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knocktherock · 11 months

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Arrogant asshole part 5

A/n: finally. God I’m so sorry this took so long.

Part one part two part three part four

Warnings: sex, oral sex (female receiving), Voyeurism, someone watching someone else having sex

Summary of the series: Joel has been acting like you don’t exist ever since you’ve slept with him a couple of months ago, which pisses you off. But this time you’ll make sure he remembers you

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You got up the next morning in a great mood. The warm rays of the sun streamed through your windows, filling you with a sense of anticipation for the day ahead. Little did you know that today held unexpected surprises.

You jumped down your porch steps and headed to get some breakfast at the hall. The hall was already filled with people talking and munching on their food.

As you searched for someone to share your breakfast with, your eyes landed on Tommy, who was sitting alone with his thoughts, prompting you to go and keep him company.

„Hello there“ you smiled as you lowered down on the seat across from him.

„Good morning.“ He smiled back „how’d you sleep last night?“ he winked with a filthy grin on his face.

„I slept well, in my own bed and alone.“ you rolled your eyes at his implication earning a huff from him.

The two of you talked about the latest patrols and Tommy mentioned that Joel had taken his gun home with him, which he needed for his nightly patrol.

Even though you couldn’t stand Joel, you knew that Tommy had a tight schedule, so you offered to get it from Joel.

You had never been to Joels house, you had seen it through the windows, the wooden kitchen and the pale walls but that was pretty much it. Sometimes, when he had his lights on in his bedroom at night, you could see his shadow dancing on the light green walls.

You reached his over snowed porch steps, of course he did not care to shovel them free.

You didn't care to knock, you didn't respect this man enough to knock and you were sure he would block your way and not let you in if you did.

Little did you know the unexpected and unsettling sight that awaited you on the other side of the door; otherwise, you would have never reached for the handle.

With the door ajar, the air carried a familiar and intoxicating sound, soft, sweet moans that he had once effortlessly drew from you. At first glance you saw Joels couch facing the door, then what was happening on top of it.

His dark locks in between a strangers thighs, her fingers running through them. He was pushing her hips down with his big hands while a groan escaped his lips against her skin. His tongue seemed to play a blissful game on her pussy, because her face was filled with pleasure, eyes shut tightly. But the creaky door had announced your presence.

Her eyes shot towards you after a second and she tugs him up by his hair „Oh god Joel“ she said but it was clear to him this wasn’t a call of ecstasy.

His head snapped towards you.

Your head snapped away.

You turned quickly on your heel. Without a word, you hastily made your way out the door and onto the porch, taking long strides. However, the snow and ice on the steps had one final humiliation in store for you - you slipped and stumbled.

If your face wasn't already red, it was glowing like a fiery furnace by now.

A toxic cocktail of embarrassment, anger, shock, and an array of negative emotions surged through your veins, spreading its poison to every corner of your being.

Thankfully, your house stood just a few paces from his, offering you refuge from the avalanche of emotions. As you forcefully closed the door, it became an impenetrable fortress, guarding your fragile state from the chaos that awaited beyond.

Inhaling deeply, it felt like the oxygen had been yanked away from your grasp, leaving you disoriented and questioning the reason behind your unusual reaction. If it had been anyone else but Joel you would’ve laughed at the situation. But all you could feel was embarrassed and your heart felt empty, like a barren field, stripped of all the seeds of hope and connection.

You had to sit down for a moment, the gun you were supposed to pick up was far from your mind by now.

Time seemed to slow down as you sat there, minutes elongating into an eternity, your gaze locked on the hallway, half-expecting Joel to walk through the door to talk to you about what had just happened.

But you knew it wouldn’t happen, he had never really talked to you unless it was while he was pressed against your body, his intention to get your pussy dripping for him.

You needed to get him out of your head, he was like a magnet, irresistibly attracting and monopolizing every single one of your thoughts.

Consumed by a desire for revenge, you longed for him to experience the same surge of jealousy coursing through his veins that was currently overwhelming you.

Did he Actually just see you as a piece of meat? Why did you ever think that he might like you? You had hoped he was playing a game of hard to get, but it seemed that he was actually disinterested in you.

Was your mind just playing tricks on you or had you seen him smirk while he spotted you in the doorway?

How did this man have you in such a chokehold. It’s not like you ever talked. You didn't know his favorite color, If a cold man like him even had one, you didn't know his middle name, you didn’t know what his life was like before this. You knew nothing about this man but you were crushing so hard on him anyway. Not that you’d ever admit this crush to him or even yourself.

You wanted him around you, you subconsciously looked for him in the streets and the cafeteria.

You knew he could be nice, he was to Ellie. They had a connection that was obvious to everyone, and you envied it. You were jealous of a goddamn fourteen year old.

Longing for a bond with him, you desired his genuine concern, his laughter resonating with your jokes, and his unwavering support to hold you close during times of vulnerability.

You were pulled from your thoughts when the street lights outside flickered on. Night was settling into Jackson and today it felt even darker than usual.

Startled by a knock on your door, your foggy thoughts cleared momentarily as you made your way to the hallway, a mixture of anticipation and apprehension swirling within, wondering if it was Joel or someone else.

It wasn’t Joel. Of course.

You were met with James when the door opened.

„did you keep my jacket last night?“ he smiled at you warmly.

„No I gave it back to you at the door.“ You couldn’t bring yourself to a genuine smile, but you tried to.

And then an idea sparked in your mind as you looked at the man in front of you. You knew he liked you and you wouldn’t feel bad to use that to your benefit.

„do you wanna come inside?“ You asked him sweetly, your voice now a few pitches higher than seconds ago.

Giving a nod, he entered the room, his boots shedding snow as he kicked them off, creating a small flurry on the floor.

A visible startle flickered across his face as you gently took his hand, guiding him into your living room. His surprise grew when you pressed your lips against his, leaving him both stunned and pleasantly shocked.

His hands weren't sure where to touch you, like hesitant dancers seeking the perfect rhythm. You took lead, touching his jaw lightly as you deepened the kiss. You pulled him on top while you lowered yourself onto the couch.

You knew that the couch was in perfect sight of Joels bedroom window and you knew his schedule. He would be up there in a few minutes, unless he was still fucking that girl downstairs.

James kissed your neck but it didn't have much of an effect on you. You were missing Joels stubble rubbing into your skin, a slightly burning sensation that turned you on so much. His touch was too soft, too unsure.

As his hands kept roaming over your body, the light in Joels bedroom turned on. You could see his familiar figure walking around the room from the corner of your eye.

You tried to focus on the man on top of you, you tried to respond to his touch, but when you saw Joel freeze right in front of his window, you knew it was time to start the show.

Images of earlier flooded your memory, Joels head between her thighs, his hands placed exactly where they used to touch you, her moans just as sweet as yours, it made you furious. You kissed James hard, tongues dancing together, your fingers entwined in his hair, mirroring the grip the stranger had on Joel's earlier.

You couldn’t deny the wetness between your thighs but you were very sure it wasn’t caused by the man above you. The thought of Joel watching this, another man touching you, making you squirm beneath his touch, was what got you soaked.

You reached between the mans legs and slowly started to rub his clothed dick. It made him breath in sharply.

You checked if Joel had moved, but his body remained frozen in place like a statue. His shadow loomed in the window above, devoid of any discernible features.

You the hoped to provoke him, to stir his emotions. You yearned for the spectacle in front of him to ignite jealousy within him, causing him to question the depth of your "relationship."

James unzipped your jeans and slowly pushed his hand inside, as he played with your pussy, you acted like it was the best sensation you had ever felt. You arched your back, your lips forming a silent o as he started kissing your neck again.

You decided to remove his shirt, revealing a chiseled, toned physique that gleamed in the light. If this hadn’t been a revenge plot, you might’ve taken more time to explore his body.

Suddenly, he retracted his hands from your jeans, flipped you onto your stomach and pushed his still clothed crotch into your ass. This had been the first move you actually enjoyed, it was so similar to Joel handling you around the way you liked it.

He groaned, clearly liking the whole thing despite your minimal effort.

You heard his belt buckle behind you, a sound you loved to hear from Joel and without a single warning, he shoved himself inside of you.

He took your yelp of surprise as a sound of pleasure, pulled out all the way just to push into you again. You pressed your cheek into the cushion of your couch and glanced up at Joel.

But the sight above made you shiver, you couldn’t tell if Joel right hand was behind his back or… in the front of his pants.

You couldn’t tell due to the lighting and him only being a shadow. The dark lines etching his arms seemed to dissolve into the black darkness that cloaked his torso.

But for some reason you hoped it was deep in his pants. stroking himself to the sight of you being fucked into the couch, wishing it was him pumping into you.

You decided to close your eyes and imagine Joels thick thighs slapping into yours, his calloused hands running along your curves, his thick cock stretching you out. Your fantasy made you moan and perhaps even enjoy what was going on. You needed Joel, you wanted to smell his cologne and feel his fingers dig into your sides.

Joels groans were rougher than the ones touching your ears from behind you. You imagined him making those angelic noises up in that window right now, watching your beautiful figure rock against the couch.

„god you’re so hot.“ James grunted out behind you and for a second you could’ve sworn to have heard that in Joels gruff voice.

You tried to cum, you really did. But he was done way to quick to make it happen.

After some mediocre thrusts, grunts, slight slaps to your ass, his pumps became inconsistent until he moaned a sweet tone into your ear, came inside you and fell onto your back like a sloppy fish stranded on shore.

He kissed below your ear and whispered: „Did you come?“

you could hear the smile in his voice, he had really enjoyed this for some reason.

Joel would’ve never needed to ask such question. He would never even think about it, he was well aware of the way you’d clench around him when you came, how you scratched his back or fisted his flannel.

„Yeah, yeah“ the poisoned lie slipped off your tongue before you could think about it.

„Good“ he said as he lifted himself off your body and sat up, pulling his pants back up his legs.

„Do you want me to stay?“ he asked but you weren’t paying attention, you rolled onto your back and glanced back up to Joels window, but his figure had vanished, possibly to prevent himself from coming across as a creepy observer to your date.

„Y/n?“ James asked after you hadn’t answered.

„Um no thats not my kind of thing, sorry.“ you lied again. If Joel had asked you that you would’ve died from excitement, melted into the couch below you.

James simply nodded and slipped out your front door. You pulled up your own pants, your shirt had never left your body.

#pedro pascal #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x you #tlou #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #ellie williams #ellie the last of us #joel miller smut #pedro pascal smut #mean joel miller

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thirdlotusprince3 · 4 months

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Short story.

Red Son woke up groggily, his eyes felt, dry, he could barely keep them open. He slouched walking over to the dining table, in his red pajama robe, shirt, fire patterned pajama pants, and red slippers.

He saw his dad. His dad’s eyes were glimmering, his chin was on his hands and arms held close to his body.

“Dad why are you looking so gushy?”

“Oh son, I’m just so proud, your finally making friends.”

“Yeah, so. What friends?”

“Why MK, and Mei of course, I invited them for this New Years Party.”

“What.”

“What do you mean what? Your going to have so much fun.”

“pffff.” Red son blew a raspberry to himself when he heard a giant knock on the door.”

“Go open the door.” Red son heard his dad.

He opened it still tired after waking up.

“Yo happy new year!” MK and Mei shouted through the door. They wore tacky colors. MK wore a bright orange puffer jacket, the color of a traffic cone and red earmuffs as red as a clowns nose. And mei who wore a bright cyan puffer jacket and magenta earmuffs, the color of a poisonous beary.

He looked at his peers who looked like they were straight out of Dora the Explorer.

“We also have a sweet ride by the way!” Mei cheered. “It’s green, it has dragon scales, and awesome bony plates on it like a dragon.”

“Okay”

“Bye Red Son! Have fun with your friends!” His dad shouted.

He rode in the car. Mei was happily humming a melody under her breath.

“Hey red son, why are you looking so tired.” MK asked.

“What do you think? It’s nine o’ clock a.m and my eyes are still adjusting to the sun.”

“Want some ice tea?”

“I’m good.”

“Hey!”

“What?”

“We have a lot of awesome things planned for today. We are going to make egg custards, sushi, boba, che chuoi. It’s gonna be Pacific Island themed.

Red Son entered in. Their were smoothie bowls, drinks, and a dragonfruit skin filled with fruit and little umbrellas on top.

“We’ll be baking and cooking with the awesome chef Pigsy!”

“We also have some surprise guests Nezha and his friend Ao Bing.”

Bye the way, I can make snow cones said Ao Bing he took a cone and made shaved ice with his hands.

Red son heard Nezha whisper under his breath that Ao Bing and Nezha’s mom Lady Yin pushed him to go.

“Yo Red son! What flavor do you want for your boba.”

“Black tea.”

Red Son went to join them to make egg tarts.

“Yay! Red Son is joining us!” Mei and Mk cheered.

“Have an egg tart red son, have an egg tart.”

“Okay.” Red son ate the egg tart, his mouth upturned into a smile yum.

MK was attempting to walk like a fancy waiter at a restaurant

“Here you go! Here you go!” He said giving the boba drinks trying to hold it elegantly.

Then the room was lighted purple and pink and green spotlights danced around the room.

Mei and Mk jumped in together with their cheeks smooshed and cheered, “It’s time for karaooooke!” They sung near the end.

“Let’s start our first song.”

“I like Pina coladas!”

Then it was, “I gotta feeling.”

Sing all together.

Then they went to a tech museum.

“Hey looke it’s sputnik.”

“Look at these cars.” Looking at the electric cars.

“Introducing techno the new car, runs on electric technology, that runs on its veins.”

Look there are body warmer, reclinable tables! It has the ability to bring signals with you even from far away.

Red Son this will surprise you, but we’re taking you to your favorite rock concert the Jackolopes.”

#lmk #lmk traffic light trio #lmk mei #lmk red son #lego monkie kid #lmk mk

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yonkimint · 3 years

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So Show Me, I’ll Show You

Part 28.1

This part has written parts with pictures in between.

Previous — Masterlist — Next

TAGLIST (send me an ask or leave a reply if you want to be added!): @esteemedsalt @halesandy @historicalgigi @seaoffangirling @secretlycrazyhummingbird @kiwimash12 @aviwasabi21 @sehun096rainbow @darkskin-buttercup @rainfallingfromthesky @yoongiofmine @lucedelsole97 @pleasegivemearemedyyy @kim-jias-den @unadulteratedlyunique @thesweetest-peas @joyfullyobsessed @irishhbamb

When the door to your hospital room swings open, you groan in relief. Finally Jimin was here to jailbreak you. It was great having Lauren, Heeji, and Luna here but they are dutiful bulldogs and you can’t blame them. Your last visit to the hospital had left them pretty traumatized.

Your hopes fall when a man in scrubs steps into the room instead. You had seen him once or twice but you had never exchanged words. In fact, the only reason you remember him at all is because he is white and you thought that was odd, considering you were in a Korean hospital.

“Oh hi,” you say, uncomfortable, when he just stands at the foot of your bed. His head is bowed so you can’t study his face too closely but his presence puts you on edge. He doesn’t respond to your greeting so you push on, trying to keep your tone nonchalant, “The nurses just did their rotations and I’m doing fine. Did you need to check something?”

He laughs. A low throaty laugh that has haunted all of your nightmares. Your hands fist around hospital sheets as a cold chill runs up your spine. Swallowing around the lump rising in your throat, you peer closer at him.Mark’s hair is black. This orderly’s is ash blonde. But everything else… you suck in a sharp breath.

“Hello, y/n, did you get my flowers?”

He lifts his head and all his sharp features suddenly come into focus. He has been here the whole time watching you try to recover from injuries that he perpetuated. He looks pleased. And his pleasure makes you want to claw his face off.

“Go to hell, asshole.” You try to sound menacing, to hiss these words like poison, but they only come out a weak, fearful wheeze. Mark clucks his tongue at you.

“Look at you, y/n, trying to be brave when you’re really nothing but a weakling. A cowardly little girl. You would be nothing without me and you know it. You don’t really think you’re going to fight me, do you?”

There’s a glimmer in his eye and it makes you so angry. But the part of you that has endured his abuse for years is still the stronger part and you feel your anger give way to hopelessness. Mark is right. You won’t fight him.

“Good girl. Now, we are going to go on a little field trip, okay?”

You shudder as he steps around the bed and traces the IV still in your arm. You had been waiting until the last second to remove it so the nurses wouldn’t suspect anything if they walked in but now you regret that choice. Mark has no intentions of being gentle with you.

He presses a palm against your mouth, smiling vindictively as the fingers of his other hand loop around the tubes that have been delivering your medicine and fluid for the last few days and yanks the whole thing loose. You whimper into his skin as blood splashes from your open vein.

“How are we supposed to go on a field trip when any camera is going to catch you dragging me out of this room?” you ask him, hoping fleetingly that he hasn’t thought of this. But he’s been here for who knows how long.

“My little writer,” he coos, snatching your phone from your lap and slipping it into his scrubs pocket, “You really do try to think of everything that can happen, don’t you?”

You glare at him. You have taken abuse from him all these years and still, it’s the patronizing that sets you off every time. And he knows he’s pushed the right button too because he laughs and pats your cheek gently.

“Oh my sweet little y/n, the field trip is right here in the hospital. I’m going to roll you out of here in that wheelchair,” he says, pausing to point to the wheelchair that sits in the corner of your room, “and we’re going to go down the hall. And you’ll do exactly what I tell you to because you know that I have your phone which means I can either let you say goodbye to your friends or make them think that you never want to see them again. Your choice!”

This is so cliche, you think, hobbling out of bed when he gestures for you to get up, like something out of a stupid soap opera. Disguises himself as an orderly and kidnaps me right under everyone’s noses. God damnit.

Your field trip brings you to a supply closet on the third floor of the hospital which, conveniently, is under renovation. You can’t help but think that Mark is following this cliched script just to piss off the writer in you.

Now that you’re out of sight of the cameras, he has tied your limbs to the chair so you can’t run away. A gag sits roughly in your mouth and cuts against the corners of your lips. Mark is circling you as if deciding where he should start.

Lauren told you that he threatened to do so much worse than put you in the hospital next time he found you and you let your eyes flutter shut in defeat.

You choose not to think about that. Instead, you let your memories play like old movie reels on the backs of your eyelids. Heeji’s art galleries. Lauren’s photo shoots. And Luna’s ridiculous seances every full moon.

You stifle a chuckle. No need to bring on Mark’s wrath any sooner than necessary.

And then, newer memories begin to play and a lump rises in your throat. These ones aren’t supposed to be tinged with melancholy. These are supposed to be the memories of starting over. The memories from after you are safe.

You swallow hard.

The flight had already taken a lot out of you. This was just the cherry on top of a totally stressful, life changing ice cream sundae. At least this coffee shop seemed safe and warm while you tried to figure out if you were going to be homeless or not.

Seoyun, the barista, had been kind enough to give you the WiFi password so looking up your address shouldn’t be too difficult. Still, you lowered your head down on the table with a sigh of defeat. Seoul was so confusing.

“Oh, I know that look,” a voice sounds above you. Your head snaps up, eyes narrowing, already distrustful of a friendly stranger in the heart of South Korea. He smiles at you and his perfect rows of white teeth are so familiar, you already feel your tense muscles uncoiling. He presses on, “it’s not your first day in Seoul, is it?”

You glance at your luggage and back at him, remembering Lauren’s texts to go find BTS. As if the butt of some cosmic joke, it seems that they have found you instead.

You roll your eyes at him, “what gave it away?”

He glances down at your luggage too and laughs. You study his face carefully so you see the exact moment he makes a decision that will alter the course of both your lives.

His hands are full with two trays of coffee and he shoves them down on your table without asking. You raise an eyebrow at him, not really surprised by his boldness but somehow taken aback all the same, but he only flashes his brilliant smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling with the force of it. He sits down.

“You look like you don’t trust yourself to breathe. Like you’re trapped in your own brain or something,” he comments.

You lean forward, reminding yourself to calm the flare of annoyance rising in your chest before you speak. “Jimin,” you say evenly, “do you think you can just sit here with a complete stranger, flirt with her a little bit, and she’ll open up with her whole life story?”

“It’s always worked before,” he chirps back, batting his eyes, that same heart melting grin never wavering. But you see it there behind his gaze. No one has ever called him out on this before and you smile.

“I sincerely doubt that…” you say, trailing off as his hand darts out for the phone you’ve left on the table. You gasp, your reflexes too slow to catch him now, and he giggles swiping through as many un-password protected screens as he can.

“Well, I sincerely doubt that you know where you’re going since you’re sitting in a random coffee shop with all your luggage so, out of the kindness of my heart, I’ve decided to help you find your way,” he says, handing the phone back and gesturing for you to unlock it for him.

Your insides are screaming not to do it. You have to keep a low profile or starting over is going to fail but the earnest look in his eye has you wavering. With a sigh, you unlock the phone and you feel it deep in your gut, everything is over before it’s even begun.

It didn’t really matter what Mark was doing to torture you, just that he was and the pain was excruciating. You had heard a rumor once that after a certain point, the body would stop responding to pain but you were sure now that that was a lie. This was endless.

Your eyes start to roll back when Mark claps in front of your face again. You blink back into focus and your whole body is screaming for relief. He’s looking at you like you should say something to him but you can’t speak, the gag still firmly in your mouth, muffling all your screams.

“Can’t have you dozing off, my favorite little writer, you’ll miss the best part!”

You quirk an eyebrow, inviting him to give his little villain’s speech. He obviously wants to follow the soap opera script so you might as well let him follow it to its natural conclusion. He grins, tracing your jaw line with something icy cold. A knife?

No, you tell yourself, don’t think about that.

“You’re probably thinking how cliche this all must be. The hospital disguise. The hiding in plain sight. You’re probably even thinking that since we stayed in the hospital, it’s inevitable that I will get caught. Which is true. The question is if it will happen before or after I kill you,” he says, “And maybe the more important question is this: why did Mark do this to the thing that makes him all his money?”

The thing? You would spit on him if there weren’t a gag in your mouth.

He leans close, his eyes boring into yours. “And the answer is really quite simple. You disgust me. You think you’re so talented and so clever. Everyone adores you and bends over backwards to care for you and what do you really need protection from? Your big, bad manager and publisher?”

He’s going to keep ranting, you know it, and you don’t want the short time you have left to be spent listening to this tirade. They say it’s normal to disassociate under trauma and so you do, falling into your memories again.

Namjoon had warned you about Yoongi before you even stepped foot in the studio. It still wasn’t enough to stop the way your heart dropped down into your stomach when you caught a glimpse of him in the hallway.

You had told him after the fact that you didn’t remember this moment but the truth of the matter was, it was impossible to erase this memory from your mind. With all the steel you could muster, you met his gaze. Dark, critical eyes stared back at you, soft pink lips pressed into a thin, annoyed line.

You offered a gentle smile like it was an olive branch, your knees wobbling while you waited for him to roll his eyes or storm away. But his eyes only widened, those annoyed lips parting in a small ‘o’, color rushing up to dust his round cheeks.

It made your knees knock together and you ducked your head. What was that? Forget it. If he was going to refuse to meet you, you weren’t going to waste feelings over it.

The next memory spills into recollection almost on top of this one.

Would it be okay if I came and listened to what you’re working on? you texted Namjoon.

Jungkook and Hobi were arguing about who got to be Luigi in the next race. You chuckled to yourself, amazed for the billionth time that you had somehow been invited to hang out with these boys again. You had already known they were incredible but actually interacting with them was overwhelming. They were as wonderful as they had always seemed from afar.

Even, you thought, Yoongi. He had extended a truce but he was still frustrating to no end. What did he mean you could never be friends? He was obviously capable of being friendly and you knew the way he cared for and protected his group members. It shouldn’t sting so much that he didn’t want to be YOUR friend but what could you do?

“Y/n, I curated a meme just for you,” Tae whispers from his place beside you on the couch and you startle when he pushes his phone into your hands.

“What the hell, Tae?” you burst out laughing, trying to make sense of the chaotic picture before you. He starts laughing too, satisfied by your reaction and takes his phone back. You punch his arm lightly and mutter, “you’re so weird.”

Let me ask Yoongi, your phone chimes. Your stomach surges with some feeling you don’t understand. You remind yourself that you’re just going to hang out with Joon. This has nothing to do with Yoongi and yet…

How is he supposed to become your friend if you let him keep avoiding you?

He says you can’t talk but you can come in.

You’re out of your seat before you have time to think about it more. The boys look up at you in surprise and you announce that you’re gonna hang out with Namjoon a bit before you challenge them to Mario Kart. The look of fear in Jungkook’s eyes sends you into another fit of laughter and you pat his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Kookie, winning isn’t everything!”

“Yes it is!” he groans as you walk away.

In the studio, your stomach starts to dance again. Yoongi doesn’t look up from the scratch paper he’s scribbling on but you can see the way his fingers tighten around his pen. He is as aware of your presence as you are of his. When Namjoon points to the spot on the couch beside him, it takes all your concentration not to trip over your own feet.

You scold yourself for this silly behavior. There are more adoring members of this kpop group to be mooning over. Mooning over? You are NOT mooning over Yoongi. Who said that? Not you.

Anyway, whatever it is you’re feeling, Yoongi has done nothing to deserve it. So why do your eyes keep landing on him as you survey the room?

“I don’t like that lyric there,” Namjoon says, “maybe we should move it down into the second verse.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes but it’s softened by the small smile playing at his lips. He and Namjoon must have been going back and forth over these lines for quite some time. You watch as he scribbles out the words and moves them lower down the page.

His eyes meet yours and the hairs rise on the back of your arms. He doesn’t look upset that you’re there and that’s almost more unsettling than him insulting you. You press your lips together and search for anywhere in the room to look but him.

The phone in your lap will have to provide distraction enough. You pick it up and fiddle around between home screens but there’s nothing as interesting there as what’s happening before you so you listen in on the lyrics they’re crafting while you pretend to text the girls.

Of course, when you find out the song is for E.L. Penn, you spiral. You knew your worlds were going to collide if you stuck around long enough. It’s never been a secret to you that Namjoon was a fan of her work — your work — or that they would have worked with her on the movie if she hadn’t gone on hiatus.

But you are just an English teacher in Seoul and not the recipient of this song that is making your heart hurt. You can’t believe Mark would hack into your Twitter account just to set this in motion without you. He’s trying to push your buttons and it’s working.

So you do the only thing you can. You call Lauren.

When you return to the studio, Namjoon is gone. You knew he would be since he passed you in the hall while you were still on the phone. Yoongi looks up at you in surprise but you only offer a curt nod before beelining for your spot on the couch.

The tears spill out before you can help it and your phone buzzes with a text from Yoongi. You feel stupid as you read his stupid question through blurred vision. You respond sardonically and toss your phone onto the couch.

When he tells you you’re killing the vibe, you almost launch to your feet and run out of the room but Yoongi stops you. You stare at him, mouth gaping open like a fish.

“You want to what?” you ask, wondering if he’ll scold you for talking out loud to him.

He reaches for his guitar instead, a sleek, black stained acoustic that you’ve seen in several lives from before you actually knew him. He strums the chords lightly, the sweet sounds discordant in the small space. You blink at him.

“It’s something I’ve been working on,” he says vaguely, “I’m just curious what you think.”

“Why me?” you ask, confused. He frowns at you, his lips puckering and little dimples appearing in the corners of his cheeks.

“Just be quiet and listen, okay?” he asks it like a question but you know he’s giving a command.

You smile at him a little too sweetly and then settle back into the couch, pulling your legs up to your chest, so you can rest your chin on your knees as he starts to strum. He rolls his eyes at you but there’s a smile in them that you’ve never seen directed at you before.

Your stomach makes that weird lurch again and you finally resign yourself to what you are feeling. Butterflies. Min Yoongi is giving you butterflies.

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monster-bait · 4 years

Text

Holt the Witch’s Familiar; M Cat Familiar x F Human, NSFW Monster Match

Monster Match for @moonlightreetops: What I usually look for in a partner is someone that is the equivalent to bedrock personality wise. I need stability and understanding in some sort of way to make me feel secure in a relationship...I collect macabre trinkets and spend most of my time doing little creative projects. I watch scifi flix, anime and play DND so big geek vibes here

I was *determined* to give him the name of an actual, historical familiar, and I didn’t name him Vinegar Tom, so YOU’RE WELCOME. Also, I left a TON of Holt on the cutting room floor, so there will likely be a sequel to this down the road!

The doll had a particularly creepy face.

“Miss Claudette is from the mid-eighteen hundreds,” the female auctioneer read, “once belonging to a privileged little girl of the era, she is a magnificent model of the expectations of a typical Victorian lady.”

You bit your lip in anticipation as hands reached into the frame, turning the doll on her pedestal to show off the detailing on the dress; the creepy, painted bisque face forgotten.

You had no idea who he was—he never spoke, never stepped into the frame, never did anything other than manipulate the items at the behest of the sultry voiced woman in charge, but you’d be lying if you pretended he wasn’t the reason you kept tuning in week after week to their oddity auction, his lovely hands and the banter afterwards.

Long and white and sculpted, veins and tendons standing out in relief, his hands were their own work of art, like a living sculpture. The endlessly long fingers were tipped in equally lengthy nails, painted matte black and ending in lethal-looking points, you supposed calling them claws would likely be more accurate.

You wondered, not for the first time, if he were a werewolf, or some similar creature.

He wouldn’t have the nails all the time, you reminded yourself, thinking of what Kenzie had said. The chipper werewolf had been in your gaming group for several months, a welcome addition, for geeky clubs tended to be overrun with guys, and you’d become friendly with her almost immediately, bonding over a shared love of anime and crafting. You’d casually wondered aloud if werecreatures retained elements of their bestial side, like sharp claws, perhaps, but the freckle-faced young woman had quashed your supposition.

“Nope,” she’d announced cheerfully, seating herself at the gaming table. “Unless it’s like, the day of the change, maybe.”

You had no idea who or what he was, but conversing with him after the auction each week had become a bright spot in your weekend calendar.

It had started when you discovered the wonderful, weird world of oddities auctions run weekly on Instagram. You’d always had a penchant for the macabre and had amassed a nice little collection over the years, but now small businesses were hurting and you could enjoy oddity shopping from the comfort of your phone. You’d heard of the Cat & Crow but had never made the drive to the neighboring city to visit the shop in person, and were excited to see what they had to offer.

“Welcome everyone to the Cat & Crow, thanks for joining us today.”

The woman before the camera wore the uniform of every other social media witch you followed—trendy, artfully tattered black clothes, her raven-colored hair done up in a crown of braids and dreadlocks; her eyeliner expertly winged, tattoos that appeared to be tree branches reaching across her clavicle, with half a dozen rings on each hand.

“Winners, Holt will be contacting you directly at the auction’s end, please be ready with your method of payment. We’ve got a lot of unique items to get through today, so let's get started!”

It wasn’t until the third week you’d tuned in that you’d chatted with the mysterious Holt. You’d been outbid on several of the items you liked, but managed to snag two others, including a victorian poison ring, and he’d recognized your screen name.

Hello again! What were you the big winner of this week? Lot 23 and 47...the onyx and gold poison ring and the pocket-sized surgical tool set. Hmm! Big weekend plans?

You’d laughed aloud at your laptop, cheeks coloring despite the fact you were alone. Nothing nefarious as all that, I swear! Although my table game group had better stay on their toes tonight…

Oh fun! I used to belong to one of those before I moved. So what are you guys playing right now?

After that week, he asked after your game group at the end of every auction. You told him of the hours-long game of Catan, the entire month of Call of Cthulhu, the bickering session that had broken out over a game of Azule.

That sounds great actually. I need to start doing fun things again, since we’ve started the auctions I feel like I’m working 24/7.

You bit your lip now, thinking of his words from the previous week.

After the creepy doll had been some Templar altar piece, a hand of glory with only one candle remaining, and a terrifying victorian wind-up toy, and the only thing to which you’d paid attention was his hands and his sharp claws, shifting things around as the witchy-looking woman spoke.

You’d realized your shopping habit had become more expensive than you’d initially counted on, and that for the last several weeks you were truly only bidding on items as a way to talk to him after the auction’s close. Just ask him. You don’t need to buy anything today, you don’t even like the stuff! Just take a deep breath and do it. Deciding the voice in your head was right, you did as it advised, sucking in a breath and leaning over your keyboard before you changed your mind.

Hi! Not a winner this week, nothing really caught my eye. You swallowed hard, pushing on. I wanted to invite you to join our group sometime! We meet every Saturday at the Melted Meeple, so tonight, lol! You grimaced at yourself, but persevered. We’re just playing CAH right now, but there’s talk of a D&D campaign starting up. The more the merrier!

You waited a minute, then two, before pushing yourself up from the desk. If he didn’t respond, it wasn’t a big deal, you told yourself. He was working, after all, and you really did need to get ready to go meet your friends that evening. Hair fluffed, clothes changed, the handful of dishes you’d left in the sink washed and put away...you went back to your laptop just before you needed to get going, holding your breath as you looked at the screen.

That sounds great! I have to finish things up here, but hopefully I won’t be too late. This will be fun, I feel like we’re old friends at this point!

You told yourself the bounce in your step as you left was simply because it was a nice evening, that you were happy to spend time with your friends and nothing more. That’s it. Just another normal night.

“So what are you going to do?” you asked him for the dozenth time that evening, before biting into a crust of melty cheese, your eyes rolling back in bliss. The Melted Meeple specialized in gaming and grilled cheese, and they excelled at both.

Holt shrugged, spearing a sweet potato fry. He was a finicky eater, carefully cutting things with a knife and fork, scrutinizing the menu every week as though it were the first time he’d seen it, before ordering the exact same thing. He took his time with things and could not be rushed—spearing his fries one at a time, swirling the straw in his drink until the ice had all but melted into the alcohol—and as a result, the two of you spent more time tucked away at your own little table than you did playing the group’s game, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You were smitten.

You’d been a nervous wreck that first night, raising your head anxiously every time the Meeple’s great doors were pulled open, but you did your best to hide it from your friends. You were used to being the steady one, after all, the one who gave advice and provided a ready shoulder for the whole group...you didn’t begrudge your friends their drama and woes, but it made it hard when you had your own anxieties and nowhere to turn.

Kenzie had dropped into the seat next to you, had been going on about the latest disaster with her boyfriend when her head had snapped up, nose wrinkled.

“Ugh, cat. It’s too close to the moon to deal with smelling that.”

You hadn’t noticed the door pulling open, and weren’t entirely sure how he’d managed to do it silently, but a man who’d not been standing before the entrance a moment earlier had stood there then, his citron-green cat eyes scanning the room hesitantly. You’d known it was him instantly.

Thick raven-colored hair and bone-white skin, slim black jeans and a black leather jacket atop a blood red shirt, he was a fitting counterpart to the witch who ran the oddity auction. One of his thick, arched black brows had cocked hopefully when they landed on you staring at him, and you raised a hesitant hand in greeting, smiling when his lips split, revealing a row of blinding white teeth. You took note of the long, hooked incisors in his smile.

“Is he a werecat?” you’d hissed to Kenzie as he made his way across the huge room.

She’d sniffed the air, wrinkling her nose again. “No. Just...just a cat. I don’t get it. I’m going to grab a drink before the next game starts, you want anything?”

He was a familiar, you’d learned. A witch’s familiar, a sleek black cat when he wasn’t the handsome, slightly goth-looking man sitting across from you. His witch, the auctioneer, Arabeth the mistress of Crows—“Bethany,” he’d corrected flatly, rolling his eyes—was his business partner and co-owner of the Cat & Crow, a naturally gifted witch with no direction or commitment to the craft, according to him.

“Let me tell you, working in retail was not a career ambition for me,” he’d laughed that first night, as the two of you sat at your own small table away from the group, sharing a basket of fries before joining the game. “But the shop is successful and it keeps me busy, since she’s all but abandoned her path.”

By the end of the night, your stomach had been a riot of butterflies. He was stable and confident, a sharp departure from the majority of your friend group, you’d realized. Stable and confident, and ridiculously good looking. You’d thought he was of a middling height when you’d been seated, but he towered over you, engulfing you in a hug at the evening’s end.

“This was a lot of fun, thanks for inviting me!”

“Every Saturday,” you replied breathlessly, trying to restrain yourself from burying your face against his solid chest. You didn’t know what Kenzie was talking about, he didn’t smell like a cat at all—he smelled like black musk and pine, making you think of a dark forest on an autumn night, masculine and sexual…“I hope you’ll join us again!”

“If you’ll be here, I definitely will,” he’d said, giving you another one of those sharp-edged smiles, his eyes glowing on the dark street.

That had been over a month ago, and you were head-over heels in your crush.

He’d joined you every Saturday, and it had become your custom to eat together, away from the group before joining in whatever game was starting. When both Kenzie and another friend had flaked on going furniture shopping with you, he’d taken their place, doing the heavy lifting, putting together a bookcase, and paying for dinner afterwards, despite your insistence to the contrary. It was a revelation, having someone there to hear your problems, and you were happy to do the same, whenever he came in grumbling about his deteriorating relationship with his witch.

When your gaming group began planning its Dungeons and Dragons campaign at last, you discovered Holt had never played and wasn’t familiar with any of the rules.

“First we have to decide your character,” you explained, pushing a character sheet across the table. “Race, attributions, what you’d like your strengths to be…”

“Tell me again why I can’t be a bard who’s also a sorcerer.”

“You can cast spells as a bard! We’ve been through this!”

“I want to be sneaky and magical and have everyone love me.”

You’d come to the Cat & Crow once, popping in unannounced, and had seen him in his cat form. Sleek and sinuous, jet black with bright green eyes, the black cat had rubbed up against your ankles as you’d stood there, after being greeted by the friendly-seeming witch, mewling determinedly before darting off into the back room. Holt had come breezing out a moment later, announcing to Bethany that you were going out for sushi and would be back in an hour.

“So basically you just want to play yourself,” you laughed, receiving a not-at-all angelic smile in return.

It was the first grownup relationship you’d ever had, you’d realized with a start that evening. You loved your friends and wouldn’t change a thing about them, but it was nice not playing therapist, having a solid give-and-take of support. Your first real adult relationship, and it’s completely one sided. Brava.

Still, you thought, when he slinked through the Melted Meeple’s doors that night, dropping into a chair gracefully and announcing he was officially a free agent familiar, you were glad for the opportunity to listen, knowing he’d be just as present and solid for you.

He shrugged at your repeated question. “Go to the agency on Monday, file for a new witch, I guess.”

“Does...does that mean you’ll have to move? What if they pair you with a witch on the other side of the world? What about the shop?”

His laugh was a dark curl, full of mirth. “Nothing archaic like that. This is where I live, the shop is my day job. We’re still business partners, but she’s quitting the craft entirely and I don’t have that luxury. The magic world is ninety percent bureaucracy and paperwork, it’ll probably be at least a year before they even get to my file.”

“Oh, that’s-that’s good,” you sighed in relief, not wanting to contemplate what would happen if he had to move away. “Good! You’ll have more free time now!”

Holt’s smile was wide, the light overhead winking off his fangs as leaned across the table. “And I know just who I’m going to spend it with,” he purred, before catching your lips with his own.

You hadn’t really known what to expect from the home of a familiar—a part of you was expecting some gothic lair with dripping candles and some ancient book of dark spellwork on a pedestal—but a completely average garden-level apartment on a tight lane of historic brownstones had not been it. The neighborhood was trendy: full of crowded little bistros with packed, street-side patios and bars boasting craft cocktails on swirling chalk signs outside their doors. You didn’t mind an occasional foray into adventure, but you couldn’t imagine living somewhere so noisy and bustling.

“Here we are,” Holt announced, tugging your hand and carefully leading you down the short stairwell in front of the dark-bricked building. “The neighborhood is great, but I love my little dungeon.”

You understood his meaning the moment the door closed behind you. The apartment was small but tidy, with plush-looking furniture and towering bookshelves, each crammed with curios, macabre trinkets and gimcrack. The street-level windows did little to illuminate the space, giving it a dim, cloistered feeling, amplified by the red-shaded lamps on either side of the sofa.

Long-fingered hands encircled your waist, claws dragging lightly over your stomach, sending a shiver up your spine and reminding you remembered why you were here. You were terribly aware of your own heartbeat when warm lips pressed to the back of your neck, hot breath and the glance of fangs moving over your delicate skin, and your head tilted on its own accord, giving him better access.

“It looks like a bordello in this place,” you mused, laughing when you felt his outraged gasp against your shoulder.

“Slander!” he exclaimed, the press of his hot tongue making your back arch, “calumny and lies. I demand restitution.”

It had been two weeks since he’d kissed you over your grilled cheese sandwich, two weeks of making out like teenagers and groping each other on the street corner every Saturday, two weeks of thinking about him every night, waking heated and flushed in your bed with an ache between your thighs and slick coating your fingers, and tonight you’d decided enough was enough.

He was steady and confident and reliable, but you’d noticed that he deferred to you in almost every matter. If you asked his opinion, he gave it; if you told him he was in charge of the evening’s plans, he already had one, but he let you control the direction of things rather than steamrolling you, and you wondered if it was something he was compelled to do as a familiar. You’ve got to be the one who makes the first move, you realized. Then he’ll take over and you can stop panicking.

“I think,” you murmured into his ear that night, as you sat on the edge of the gaming table, waiting to join in on the next round, “you should show me your apartment tonight, and we can work on your rolls.” The D&D campaign had started, and two sessions in the entire campaign had been entirely waylaid by a troublesome tiefling character who refused to follow the group’s initiative, and Holt had been smug that he’d not been the new player to cause problems.

“Hmmm,” he hummed, green eyes flashing, “we can do other things while we’re there.”

The apartment was dark, but somehow you were led to the bedroom without tripping over anything, the bedding beneath you cool and thick as Holt pressed you to your back. His eyes were glowing green orbs, rapidly growing closer until your lips were captured by his own, the kiss breaking off abruptly when he leaned over your body to turn on the bedside lamp.

“What do I need to roll for seduction?”

The bed rocked as he reached back from where he straddled your body, pulling off your sandals and sending them sailing across the room. “I’m serious!” he insisted when you laughed again. “This is a serious game, remember? I don’t want to be the one who gets the whole party kicked out of a tavern.”

“Well, if you’re serious,” you began, breath hitching as your top was pushed up your body, claws dragging over the newly-exposed skin, “then you should know you can’t actually roll seduction, it’s not a skill.”

“Oh, I beg to differ.”

You couldn't find fault in his words as your bra was deftly unhooked and pulled away, the heat of his mouth closing over the tip of your breast before you had a chance to be chilled. The tips of his clawed hand continued to move in soft patterns over your side as his tongue worked, teasing your nipple before sucking, biting ever-so-gently before releasing it with a wet pop.

“Are you sure I can’t roll seduction? I am a magical bard, after all.”

“Nope,” you corrected on a gasp. His mouth had moved to your other breast, giving it the same treatment until both nipples were pebbled and aching. “Seduction isn’t a skill. You can roll for deception, if you have ulterior motives.”

“Absolutely not. There you go again with the slander. What about...persuasion? Can I roll persuasion as a means of seduction?”

You unbuttoned the dark shirt he wore as he spoke, pushing apart the fabric to reveal the long, lithe shape of him above you. Broad shouldered but slender, Holt possessed none of the bulk the werewolf you’d gone out with a few times last year had. Tightly muscled and well-defined, your own clawless fingers moved down his chest, following the trail of dark hair down the hard plane of his stomach until you reached the thick bulge at the front of his jeans. The noise that emitted from his throat as you stroked the hard shape of him was very nearly a purr, and you smiled hugely, deciding to let him do his best.

“Sure, why not,” you smiled, pulling open his belt. “But I might want a perception check. Gotta check out your staff of persuasion first, make sure its on the up and up.”

You let out an undignified squeak when your skirt and knickers were pulled down as he rose, shucking his jeans before climbing over your body slowly, and you were clearly able to picture him as the giant, stalking cat you knew he occasionally was.

The soft drag of his claws over your thighs made you gasp, legs falling open, and the knuckle that pressed into your folds found you slick and eager.

“I’m glad you invited me to join the group,” he purred against your lips, sharp teeth catching them gently in a kiss. “Even if I don’t know any of the rules.”

The hard press of his erection was a molten heat against your hip and you shuddered out a breath, wanting to take him in hand but enjoying the press of his body against yours too much to force him to move. “I-I am too.”

Between your legs, his hand was buried against your sex. His sharp claws were tucked back, a finger on either side of your clit, knuckles kneading into the sensitive flesh until your hips were bucking upward to meet his hand, kneading and rolling, over and over until you were seeing stars. Pressure built behind your navel with every roll over the exposed bud of flesh, and you keened.

“I’m still having fun,” Holt went on, mouth stretching into a wide Cheshire cat-like smile, “and isn’t that the point of a game?”

The band of pressure snapped and you arched against him as throb after throb of pleasure pulsed through you. Your thighs tightened around his wrist, trapping his hand in place, and he hummed in amusement, fingers still moving as you gasped and shook, his lips pressing to yours lightly when you trembled with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“I’d like to seduce you, please,” he purred, waggling his dark eyebrows. “I’m being as persuasive as possible.”

His cock was still hot when you wrapped a hand around it, giving his shaft a firm pump, dragging upwards until your fingers reached his swollen head. “You really are a big cat,” you observed when the repeated motion drew a vibrating rumble from his chest, before edging closer to the foot of the bed. His smart-assed reply was lost to another rumble when you licked a broad stripe over his exposed head, laving your tongue over the bead of moisture there.

There were several rings of nodules at the base of his head, you realized, mimicking the sharp barbs he might possess in his cat form, and you wondered how they would feel inside of you. The sharp points of his nails dragged through your hair as you sucked him into your mouth, swirling your tongue before lowering your head down his shaft, bobbing your head several times before his clawed hands were tugging you upwards.

You were reminded of his speed on the day the black cat in the shop had gone darting off to the back room in a blink of an eye when he flipped you, you cheek pressed to the mattress as he kissed up your spine, raising your hips. You felt the leaking tip of his cockhead press to your slick folds, sliding up and down before finally pushing into you, hilting himself in one thrust.

You hadn’t intended on finding a relationship, only some fun new additions to your curio shelf, you thought as has pumped into you, those textured nodules dragging deliciously over your inner walls. Claws dragged over your skin as you clenched around him, unable to stop the moan which broke from your mouth. You hadn’t been looking for a relationship, but one had found you anyway.

When his hand found its way back between your thighs, you were lost. Already gasping with every thrust of his textured cock, as soon as the rough pads of his fingers began circling your clit, you felt your tentative control slip, your core clenching and spasming around him before you were filled with heat, his rumbling purr vibrating against you as he came.

The comforter was thick and soft when he pulled it over you, once he’d withdrawn and quickly cleaned you up. Thick and soft and incredibly warm, snuggled against his chest.

“I have a confession to make.” You craned your neck up to find Holt peering down, one of his thick, dark brows cocked curiously. “You can’t actually play persuasion or deception against another player’s character. Everyone has their own freewill and agency, it doesn’t matter how silver-tongued the party’s bard is.”

“Do you mean to tell me I wasted a perfectly good persuasion play?”

“It was unnecessary but not without merit!” you yelped as he flipped you to your back, giving you his best glower as he straddled your hips. “You’ve convinced me!”

“Oh, just you wait. I am going to cast so many spells on you once once we finally get out of the bloody tavern.”

The bed, you realized, had begun to levitate, and now hung suspended in the air as you squealed. He really was a magical, sneaky bard.

“You can’t do that either,” you laughed after the bed dropped, shaking the walls. “No spells on teammates.”

“There are too many rules to this game,” he griped, pressing his cheek to your breast. You wrapped your arms around him, pushing your fingers through his thick hair. Give and take. Solid for each other.

“You have plenty of time to learn.”

His purr vibrated against you before he wriggled free from your arms to fix the blanket, pulling you against him as he resettled. “It’s a good thing I have an excellent teacher.”

#monsterbait writes #exophilia #monster boyfriend #monster lover #monster x reader #m monster x female reader #monster x human #monster match #monster matchmaker #witch's familiar #black cat

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asafeplacetostay · 3 years

Text

TMNT LEORAI (Leo x Karai)

Drunk

Warning!: underage drinking and implications of sex

Grabbing a few bottles of vodka, Karai directed herself to the lair, jumping through the roofs and dissapearing into the man-hole.

Her shoes were drenched in filthy water, but she couldn't care less as she adjusted the straps of her bag.

Splinter was gone for the night, saying something about an old friend of his. So her plan was simple, have a little fun with the turtles.

She usually got drunk herself when she was alone, to make the pain go away for a while, but now, she only wanted to see the turtles lighten up a little, herself included.

She finally reached the lair, and directed hersemf to the kitchen, salutating the boys with a quick "Hi".

She opened her backpack and took the alcohol out.

Karai then opened the fridge, grabbing some orange and pineapple juice, some berrys and ice.

She began fixing the guys some drinks, with little alcohol at first, to later add more and more.

She preffered taking shots, the adrenaline of the drink burning down her throat turned her on.

She brought the beverages to the living table and sat down on the coach, spreding her arms.

"What's this, Karai?" Leo, the leader in blue asked, grabbing one of the drinks, and inxpecting it closly.

"Relax Leo, i'm not trying to poison you, like before, it's just alcohol, you won't even feel it" The girl laughed quietly, watching Mikey jump the coach and grab one of the drinks, pouring it all down his mouth.

"Impressive" Karai whispered.

Raph was sceptical, but after one drink, he demanded another one. He really liked sweet stuff. Donnie, lastly, sipped into his beverage while watching tv, Karai going back to the kitchen to fix them another

She found it strange that the guys did not complain about the alcohol.

When she returned, Mikey was upside down.

The girl giggled and put the drinks in the table again, watching as each of the turtles drank their glass.

After some minutes, Leo shakily stood up, and with one pointed finger he said: "Ok, i t-think that'ssss..., i want another one"

"Yeah, what Leo says, princess, bring those babys right up" Raph spoke, his words dragging a little.

"Coming up" She said.

After three more rounds of drinks and a couple, well, maybe a lot of shots later for her, they were surely drunk.

Mikey was on the floor, tring to swim, Donnie was laughing loudly and non-stop, Raph was sleeping on the table and Leo was...um.

Horny could be the word Karai was looking for.

Every now and then, he would place his fingers onto her inner thigh, really close to her core, making electricity run through her veins.

He would lay his head on her lap, try pick-up lines, and even tried to kiss her, which happened, only that Leo's tounge was too sudden, making her choke.

After a while, Leo dragged her into his room, looking like a happy puppy, tail wiggling.

She pushed him to his bed and layed herself on top of him, her hips grinding slightly. He smiled exitedly and kissed her again.

The night grew too short for them, and the next day, with their throbbing heads and injuries growing in unexpected places, the day became too long.

#leorai #tmnt leonardo #tmnt karai #tmnt leorai #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt donatello #tmnt raphael #raph #mikey #donnie #leo

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isla-04 · 3 years

Text

| the art of falling in love with a dead girl.

miya atsumu x f!reader | part 2

Summary: love conquers all. a foolish boy will believe in anything just to get you to stay, just for one more day. one more second with you is all he wishes for, a second that you may not have.

word count: 1.5k

warnings: mentions of depressions and suicide

there was only so much time promised for a single person.

some were promised an entire lifetime. some were promised an eternity.

but there were a handful of those of us that were promised much shorter: months, weeks, or even days. sometimes those days weren’t even promised, sometimes our clock would run out much quicker than the time stamp we were given originally. we were forced to watch from the sidelines while others enjoyed their life to the fullest, stretching their days as far as they could. essentially, we’ve become dead men walking. or women, in your case.

at what point do we decide to accept our fate? at what point do we realize that our time is limited, compared to others who have an entire life to experience all the things we could only dream of doing? truly, there’s no exact point in time, but rather a feeling that we live with until our time is up. it starts off a simple whisper in the back of our head and grows into a fully matured voice that constantly creates conversation in our minds.

the voice of disappointment, where every little thing you do is no longer good enough for not only yourself but the world around you as well. one of anger, where every wrongdoing that has come your way adds fuel to your fire and eventually burns over your entire body, just waiting to lash out on whoever’s innocent soul is near. a voice of anxiety that feels as if it were crawling through your veins, instilling its poison in your blood to the point where you feel like you can no longer breathe properly. this voice sits in the back of your head, hushed and judgmental, and when you finally acknowledge that its there it will push to the forefront of your mind. dismantling your senses and clouding your vision, this voice becomes another body in your own. a body that has corrupted your soul with its apparent hatred.

rather than being given both the angel and the devil, the devil sits alone on both shoulders directing your every move. often times, against your will as well. maybe he was the one who stole your time, or maybe it was yourself. maybe you weren’t strong enough to fight off his thoughts, or were they yours? not that it would matter in the end.

once you’ve accepted the fact that there was only a short amount of time assigned to you, you’ve lost the desire to keep living for the rest of that time. there wasn’t much anyways, so why continue? in the end, your efforts would’ve been for nothing if you were no longer going to be here.

but what others don’t realize is that despite the fact that you’ve accepted your end, life actually seems to become easier. the motivation to get out of bed, shower, clean up, and do normal things returns in that short period of time before you leave. the smile on your face becomes genuine and the laughs you let out, they sound exactly like they did when you were a small child. you become the best you that you’ve ever been because finally, that voice in the back of your head will no longer be there to harm you.

maybe that’s what caused him to fall for you. maybe it was the genuine smile and laughs that you gave him after he told one of his jokes. they were stupid and to others, came off as failed attempts of flirting. but you laughed and you smiled as if he was the greatest comedian of all times. you only ever looked at him with kind and soft eyes, never raised your voice to him, never turned your back.

if he was excited he would jump circles around you, like a child excited to get ice cream. he would speak at a mile a minute, never pausing to take a breath, but he was too excited to waste a minute on breathing. he needed to tell you about whatever he was excited about, just so he could see your smile and here your voice. that silky voice that made his heart clench every time you spoke. you would be excited right along with him, even if you didn’t quite catch what he said to you in his jumbled sentences that he called english.

if he was nervous, you would draw spirals on the back of his hands in order to calm him down. “in...out...in...out. do that three more times, okay?” you would say to him before every game, even if he wasn’t nervous. but something about the way you worried for him made him feel safe, like he would always be cared for. like he would always have someone to fall back on.

if he was angry, you would be the first person to ask what was wrong, letting him rant and complain about whatever it was that got him so worked up. you wouldn’t interrupt or try to invalidate how he felt. he could rant for hours or days, and you would be right next to him with open ears. once he’d calm down, you would be right there to help him assess the situation. could he have handled it differently? was he in the right or was he in the wrong? no matter what it was that you suggested, he’d be 100% willing to do it.

but the part of you that he appreciated and would cherish forever, was that you were willing to carry his weight on your shoulders when he couldn’t do it himself. you would be waiting for him with opens arms and he’d collapsed right into them. the first few times you hadn’t properly prepared for him to actually collapse, and you were the poor boy nearly fell onto the concrete sidewalk. as he cried into your chest, you would softly run your hands through his hair and massage his temples; you were no stranger to the headaches that would soon follow after crying this hard. the sweet nothings you would whisper into his ear, affirming that he would be okay and that this would get better, helped him pick himself up again.

you took care of him like a mother took care of her child, but to him, it felt different. he hadn’t been sure before, but when he looked into your bright eyes, he knew; atsumu fell in love with you. he fell in love with your whole being actually, and there was no part of you that he could ever hate. everything about you was perfect to him.

you never judged him or called him out for his pathetic jokes, never shunned him away when he was upset, never ordered him to quiet down when he was too excited or ridiculed him when he got angry; but you didn’t really do much these days. unbeknownst to him, you were one of the few who weren’t promised a lifetime. he had eternity, and you had ‘till the end of the week.

the eyes that he believed held the universe, were the same ones that cried for hours at night in the dark. the same ones that were red and puffy in the mornings after those late night cries. the same ones that needed to constantly hold back their own tears during the day because you felt like the weight of the world would collapse onto you.

the shoulders that he would cry on were the same ones that slouched whenever you sat down because holding his emotional weight along with your own was beginning to overwhelm you. how were you to help him when you couldn’t even help yourself? the chest atsumu would cry into was the same one that felt empty. it felt like there was a large gaping hole in the middle right where your heart should’ve been.

but here you were, taking care of him. you did it all on your own account, not because you felt like you owed him anything, but after a while things were not as easy as they used to be. that voice in the back of your head would get louder each year, pushing you further and further into a dark hole. a hole that got deeper over time, one that you never saw an opening to. one that felt infinite, so deep that not even a sliver of light could touch you. the clock that you were assigned at birth was nearing its end and when the big hand hit twelve, a new day would start, one without you.

as much as you cherished your time with atsumu, you knew that it was coming to an end. sooner or later you would have to say goodbye, and not just for the night, but for life. a permanent goodbye that you knew would leave a scar on his heart, but this choice was yours and you made it already. you were ready to leave, ready to go, ready to finally let your conscience rest and ease the aching in your heart. this was it. it was time, so with tears in your eyes you let go.

birdy’s notes: please do not repost, rewrite or claim as yours. thank you!

- this is my first official post and i hope that it was at least decent. i might attempt to make this a tiny series, but i’m not completely sure yet.

#miya atsumu #haikyuu atsumu #atsumu x reader #atsumu angst #haikyu x reader #haikyu #haikyu angst #atsumu x you #haikyuu!!#haikyū!!#haikyu imagines #haikyuu imagines #hq atsumu #hq angst #hq imagines #hq x reader

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noemibalbii · 3 years

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Six of Crows duology quotes

“Many boys will bring you flowers. But someday you’ll meet a boy who will learn your favorite flower, your favorite song, your favorite sweet. And even if he is too poor to give you any of them, it won’t matter because he will have taken the time to know you as no one else does. Only that boy earns your heart.”

“Kaz leaned back. “What’s the easiest way to steal a man’s wallet?” “Knife to the throat?” asked Inej. “Gun to the back?” said Jesper. “Poison in his cup?” suggested Nina. “You’re all horrible,” said Matthias.

“No mourners. No funerals. Among them, it passed for ‘good luck’.”

“The heart is an arrow. It demands aim to land true.”

“When someone knows you’re a monster, you needn’t waste time doing every monstrous thing.”

“She’d laughed, and if he could have bottled the sound and gotten drunk on it every night, he would have. It terrified him.”

“He needed to tell her… what? That she was lovely and brave and better than anything he deserved. That he was twisted, crooked, wrong, but not so broken that he couldn’t pull himself together into some semblance of a man for her. That without meaning to, he’d begun to lean on her, to look for her, to need her near. He needed to thank her for his new hat.”

“I have been made to protect you. Only in death will I be kept from this oath.”

“Please, my darling Inej, treasure of my heart, won’t you do me the honor of acquiring me a new hat?”

“What do you want then?” The old answers came easily to mind. Money. Vengeance. Jordie’s voice in my head silenced forever. But a different reply roared inside him, loud, insistent, and unwelcome, You, Inej, you.

“Greed is your god, Kaz.” He almost laughed at that. “No, Inej. Greed bows to me. It is my servant and my lever.”

“The easiest way to steal a man’s wallet is to tell him you’re going to steal his watch. You take his attention and direct it where you want it to go.”

“Better terrible truths than kind lies.”

“You’ll get what’s coming to you some day, Brekker.” “I will,” said Kaz, “if there’s any justice in the world. And we all know how likely that is.”

“You can’t spend his money if you’re dead.” “I’ll acquire expensive habits in the afterlife.” “There’s a difference between confidence and arrogance.”

“Stay,” he said, his voice rough stone. “Stay in Ketterdam. Stay with me.” She looked down at his gloved hand clutching hers. Everything in her wanted to say yes, but she would not settle for so little, not after all she’d been through. “What would be the point?” He took a breath. “I want you to stay, I want you to… I want you.” “You want me.” She turned the words over. Gently, she squeezed his hand. “And how will you have me, Kaz?” He looked at her then, eyes fierce, mouth set, It was the face he wore when he was fighting. “How will you have me?” she repeated. “Fully clothed, gloves on, your head turned away so our lips can never touch?” He released her hand, his shoulders bunching, his gaze angry and ashamed as he turned his face to the sea. Maybe it was because his back was to her that she could finally speak the words. “I will have you without armor, Kaz Brekker. Or I will not have you at all.”

“Some people see a magic trick and say, “Impossible!” They clap their hands, turn over their money, and forget about it ten minutes later. Other people ask how it worked. They go home, get into bed, toss and turn, wondering how it was done. It takes them a good night’s sleep to forget all about it. And then there are the ones who stay awake, running through the trick again and again, looking for that skip in perception, the crack in the illusion that will explain how their eyes got duped; they’re the kind who won’t rest until they’ve mastered that little bit of mystery for themselves. I’m that kind.”

“He’d broken his leg dropping down from the rooftop. The bone didn’t set right, and he’d limped ever after. So he’d found himself a Fabrikator and had his cane made. It became a declaration. There was no part of him that was not broken, that had not healed wrong, and there was no part of him that was not stronger for having been broken.”

“Do you have a different name for killing when you wear a uniform to do it?”

“Facts are for the unimaginative.”

“When we get our money, you can burn kruge to keep you warm.” “I’m going to pay someone to burn my kruge for me.” “Why don’t you pay someone else to pay someone to burn your kruge for you? That’s what the big players do.”

“How do you get your information, Mister Brekker?” “You might say I’m a lockpick.” “You must be a very gifted one.” “I am indeed.” Kaz leaned back slightly. “You see, every man is a safe, a vault of secrets and longings. Now, there are those who take the brute’s way, but I prefer a gentler approach - the right pressure applied at the right moment, in the right place. It’s a delicate thing.” “Do you always speak in metaphors, Mister Brekker?” Kaz smiled. “It’s not a metaphor.” He was out of his chair before his chains hit the ground.”

“A liar, a thief, and utterly without conscience. But he’ll keep to any deal you strike with him.”

“You couldn’t train a falcon, then expect it not to hunt.”

“The life you live, the hate you feel - it’s poison. I can drink it no longer.”

Jesper: “If Pekka Rollins kills us all, I’m going to get Wylan’s ghost to teach my ghost how to play the flute just so that I can annoy the hell out of your ghost.” Kaz: “I’ll just hire Matthias’s ghost to kick your ghost’s ass.” Matthias: “My ghost won’t associate with your ghost.”

“But all he could think of was Inej. She had to live. She had to have made it out of the Ice Court. And if she hadn’t, then he had to live to rescue her.”

“He was going to break my legs,” she said, her chin held high, the barest quaver in her voice. “Would you have come for me then, Kaz? When i couldn’t scale a wall or walk a tightrope? When I wasn’t the Wraith anymore?” Dirtyhands would not. The boy who could get them through this, get their money, keep them alive, would do her the courtesy of putting her out of her out of her misery, then cut his losses and move on. “I would have come for you. And if I couldn’t walk, I’d crawl to you, and no matter how broken we were, we’d fight our way out together - knives drawn, pistols blazing. Because that’s what we do. We never stop fighting.”

“Fear is a phoenix. You can watch it burn a thousand times and still it will return.”

“Maybe there were people who lived those lives. Maybe this girl was one of them. But what about the rest of us? What about the nobodies and the nothings, the invisible girls? We learn to hold our heads as if we wear crowns. We learn to write magic from the ordinary. That was how you survived when you weren’t chosen, when there was no royal blood in your veins. When the world owed you nothing, you demanded something of it anyway.”

“Crows remember human faces. They remember the people who feed them, who are kind to them. And the people who wrong them too. They don’t forget. They tell each other who to look after and who to watch out for.”

“Has anyone noticed this whole city is looking for us, mad at us, or want to kill us?” “So?” said Kaz. “Well, usually it’s just half the city.”

“She smiled then, her cheeks red, her cheeks scattered with some kind of dust. It was a smile he thought he might die to earn again.”

“No mourners. No funerals. Another way of saying good luck. But it was something more. A dark wink to the fact that there would be no expensive burials for people like them, no marble markers to remember their names, no wreaths of myrtle and rose.”

“Have any of you wondered what I did with all the cash Pekka Rollins gave us?” “Guns?” asked Jesper. “Ships?” queried Inej. “Bombs?” suggested Wylan. “Political bribes?” offered Nina. They all looked at Matthias. “This is where you tell us how awful we are,” she whispered.

“We meet fear. We greet the unexpected visitor and listen to what he has to tell us. When fear arrives, something is about to happen.”

“You don’t look like a monster.” “I’ll tell you a secret, Hannah. The really bad monsters never look like monsters.”

Until this moment, Wylan hadn’t quite understood how much they meant to him. His father would have sneered at these thugs and thieves. a disgraced soldier, a gambler who couldn’t keep out of the red. But they were his first friends, his only friends, and Wylan knew that even if he’d had his pick of a thousand companions, these would have been the people he chose.”

“They were twin souls, soldiers destined to fight for different sides, to find each other and lose each other too quickly. She would not keep him here. Not like this.”

“At some point, Jesper realized Kaz was gone. “Not one for goodbyes, is he?” he muttered. “He doesn’t say goodbye,” Inej said. She kept her eyes on the lights of the canal. Somewhere in the garden, a night bird began to sing. “He just lets go.”

“I’ve been nothing but kind to you. I’m not some sort of a monster.” “No, you’re the man who sits idly by, congratulating yourself on your decency, while the monster eats his fill. At least a monster has teeth and a spine.”

“But if you couldn’t open a door, you just had to make a new one.”

“You’re not weak because you can’t read. You’re weak because you’re afraid of people seeing your weakness. You’re letting shame decide who you are. […] It’s shame that lines my pockets, shame that keeps the Barrel teeming with fools ready to put on a mask just so they can have what they want with none the wiser about it. We can endure all kinds of pain. It’s shame that eats men whole.”

“She could feel the press of Kaz’s fingers against her skin, feel the bird’s wing brush of his mouth against her neck, see his dilated eyes. Two of the deadliest people the Barrel had to offer and they could barely touch each other without both of them keeling over. But they’d tried. He’d tried. Maybe they could try again. A foolish wish, the sentimental hope of a girl who hadn’t had the firsts of her life stolen, who hadn’t ever felt Tante Heleen’s lash, who wasn’t covered in wounds and wanted by the law. Kaz would have laughed at her optimism.”

“No matter the height of the mountain, the climbing is the same.”

“But when someone does wrong, when we make mistakes, we don’t say we’re sorry. We promise to make amends.” “I will.” “Mati en sheva yelu. This action will have no echo. It means we won’t repeat the same mistakes, that we won’t continue to do harm.”

“Van Eck promised us thirty million kruge,” said Kaz. “That’s exactly what we’re going to take. With another one million for interest, expenses, and just because we can.” Wylan broke a cracker in two. “My father doesn’t have thirty million kruge lying around. Even if you took all his assets together.” “You should leave, then,” said Jesper. “We only associate with the disgraced heirs of the very finest fortunes.”

“You’re better than waffles, Matthias Helvar.” A small smile curled the Fjerdan’s lips. “Let’s not say things we don’t mean, my love.”

“A proper thief is like a proper poison, merchling. He leaves no trace.”

“She took a shaky breath. The words came like a string of gunshots, rapid-fire, as if she resented the very act of speaking them. “I didn’t know if you would come.” Kaz couldn’t blame Van Eck for that. Kaz had built that doubt in her with every cold word and small cruelty. “We’re your crew, Inej. We don’t leave our own at the mercy of merch scum.” It wasn’t the answer he wanted to give. It wasn’t the answer she wanted.

“I just don’t get it. I’ve spent my whole life hiding the things I can’t do. Why run from the amazing things you can do?”

“She felt his knuckles slide against hers. Then his hand was in her hand, his palm was pressed against her own. A tremor moved through him. Slowly, he let their fingers entwine. For a long while, they stood there, hands clasped, looking out at the gray expanse of the sea.”

“Matthias knew monsters, and one glance at Kaz Brekker had told him this was a creature who had spent too long in the dark - he’d brought something back with him when he’d crawled into the light.”

“She wouldn’t wish love on anyone. It was the guest you welcomed and then couldn’t be rid of.”

“Brick by brick. Brick by brick. I will destroy you.” It was the promise that let him sleep at night, that drove him every day, that kept Jordie’s ghost at bay. Because a quick death was too good for Pekka Rollins.”

“Kaz narrowed his eyes. “I’m not some character out of a children’s story who plays harmless pranks and steals from the rich to give to the poor.”

“Inej had once offered to teach him how to fall. “The trick is not getting knocked down,” he’d told her with a laugh. “No, Kaz,” she’d said, “the trick is in getting back up.”

“It was because she was listening so closely the she knew the exact moment when Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, the bastard of the Barrel and deadliest boy in Ketterdam, fainted.”

“Our hopes rest with you, Mister Brekker. If you fail, all the world will suffer for it.” “Oh, it’s worse than that, Van Eck. If I fail, I don’t get paid.”

“This isn’t… it isn’t a trick, is it?” Her voice was smaller than she wanted it to be. The shadow of something dark moved across Kaz’s face. “If it were a trick, I’d promise you safety. I’d offer you happiness. I don’t know if that exists in the Barrel, but you’ll find none of it with me.” For some reason, those words had comforted her. Better terrible truths than kind lies. “All right,” she said. “How do we begin?” “Let’s start by getting out of here and finding you some proper clothes. Oh, and Inej,” he said as he led her out of the salon, “don’t ever sneak up on me again.”

“They fear you as I once feared you,” he said. “As you once feared me. We are all someone’s monster, Nina.”

“You still may die in the Dregs.” Inej’s dark eyes had glinted. “I may. But I’ll die on my feet with a knife in my hand.”

“Shame holds more value than coin ever can.”

“None of us move on without a backward look. We move on always carrying with us those we have lost.”

“You came back for me.” “I protect my investments.” Investments. “I’m glad I’m bleeding all over your shirt.”

“Why do you wear gloves, Mister Brekker?” Kaz raised a brow. “I’m sure you’ve heard the stories.” “Each more grotesque than the last.” Kaz had heard them, too. Brekker’s hands were stained with blood. Brekker’s hands were covered in scars. Brekker had claws and not fingers because he was part demon. Brekker’s touch burned like brimstone - a single brush of his bare skin caused your flesh to wither and die. “Pick one,” Kaz said as he vanished into the night, thoughts already turning to thirty million kruge and the crew he’d need to help him get it. “They’re all true enough.”

“You have no finesse,” a gambler at the Silver Garter once said to him. “No technique.” “Sure I do,” Kaz had responded. “I practice the art of ‘pull his shirt over his head and punch till you see blood’.”

“A gambler, a convict, a wayward son, a lost Grisha, a Suli girl who had become a killer, a boy from the Barrel who had become something worse.” [...] “What bound them together? Greed? Desperation? Was it just the knowledge that if one or all of them disappeared tonight, no one would come looking?”

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the-great-bbe · 3 years

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The children shriek with laughter as the waves roll against their legs. The sweet sound melds with the crashing of the sea, of Mellario and Ellaria gossiping about their beloveds, of Rhaella sighing and relaxing for once. All is bright and golden and warm, save for their ice-cold goblets of sangria. Elia tilts her head back against her chair and smiles. Let those bastards keep that ugly ass throne, she has all she needs right here.

Or, the sangria beach party that Elia and her loved ones deserved. A short fic to start off Summer is for Dorne!

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Among his many talents, Elia’s little brother is a master of mixing drinks.

He is a viper after all, and vipers know their poisons and how to mix them. Tequila from the agave blooming across the hillsides pairs perfectly with lime juice and distilled orange blossom nectar to make a margarita. Horchata foamy and fragrant with Summer Islander cinnamon can be elevated with sugarcane rum. And there’s nothing better on the gods’ green earth than red wine—proper Dornish sweetwine, not that diabetic piss from the Arbor—left to idle in icy splendor with strong brandy and fruit. Blood oranges, black strawberries, white nectarines, even a tart green apple or two. Their cousin Manfrey picked them all fresh from his private orchards near the Water Gardens just the day before. The bounty of Dorne for Dorne and Dornishmen alone.

A pitcher of his perfect sangria rests in a bucket full of ice slurry. Already her goblet is half empty, despite her efforts to sip and savor. It tastes so rich on her tongue much abused by dull Riverlands ale and Reacher wines. There are few blood oranges to be found north of the Boneway, even for a Princess of Dorne, and Elia feels the urge to inhale her drink. She sighs and rolls her shoulders. Just another sip for now. Summer explodes on her tongue, ripe and rich and such a dear welcome home.

Elia doesn’t remember the last time she was this happy. On Dragonstone it was a constant haze of sulfur and marine fog, and Kings Landing reeks from miles away. But here, on a long stretch of beach near Saltshore, the sun burns bright and delicious above the palm trees. Not a single cloud in the sapphire sky, nor any fog to mar the turquoise seas. Elia rolls her head back against her wicker chair. Perhaps later she’ll relocate to the hammock strung between two date palms and let the balmy sea breeze lull her and her children to sleep. But for now her precious Rhaenys plays in the surf with her cousins and Viserys, and dear Aegon builds a sandcastle with Oberyn’s help.

Instead of cowering from the Mad King’s rages and simmering with hatred towards her once husband, Elia lounges in the shade. Zinc paste is cloudy white on her shoulders, nose and ears to protect her from the strongest of the sun, just like the children. But the rest of her body is resplendent with shea butter and avocado oil. Thick aloe leaves already sticky with cooling sap wait in a basket by her feet in case she must ward away a sun burn, but her skin soaks up the midmorning sun like a child returning to her mother’s embrace. Gods, but the sun! She stretches her arms above her head and nearly knocks her wide brimmed hat aside. She swears she can feel the sunlight itself like warm silk through her fingers, like a waterfall down her chest to pool in her stomach and ignite joy in her veins.

She lets her gaze fall back towards the sea. When was the last time Rhaenys laughed this loudly? When was the last time Viserys laughed at all? Poor boy, but he, his mother and his baby sister are well in hand now. Targaryens by birth they may be, but the blood of Myriah Martell and Dyanna Dayne run sevenfold in their veins. Dorne shall never turn its back on any child no matter the color of their skin, and even from her shaded refuge Elia sees the freckles blooming across Viserys’s shoulders. Good; the more sun the better. Uncle Lewyn’s eldest daughter Obara throws him headlong into the waves and he shrieks with joy, while her little sister Nym and Doran’s Arianne demand their own toss into the surf. Rhaenys and Manfrey’s daughter Sarella help Lewyn’s Tyene search for shells and crabs, giggling and kicking seaweed at each other. When they find a proper shell, they bring it to Aegon and Oberyn who add it to their castle. Aegon blows a messy kiss onto Rhaenys’s cheek and Elia’s heart runs over with sweet warmth. Her babies, alive and well and happy.

It was a terribly close thing by the end of Robert’s Rebellion. Elia’s correspondence was cut off by Aerys in his paranoia, but she was able to smuggle out a letter to Oberyn when Rhaella left for Dragonstone. He returned with his sellswords to rescue them from their imprisonment, and not a moment sooner—Elia remembers how Kings Landing burned from her view on the ship home to Dorne. To think of what would’ve happened had they stayed…they say that Aerys was cut down by his own Kingsguard, and that the royal nursery was torn to shreds by the Mountain That Rides in search of children to kill.

Elia shudders. Perish the thought, banish it to the seven hells. Rhaegar is dead, and her children are Martells now. Even Rhaella forsook the Targaryen name when they alighted in Sunspear and she was hurried into proper birthing chambers. Daenerys came to the world not as a Targaryen princess but as a Lady Martell of Dorne, with Rhaella Martell the new Lady of Planky Town. Viserys and Aegon shall not give their lives to the Wall and Rhaenys shall not be chained to a Baratheon prince. Not if Westeros intends for Dorne to remain in the Seven Kingdoms, and truth be told Elia wonders if Doran intends to leave anyway. They entered into a kingdom with a union, and perhaps they shall leave with the sundering of one…

But that’s not what matters today. What matters is refilling her goblet. Elia raises it high, and Doran shuffles over with the pitcher. Her dear older brother is shirtless, stained with sand and salt, and there is a sweet flush to his cheeks. Even his bad leg seems fine with the therapy of burning sunlight illuminating their bones from the inside out. Mellario must certainly appreciate that! Her good sister lies on a spread linen sheet on the sands with Ellaria, Oberyn’s paramour. Both of them are bronze in the sun, a silk turban around Mellario’s head and Ellaria’s curls formed into twists down her back. And its’ said that Cersei Lannister is the most beautiful in Westeros, obviously people are blind. They look up at them with mischievous grins, before bumping their heads together and giggling. Elia smirks at Doran. “Careful now, habibi. I believe you’ll be ambushed later in the night and whisked away by a mystery woman.”

He laughs and his eyes crinkle at the edges. “I’ll be sure to not fight back too much.” He plops down next to her and sips at his lemon water. The maesters forbid him from alcohol and sugar until his gout is under control, a true tragedy in Elia’s eyes as the sangria is excellent. But even more excellent is seeing how happy her brother is. Gods, to imagine him mourning her and her babies as they did for uncle Lewyn, it’s a fate she would not wish on her loved ones. She intends to live to a hundred and twenty, just to ensure he’ll always smile at her with crinkled eyes.

Elia leans against his shoulder and peers out towards the cabana higher up towards the oasis grove. “Has Rhaella returned from Saltshore yet? Dany was giving the wet nurse a bit of a hard time.”

“Missed me, have you?” Rhaella, emerged from their cabana and the platters of fruit kept safe from the sea salt there, calls down to them. It’s been only a few months, and Rhaella is unrecognizable. Elia is glad to see the plump roundness of her stomach and thighs where before she was only skin and bone. And her skin, once as pale as parchment and twice as translucent, is as dark as her great-grandmother Dyanna. It glows against her silver-gold hair and lavender eyes, and there is happiness in her face where before there was only stifled fear.

Elia waves Rhaella over to the empty wicker chair by her side. Perhaps later, when the children sleep off their lunch and the adults are properly sauced from sangrias and margaritas, they’ll return to the cabana and lounge on the day beds. Maybe even one of the cabana boys—cabana men in truth, with their strong arms and backs—can give them all shoulder massages. Rhaella has a little favorite who is always eager to help his new lady relax. Elia raises her eyebrows at her good mother and she takes a long sip of her margarita. Elia is far from judging, as Rhaella deserves whatever happiness she can grasp.

They all do. How long have they all suffered these last years? Suffering Aerys, suffering Rhaegar, suffering the war that they wrought upon Westeros. Elia still remembers the screams from Rhaella’s chambers during their terrible stays in Kings Landing, she remembers the cold silences before Harrenhal and the even colder absences after. And now those men are dead and thousands with them. All over some Northern girl, and a prophecy that probably foretold the coming of the seasons than any promised prince!

Well, fuck them. Westeros has a new king now, in that stinking castle filled with blood and shit and ghosts, and the Baratheons and Lannisters can figure it out now. Let them have the starving smallfolk ready to rebel after a harsh winter. Let them have the honor of bartering away pieces of their souls until all that remains is bleeding pride. Let them have it all. All that matters to Dorne is the rice crop, and managing citrus exports, and the wellbeing of its people. Elia plans to build a new school for smallfolk children and petty gentry in Sunspear, as she is now Princess of Sunspear. More Martell branches for a blood orange tree to bear wondrous fruit. All beneath the sun, so bright in that perfect sky…

Elia sips her sangria. Oberyn and Aegon are finished with their sandcastle, and now he’s pulled out a guitar from somewhere and tries to teach his nephew how to play. Rhaenys perches on Obara’s shoulders and pretends to joust with Arianne who is on Viserys’s. Manfrey and his Summer Islander wife Bellegara Otherys finally finish up their romantic walk up and down the shore, with Bellegara joining Mellario and Ellaria’s whisper pile and Manfrey pulling Doran away to talk drunken business. Something about making a fleet of ships to rival Nymeria’s, and selling sweetwine to Sothoryos in exchange for coconut and date liquor. Elia giggles and can’t stop. Not with the sun so warm on her skin, not with Rhaella raising her goblet and toasting the coming summer.

It’s still winter north of the Red Mountains, but not here. No, summer is here for Dorne, and it is here to stay.

Let those bastards keep that ugly ass throne, she has all she needs right here.

#summer is for dorne #sifd #hot dorne summer #sangria beach party #southern renaissance approved

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rextasywrites · 3 years

Text

Little Darling 6 - a Lady Dimitrescu x Mia Winters fanfiction

"Decisions over decisions, Mia’s head felt fuzzy and every word said to her felt like it was coming through a layer of cotton wool. Why her? Why couldn’t she make mundane decisions like which kindergarten Rosy should go to? Who is allowed at her birthday sleepover? “Mia?”, Lady Dimitrescu asked again, shaking Mia’s shoulder gently. Mia finally ripped out of her thoughts as the memories had consumed her. “Sorry, I...drifted off.”, Mia sighed and rubbed her tired eyes, trying to take in again what was in front of her. Lady Dimitrescu had laid out a plan of the lab where they suppose Rosy was kept. It was quite a distance away, but nothing they couldn’t tackle. “Sorry Alcina.”"

the end is getting closer. will they find Rosy? where is Ethan? and can Mia trust her own self anymore?

tw for implied rape at the second half of the chapter! be safe and enjoy reading! <3 <3 <3

Warnings: implied rape mention, mental illnesses

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

“Wakey wakey! I made breakfast for you!”, Marguerite yelled through the bars of Mia’s ‘room’, pushing the plate with her meal under the bars. “You better eat it all up! I stood in the kitchen for hours to make this!”, she ranted as she stepped away from the room, back outside into their own so-called ‘freedom’. But freedom was different to everyone.

The things which were edible were consumed by Mia in no time, the hunger spreading through her veins just like the mold did. The rest of the organs were flushed down the toilet, never to be seen again. Has no one ever noticed that human organs were in the sewage system? The human meat that was cooked tasted like veal and had about the consistency of an old shoe. But Mia took what she could get to survive. In this moment, Mia wished that she could go back to Ethan’s cooking - the man who managed to give her food poisoning on their first anniversary because he misread instructions. But hey, everything was better than the garbage she got here.

“Don’t you worry.”, Eveline appeared in her room, making Mia and her weak frame jump in surprise, “Ethan will be here soon and then we will be a happy family! You cannot escape from me! Never ever! We will be a happy family!”

Decisions over decisions, Mia’s head felt fuzzy and every word said to her felt like it was coming through a layer of cotton wool. Why her? Why couldn’t she make mundane decisions like which kindergarten Rosy should go to? Who is allowed at her birthday sleepover? “Mia?”, Lady Dimitrescu asked again, shaking Mia’s shoulder gently. Mia finally ripped out of her thoughts as the memories had consumed her.

“Sorry, I...drifted off.”, Mia sighed and rubbed her tired eyes, trying to take in again what was in front of her. Lady Dimitrescu had laid out a plan of the lab where they suppose Rosy was kept. It was quite a distance away, but nothing they couldn’t tackle. “Sorry Alcina.”

“We will head there tomorrow in the early morning hours. Daniela, you take care of the exit by the mountain. Bela, Cassandra, you tackle the main entrance. Mia and I will run in once the guards are down. Daniela, you head into the building from the exit. There aren’t many guards back there, but the way into the lab is ways more complicated. Bela, Cassandra, you go with Mia and me.”, Lady Dimitrescu started to explain. “The early morning hours are the best time to attack. The change of shifts is still some hours away but the night shift guards are tired by this point. We take them by surprise.”

The daughters nodded, bloodlust spreading over the faces. Like some foxes who had just entered a chicken house, ready to shred everything into tiny pieces before swimming in the blood. What a sight, how devoted they were to their mother! Would Rosy be as devoted to Mia once she grows up?

“Until then, we should rest and make sure we are ready for what’s about to come. And the main objects of this are - keeping Mia safe and rescuing Rosy.”, Lady Dimitrescu added, but then...then something overcame Mia. A sense of dread. Crawling up her throat like a spider, clinging on her insides.

“And Ethan?”, she asked Lady Dimitrescu.

Lady Dimitrescu nodded when Mia asked, “I was wondering when you would ask about him. He is on the way to the lab. By foot, it will take him longer than us. He will come to a bloodbath already done. Gives him a break too.”

The rare steak in front of Mia made her stomach turn. Lady Dimitrescu had ordered a big dinner for all of the women in the castle, prepared by Bela, who used to be the best cook before. They didn’t have to consume anything besides blood, but ‘normal’ human foods were always an energy boost for them. Just what they needed.

“Not hungry?”, Cassandra asked over the table once she realized Mia had only eaten the green beans and potatoes so far,

Mia shook her head, “I am hungry, I just...can’t eat meat.”

“You ate the ham in the bread roll before just fine.”, Daniela threw in with a frown, not happy that Mia disregarded her sister’s cooking.

“No, it’s…”, Mia sighed as she buried her face in her hands, trying to get rid of memories bubbling under her skin like lava in an active volcano. “It’s about the texture. I can stomach processed meat like this ham you gave me. It was tasty, thank you, but meat in this form...it reminds me too much of what I had to eat back then.”

The daughters shared looks of confusion, “What did they give you to eat?”, Bela broke the silence out of curiosity. Lady Dimitrescu gave her a look of ‘shut the hell up child’, but Mia was ready to tell them.

“I had been captured in a basement for three years and given nothing but human meat and organs.”

Silence laid over the table for several seconds before Cassandra broke through the awkwardness, “Now that’s royally fucked up.” And if a VAMPIRE tells you your past is fucked up, then you have won at life, Mia thought to herself.

“Thank you very much for the dinner, I am just...not hungry anymore.”, and with those words, Mia left the table to hide herself in the room provided to her.

“Mia?”, Lady Dimitrescu asked into the room. Mia groaned from her bed, sitting straight up to face Lady Dimitrescu.

“I am awake.”, Mia said, blinking several times to convince herself of what she just said. “What’s the matter Alcina?”

Lady Dimitrescu sat by her bedside, placing a hand on Mia’s, “I just wanted to check in how my guest is doing. I know all of this takes a toll on you....So, if you want to talk, I am here for you.”

Mia nodded, wrapping her fingers around Lady Dimitrescu’s ice cold hand, “It’s just...everything is so triggering. Everything reminds me of the torture I had to face. I wasn’t just kept in a basement for three years. I was beaten, hit, used…”

“Used as…”

“Eveline convinced them to build a family. I was the only one who could provide them…”, Mia swallowed dry at the memories flicking in front of her vision. “Those were the worst times. I could barely walk the days after.”

Lady Dimitrescu shook her head when she heard what had happened to Mia, eight cars pile up on the memory lane. “I experienced something similar. People thought I was a witch so I was worth less than dirt to them. In return I killed everyone who only as much as broke off one of my hairs. It was a bloodbath and I stood in blood up to my knees. I think I have the dress from back then somewhere.”

“What did we do to deserve this, Alcina?”

“I don’t know. All I can do is promise you to keep you safe. You are safe with me, Mia. Safer than anywhere else.”, Lady Dimitrescu spoke. Her hands were now cupping Mia’s cheeks, wiping away a stray tear rolling down her skin. “I promise you. Stay as sweet as you are and nothing will hurt you.

Mia could feel the bound between them pulling her closer to the vampire in front of her, and against all common sense, she tilted her head to lean in into a kiss. It was short and sweet, and not long enough in both of their eyes - but no one admitted it.

As Mia opened her eyes, she pulled a frown, “Don’t...don’t tell Ethan I did that, okay? I...I don’t know what just...overcame me. I am sorry Alcina.”

“Don’t be sorry, my dearest. It was a sign of trust, and I appreciate this. Remember. I will keep you safe and that’s a vow I will never break.”

#mia winters #lady dimitrescu #resident evil #resident evil 8 #resident evil village

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clan-sayeed-fic · 3 years

Text

Business (Kamilah Sayeed & MC)

Previous chapters: 1, 2, 3

Book: Bloodbound (property of Pixelberry Studios)

Pairing: Kamilah Sayeed & MC: Amy (I do not own those characters, they’re the property of Pixelberry Studios as well)

Warnings: angst, strong language, illustrative descriptions of situations full of violence and brutality, might cause distress

Rating: Mature

Author’s note: I’m not a native English speaker, I’m sorry for any mistakes (feel free to correct me).

It's been a month or so since I've posted the previous chapter. From what I remember, we've ended the last part on Kamilah and Amy having an intimate moment. At one point, the girl got second thoughts and left Kamilah's penthouse.

So, here we are, in chapter 4th, right after the situation. I hope you'll enjoy the continuation of the story 💕

Also, I'd like to thank Anons that have been asking me about the fic, and @saratustra4 for asking me about the next chapter 💕 For some reason, it helped me come back to the writing. Also, if I fail my study because of that, I know who to blame hahah *kidding* 😂😂

~2300 words

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Chapter 4

"Fuck..."

Harsh tone flew all the way to smooth surface of the car window, hitting it hard, only to bounce off the reflection of green eyes trapped inside.

Amy brushed stubborn hair away from her blushing face. Blonde strands left marks behind as if they had burned her skin permanently. Her lips were red and hot after the kiss she had shared only a few moments before.

The kiss to which she agreed so foolishly.

What were you thinking, she cursed herself in thoughts, letting anger rage inside her veins. She was slowly losing control over her body as a small spark dared to shine inside her irises.

The girl closed her eyes, leaning against something that felt like a block of ice, rather than her car. Coldness reached nerves under her skin, easing the tension, helping collect thoughts on what she should do next.

Because it didn't seem like fate was on her side that day. Amy forgot to grab her purse from the dresser at Kamilah's penthouse, so she didn't have keys to her car and phone to call for a lift.

But most of all,

she had no courage to come back and face the woman.

What if she suspected anything? Question screamed inside her mind, forcing her to move away from the car. Fear pulled her closer into the embrace of a much greater danger, fooling her judgement.

It tricked her mind enough to make her forget about the threat waiting in the darkness.

***

New York City was resting after a full day of events. It was then that Amy found herself alone in the street, left in the company of her loud thoughts.

The girl considered asking someone for help, but the idea seemed almost equally risky as walking on her own at this hour. It would only call unnecessary attention, not mentioning what could happen if she came across people who wished harm to her family.

Being one of the Paines had its consequences.

Amy moved toward the dark alley. She finally got out of the sight of warm light peeking outside from apartments. It seemed to watch her every move, trying to hunt her down at all costs.

One of the girl's hands moved to her mouth. Fingers subtly traced over her lower lip as to remind themselves of the previous desire. The desire that made Amy feel things she never expected to experience.

Not when it went to vampires.

Her body should have reacted differently. It shouldn't have let her fall for tricks of these beasts. She was supposed to be better than that. Too smart to get fooled by their attractiveness. Too powerful to get fed with their poisonous words.

So what happened this time? What made her give in to Kamilah's touch? What was responsible for this feeling inside, this...

Suddenly Amy heard a noise coming from behind. The urge to turn around and follow the sound was tempting, but she managed to fight it. She had been through the training before, so she knew the most important rule.

Never rely on your sight.

The girl closed her eyes, focusing on the feeling overwhelming her body. Listening to her accelerated heartbeat, accompanied by the growing tension in her muscles as her body sensed attackers.

They were passing through the alley like a shadow desperately seeking for the opportunity to escape the moonlight. To finally creep up on both sides, cutting off only ways of escape. It was too late, and at once, too soon to react, so Amy stood in place patiently, preparing herself for what was to come.

"Who do we have here?" shudders travelled down her spine.

As soon as the voice pierced through her ears, all of the colours vanished from the world around. Values of the surroundings became muted as if they were just a useless distraction for her eyes. Instead, everything took the tones of grey, leaving the earth on its own in the fight between light and darkness.

"She looks familiar, huh?" her eyes moved, following the second voice.

Only to catch a spark of crimson in the man's stare. No one else but vampires could make her body react this way. Their presence heightened her senses, changing them into something inhuman.

The girl raised her hands, showing an act of surrender. She needed to buy herself more time because they still didn't come close enough.

The adrenaline was not high enough.

"Look, guys, I am not looking for trouble," calm tone of her voice hid fear growing inside her chest.

But both men ignored her words, continuing getting closer. It was clear that they didn't realize how big of a mistake it was. Because with each of their step, she was getting better access to thoughts inside their heads.

"Oh, I got this," the one behind her spoke again. "Blonde hair, sweet voice, and even sweeter smell of blood. It must be Paine's daughter."

"I guess we found her without company," the one in front of her tilted his head slightly. "Our master will be so pleased to meet you."

Amy turned her body to the side enough to have a clear view of both of them.

"One more step," the girl growled, feeling every muscle in her body tense.

But it only made them more amused.

"Uuu, I feel threatened," a sarcastic tone challenged her nerves.

It came from the one on her right, a total blabbermouth. Amy squinted her eyes and gazed into his, spotting this characteristic glow inside them, a remnant of humanity. That was a clue to recognize a newly turned vampire.

"You should be," a tiny smile danced in the corner of her mouth.

She turned away from him, focusing all her attention on his friend instead.

And the game began.

Sounds of vampires' talk faded away into the darkness, blending with shadows. As the world around her calmed down significantly, moving in slow motion from then on. The wind on her shoulder became barely noticeable as coldness lost all its intensity in the air. Amy's heartbeat was steady and loud, drumming inside her head, not giving peace. Her blood seemed to stop running inside her veins, replaced by the adrenaline instead.

The same adrenaline that made her green eyes shine with gold, creating a bridge of connection between her and the man. Giving her a sense of his principal thoughts. How badly he wanted to..., kidnap her.

Her mind raced on the wires of his thoughts as she slowly lost herself in the labyrinth of memories. But she stayed there, travelling through his life until she reached the part with his weaknesses. Amy grabbed them with her mind, ready to manipulate his fears. There was only a hint of hesitation before she twisted the most painful memory inside his head, playing with it like a toy.

Until he had no other choice left, but to surrender.

His stare lacked previous confidence, showing unsureness that she planted all over his chest. The roots of anxiety grew deep inside him, almost reaching his dead heart.

That's how the hunter became her prey.

"I am not," Amy whispered, putting the idea inside his head.

"She's not," words left his mouth emotionless.

"I am not your target," her breathing got sharp and unstable, her body was getting weaker one second after another.

"We've made a mistake," he spoke aloud, staring emptily at the darkness.

"What?" the other man's high pitched tone reached them from behind. "What the hell are you talking about, man?"

Amy almost had him wrapped around her little finger, locking the idea inside his mind. Making him realize that she was not the person they had been looking for, that they should let her go free.

But then something interrupted her.

Wires of his mind twisted unexpectedly, pulling her out of this part of the brain. Instead, she witnessed a different memory, finding herself in front of a stranger hidden under a black cloak. A deep shadow covered the person's face, keeping all the features unrecognizable.

But something about the scene seemed so wrong.

"It's not a memory," she spoke, forgetting about attackers. "It's a vision."

She had no control over things appearing before her eyes. Amy wanted to leave the scene, but it was holding her tight in its claws, draining too much energy from her body. The pressure inside her head was growing as the bridge between her, and the vampire was falling apart.

But then the vision deformed, drawing her attention to the figure's movements. Black fabric flew in the air, dancing and twisting in front of her, increasing dizziness. Presence of the mysterious person brought back coldness on Amy's body, stabbing her deep under the skin.

She looked at the stranger one last time to spot a smirk dancing on their pale lips, a smile of victory and pride. But then the vision went blurry, filling her head with unbearable pain.

And at the same time, breaking her connection with the vampire.

"You...you are..." the man stuttered, waking up from the trance. And as soon as he fully realized the threat, his eyes flashed red. "Get her!"

His partner jumped toward Amy immediately, using his vampire speed, leaving her no time to react. So before she even thought about avoiding the attack, he was already there, pushing her away. The force of the hit sent her body high in the air until it met a hard surface of the wall before finally landing on the ground.

Blonde strands of hair changed into light red, dyed by the liquid running down from the wound on her temple. It leaked on her cheek, leaving a mark before her shaky hand wiped it away from the skin. A hiss of pain accompanied by fear escaped her mouth when she realized what happened.

As those green eyes stared emptily at her fingers covered in blood.

"That explains why you're so valuable," the vampire spoke aloud, freed from her influence.

In a flash, both men were standing next to her, tempted by the smell. The flavour of iron tortured their throats, begging to satisfy the thirst.

The leading vampire grabbed her throat, lifting her body against the wall with no mercy. Amy's feet were hanging above the ground, desperately searching for balance. The growing pressure around her trachea caused her to choke in a last-ditch attempt to catch a breath.

"I need to taste it," the younger one licked his lips hungrily, hypnotized by the path of blood on her neck.

Go ahead, Amy's thoughts screamed, challenging, drink, and it's going to be the last thing you ever taste.

"We will deliver her to our master first," the older one interrupted harshly. "That was the plan."

Against these words, his temptation was not any weaker. The desire to dip fangs into the girl's neck was messing with years of training. But at that moment, nothing mattered more than the idea of blood running down his throat as he drinks every single drop from her mortal body.

If only both vampires weren't so distracted, they would have noticed a stranger emerging from shadows.

"I'll take it from here," an icy tone sounded behind their back, drawing attention.

But it was too late.

In one moment, both of them were pushed far away from the girl who fell on the ground heavily, unable to keep balance.

As soon as the grip around Amy's throat loosened up, her lungs began screaming for help. She was desperately searching for air, but it seemed to avoid her chest, leaving her breathless and weak instead. All she saw were blurred figures moving with impossible speed before her eyes. There was no way to guess which ones were her attackers and which one the saviour, no way to figure out who was on the winning side.

But there was no point of knowing that, no hope left for her.

Amy's eyes filled with tears because of the lack of air until she shut them down completely. That's when noises of cracking bones flew through the alley before leaving it alone with silence.

The fight was over.

Hers was over too.

"Amy, I need you to calm down," a familiar voice echoed inside her head followed by a soft hand on her arm. "I need you to focus on my breathing. With me, in..." the woman took a breath, and let it out with the other words," and out."

Amy opened her eyes, but there was nothing else than darkness in front of her. The soothing touch on her shoulder eased her anxiety, helping to follow the advice. Her first attempt failed but soon after the air filled her lungs, giving long-awaited peace.

"Take it easy," Kamilah said when the girl tried to move too rapidly.

"How did you..." her voice was shaky, lacking its previous sweetness.

She looked through the alley nervously, but bodies of vampires were nowhere to find. There was no sign left after the situation that had put her life at risk.

"You forgot your purse," Kamilah interrupted with an explanation as her eyes travelled through Amy's body, searching for injuries. At least other than the obvious one. "I saw your car in the garage, so I knew I have to track you down" she swallowed hard. "Your bleeding made it much easier."

It made Amy realize that she still had her temple and hair covered in blood. Her eyes stared at Kamilah with mistrust, watching her moves.

"Let me take care of it," Kamilah pulled a handkerchief out of the pocket and carefully placed it on the injury.

Amy's hand moved there hurriedly, taking the cloth from her. But as soon as their hands touched, some spark of electricity ran through both women's bodies. Their eyes connected again, gazing deeply into one another with a sudden understanding.

"Apply pressure right here," Kamilah whispered, moving away.

"Let's take you home, shall we?"

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

Next chapter: 5

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tag list: @evexofxtime @kamilah-is-queen @scarletheart @helpconfusedpersonhere @ayushixo @nydeiri @vonda-b-real

#choices fanfiction #bloodbound fic #kamilah sayeed #kamilah sayeed fic #bloodbound kamilah #bb mc #bb kamilah #vampires #business fic #angst #choices stories you play #bloodbound choices #bloodkeeper

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littlefreya · 4 years

Text

Run - Part 2: Abysmal

Summary: She watched as August ripped armed men to shreds. Now the question stands, what will he do to her?

Part 2 to Run

Pairing: August Walker x OFC

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: Smutty Smut. Explicit Sex, oral sex, rough sex, MaleDom/FemSub, unprotected intercourse, graphic depiction of violence, hinted obsession, mentions of stalking and twisted romance.

A/N: You wanted part 2 and Satan Obliges. Many thanks to @agniavateira, my muse! and my editor,

Title: Abysmal

The feral beast held her against the wall, his crude hands restraining her wrists and stretching her arms above her head. He forced his lips onto her mouth, alternating little suckling kisses between her upper and lower lip. A small part of her still wanted to fight back, stricken by the horrors she had witnessed and by his blood-soaked shirt that soiled her white silk top.

Like a hammer to the back of her head, those sick, gory visions kept hitting her. Their screams echoed in her mind, grown men screaming in absolute terror. Small prickles covered her skin and an involuntary whimper forced itself from her mouth in sheer fright, yet when August ran his agile fingers down her sensitive skin with shocking tenderness, her body threw itself onto his, surrendering every will to whatever sick desires he had planned for her.

If only she had no knowledge of how twisted his mind was.

August often came to visit. It started as a mandatory evaluation, every man and woman working for the CIA who went on risky missions had to be observed for mental impairment. She was intimidated by him the very first time he stepped into her office. An overwhelmingly beautiful creature: tall, with strong features. All the women in the HQ knew of “The Hammer”.

That nickname wasn’t solely for his success on the field.

Suave and relaxed, he appeared to be a complete gentleman, yet as a therapist, she knew better than to look at the beautiful shell. What she saw inside made her spine crawl; A depraved animal with obscure darkness burrowed in his eyes.

Everytime he stepped into the room the air took out.

He insisted on keeping their weekly meetings. Entering her office bringing an extra cup of coffee. Strong, the way she liked it, as he observed. She feared it was poisoned, especially when his gaze pierced into hers, urging her to drink it while she hesitated.

Yet he never showed any interest in her, not even the slightest. She found it odd, considering his reputation amongst women.

It was as if she bore him, a blank page to be discarded.

Now, she finally knew why. He wanted to have her, in ways that made the blood in her veins turn into ice. What frightened her the most was how alive it made her feel. Her heart was beating for the first time in her life.

August trailed his tongue across her lips, tasting both the sweetness and the salt of the tears from the lush flesh until she welcomed his succulent tongue inside, opening her mouth with a deep gasp which only grew fiercer as the air trembled through her chest.

With his tongue savouring her mouth, his hands descended down her throat, wrapping his nimble fingers around it, testing how much air he could suspend from her lungs before she’ll collapse. A pained sob followed after, making him loosen his grip. Her breath was hers once more as August trailed his hands further below.

He groped and explored the shape of her body possessively before hoisting her up in his arms as if she was weightless.

Ceremonially, he carried her through the abandoned corridors, seeking for shelter to make her his own.

Papers and wood debris were everywhere across the large meeting room, evidence of the harrowing battle that took place in it earlier that evening. Screams of terror ghosted the room. A pool of blood caught her attention, her mind lost in disturbing images.

But August forced her gaze away, cupping her chin and kissing the corner of her mouth gently.

“I’ll never hurt you, angel.” He murmured as he nudged her to lie down on the large mahogany conference desk with a small shove on her shoulder. His hands ran up her knees, forcing her legs apart and pushing her skirt to expose her underwear.

Wetness gathered at her mound, resulted by fear and primal arousal. The sight of the wet patch against her white cotton undergarments made his nostrils flare with excitement.

She wanted him inside her, even after she saw the monster that he was.

“No one will ever touch you,” he chanted, his deep voice pleasant, melodic, stroking her ears like the most soothing song. It did everything but calm her, especially as she felt him expose her to the cold air. Discarding her of what kept her chaste.

One by one, her barriers against him fell apart, with and without her consent.

“August…” she called out his name with concern coating her voice. She lifted her head to watch as he knelt between her thighs. Bloodstained hands claw her pure flesh, keeping her pinned against the hard polished wood.

Her breath came out in tremors, quick and hissing as his breath caressed her luscious cunt. His teeth nipped at the tender skin that surrounded her womanhood, leaving small wet purple arches. The yelps that broke from her lips only made him more and more eager. He inhaled her scent and rubbed his face against her cunt, making her feel the coarseness of his stubbles and his thick moustache.

“No one will ever touch you, but me.”

Her fingers got entangled in her long hair as August suckled on the hooded pearl, now wet and slippery. His tongue lapped around it in a slow, circular motion that made her cry out with desperation as bliss pushed against the gates.

Arching on the desk, she threw herself open, accepting the warmth that streamed between her thighs. Blood boiled hot with arousal.

August sent his arm to climb up her body, stroking up until his hand met her jaw. His thumb caressed her chin, smearing more blood on her face. He held her tightly while his tongue coaxed her into sweet ecstasy.

Even with him on his knees she felt owned, conquered; and he hasn't even invaded her yet. Her walls throbbed and twitched, clenching around an empty void furiously as August made her undone.

He licked her juices as if she was the sweetest nectar, his tongue flicking over his lips as he rose to his feet. “You taste just like I imagined - like honey,” he stated while his fingers reached to unbutton his shirt.

Still breathless, she leaned on her elbows, her feeble legs pushing against the slick wood. She looked at August as he started undressing, offering his vast body to her eager eyes. His godlike figure stood naked in front of her, marked by deep purple stains that decorated his muscular chest.

Her eyebrows twitched upward, wide eyes glassy with wetness that seamed at her lids. That’s what he longed for. It wasn’t just her fear that he held but also her sympathy. She felt for him, she saw him. Even when no words were uttered between his lips in those excruciating psych-evals, he sensed her penetrative gaze, trying to cure the rot that grew inside him.

He was incurable, yes, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t get to keep her.

“All of it, I did for you.” He exclaimed, watching as she slightly flinched back on the desk, her heels slipping down the surface as she tried to cower away. Terror still took its reins and it only made him more desperate to be inside her, to show her he would never hurt her. His hands seized her ankles, pulling her flat down, bringing her close until she laid sprawled.

He climbed on top of her, his thick thighs resting between her slender legs. She didn’t fight him, yet her body tensed. Ignoring her anxiety he tugged and peeled off her clothes, his lips praising her body with soft butterfly kisses on every piece of skin he exposed.

She was even more beautiful up close than from what he remembered of the late nights he spent stalking outside her window.

Entangled in her legs, he combed his fingers through her hair and gazed into her eyes. There was so much hurt and fury in him, as intense as a firestorm. His eyes bore words he would not utter. It made her heart sink since August Walker was a tortured soul and it sucked the fear out like poison, leaving nothing but the desire to solace the hurt.

Palming his gruff cheek, she kissed him back with sweetness and closed her eyes before her back fell to the surface. Easy, slow, light as a feather, she finally succumbed to August’s desires. He flashed a victorious smile and reached between their groins to guide himself into the delights between her thighs.

Moans of pleasure overwhelmed the room as their bodies finally united. August was endowed, bigger than any man she had before and he made no delay to let her adjust, slamming into her hilt with one powerful thrust. Her nails dug into the wings of his back as he split her in half. The pain seared inside, her walls resisted him, attempting to force him away, yet she ignored the warnings of her body as she clung to his flesh, desperate for more.

Something once dormant arose within her, that same acceleration of emotions she had before each of their sessions. She pushed it to the darkest pits of her mind, choosing to keep it ignored yet the moment their bodies became one she was drowning in her own emotions.

Dying of love.

“August, please!” she mewled in his ear, wrapping her legs around his muscular ass, her walls pulsating around his throbbing girth. “Please fuck me.”

He pulled away slowly, watching the despair on her sweet, beautiful face before slamming into her again. Bloody trails formed at his back as her nails scratched his skin. With a pained grunt, he took her wrists and slammed them down on the desk.

Holding her restrained, August hammered into her tight cunt. Low roars emitted from his throat, more of the animal than the man, countering the delicate broken cries that sprang from her lips. Opposing beings, they collided, coveting each other’s flesh. His rhythm was hard and rough, bottoming out with every push and shove that was plunged into her.

He fucked with fury, unloading his self-hatred, seeking to be cleansed within her body.

Willfully she accepted, uttering sweet cries of love in his ears while his cock invaded and defiled her clenched walls. With every thrust she fell deeper and deeper, her lower back lifting completely from the surface, wanting to be made whole.

Moans and succulent sounds of skin slapping together hazed her mind into euphoria. The same liquid fire that burnt between her thighs began to spill from her womb, and her entire body shuddered. As August cock grinded against her cervix, the fire surged through, her orgasm released with rage, making her fall apart around him.

August felt her walls clutch him with zeal, attempting to forbid him from advancing yet it only made him grow furious.

“I want to come inside you,” he growled at her ear and bit into her shoulder as he fucked harder, enviously seeking for his orgasm. Her answer was nothing but a surrendered whimper. Pushing upward she wrapped her legs tighter around him, anticipating the hot gush of his liquid inside her.

She was a sweet little angel, who made him feel deserving of love. As he looked down on her beautiful gaping face, knowing that she now forever belonged to him, his cock swelled larger and he came inside her, releasing his seed into her depth with grunts of triumph.

His hands still clenched tightly at her wrists. Her fingers became pale and numb, deprived of blood. But she made no complaint or protest, too enthralled with the man who claimed her, who was now both her guardian and her warden.

Gentle kisses covered her sweaty brow. His hands brushing the sticky hair away.

“They will come after us,” he whispered huskily, and she watched as his blue eyes darkened yet again.

“But I’ll keep you safe, angel, always.”

__________________________________________________________

#august walker #Henry Cavill #Mi6 #mission impossible fallout #August Walker smut #August Walker Fanfic #August Walker x OFC #Augustwalker #augustwalkersmut #Augutwalkerfanfic #Henrycavillsmut #henrycavillfic #henrycavillfanfic #Henry Cavill Smut #Henry Cavill x OFC

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blackdragonturds · 3 years

Text

Mortal Kombat Oneshot Time!

Credit to Kano_Fucker ——> https://mortal-mun-dee.tumblr.com/ and Earthrealm Clown ——> https://earthrealmclown.tumblr.com/ for this Oneshot idea! You two lovely ladies are truly wonderful.

Mortal Kombat Oneshot: “Sacrifice”

Sunlight from the afternoon sunset made an orange glow over the horizon. Clouds roll past the sky lazily, and you in the arms of your beloved Kabal.

You were seated in his lap as you lay completely comfy and safe. You could feel kisses on your scalp as you two enjoyed the afternoon together. Red wine smuggled from Edenia was chilled in a bucket of ice as you nibble on a shish-kabob when Kabal places a kiss on your nose.

“I love you baby…” he whispers.

You nodded as you heard something in the distance. something like bug wings flapping but you weren’t exactly sure. You turn your head to see where you heard the sound but saw nothing. Your blood ran cold as you could feel your nerves turn very frigid.

“Y/n, what is it? You hear somethin’?”

You get up off his lap and look around. There had to be something there. You could feel it.

“I think we’re not alone…” You muttered.

Kabal reaches for his hook sword next to him and looks around as well.

“Whatever it is, I’m right here to keep you out of harm’s way.”

Suddenly, you see a flash of yellow coming right for Kabal, when you leap out in front of him.

“Hey what’s the big idea?!” Knocking him onto his behind you saw he was confused and bewildered. You turn around when you get knocked out by a blow to the chest with a long limb pointed with a sharp tip. Pain ignited inside you as you felt blood spray onto your face. It happened so fast you didn’t know what had hit you. You could feel your veins sting as poison began coursing through you like a river. “Y/N!” Kabal cried out but seeing you collapse, bleeding and unconscious made him terrified. Gathering you into his arms, blood began pouring out from your chest, as thick green liquid oozes from your wound. His heart began to race seeing you turning pale.“Did I get the wrong one? Oh pity…” A Khytinn woman’s voice with a tinge of malice made Kabal’s brow furrow into anger and disgust. The Khytiin that betrayed the previous Kahn was out for blood, and Kabal was her target to bring to Shao Kahn, dead or alive. She knew he wouldn’t be alone. Her black eyes glimmered with malice as she landed onto the grass, her four back appendages twitching violently. “D’vorah? What do you want?” Kabal began, his words filled with anger and hate. D’vorah began with a sickening grin,

“The Kahn is displeased and wants This One to kill you.”

“Not happening, bug.”

He took off running faster than a speeding bullet with you unconscious in his arms, trying to get to somewhere safe. Seeing the poison oozing from your wound, he grew mortified. He tried to keep the tears from falling as he prayed you would make it. D’vorah will not get away with this. Not on his watch. He Ran as far as he could, finding an empty clearing. He knelt down careful not to hurt you as he could feel tears sting in his eyes, putting his head on your chest listening for proof you’re still with him. He could hear your heartbeat, though weak and fluttering. He began to panic but knows you’re still alive. He picks you back up promising you, clutching your limp hand tightly.

“D’vorah will pay, I promise. That bitch has it coming baby.”

*********

You awaken in his bed, with a massive pounding headache. You could see a large bandage over your right side as it hurt to breathe. Moving your head, you could see Kabal sitting in a chair holding your hand, fast asleep on your thigh with a flower. You could easily reach his head as you gently rub his hair. On the nightstand next to the bed, you can see a large red bottle labeled “antidote for Khytinn poison” with a folded piece of paper beside it, and a large syringe filled with that green fluid coming out of you.

“Kabal?” You weakly whisper.

No response. He’s fast asleep. Seeing his eyelids twitch told you that he was dreaming. Deep in REM sleep. So you let him rest, knowing you did scare him half to death.Thankful you were alive and healing, you smile knowing he saved you. You felt him jerk in his sleep as you try to get his attention.

“Kabal…can you hear me?” You began, louder this time. His eyes flutter open as he sniffed a few times. Getting with reality, he hugged you gently kissing your head a few times.

“Y/N, are you feeling all right? You’re not as pale as you were. You were strong having that much poison in your veins. I was afraid you would’t wake up.”

You give him a reassuring smile as he touches your face, studying you.

“Achy? Fever? Chills? Anything, darlin’?”

“I’m okay, just in an incredible amount of pain. But I’m okay. What happened to me? It all happened so fast…”

He gulped, sitting back down,

“Y/N, well, a dog who works for Shao Kahn was after me apparently but you spared me, but…it almost killed you. Her name is D’vorah, a nasty and repulsive Khytinn that well…almost killed you.”

You could tell he was having a hard time with this news as much as you did.

You slowly begin to process what he told you and it began to make sense. And then it didn’t.

“Erron told me to extract some of that poison and make an anti-venom of some kind. He showed me how and I’m so glad it worked. God I was terrified. I never would of thought you would stick your neck out for someone like me like that. Especially against a Khytinn”

“You kidding? You’d do the same for me, right?”

“Well, I’d rather be in your shoes. I don’t want you in pain baby.”

“You’re too sweet.”

You had the nagging urge to know more so you gave into curiosity.

“What happened to D’vorah?” You asked. His grin made chuckle with the reply coming with it.

“Kano and I killed ‘er. We made her suffer babe. I promise you that.”

He places another kiss on your head as he reaches for the syringe on the nightstand. He cleans it, pushing the needle into the bottle filling it with what was presumably anti-venom. He tapped the glass making the bubbles pop, and sat down to help you.

“This may hurt a little but this’ll help you, I promise.”

He takes your hand as he places the tip of the needle into your arm pushing the pump down into the chamber of the syringe. You wince, feeling the needle puncture your skin.

“Ow ow ow….” You whine as he holds your hand tightly.

Taking the needle out, he presses the hole wth his thumb and replaces the old bandaid with a new one.

“There. That should nullify any poison still inside you.”

“Thanks babe.”

He nuzzles you as you could see tears well up in his eyes.

“Why are you crying?”

“I’m happy you’re alive.”

You rested your head back against the pillows as he sat down next to you on the bed. Gathering you close he places your head in the crook of his neck.

“Your heart stopped almost four times and I was about to go insane to be honest. But just remember the next time you get hurt like that how fiercely I love you.”

You smiled rubbing your nose against his neck.

“You don’t have to explain. I understand.”

He sighed with relief, holding you for the rest of the morning. He could feel your stomach rumble and he giggled.

“Lemme guess you’re hungry?”

“Yeah a little..”

“Lemme go see what’s there in the fridge. If not, I’ll order something.”

“Okay.”

He gets off the bed and walks to the kitchen, and to your surprise, on the chair beside the nightstand was a teddy bear and two dozen roses just for you. Thanks for the inspiration you two beautiful women! Peace!

#kabal x reader #kaballin'#hurtandcomfort #oneshot #angst #sweet burn #writing

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redqueen-hypothesis · 3 years

Text

never strikes twice ➳ shaw (mlqc)

➳ PAIRING: reader x shaw (mlqc), mentions of reader x gavin (mlqc)

➳ WORD COUNT: 3001

➳ GENRE: angst

➳ SYNOPSIS: shaw realises that he’s a selfish bastard, but he doesn’t care as long as it means you’ll be with him

“Hey kid, want a smoke?”

Shaw looks up slowly from where he’s been moping on the couch for the better half of the night to see a cigarette stick held out to him. The person holding it, a casual drummer in his mid thirties, raises an eyebrow as he glances over at him, gesturing down at the Zippo lighter he’s been fiddling with in his hand. Steely, hooded eyes hide the barest hint of concern in their depths. “You’ve been looking down for a while now. Thought you might need a pick-me-up.”

His voice is low, almost drowned out by the raucous laughter of the rest of his band mates fiddling with the settings on the karaoke machine. Shaw cracks a half grin at the man, lavender strands falling into his eyes.

“Thanks,” he begins, stretches out over the armrest to take the stick from him, but his fingers stop just shy of brushing it. The craving gnaws at him from the inside, a small but insistent itch in his throat and lungs, but he retracts his hand in favour of shooting his band mate a lazy smile. “Nah, not today. Another time, maybe.”

Shaw hasn’t touched a cigarette in weeks now. You don’t like the scent.

The drummer shrugs and doesn’t question him, slipping the pack back into his pocket. Kicking his feet back up onto the armrests of the couch and lounging back, he watches his band mates start singing all variety of tunes into the mics. He recognizes this song, Shaw realises after a few moments. It’s the opening theme to one of a drama you’d insistent on watching with him, and although he’d hated it at the start, he now knows the lyrics by heart - all because of you.

Halfway through the song, he stops mouthing alongside the lyrics abruptly. Then he groans, low and annoyed, dragging a hand roughly through his hair. God fucking damnit.

He’d come here to clear his head, to rid himself of the thoughts of you that cling relentlessly to him. And yet, even when you’re not there, his mind is still plagued by thoughts of you.

“You look like you got something big on your mind. Need someone to spill to?” The man says casually, pouring him a glass of whiskey. The scent of alcohol is sharp on his nose and Shaw finds himself staring down into the contents of the glass, the image of himself reflected in liquid amber. The drummer slides the glass over to him across the coffee table and he catches it before it can slide off the edge.

Just when had his eyes started to look like that?

“It’s nothing.” Shaw plays it cool, pulling up one side of his mouth up in its usual devil-may-care smirk to reassure his friend. The flame of from his lighter illuminates his face for a brief second before he flips the top and extinguishes the flame once more, casting his face into shadow. “It’s nothing worth talking about.”

It’s not nothing. It’s something Shaw has spent his entire life running from, and the responsibilities and shackles that come with it. It’s an emotion that grows and sprouts in his chest, tenacious as weeds that flourish all the more he tries to stomp them out. He has bad luck with it, he knows. He’ll just fuck it up like he did his own family.

And yet slowly, steadily, it’s been consuming him no matter how much he tries to flee from it, like poison from within his veins, turning him into a different man inside out. From his waking moments and following him to his dreams, the phantom ache in his chest only hurts more the further he tries to put distance between the two of you. Shaw knows that it’s going to collapse in the end - he’s just a temporary fix in this precarious house of cards - and that’s why he’s too afraid to put a name to these feelings that refuse to just wilt and die.

Shaking his head in an attempt to clear his head, Shaw grabs the glass off the table and brings it to his lips to take a long draught, craving the carelessness that comes with drink. Tonight, he decides, he’s going to get himself completely smashed, until he can’t think straight and your smile stops haunting his mind. Then maybe, maybe, he’ll stop fantasizing, long and yearning like a fool for something out of his reach - someone that never belonged to him from the very beginning.

“Is it a girl?”

The words fall from his friend’s mouth so easily that he doesn’t quite register them until the drink is halfway down his throat. Caught by surprise, he chokes on the sharp taste, the back of his throat burning like he’s swallowed lava instead, and a firm hand slaps his back while he coughs.

“Bro, you still alive over there?” One of his band mates call to him from the other side of the room. Shaw flashes a thumbs up at him weakly, dragging the back of his other hand over his mouth carelessly before he turns to shoot a glare at his friend. “The fuck was that about?”

The drummer simply shrugs, arching a brow as he leans back in his seat. “I was just throwing out something random. You were the one who screamed jackpot for the entire world to see, with that kind of reaction. What happened? You broke it off with a pretty little thing again?”

Shaw grunts, turning away to take a swig of whiskey straight from the bottle. “Shut up. I’ve never been exclusive with anyone.” The alcohol numbs the pain in his chest. “There’s nothing to break.”

“But you want something, don’t you?”

The liquid sloshes about in the bottle as Shaw pauses in raising the whiskey to his mouth, eyes narrowed as he stares down at the drummer. “Just speak your mind,” the man answers, picking up his own bottle and clinking bottoms with Shaw’s. “I’m going to get completely wasted tonight anyway, so I’m pretty sure I won’t remember anything about this conversation in the morning.”

Shaw watches in silence for a few moments, swirling the dregs at the bottom of the bottle as the man opposite him down his own. The second the empty bottle touches the table top with a soft clink, Shaw finally starts to speak, voice low.

“Have you ever felt like you’re a curse just for being born?”

The man raises an eyebrow, popping open a can of beer and nodding for him to continue. Shaw does, lifting the bottle to his lips to take a gulp. The alcohol stings the back of his throat. “If I hadn’t been born, things would probably be in a better place than they are now. Still shittier than dog crap stuck to the bottom of your shoe, of course, but less so.”

All because he was born with EVOL and the other wasn’t.

“Anyway, one of the guys whose lives I fucked up, he has a girl. She’s,” he swallows at the thought of you, searching for the words in his mind - because how does he just describe you? “-sweet, kind, all the good things in the world.” He takes another gulp for something to blame the stinging of his eyes on. “She deserves someone like him. And he needs someone like her.”

It isn’t him who’s supposed to have you. The other one has loved you first, loved you longer. Not deeper, but in a such a pure, unadulterated way that Shaw can’t help but gag every time he sees it - and wish somewhere deep in his chest that he could do the same.

Shaw’s already stolen so much from him. The spotlight since birth, the attention of their father. As much of an asshole as he is, the thought of stealing yet something else away disgusts him - just how much does he have to owe one man?

He’s seen the way you’ve looked at him sometimes, when you think he isn’t looking. It’s a bittersweet expression, as if you’re searching for someone else in him - amber eyes another shade of gold.

Shaw groans, thoroughly annoyed by the thoughts that have started spilling over into his head. “I knew talking about this would just make it worse.” He snaps, slamming the bottle down onto the table. “Fuck this. Repression works every time. Once he gets his memories back, bam, she’ll be back by his side and everything will go back to normal.”

The words are unbelievably bitter on his tongue. Oh, and he’s also definitely drunk.

The drummer hums, making a thoughtful sound as he takes a long draft of beer. When he’s finished, he turns to look at Shaw with unwavering, serious eyes. “And you’ll be alright with that?”

Shaw stills, fingers tightening around the neck of the bottle so hard he’s almost worried it might shatter in his hand. Of course it’ll be alright, he wants to say. Love is a stupid, fickle emotion that’ll die fast enough with the passage of time. He’ll drop you off with one of his smirks and walk out of your life once and for all, and go back to the life he’s always known. He was fine back then, and he’ll be fine now. He’ll be fine-

“I won’t.” Shaw utters, finally. His jaw hurts from how hard it’s clenched, and yet he still can’t think of a future for him without you in it. He hates it. “Fuck-”

“Go and tell her, then.” His friend says, raising an eyebrow. Shaw stares blankly at him for a moment. “For someone usually so forward, you’re stupidly hesitant over the most idiotic of things, kiddo.”

“I’m not a child.” Shaw snaps, and the man laughs, clapping him on the shoulder. “I know, so stop acting like one. If there’s something you want, take the chance and grab it with all your might. Being selfless like that?” The man’s grin grows. “That ain’t sound like our resident asshole at all.”

At his words, Shaw laughs boisterous and unrestrained, throwing on his jacket. “Damn straight. What the fuck was I thinking, going down without a fight?” He tosses another can of beer at the man, who catches it easily. “Make sure you chug the entire ice box. I don’t want you remembering a word I said, got it?”

His friend’s snort reaches his ears as he steps out of the apartment. “I’m already halfway there, idiot.” The streets are empty at this time of the night, the air biting cold against his skin and yet Shaw feels rejuvenated for the first time in weeks, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he gives the night winds the middle finger.

Lightning splits the night sky in two.

>>>

It’s started to storm.

Hurriedly, you set down the book you were reading to shut the windows, hoping that none of the rain gets in. While you’re closing the windows in your living room, there’s a sudden, loud knock on the door.

Frowning when you look up at the clock (it’s two in the morning), you cross over to the door to peep through the peephole - and gasp in shock when you see Shaw standing outside, completely drenched and lavender hair dripping with rainwater.

“Oh my god, Shaw? What are you doing here at this time of the night?” You hurry to unlock the door for him, ushering him into your apartment even as he tracks in water all over the floor. He’s uncharacteristically silent. “You’ll catch a cold if you stay like this, I’ll get you a towel-”

“Wait.” He grabs you by the wrist before you can leave the room. Blinking in confusion, you turn around to look at Shaw before you realise just how close he’s standing to you - too close, in fact. So close, that you can feel the heat emanating from his body, smell the unique scent of ozone and lavender mixed with faint traces of alcohol and nicotine. Has he been out drinking? “I have something I need to say.”

You swallow at the serious tone in his voice, rarely has he ever spoken to you this way. In fact, you can’t remember a time when he’s used this tone with you, not even once. “That can wait until I’ve gotten you a towel. The air conditioning is on, you’ll fall ill. You can tell me as you dry yourself off-”

“I love you.”

You freeze in his grasp, mind suddenly blank. Shaw’s amber eyes burn so bright they look like molten gold, not the slightest trace of jest in his voice or gaze. And yet, you can’t help but tremble in his grasp, chewing on your bottom lip as you let out a shaky laugh. “Hahaha... very funny, Shaw. Now let me get a towel before you freeze to death, that would be a real joke-”

“I’m not laughing here.” Shaw’s expression is fiercely resolute, jaw set as he stares down at you. You’ve never felt so small in front of him before. “I meant what I said. I’m not trying to crack a joke.”

“B-but you can’t.” You fumble with your words, trying to take a step away and make sense of it all, but Shaw refuses to let you go, only holding your wrist tighter. “You were drinking, you don’t know what you’re saying. You can’t like me. It’s just not possible.”

“Why not?” Shaw’s voice is rough with emotion, and you can’t look away from the fierceness burning in his eyes, transfixed. “I did drink, but I’m not drunk. I know damn well what I’m saying.”

You don’t know what you’re saying now, desperate to deny his feelings. Your mind is falling apart, and forming a cohesive train of thought proves too much for you. “You’re young. You just... you don’t know what love is. You just-”

Shaw grabs your hand firmly and presses it to his chest. Under the wet material of his shirt, you can feel the heat of his skin - and the way his heart thuds fiercely beneath your touch.

“Feel this and tell me,” Shaw’s words are raw, brutally honest, leaving you nowhere to flee. You’re pinned in place by the sheer intensity of his gaze. “Tell me that I don’t know what love is. The way this heart beats whenever you’re near. The way you won’t leave my mind whether I’m sleeping or awake. I know what I want. I want you.”

A soft hiccup escapes you, your eyes welling up with tears as your fingers fist into the thin material of his shirt. “Damn it, Shaw...” you croak, voice wavering. Your own heart is pounding like crazy in your ears. “You know I can’t give you an answer, not right now...”

“I know.” Shaw says quietly, and the next moment, you’re pulled against his chest, his fingers coming to rest in your hair gently. You press your face against his shoulder, tears hot against his skin. “I’m a selfish bastard and couldn’t wait to tell you, so i just wanted to let you know. I’m not asking you to fall in love with me.”

You blink back your tears, managing a soft, hiccuping laugh as your arms tighten around his waist. “You’re such a selfless bastard, you know that? Stop making me like you even more, asshole.” He’s so warm.

“I’m not apologising for that. That’s me.” Shaw snorts into your hair, inhaling the scent of your shampoo as he holds you close. If you want a knight in shining armor, go to him instead. “I’m not going to be pussy footed about what I want.”

You stay in Shaw’s arms for a long moment, enjoying the warmth of his body pressed against yours and the feeling of his breaths tickling your ear. Your heart still aches for another pair of amber eyes, a gentle smile and strong, steadfast arms, but this man keeps you moving forward no matter what’s holding you down. And undeniably, there’s a tiny seed of a precious emotion growing in your chest - one that you never would have thought would be able to sprout in the bitter cold of this winter world.

You don’t know how long he continues to hold you like this, but it’s when he suddenly lets out a sneeze that you glance up in surprise and worry. “You’re catching a cold already!” You scold, trying to wriggle out of his arms. “I’m getting you a towel and some hot chocolate.”

“I don’t want to let you out.” Shaw complains, but you duck out of his arms, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. To your surprise, red flares hot under your lips, and Shaw turns away to hide his face. “Come back fast, okay? I’ll go get the kettle boiling.”

You let out a tiny giggle as he vanishes into the kitchen, tips of his ears red. “Okay, okay.”

You’re about to enter your room and grab a towel for Shaw when there’s a sudden knocking at your living room window. Confused, you move over to the window, pulling it open to see what’s causing the noise.

There’s a flurry of wind and rain, and suddenly a pair of familiar arms are pulling you hard into a firm chest, unintelligible sobs in your ears. Stunned, you can’t bring yourself to move, looking down to see a black military uniform and strikingly unforgettable amber eyes.

“Gavin.” You breathe, so soft that you can barely hear yourself over the volume of his cries. He’s crying, and he’s never cried, not in this world, not in the one before. Your hands come up instinctively to soothe him, cradling him close. But he shouldn’t be, not here, he can’t-

“I remember.” He gasps through his sobs, crushing you against his chest in a painfully familiar embrace. “I remember everything.”

That’s all you hear before a pair of warm, chapped lips take your mouth in a fierce kiss.

#mlqc #mlqc fanfic #mlqc shaw #shaw #mr love queen's choice shaw #mr love queen's choice

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songofsoma · 4 years

Text

Her Pale Knight

Hi so I read a scene of dark Nate on @seraphinitegames‘s patreon and I wanted to do my own version but with Ava because you know...I’m gay.

This scene contains dark themes so just a forewarning <3

fandom: the wayhaven chronicles pairing: ava du mortain / detective cecilia beck w|w, femme, trauma

There was an eerie silence that settled over the warehouse that evening. Cecilia couldn’t help but find it a bit unnerving. Usually, when she was visiting the Agency, a member from Unit Bravo or her mother would always be by her side to enjoy a rare few moments to visit with one another—but there was hardly anyone roaming the halls. She had become accustomed to all sorts of supernaturals flitting around the corridors, never failing to give her a kind smile as they passed—one she was delighted to return. She suspected why there was a clear absence of life. The blood bags were to be distributed that afternoon. The subject of feeding seemed to be a touchy topic to Unit Bravo. None of them were comfortable with talking about it, so she left it alone as much as she could. In fact, when Ava told her that they would be given their blood bags, she looked ashamed, unable to meet her gaze. Cecilia had tried to lighten her mood by cracking a joke. “So…do you say compliments to the chef afterward? Or is that considered unethical?” Ava didn’t even crack a smile. It had the opposite effect as she flinched at the word “unethical.” A shame because Farah would’ve loved that one. The vampire had turned to leave without another word until Cecilia caught her hand at the last second. “You know this doesn’t change the way I think of you, right?” She had asked her in a warm tone. “It should.” Ava looked away, gently tugging her hand from Cecilia’s turning to leave the room. This time, Cecilia let her go. It had been hours since that encounter, but her head was still swimming in a sea of Ava. One would think being alive for almost a millennium, she wouldn’t be so ashamed of the core of her very nature. Or perhaps, that was the reason why she felt so. There was still so much Cecilia didn’t know about her life. The most she had been told was from the mirror at the carnival. Ava’s hair was long then, her pale braid stained with blood as was her armor. Even in the midst of battle, she was beautiful, but that cold-hearted smile sent chills down her spine as she killed those who got in her way. All of that information was given unwillingly, she wasn’t even sure if Ava knew that she had gotten a glimpse into her bloody past. She was sure she could sit and listen to Ava talk for hours, but she knew that was only a situation that would play out in her daydreams—in between the stolen kisses and declarations of love that also plagued her thoughts, of course. Cecilia dropped her head into her hands with a groan. Why had she fallen in love with such a stubborn woman? If only Ava would just let her peek over the walls she had built around her feelings, Cecilia knew she could make her happy. And there was nothing more she wanted then to see her happy. In the distance, she heard the strike of bells as another hour rolled around. She had debated on going home, but a selfish piece of her wanted to stay in hopes of seeing her pale knight once more. “Cecilia,” her name purred from Ava’s lips, causing Cecilia to practically jump out of her skin. When had Ava gotten here? It was as if she materialized from her thoughts. Cecilia stood from the couch she was sitting on in the living area. “Ava, I didn’t hear you come in.” She cringed at the tone of her own voice. Something about her wasn’t right. There was a look in her eyes that made her stomach churn with uneasiness which was odd since Ava was who she found herself to feel safest with. Carefully, she began to round the sofa to stand in front of the vampire, even though every inch of her body was screaming at her to run the other direction. Ava smiled and it made her blood turned to ice. It was that same grin from the mirror—right before she executed her victim. “Are you okay?” Cecilia asked, hesitantly placing a hand on her forearm. The skin was unusually warm, a direct contradiction to her typical coolness. “Are you sick?” Ava captured her thin wrist in the prison of her grip, squeezing hard enough to draw a yelp of pain from Cecilia’s lips. “Ava, please—” she cried out, desperately trying to pull away. Amused, Ava let go of her, watching as Cecilia began to scramble backward. “Isn’t this what you want?” Her voice was low and dangerous, poison dripping from every syllable which drooled on to the floor in hopes she might slip into the trap. She began to grow closer. “Isn’t this what you dream of?” She pushed her against the wall forcefully, the back of Cecilia’s head smacking against the concrete brick. Her world spun as she tried to regain focus. But Ava’s body was pressed up against her own now, pinning her in place. “I know you think about me and the things I could do to you.” Ava’s slender finger trailed down Cecilia’s cheek, her fingernail scratching the skin towards the end. “I feel the way your pulse quickens, how you’re breathing changes, the heat of your body.” Her face was directly in front of Cecilia’s now, the light glinting off of her sharp canines as her lips twisted into an imposter of a smile. Cecilia, blinking rapidly, trying to get her world to stay steady blindly pushed at Ava, trying to get her away. This only seemed to entertain her more as both Cecilia’s wrists became prisoners pressed against the wall. “Humans are always so silly,” she chuckled. “Always thinking they can run.” Her nostrils flared as she spoke. “But you can’t. You are too weak. Poor helpless, little human.” Tears surfaced as painful memories of Murphy flooded her mind. The way she was restrained, the helpless feeling, the primal fear running through her veins. But in that situation, Ava had come and saved her. Now, Ava was the one she was fighting against. “Ava, please stop,” Cecilia whimpered. She only laughed and leaned forward, licking the tears from her cheeks mockingly. “Poor little detective thought you were so tough going against big bad Murphy. You haven’t seen real power, Detective.” Her face moved away from hers to move down to the bare skin of her neck. Cecilia didn’t fight back anymore. She was too tired. This was certainly not the way she imagined Ava’s mouth to taste her skin for the first time. She shouldn’t have waited. She should’ve gone home. “You really have no idea what kind of power lays just beneath your skin.” Ava ran her teeth over her throat, pausing over where Murphy had torn her skin open all those months ago. “Do you know how hard it is to be around you? To know the sweet scent of power but not be allowed to touch it. Though I must admit, the forbidden nature of it will make it sweeter than one could ever imagine.” “This isn’t you!” Cecilia sobbed. But it was cut short when Ava’s hand moved to close around her throat instead, beginning to squeeze. “Oh, on the contrary,” she sneered. The edges of Cecilia’s vision were beginning to blacken from lack of air. “This is the monster I really am!” She barred her fangs, ready to go for the kill until the doors busted open with such force, she was sure they were off the hinges. Ava’s hand was torn away from her throat. Cecilia’s knees buckled as she collapsed into a heap on the floor. What was happening? All she could hear was Ava’s angry roars that drowned out a second and third voice. “Cecilia, get up!” Morgan. The girl’s arms enveloped protectively as Cecilia came to. Over Morgan’s black-clad shoulder, she could see that Ava had been pinned down with by both Nat and Farah. She couldn’t recall a time where Nat had looked angrier, even Farah looked ready to tear Ava’s head off. “We can’t hold her for much longer!” Nat yelled, struggling to hold Ava’s burly figure down. “Get her to Agent Beck!” Without a second thought, Morgan scooped Cecilia up tore from the room. “What happened?” Cecilia managed to mumble, her eyelids feeling heavy. Morgan didn’t answer for a brief second. “Poisoned blood.” She said, barely caught by Cecilia as she lost consciousness.

***

The moment Ava’s eyes snapped open she knew something was horribly wrong. Her head pounded as she made the poor attempt to sit up but was groaned when she realized she was unable to. Her wrists and ankles had been restrained. Furrowing her brows, she tried to take in her surroundings, calculating the clues to tell her where she was. Four familiar grey walls, simple wood furniture, a basket of laundry that had yet to be folded. The only thing that was out of place was the fact that she wasn’t alone and the ties binding her to her bed. She was in her room. Surrounded by her friends wearing masks of different emotions. What had happened? Nat stood the closest to the bed. She looked worse for wear with tired eyes and disheveled clothing. Farah mimicked her appearance, both looked stricken with worry. Morgan hovered at the foot of the bed, her face matching that of Agent Becks—anger. Her head was spinning trying to recall what had happened. She remembered being provided the blood bag, but the events after were hazy as if she was trying to recall a dream that had already begun to slip from her memory. “Ava?” Nat called out quietly, taking another step towards the bed. “Why am I tied down?” Her voice was hoarse. How long had she been like this? Nat and Morgan began to free her, following a silent command. As she pushed herself up finally, her head spun. Rebecca stepped into her line of vision. Her eyes were rimmed with red like she had been crying. There were only a few things that Ava could think of that would draw such a reaction—Cecilia. It happened all at once. The memories slammed against her skull making her cringe. It had been like she wasn’t in control of herself like she had been watching on a screen. Her voice taunting Cecilia. Her hand wrapped around Cecilia’s throat. Her grin as she watched as the light was running from Cecilia’s eyes. Oh, those eyes. Her doe-eyed gaze that usually looked upon Ava with warm affection had turned to terror as she begged her to stop. Ava was frozen as she remembered, guilt and anger taking over every inch of her body. “Cecilia?” Ava managed to gasp, Gentle hands rested on her shoulder as Nat tried to comfort her. “She’s okay, she’s being tended to.” “Some of the blood bags given to the Agency were poisoned,” Agent Beck interrupted, pulling Ava’s attention towards her. “We only realized after you were gone.” She was struggling to keep her tone even. Farah leaned back on her heels, trying to smooth down her crumpled shirt. “It took both Nat and me to hold you down. Let’s not do that again,” she tried to lighten the mood but was met with a fierce glare from both Rebecca and Morgan. “Farah, Morgan, will you please go check on Cecilia?” Nat intervened, squeezing Ava’s shoulder. “Let us know if she’s awake, please.” Had she been alone all this time? Just as they were leaving, someone popped their head in, gesturing for Rebecca. With a heavy sigh, she nodded. “We will talk later, Ava.” She said as she began to leave. But she paused before exiting the room. “I know I shouldn’t blame you, but I find it hard not to.” And then it was just her and Nat. It was like Ava had been slapped across the face. She couldn’t blame her. Cecilia was her only child and Ava had put her life at risk by her own hand. Out of all the centuries, she had walked the Earth, she had never hated herself more than now. How could she have hurt someone so kind? Someone who she loved cared for. Someone Ava had sworn to protect. How many times would she fail Cecilia? One time, she was going to be too late to save her. Ava sat on the edge of the bed, her face buried in her hands. “Don’t lie to me, how bad was it?” Her words were muffled. The bed dipped beside her large form as Nat sat next to her. “When we finally figured out where you were, we came in and she was pinned against the wall, your hand around her throat.” Nat blew out a long breath. Ava shuddered as the scene appeared at the forefront of her mind once more. “It wasn’t your fault, Ava,” Nat murmured, wrapping an arm around her broad shoulders to try and comfort her. “Tell that to Cecilia,” she snapped venomously, shaking off her friend by getting to her feet shakily. “Do you know she’s still traumatized from the incident with Murphy? She tries to hide it, but I can see it in her eyes.” Nat listened quietly, not knowing what to say. “She’s told me about it before because she trusted me. She was afraid of being weak, afraid of not deserving her place here,” Ava choked up as she continued. “I’ve ruined it, Natalie.” Tears were rolling down her cheeks as a heavy feeling settled in her chest. Her heart was broken—she had taken Cecilia’s affection for granted. Now, it was ruined because of her own weakness. Ava dropped to her knees, ignoring the splintering pain as they hit the hard floor. Her hands were flush against the wood as she knelt on all fours, unable to hold herself up. And she cried. Deep, heavy sobs erupted from her chest that shook her entire body. Nat knelt beside her, knowing it was best not to say anything, but to just let her know she was there. “It wasn’t you, Ava,” she finally whispered, tucking a loose hair behind Ava’s ear. Ava ripped herself away from Nat, struggling to her feet. She paced the length of the room, not bothering to wipe away her tears. “You don’t know that, Natalie,” she yelled, pausing to stare at where Nat still sat. “Cecilia was the only thing in all these years that made begin to think that I wasn’t truly a monster and look what happened!” The fury had been building and now needed to find an outlet. Turning, Ava’s fist slammed into the side of her dresser causing it to splinter beneath the force. She needed to get out of this room, she needed to breathe. Without another word, Ava threw open the door hard enough to rip it off its hinges as she stormed out of the room, refusing to look back as she left.

***

Between the steady, irritating beep of the machine monitoring her vitals and the horrible dreamed plaguing her mind, Cecilia was ripped from sleep. Her head was cloudy from whatever medicine they must have dosed her with, but she could still vividly remember the face in her nightmares. Usually Murphy haunted her subconscious. The knowledge that he was still at large taunted her, not to mention the events that took place the last time they came face to face. It had traumatized her. Now a new face had haunted her dreams, one that had been so sweet and welcomed before. Pale green eyes, colder than ice, and words that pierced her ears. “Isn’t this what you want?” Immediately, Cecilia desperately searched for the bedpan resting on the floor before violently retching the contents of her stomach. She still hung halfway off the bed as the door to the room opened, tears tickling her skin once more. Cecilia hardly heard them enter. All she could think about was Ava’s tongue on her cheeks, making her sob harder as she lapped at her pain like a starved dog. "Oh, Cece.” Nat choked out, immediately flocking to the side of the bed. She had snatched a towel on her way over to gently wipe off Cecilia’s mouth before helping her back up. Everything hurt. Her neck where Ava had choked her. Her head from being slammed against the wall. But the worst pain was from her heart that had been broken in more ways than one. Cecilia didn’t say anything, she didn’t have to after taking one look at Nat’s face. Instead, Nat pulled her into a hug, letting Cecilia sob into her chest as she ran her fingers through her knotted, dark hair. “I’m sorry we weren’t there sooner,” Nat sounded as if she was in tears as well. “We thought at first she was having a bad reaction and was going to rest, not whatever that was.” Cecilia hugged her friend tighter, beginning to recall what Morgan had told her. “The blood bags were poisoned?” She asked as she pulled away just enough to see her face. She had been correct that Nat had been crying as well, a look of regret in her eyes. She nodded. “We realized that too late. Cecilia, I am so sorry.” “How is Ava?” Cecilia asked after a long moment to let the information begin to sink in. “She’s back to normal now, but—,” Nat cut herself off. “But, what?” With a heavy sigh, Nat leaned back, wiping away her stray tears. “Of all the years I’ve known her, I’ve never seen that woman cry until now.” Cecilia looked away, not able to think about it, her heart was already broken enough. “Can I please go home?” She whispered. Nat looked at her in understanding. “I’ll go get Elidor.” “Will you please get my mom?” Her voice cracked and she feared she might cry again. “Of course, Cecilia. Can I get you anything at all?” She shook her head, just wanting the maternal comfort of her mother’s hug. “Thank you, Nat.” In return, she was given a tight smile as Nat held back more tears. She sniffed, looking at her feet. “If you need anything at all, please call me. I will brave modern technology for you.” That managed to make her smile slightly. “Thanks, Nat.”

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jay-and-dean · 4 years

Text

Too good to be true (This is how it ends.)

(Dean x Reader)

Summary : Dean and her are driving home, after another hunt together. They are in love, have been for a long time and it was so good… It was too good to be true…

Warnings : ANGST. DARK FIC. Seriously, I can’t put all the warnings because it could kill the fic, just don’t read it if you’re fragile lately.

Words : 2.4 k

Want to read more => ***MASTERLIST***

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Dean was desperate.

That’s how it happened.

She was looking out the window again, that expression on her tired face : an implacable anger, but not the kind of anger that makes people leave, no, the kind that irreversibly erodes the soul.

She was silent again, what could she say ? Dean wanted her to look at him, he needed her to look at him, but not like she did lately, not with that anger, not with her broken heart just behind her doleful eyes.

He needed the look of the beginning : the first months, the first year… Those knowing smiling glares, the little wrinkles at the corner of her eyes when she stared at him in awe, the lust burning in her dark pupils constantly…

It’s gone now. The light in her died. Slowly, day after day, lie after lie.

It died during the nights she spent crying alone, hoping eventually she will fall asleep forever. It died while he was away, drowning his pain in the violence of hunting, in the bottom of a glass, in a bed that wasn’t his…

Is it possible that he loved her too much to make her happy ?

Squeezing the steering wheel, he struggled to see past the rain drops on the windshield. Drops of water, that’s all there were, on the windows, on her face, in his eyes… The little straight glowing lines of falling rain hit, harassing, the only light he still could control : the Impala’s headlights.

They were the best. Nothing more, nothing less. Together, they were invincible and their love used to frighten every nightmares, every monsters. It made the both of them twice stronger. At least in the beginning of their story…

Dean had found the woman that was going to save him when he thought nothing could ever but enough to do. She knew Hell too, not because she went there, but because it had followed her here on Earth, her entire life. The anger, the guilt, the sleepless nights… She was so much like him… And she took all of it when she moored to his gloomy life.

Everything was good now, and it was too good to be true…

She was pure fire and their passion burst just like in the movies. His hands always on her, her magic mouth able to make him beg with a whisper.

Moans in the middle of the night, laughs. Getting drunk and making fun of everybody else. Their hands in the blood of their last kill, their kisses burning… They were scary and their love was extreme. It consumed like bonfire.

It was just too good to be true…

He turned his head and saw the bruises on her neck. Bruises of hating love, and it got him half aroused, half disgusted with himself, as usual. Why wasn’t he able to be anything but rough lately ? Why did she provoke him so bad when he tried not to ?

How did it drift that much ?

Now their love making had become bruising and as violent as hate. No sweet kisses, no shy brushes of the hand, just hungry bites and yelling at each other while tearing each other clothes apart. And the sweetest taste of their mornings together turned to a sick codependency.

“Say something” he grunted, knowing it will probably turn to another fight, but the silence was killing him.

“Will you think of her next time you fuck me, Dean ?” she snapped, and his heart sank a little lower, making him nauseous again.

Shame.

A few years ago, she relieved him of his guilt with her love, but her hate little by little brought shame instead, and Dean couldn’t sleep anymore.

“Don’t be ridiculous…” he kept his eyes on the road, not realizing he was going a little faster, chasing something that he could never gain back : The love of his life.

Tears fell on her face, and Dean remembered swearing he would never hurt her. That was a long time ago…

That was too good to be true.

Silence fell again in the car. That deadly silence that smelled just like a panic attack. Lately, he didn’t listen to music anymore, neither did her, so silence won… But music… The poison that spoiled their love ruined every song on Earth. Love songs make Dean want to rip his own heart, and other songs just didn’t matter at all.

That storm outside had given the entire world a smell of dampness, of mold and Dean hated this.

He had no idea how it got that bad… He just remembered fear, a fear that used to wake him up at night. Because it was too good to be true, and eventually, he was going to lose her. Came over-protectiveness, possessiveness, and all the excessive reactions, the hurtful words that comes with them. Too much alcohol too, way too much.And fights, fights over hunts, fights about risks, about choices, about mean words and fights about fights. Those about jealousy and just about everything.

Yelling at each other constantly…

Venom on the lips, and bottles crashing on the wall and fists breaking pieces of furniture.

He remembered that evening she hit him… The first time. She had promised never to hurt him too. But he had promised to drink less, to stop trying to control her, to trust her during hunts…

He broke every single promise he made except that one about loving her that much for eternity…

Accelerating again, he hissed thinking of their fights, of her fists hitting his chest with rage, of his hands pushing her against the wall while she yells and fights him.

He remembered the night he stepped on both their hearts, already bleeding out on the floor, he just crushed them with his boot.

When Cassie showed up just that night… When his rage blinded him enough to make him think a dive in the past would ease the pain. A past when he hadn’t been ripped apart by love yet.

“Baby…”

“Don’t call me that !” she yelled. Again. Her voice had only been yells, sobs or moans for such a long time now. “Her hand was on your knee Dean ! Her fucking painted nails ready to dig in your back !”

“I don’t want her !”

He knew he was the one who made her crazy. Crazy in love, first, then he broke her trust, he broke her heart, and her mind with it.

“DON’T FUCKING LIE TO ME, DEAN ! I HATE YOU !”

Here it was.

As the words stabbed him, his hands gripped the wheel tighter and his eyes turned to her furious face. Her veins were showing in her neck, her eyes were red from crying too much, for too long…

“Stop being a crazy bitch !” his own word made him flinch.

He never thought he would speak like that to someone, let alone to the love of his life… But violence is easy to get used to.

“I AM THE CRAZY ONE ! YOU ALMOST KILLED THAT GUY LAST WEEK ! COPS ARE LOOKING FOR YOU !”

“He said he wanted to take you on the fucking wall !” he started to shake again, afraid, so afraid of something inside of him… But what ?

“WELL I NEVER CHEATED ON YOU DEAN !”

“You made him hope ! You were making me jealous on purpose ! Do you think I didn’t see the slutty smile, and the little bites of you lips ! Your lips are MINE !”

“IT HURTS HUH ?!”

He bit his lips until he tasted his own blood.

Yes, he almost killed that guy ; he had no control over anything lately, she made him worse than the Mark of Cain, and still was the best thing that happened to him. And, yes, when someone got close to her, Dean turned to a psycho, she had to throw a glass on his back to make him stop- he could still feel the ache of the impact on his spine- ; and she had to grab his wrist to make him run. But while the sirens were ringing in the hot summer night, he took her so hard in that alley, marking her with his angry hands, terrified he couldn’t stop his fingers from squeezing her neck to death… Tears in her eyes, she didn’t flinch when he threatened her, she never did.

Like she was satisfied by the idea of dying from his hands.

“You want me to suffer, you treat me like I’m a fucking enemy…” he sighed.

She took a shaky breath, obviously fighting her own painful lungs.

“I love you so much” she whispered before bursting in tears again, her thighs shaking with the ache she lived with each day. “I love you…” she was struggling to breath. “I love… Make me forget chaos…” she begged.

“Forgive me… Forgive me and I’ll do anything to make you happy again” he tried without an ounce of hope.

“I tried Dean… But each time I think of it…” she had so much gravel in her voice, they were choking her. “I want you to fucking die…”

He couldn’t add a word. Despair making him dizzy, and this stupid rain…

The Impala was cleaving the night at the speed of his heart.

He bent a little and looked up to try and see the sky but the storm was hiding all the stars. For a second, he wondered where was Sam. Probably in the bunker, with Eileen, with Jack, Cas, maybe Jody, Garth… With those friends he started neglecting a long time ago.

He thought of how she easily became friends with all of them. She was his spring. After a whole life of a bitter winter…

She has been the spring he waited for since childhood ; ice melt, flowers bloomed, he wasn’t cold anymore, and it wasn’t so dark.

He can’t go through winter again, not now that he knew the heavenly warmth of her arms.

She was spring…

But summer is crushing them now, flowers wilted and the sun burnt hope.

Just smile, he begged in his head. Smile, baby, I’m begging you, I can make this right… Just smile…

She put her face in her palms and screamed, making him jump a little, like he had been slapped. Her pain hurting him even more that it did her.

“I’ll make it right baby… I can fix us” he said reaching her knee.

But she hit his hand.

“DON’T TOUCH ME !”

“I’ll make it right” he insisted.

“YOU ALWAYS SAY THAT ! LOOK AT US DEAN ! TELL ME WHAT IS RIGHT ?” she yelled again, turning on her knees to face him. She seemed a little taller now, and she was so beautiful he just couldn’t believe it. There was no other woman he could look at, no other human he really cared about.

The tiny shorts she was wearing didn’t hide the fingers shaped bruises on her thighs, the tank top wet with her sweat, and her purple and yellow collar of shame screaming “too late, too far” at him.

And her eyes, the sadness in it was like a black hole.

“LOOK AT US !” she begged, and he wondered how this face could have been smiling once… It was a long time ago, and it was too good to be true.

He would have given everything he had to make her pain stop. Everything. But he had nothing left but her…

He thought it couldn’t be worse now, but she sat on her ankles and shook her head in sigh of renunciation.

“I have to let you go, Dean” she stated with a hoarse voice.

“What ? No !” he panicked, feeling Hell tighten around the world. His blood ran cold and icy sweat broke through the skin of his back. “Don’t say that…”

“You’re miserable, and… I want you to become Dean again, my Dean, the man I love so…” her voice broke. “So so much.”

“I am, baby… I am your Dean.��

“Not anymore… I’m like drug, you… you want me really bad but I’m b-bad for you” she wiped her face, trying to seem sure. “I’m letting you go.”

“Stop saying that, that’s not true. I was nothing before you came to my life.”

“You were a hunter, you were a hero, my hero… baby.”

Here was the love. Here was what he so desperately needed, and she was saying it was over. He was high on her indeed, but how could true love be a bad thing ?

Rage was his last defense against despair, so as usual, he couldn’t hold it back longer.

“I HAD NOTHING ! YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME ! YOU WON’T ! I WILL TIE YOU UP IF I HAVE TO” he yells, his beloved car moving slightly aside for a second. “YOU’RE MINE ! YOU’RE FUCKING MINE !”

“GOD I HATE YOU !” she shouted.

“DO YOU KNOW HOW YOU MAKE ME FEEL ! I CAN’T FUCKING LIVE WITHOUT YOU !”

“I HATE YOU !” I HATE YOU !” she screamed, tears soaking her face, her tiny fists hitting his shoulder. “LET ME GO ! LET ME GO ! I CAN’T…” her voice started to whistle and she was panting. “I can’t… Let me go… Make it stop… I love you so much it’s killing me…”

That war will never be over. There will never be truce.

Nothing would ever make it better. Holding up seemed impossible, and letting go… Letting go… he just couldn’t think of it.

Smile… I’m begging you baby, smile…

He accelerated again, like he could catch past.

I need your smile to breathe, tell me I didn’t break you that bad… Please.

Please.

Please…

He never deserved her, he never deserved love, he was as bad for her as she was bad for him. But maybe that was the real curse of the Winchesters after all.

Love.

His hands left the steering wheel for a second, just to grip it again, on the left of it. His jaw clenched.

Time slowed and he looked at her one last time, completely ignoring the road go by at a crazy pace before them.

Smile… I’m begging you.

Her wet reddened eyes widenned, looking behind her to the pit on the side of the road.She looked at him again and just let her head fall tenderly on his shoulder.

And he brusquely turned right.

The tires squealed…

This is how it ended.

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