meal up #zandik x reader #dottore x reader #screaming at the murder

[oddree13]

To Find a Kiss of Yours

[Read on AO3]

Steve remembers his first Valentine's Day. He was in first grade and spent the day prior decorating a shoebox to act as a makeshift mailbox. The next day the class had a party where all the cards were passed out, but throughout the gathering, girls came up to give him extra candy. One girl even kissed him on the cheek and ran off. 

Steve felt butterflies in his stomach for the first time that day and decided Valentine’s wasn’t all that bad. 

As the years went on, Steve looked forward to the holiday for reasons beyond extra candy. February 14 was used to fill the void of affection his parents were slowly taking from him.

And once Steve started middle school, and class-wide valentines were no longer mandatory, he realized the holiday was different for him than other boys. He’d get more cards and candy than some of his friends, and in seventh grade, a girl pulled Steve aside to let him know how much she liked him. Steve only knew the girl because they shared a couple of classes, but figured he should be polite and ask her out. After all, that is what all the boys around him would do. 

Years later Robin would unpack just how wrong this was to do. 

In short, Steve always looked forward to Valentine's Day and even kept a box under his bed where he kept his favorites - the standouts among the mass-printed, store-bought postcards that were delivered to Steve with a personal touch.

When he started Hawkins High a part of him was nervous that one of his steady sources of affection would dry up, but Steve found the exact opposite. The school encouraged the holiday by allowing students to send each other candy-grams and flowers throughout the day. Even among the students, there was a buzz. In the days leading up to V-day, photocopied maps of lockers would be passed around where people could write their friend’s name on it, in the hopes that it would encourage more personal gifts and confessions. 

In his four years at Hawkins High Steve’s name always made it on the map before he could write it. 

During his freshman year, Steve gets more than a few candy-grams in homeroom, prompting Tommy and Carol to tease him as they steal his candy. 

In between classes, he takes more trips than usual to his locker to collect the cards and notes left for him. Some are signed, some are just a phone number with a name and a lipstick print. Steve can’t help but get high off the constant reminders of want as the day goes on.

Needing to kill time before the bus towards Loch Nora arrives, Steve heads to his locker after basketball practice. Sure it could have waited until morning, but Steve’s never been a patient man. 

Inside his locker are a few more notes, but among the pink and pastels that have filled his vision all day, the crimson card stands out. He opens the front flap to find the card is actually an origami note, and not wanting to rip it, carefully unfolds the missive. 

His eyes are immediately pulled to the drawing at the bottom: a half-sun and half-moon face on a backdrop of stars. His eyes then wander up to the note to find not a letter, but a short poem - 

Some people say my love cannot be true Please believe me, my love, and I'll show you I will give you those things you thought unreal The sun, the moon, the stars all bear my seal

It takes Steve a few times to read it to get the gist of the meaning, and he can’t help but blush. Either the writer is talented or she copied someone. Either way, Steve knows this is making it into his special box. Before folding it back Steve’s eyes searched the page for a name or phone number, only to find a small “E” at the corner of the note. 

Steve spends the rest of the week wracking his brain for all the girls in his class and even the year above whose name starts with an E, even going so far as to approach a few of them. 

When he gets no answer other than a few dates he puts it out of his mind. 

*

Sophomore year is almost an identical repeat of the year before. Candygrams were delivered and stolen by Tommy and Carol. Notes stuffed in his locker, getting more lascivious as the day goes on. It seems his reputation preceded him, and there are more than a few propositions in letter form.

And just like the year before there is a crimson note waiting for him after practice. Steve wasn’t even anticipating the note, figuring it was a one-off from the year prior. But seeing it sitting on top of his books, Steve can’t help but ignore all the other letters and notes in favor of opening another message from E.

Like last time there’s a drawing, this time of a detailed headstone citing a kiss as the cause of death, the skull atop bearing a lip print. And just like the year before is a poem - 

To find a kiss of yours what would I give A kiss that strayed from your lips dead to love

Steve restarts his attempts to find E, only this time he goes for a more subtle approach, flirting with instead of confronting any girl whose name starts with the offending letter. 

It doesn’t end with Steve solving the mystery but does end with Steve going on dates with Elizabeth, Evelyn, Emily, and Erin. 

*

The Valentines of his junior year is an interesting one. Sure he’s been dating Nancy for almost three months now, but that doesn’t stop some very ambitious girls from sending candy and cards his way. He details each gift to Nancy as the day goes on because that's what a good boyfriend would do, right? And sure, he wishes Nancy would look more perturbed, but all he gets is small kisses on his cheek with her saying they can use the candy as dessert when she makes him dinner this weekend. 

The only thing Steve keeps to himself though is his hope for a third crimson note.

Sure Steve hasn’t gotten any luck with finding out who the sender is. And even if he did find out this year he couldn’t act on it. But there's something about the effort that Steve craves. That someone cares enough about Steve to write, draw, and fold the letter each year. 

And just like the years prior the note is there, drawing and all.

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well That, for all they care, I can go to hell, But on earth indifference is the least We have to dread from man or beast.   How should we like it were stars to burn With a passion for us we could not return? If equal affection cannot be, Let the more loving one be me.   Admirer as I think I am Of stars that do not give a damn, I cannot, now I see them, say I missed one terribly all day.   Were all stars to disappear or die, I should learn to look at an empty sky And feel its total dark sublime, Though this might take me a little time.

Not only is this year's poem longer, but the drawing also intrigues Steve. The picture is of a winged man, gazing up at the words written above him with an almost longing expression, while flames dance at his feet. Steve can’t help but examine the detail that went into the drawing, and even blushes at how handsome he is. 

So the next day when Nancy drags him to the library to study, he sneaks away to ask the librarian if she recognizes the poem (without showing her the note). She walks him over to the poetry section and hands him a collection of British poetry, turning to the section on W.H. Auden. 

Steve reads a brief description of the poem, about the unrequited love between the poet and the stars. He bitterly thinks that this love might not be unrequited if he could figure out who his secret admirer was. 

Years later Steve would realize two things - Indiana public school books didn't care to mention that W.H. Auden was gay and that he really should have looked at the checkout card inside the book cover.

* 

Steve contemplates staying home for the last Valentine's Day of his high school career. He's certain he won't get any grams now that he’s fallen from grace and taken no steps to climb back up. 

But despite how obnoxious sharing court with Hargrove is, basketball practice is the only thing keeping him sane as he counts down the days till graduation. 

Steve didn't even mean to go back to his locker that day not wanting to be disappointed by the lack of a crimson note. But he needs his notes to study for chemistry, and as he pulls out the binder the crimson letter falls to the floor. 

Steve can't help the way his heart clenches at the sight. How such a simple thing can remind him why he loves his holiday so much? 

He then figures that the sender. Must be someone in his grade if they've kept these notes coming all four years. 

Passing stranger! You do not know how longingly I look upon you, You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me as of a dream,) I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you, All is recall’d as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured, You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me , I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only, You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return, I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or wake at night alone, I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again, I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

Steve sinks onto the floor as he reads the poem over and over again. He can't help but smirk at how the bits about girls are stricken through, but also that it's a farewell of sorts. It leaves Steve with a bittersweet feeling to know he'll never find out the sender's identity. 

* 

Over piles of discount candy in 1986, Steve shares with Robin the details of the crimson notes tucked under his bed. Robin can't help but laugh as she looks through them pointing out to Steve how fucking homo erotic all the poems are. 

After a bit of denial, Steve finally admits that Robin may be right and kicks himself for only searching for girls back when he was in high school. Realizing he didn't bother to get a copy of the yearbook he asks Robin if he can come one day to search the pages at her house for clues. But a few weeks later literal hell breaks loose and he forgets all about it

Part of Steve wishes he actually bothered to get a copy of the yearbook so he could search the pages, but a few weeks later literal hell breaks loose and he forgets all about it

*

It's February 1987 and Steve is wondering how he's spending Valentine's Day Eve cleaning up his kitchen after the party wraps their D&D session for the night. 

Eddie is helping him tidy as he recounts how on the ride over to Steve's, Dustin was explaining how nervous he was about his radio date with Suzie the next day wanting to do something special but not cheesy. 

“I told him he should recite some poetry and he told me that's lame,” Eddie says in a way that expresses their mutual frustration with Henderson. 

“It's not lame. If it's done right,” Steve agrees. 

“The little shit then told me that metal lyrics don't count as poetry and I told him that I know more than just metal lyrics.” 

Steve can't help but look amused and gestures for Eddie to regale him with a poem. 

Eddie clears his throat and begins, “To find a kiss of yours what I would give…”

“A kiss that strayed from your lips...dead to love,” Steve finishes unthinking. After all, he read those words hundreds of times. 

That's when it clicks for Steve. The E written in the corner of all those notes stood for Eddie. 

Eddie's eyes catch Steve's and he visibly swallows. His complexion pails and he looks like he's about to run for it, but Steve sputters out his confession. 

“I kept them all.” 

Eddie's eyes widened even further at that as if he couldn't believe what Steve was saying.

“You did?”

“Yeah. Want to see them? They're in my room.”

“That's quite a line, Harrington”

“Well not all of us can be poets.”

#steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #robin buckley #myfics #valentines day #secret admirer #stranger things fic #steddie fic

[pursuitseternal]

“Feeling:” angst, romance, flashbacks, comfort… update to “Our Blood is Thicker”

Astarion x Tav (Cordehlia) | E | 4.5K of angsty flashbacks and romantic comfort

Cover art by @marimosalad 💞

Summary: Baldur’s Gate looms before them, where so much awaits them: Cazador, the Absolute, and the source and secret of Cordehlia’s long-lasting hatred of him. Where her love turned to grief, and grief turned to rage.

CW: cuddling, flashbacks, angst angst and more angst, grief, tragic revelations, hurt comfort, two lovesick idiots finally getting closer… while they still can.

Previous Ch | ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 15: Feeling…

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞

She could see the heat rising from it, the City. Baldur’s Gate, a sight she had sworn never to see. Not since she had last ventured this way, heavy with broken heart and the weight of lost souls in her heart.

But fates change, fortunes rise and fall. Now Cordehlia sat on this watchtower wall, the very reason for her anger and hatred and vow to never set foot here again had his arm wrapped snug around her waist. Astarion pulled her into his lap, face turned towards the sun as his crimson eyes watched it set over the sea.

Her heart rapt hard in her chest. There was so much ahead of them, so many battles to fight and enemies to slay. But for now, he just held her as the light faded into sparkles on the waves. His eyes were wide with wonder, and she realized in that moment, he hadn’t seen a sunset near the city for almost two-hundred years. Not since….

“Not since those days of Magistrate have I seen the sun, let alone allowed myself to watch it settle into the Sea…” he sighed, snuggling her closer into his chest, tucking her fiery red head under the dip of his chin. “This is what we always dreamed of, isn’t it… the allure of the city, the chance to be together at long last….”

His voice, usually purring in seduction or acerbic in sarcasm just flowed over her in warm tender words, just as he used to back… back home.

“We are a might bit different now than we would have been,” she replied, a bit sharper, a bit more bitter than he was.

He turned slowly, thick lips smirking as he caught her chin in his gentle hold. “We both have a little more bite now, don’t we, my love?”

Cordehlia ran her thumb over his lips, slipping inside to brush his fang gently. “There is so much ahead of us here. Challenges… danger… blood.” Her voice was distant, so many thoughts swirling behind the shining silver of her eyes.

Astarion smirked against her palm, trying for flirtatious, for a hint of playful seduction to soothe her. “But darling, we like blood,” he teased.

A half-hearted laugh, she pressed closer against his body. Wishing he was warm.

“Cazador will be seeking you back even harder now, my love…” she whispered, worried about even mentioning the monster’s name.

“Let him,” he shrugged, every muscle in his hardened body tightening. Ready to spring. “I am more than powerful enough to take him. With our tadpole, he can’t compel me, can’t force me to…” Astarion swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing against the top of her head, “to do anything.” He finished, so many things unsaid in that silence. “I’ll be free,” he purred, lifting her sweet face up for him to lose himself in. “We’ll be free, Cordehlia.”

She pressed her lips against his, a soft kiss, more affirming and loving that words could say.

He sighed, letting his fingers fall from under her chin. “You really are perfect, every time, my love.” That raking smile twisted his face, more of his taunting, jeering nature coming out to play. “And besides, I can’t wait to hear Cazador’s screams and smell his blood once we finally kill him. All we need to do now is find where this… Rite… is taking place, and,” he arched that left brow, cunning and mischievous, “if we can take a bit of that power and immortality for ourselves.”

“Astarion, always the ambitious,” she shook her head. “Magistrate, High Lord… no those titles are beneath you,” Cordehlia needled back, mocking and whining as if he were a child. “No, no… Lord Astarion, Vampire Ascendant…”

“You must admit,” he let out a heavily dramatic sigh, “it does sound so nice.”

“Hmm,” she patted him on the cheek, “one thing at a time, love. Devilish pacts and profane rites are not like bargaining for a better deal at the fish market.”

Astarion snickered, “That’s your elvish wisdom, is it? I’d prefer power over a nice cut of cod any day. Why don’t more people talk about the wisdom of the vampire?” He faked a pout, like the petulant child she sometimes still caught glimmers of beneath the man she loved.

“Because the extent of your wisdom, Astarion is ‘See a problem, stab the problem, get rewarded for solving the problem.’ That’s not wisdom,” Cordehlia placed a hand on his chest as he started to lean into her, his body winding tight as if he were about to throw her on her back and have his way. But she shoved hard enough to keep him at bay. “It’s the ambition of the vampire, my love. And you’ve always had an ambitious streak in you.”

She gazes at him a little pointedly, a little bitter, just a spark of that anger in her face that he remembered from first finding her once more. “I take it you worry about my ambitions, darling.”

“I have the right to worry.” She kept that hand on his chest. “You’ve hurt me before,” she quirked a brow, taunting, “remember?”

“A low blow, but a valid one,” he sighed, exasperated. “I do remember, and yet…” he forced his face into hers, looking closely. “Why do you look like you hate me… like that day you found me on the beach?”

A shaking, chest rattling breath made her quake in his arms. “Because I vowed never to come back to this city, to never step foot in Baldur’s Gate again after what I went through…. Over you.”

Dexterous, roguish fingers caressed the back of her neck. “Are you going to tell me? Or are you going to show me?”

She could feel the wriggling of his tadpole, calling to hers, begging to let him enter. She looked into his eyes, forcing them open before she allowed him in her memories. “Perhaps it’s better you know… but remember, I’ve since learned the truth, since learned about your own darkness and suffering. And now, you’ll see why I became all I did. Why I hated you….”

“So long as it’s past tense, your hatred, my love, then hide nothing from me….”

Minds crashed, faced whirred in his vision as he saw her memories from centuries before….

———————————————————————-

It hurt. Unbearable. His parents already gone… disappeared probably from their own griefs. Left and never came back. Swallowed by their loss or to the violence of the City—a cautionary tale for her people to keep to themselves, to quit the alliances and deals their High Lord and Lady had insisted on forging with the powerful Patriars and Council Members of Baldur’s Gate. And now they were gone too. Their line with them.

Of course Father was worried the same would befall her, a constant niggling dread inside her mind as she crossed into the gates of the Lower City.

She kept her eyes down the whole way here… ignoring every vendor along the Southspan, every prostitute and pleasure seeker that stumbled out of the Flophouses and brothels, and every Flaming Fist that didn’t ask for her papers as she made it through Wyrm’s Rock.

Her booted feet hurried all the more at those sultry voices that called to her from those pleasure houses. Every grunt or sigh or ‘darling’ was a slice across her heart.

The reminder she would never hear him again. Never see him again. Never hold him, or kiss him, or taste him, or…

Gods, it was too much to bear. She collapsed against the alley wall. Her world spun, the ground falling out from under her as she shuddered and sobbed.

“Astarion,” she whispered his name into the palm of her hand as she tried in vain to force it back inside. The Magistrates offices were ahead, just around the corner. So close, and yet so far. Their letter, perfunctory and businesslike, detailed the facts of his murder, requesting someone to finish the matters associated with Astarion Ancunín’s death. Someone needed to collect his things, to pay his fines and check his burial.

His grave.

A responsibility falling to her in the aftermath of his parents’ disappearance.

On her, his betrothed.

Well, not betrothed anymore.

It had already been months, nearly a year. Matters had to be closed, fines paid for services rendered.

She shuddered, the sun beginning to fade behind the tall structures of the City. Night would fall soon, and yet somehow it wouldn’t be as deep as her grief, as dark as heart grew now that she was here.

One hand steadied on the wall, willing her body to rise, her feet to walk. She needed silence, someplace quiet and… drawing up short, she realized where she stood, the open maw of the cemetery to her right. It was like her own heart stopped beating the second she stepped foot on the buried dead. It would have to be here… the letter had said.

She forced her stinging, tear-blinded eyes to scan every name.

A chill set in the air as the sun sank lower, as she turned down a row of headstones, her heart aching with each new name. Aching more and more. Until she found it in the back corner of the garden, the grass already grown over the dirt of his grave, little vines already creeping up that carved stone.

His beautiful name above where his beautiful body was laid to rest. She just… wanted to touch him again. To hear his inane giggle. To press her lips against his. To taste the salty tang of his cock one more time….

She didn’t know when she had laid on the ground, or when the sun had set. Didn’t know when the moon had risen or the grass beneath her body had grown cold.

Shivering, she needed to find a warm meal and a warm bed for the night. The Elfsong wasn’t far, she could stumble her way there before she passed out.

But that would mean leaving him.

Saying… goodbye.

She pressed her cold fingers to her lips, squeezing her eyes shut. Imagining they were his elegant fingers, one last time. Reaching for the stone, she pressed her kiss against his name carved for the ages and eternities. “Goodbye, my love,” she managed to say.

Rising to her feet, somehow she made it to the firelight and music of the Elfsong… packed to tightly with bodies, she struggled to make her way inside to the keeper behind the bar. “Saer, I require a room for the night.”

“Full up for another hour yet,” he huffed, wiping out the inside of a tankard. He gave her a salacious wink. “Rooms are in high demand this time of night. But one of my regulars will be done soon, he never stays long before draggin’em off back to his place…”

Her stomach flip flopped. She could have wretched up her guts right then and there.

“No,” she breathed deep and pulled her shoulders back as her father had taught her. “I’ll not sleep in someone else’s mess. I can find other accommodations.”

The barkeep shrugged. “Suit yerself. I doubt it. But I’ll save your place for next, once he’s done. One room in an hour for the pretty, red-head she-elf…” Cordehlia stamped away in a disgusted huff.

A fire in her belly, she bought herself a pie from a vendor, letting it settle uneasily in her stomach as she tried for another room.

Nothing. Not a single spare place to hire out for the night that wasn’t already bought and paid for or used for prostitution.

This miserable city… she cursed it in her heart. Hating every cobblestone, loathing every drunk stranger that scattered before her. This cesspit that took her love. The corruption that sank him into the earth itself.

She would be gone tomorrow, never to return. Take the cold comfort of his possessions and pay his fines and begin to bury the memory of him. As if she ever could.

But at least back with her people, with her Father, she could remember him as he was to her, not as one lost soul trying to find his way in this filth. That was the curse of the elves of course, their memory. That every night she could relive their youth, their love… all their firsts. As if he never left her. Turning back to the Elfsong, she resigned herself to that disgusting fate. At least she could demand clean bedclothes, losing herself in trance to the memories and to her love for Astarion. It was bittersweet relief.

Already she could feel the strength of her memory almost conjuring him. She could almost hear his voice in the streets, almost see his pale face and pretty eyes and wicked smile in the faces of strangers. By the time she had to face the Elfsong barkeep again, she merely passed him her coin.

“I knew you would return, what’s another Elf’s money after all…” he waved her to a stack of laundered sheets by the stairs. First door on the right… it was easy to find.

But then she froze the second she shut the door to the little bedroom.

Was her memory so strong… what her grief so fraught… her heart so broken?

The room smelled like him.

————————————————————————

She could sense his… disgust. His self-loathing and pain and confusion. As if he witnessed his own memories through another’s eyes.

She pulled him back deeper into her thoughts, a new, darker, more jaded feeling overwhelmed Astarion now. Grief piled upon grief.

————————————————————————

“I fucking hate it here,” Cordehlia growled under her breath. It was only to herself, but she liked the sound of vitriol in her voice all the same. She sat in a booth at the Elfsong as she had all day. Waiting. Watching. That human spy was supposed to be here… was supposed to come and give the information needed to fight off those Orcs on the southern border of her people’s lands. Where their camp was… how many their forces made… weapons, spells, war machines… that sort of thing.

All the things she had learned to take stock in, to measure before battle, just as her Father once had.

Once had, until he had fallen to Ketheric Thorm and his Dark Justiciars. But that pain was too fresh. Less than a year ago, now. Not that the Elfsong was filled with happy memories, not this City. Not the one that still made the scars on her heart sore from the last time she entered these sin-slick walls.

Astarion, she kept herself from saying his name out loud.

She would clear off his grave later tonight, once the matter was closed and the deed was done. Never again would she mention him. Her long, elven memory grew heavy under the weight of her sorrows. Orphan and widow.

Orphan—mother dead almost at birth, father, unburied on some cursed lands not far from here.

And widow, well almost a widow. No vows had been made other than the ones they forged wordlessly that night. Her body once touched, her virginity taken long ago. No one had even come close to that once more. Nor would they again.

It would have to be enough. Her heart would never love again.

Not when she was so needed by her people.

Her people had lost a High Lord and Lady, lost their promising young Lord to be next in line. With her Father’s death, they lost their steadfast, valiant hero of a General.

But Cordehlia was neither, neither Lady nor General; she was all that remained to lead in these matters.

No hero, but an assassin. No lady, a weapon. All her silken gowns had been long traded for armor at her Father’s side since Astarion’s death. And now… sharp, cold things were all that remained.

It was all she was now too.

Shaking her head, she scanned the room, piercing eyes peering into every table, looking for her contact. He would be here soon, and she needed to keep her head, slowing her sips of Ithbank. No matter how badly she wanted to drink into a stupor and pass out on his grave.

Maybe she would be with him again then…

“Fuck,” she cursed, slamming the glass down. And then she reached right for the green glass necked bottle of the vintage to take a swig.

It might be a long night of just waiting and watching. If she had to watch one more couple meander up those stairs, groping each other, to return moments later disheveled, she might throw her most precious dagger between their shoulder blades and be done with it.

What good was it, giving that to someone without meaning… closing her eyes, she swallowed again another bursting, dripping mouthful.

But it didn’t matter. Not even laying with him when it mattered most, not even that mattered any longer. These idiots would only live to regret their proclivities. Fools.

Better to have loved and lost than never…

Wait.

Her ears piqued in the din. A giggle. A man’s giggle.

It was familiar. Painful. She gazed across the dim tavern shaking her head to dismiss the thought. No, no. Just her bedraggled mind playing tricks on her. Just the wine resurrecting ghosts.

“Lady Corvus,” a voice whispered, the cloaked mortal sitting himself opposite her. Cordehlia nodded, careful not to smile too broadly at the use of her new title. “Here,” he whispered. Passing a scroll across the table. “Battle plans, maps, estimations of their forces, it’s all there, my lady.”

“You have been of great service,” she chimed in silken tones. Her hand set a small purse within the man’s reach.

“Thank you, my lady,” he nodded under his hood. “This place ain’t for the likes of you. You best be going, best be careful. There are rumors that the Pale Elf is around here tonight.”

She quirked a brow. “And?” She scoffed, “Is he some traitor? Some assassin come to kill me?”

“Not with blade, but he’s known for taking pretty things like you to play with… giving them a little death. Not the kind you deal, my lady.”

Cordehlia jolted at that, flinching as if smacked in the face.

“Don’t worry, my lady, I doubt he would be to your liking. You’re too fearsome, too intimidating to fall for his easy seduction.” The human’s mouth smiled under the hem of his hood before he stood, leaving as quickly as he came, one coin purse heavier than he arrived.

Cordehlia pocketed the scroll, taking a moment to first break open its seal and memorize it. Just in case.

It’s what her father would have done.

But as she prepared herself to leave, taking that wine bottle with her, she heard it again.

That fucking giggle.

And this time, it was no trick of the wine or memory. She paused, turning to search the opposite side of the tavern. Instantly, she froze. One shadowed booth, its occupants obviously intertwined. One man’s head being pressed lower and lower… the other, though he laid deeper in the shadows, was giggling at the nipping caresses.

His pale face was tilted away, but she knew that frame… that tousle of silver hair thrown back in ecstacy. His sharp chin, well cut jaw… his long, lithe fingers pushing that man’s head deep into his lap.

Glass shattered at her feet. Her wine bottle decimated as it slipped from her grip.

All she saw was red. Bloodied crimson at the sight of him.

Not dead.

Not alone. Not grieving and pining and lost adrift.

No. Being pleasured, Astarion the Pale Elf. “Fuck,” she growled, grinding the glass under her heel, pretending that the red wine at her feet was blood.

So blind, so lost to her sadness, she failed to see truth. So eager to give away her heart and soul and body. Little did she know all she gave him was a taste for more.

And not more of her. Not more to serve their… her people.

A fake death, an endless parade of lovers in her wake.

He might as well be as good as dead.

Her hand twitched on the hilt of her blade. Her head cocked to the side as she… considered. It would be quick to draw her knife out. To dampen these floorboards with more that ran red than wine.

But something stayed her fist, something kept that silver blade etched with her insignia of a crow buried inside its scabbard.

The ghost of her love for him couldn’t let that dagger sate its taste for blood. Not his.

“Fuck,” she growled again, striding away for the stables. She would not rest tonight. Ride until dawn. Push herself until that blade did taste blood.

Blood of Orcs and enemies. Flesh separated from bones until they were picked clean in the battlefield.

Enough blood until her body could finally go numb and her ears deafen to the sound of his giggle.

Of his pleasure. With many others.

Astarion’s mind swirled through more visions, half aware of his own feelings, own memories of that dark time.

She hated me… he hissed to himself, a bit in shock. Taken so far aback at the feelings that surfaced in her memories. He pushed harder, searching them, seeing how far that hatred went.

He saw… himself. The wreckage of the Nautiloid burning in the distance. Cocky, threatening on the beach, arms wrapped around that body he no longer knew.

A body he once knew carnally each and every night.

Her memories could have been tinted in red, the wave of anger, of shock and betrayal poured into his heart at the sight of… himself.

He was so cold, calculating. Aloof and mean. He felt it in her body, that longing to put herself out of misery by snatching his own dagger and slitting that beautiful pale throat she once nuzzled against.

How many lips had kissed him there… how many other faces pressed against that beat of his heart in his artery.

But no. Even when her hand did reach her own weapon, those fingers softened as she looked into his now crimson eyes.

“Fuck,” she had thought. Agreeing to let him be her companion. Unable to kill him or turn him away.

So she suffered.

Day. And night. Drawn like a moth to his flame to be so close again. Hating the fact that she couldn’t just be done with his presence. Hating the fact he couldn’t remember her…

But those little changes in him had softened the hatred, drawing question after question to her mind instead.

Why… why crimson eyes… why would an elf lose all his memory, the blessing and curse to his elven kindred… why those scars on his neck and his cold touch…?

She had pieced it out so early on. Vampire. But not so powerful… a spawn then. She had slept with a stake in her bed since that first night. Just in case.

Her love may have still been an ember, fighting for air to burn again in her heart, but her trust had long been extinguished.

He felt that hatred sink deeper again, watching how he had flirted with Shadowheart, playing on this confession of their past. Manipulating her, crafting the perfect tension to make her give him what he wanted.

He was so good at it. Save for the fact he underestimated that burning hate.

But Cordehlia had underestimated that ember of love. The moment he woke her in her bedroll, fangs at the ready, a stake pressed at his side, she had never hated him more. Not since that first night in the tavern when she saw him again… thinking him worse than a traitor.

She had been so close. So close to shoving that stake in his undead heart, putting herself out of that misery, misery she couldn’t endure much longer. It would have been the just thing after what he had done to her to take his life, undead or not.

But her heart won. That voice in her memory, his voice, made her recall his violet eyes and easy smile. His voice had stayed her hand again. It was a voice that long ago had hummed softly as her head rested in his lap, body warmed by the sun and the last throes of her pleasure at his fingers.

It was his voice that whispered to her that these weren’t his sins, that something here was more at fault than unbridled lust and a penchant for manipulation.

He wasn’t to blame.

But he would need to stay alive for her to learn why not.

So she let him disarm her, let him bite her flesh, let his body crush hers as it once had with bone-deep recognition.

And he felt that ember fan alive with love brighter in the memory of that night.

————————————————————————

A deep breath in his lungs, like one drowned breaking through the surface, he awoke. His eyes opened to the real world around them. She clung to him tighter than ever, as if she could knit her flesh to his, make her blood run as his own.

Her eyes stared back, every emotion racing behind her gaze, dripping wet with tears. Relief, anxiety, love and regret, they darkened her face as the sun sank below the waves of the Sea. Astarion kept one arm around her back, the other he moved, cradling her face so gently. His own eyes stung from unshed tears. “You know…” he whispers, voice shaking still from the intensity of those memories, “for all the ways Cazador tormented me, tortured me, stole everything from me… the worst thing he ever stole from me was my memory of you…”

“Cazador can rot in the hells for what he took from me, for what he forced you to do,” Cordehlia scowled. “I… I lost my love for you for so long, I buried it under grief and hatred and blood. And when I saw you on the beach…. When you had no idea who I was to you….” Her voice snagged in her throat the more she talked, until she couldn’t swallow.

He just held her, shushing her softly, still holding her face. His palm collected the warm tears as they silently began to fall. “My love, you never gave up on me. Even when you walked away, even then, you did what you had to, just as I did. I could feel it from then too, even when you found me in that wreckage of the Mindflayer ship, your heart never gave up on me…” he paused, making certain her wet, silver eyes looked right into his. “And I’m so very grateful you didn’t.”

Cordehlia sniffled, a feeble smile on her lips, embarrassed as he brought her very wet face against his own for a kiss.

“Besides, I’m rather looking forward to damning that bastard to the hells at your side. It’ll be so much more fun together,” he crooned. That playful tone made her give tear-streaked laughs as she wiped her nose on her sleeve.

“Together, he’s going to pay,” she added. “In blood…” she couldn’t help but grin again.

“And then we will find a way to be together forever,” Astarion smiled, just a bit more twistedly, a bit more darkly. “I can promise you that.”

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞

Thank you for everyone who loves these two lovesick idiots. I love hearing your reactions and your predictions.

This really is almost an Alternate Universe for the Pale Elf Quest, and I’m just thankful there are readers along for the ride 💞

#astarion romance #remember how much she hated him? yeah this is why #astarion angst #astarion x tav #tav x astarion #astarion x female tav #flashback angst #astarion x f!tav #astarion x oc #astarion fic #astarion fanfic #astarion smut #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #bg3 spoilers #bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 #baldur’s gate spoilers #baldur’s gate iii #baldur’s gate fanfiction