#dubious consent in the chapters ahead

[slut4thebroken]

All Work, No Play: hour one

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Pairing | Jackson Rippner x reader

Summary | You meet Jackson at the bar in the hotel you’re staying at and decide to be brave and try something new; a one night stand. But it doesn’t go the way you think.

Warnings | NON CON 18+, sexual content, fingering, vaginal sex, dubious consent, threats of anal rape, degradation, humiliation, misogyny (like so much lol), choking, hickeys, cunniligus, crying, edging, stalking, voyerism, breeding, unprotected sex, emotional manipulation, putting misogyny again lol, objectification, face down ass up🤭, dehumanization, threats of murder and torture, I think that’s everything skdjdk.

Words | 6.5 k

Notes | READ THE WARNINGS. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT YOU CHOOSE TO VIEW. The last thing I wrote that was this intense was maybe the beginning chapters of exposure therapy or the dark!jason series💀

Ao3 link | <3

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This is the last warning, if you keep reading and find something you don’t like, that’s on you. I have it clearly written what’s in this fic, if you choose to ignore it, don’t be a bitch about it and comment hate or report it ❤️

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“Can I sit?” Your head snapped up, finding a man standing behind the empty seat next to you. 

“Yeah. Go ahead.” You said awkwardly, clearing your throat and putting your attention on your drink as he sat down. 

“I'm sorry, I'm not usually this forward, but I was wondering if I can buy you a drink?” Your eyes widened and you turned to face him, not expecting that question at all. 

“Um- sure. Thanks.” You gave him a small smile, feeling your cheeks heat up when he returned it. He called the bartender over to order his drink, then looked at you expectantly. You ordered, then finished off the rest of the drink you already had— two shouldn’t be too bad. 

“I’m Jackson.” He said, holding his hand out for you to shake. You told him your name in return and he muttered it to himself, testing it out. 

“What brings you here?” You asked, turning toward him to give your full attention. 

“Work. You?” 

“Work.”

“I have to say though, this trip is turning out to be much better than the others.” He gave you a small smile and you tried not to get too overwhelmed with the butterflies in your stomach as you stared at him, wondering almost anxiously about where this was going. 

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” 

“This time a beautiful girl let me buy her a drink.” You averted your gaze as your face heated up, not used to such sudden compliments like that. 

“I guess I could say the same then.” 

“I don’t believe that.” He scoffed playfully. “You must have men practically lining up to buy you drinks.” 

“Nope… Just you.” You said, embarrassed. Thankfully, the bartender placed your drinks in front of you, giving you a break from his attention. “So how long are you staying here?” You asked, changing the subject. 

“I should only be here one more night. Maybe two depending on how tough the job is.” He shrugged. 

“Oh okay. I’m flying back over the weekend so I’m here for a few more days.” 

“Do you have any personal time or is it all work and no play?” The way he said it made it sound like an innuendo… but you weren't completely certain if it actually was. 

“Well I have enough to sit at a bar and talk to a stranger.” You smiled behind your glass as you took another sip. 

“I see… And what about going someplace quieter with a stranger? Do you have time for that?” He said lowly, making arousal pool in your stomach as his eyes darkened slightly. 

“I think I could spare a bit. It depends on what this stranger wants to do.” 

“I’m not sure it would be appropriate to say in the middle of a hotel bar.” You eyed him curiously, deciding what to do. You’re not a one night stand type of girl, but he’s hot and you’re a little pent up. 

“Then I guess we should go somewhere you can tell me.” His lips curled into a smirk and he immediately reached in his pocket to pull out his wallet and place some cash on the bar for your mostly untouched drinks. 

He stood and held a hand out for you to take as you got to your feet, letting him lead you over to the elevator. On the ride up, you tried not to let your nerves consume you, but you weren’t doing a very good job of that. The doors opened and he led you to his room, using the key card to open the door, then holding it open for you to walk in first. You looked around the room, finding no luggage and the bed perfectly made as if it hadn’t been slept in yet. 

“How long have you been here for?” You turned to face him as he placed his key card on the dresser and you waited somewhat impatiently for his answer. 

“A few hours. I mostly just have to work tonight.” 

“Oh… Do you need me to go then?” You asked, not understanding why he would invite you here if he had to work.  

“Of course not. How would I get any work done if you left?” Your brows furrowed as you replayed his words in your head, still not understanding. 

“Um… I— What?” You laughed awkwardly.

“I'm gonna be honest, I thought I’d have to try a lot harder to get you to my room.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” You asked, but he ignored you. 

“I mean, I know you pretty well by now and I didn’t think you were the type to do one night stands.” You stared at him in confusion, but your stomach was twisting with a sense of complete and utter dread that something bad was about to happen to you. 

“I’m a little tired actually, I think I’m just going to go to my room.” You said, tentatively walking forward, but he remained between you and the door, blocking you. 

“But the night’s just getting started.” 

“Jackson, please move.” You said quietly, gaze shifting between his face and the door. He took a step closer, making you stagger back as he approached. 

“Now that we’re somewhere quieter, I guess I should tell you what I want to do. Or… not what I want, but what I’m going to do.” You were quickly nearing the wall behind you as he kept moving closer. When your back hit it and a small gasp escaped you, he placed both hands on the wall on either side of your head, trapping you. 

“I need something from you. Depending on your attitude, I’ll either take it, or you’ll give it to me willingly. One of those options will be significantly more painful for you and fun for me.”

“Please let me go.” You whispered, not able to maintain eye contact. He didn’t say anything for a moment, then suddenly grabbed your cheeks to turn you toward him, making your eyes snap back to his. 

“Beg if you want, but you’re not leaving here any time soon. Not until I get what I want.” He said lowly, words sounding like they once again had a different meaning. 

“What do you want?”  

“Two things. We’ll start with the fun one first.” The hand on the wall dropped down and he snaked it back up your thigh, under your dress. “Which pair did you wear, hm? I hope it’s that red set. The black one’s cute too though.” 

“What?” You said through a breath, staring at him with wide eyes. 

“Don’t play dumb, you know what I’m talking about. The lacy one that you seem to love so much. You take so many pictures of you wearing it and I know you don’t have a boyfriend so who are you sending those to?” He said teasingly. 

“How do you know that?” You whispered, heart pounding in your chest. 

“Same way I know that you like to walk around your apartment naked.” Your stomach twisted at the smirk on his face. 

“I- I don’t understand…” He shushed you before you could finish. Not that you could formulate a response anyway. 

“You don’t need to worry your pretty little head about it. For now, let’s do what we came up here for, yeah?” He wasn’t asking you, he was letting you know what was happening, but you weren’t about to go down without a fight. 

“You’re fucking psychotic if you think I’m doing shit with you.” You spat, pushing his hand away when it started moving toward your underwear. 

“Baby… don’t be like that.” He cooed mockingly. “I know how pent up you are so stop being a stubborn bitch and just enjoy it.” He warned, tone significantly harsher than before. 

“Fuck you.” His hand suddenly moved from your face to your neck, squeezing tight enough to make you raise your hands to claw at his arm. You thrashed around in his grip, prompting him to place his leg between your thighs and push his body against yours, mostly immobilizing you. 

“Keep this up and I’ll torture you to get what I need, then kill you and fuck you— in that order.” You let out a strangled whimper and squeezed your eyes shut. “Do you understand?” You did your best to nod with his grip on your neck. 

“Yes.” You managed to force out through a wheeze. 

“Good.” His grip loosened significantly and you took in a huge breath, chest heaving to get the much needed oxygen. “Where do you want it? Against the wall? …On the bed?” He asked coyly. Your bottom lip trembled as you stared at him, desperately waiting for him to just say that this was all a joke and he didn’t mean any of it. But he never did. “Bed it is.” He answered for you. 

Using his grip on your neck, he pulled you from the wall and pushed you back toward the bed before practically shoving you onto it. He stood at the foot of the bed, staring down at you on your back, propped up by your elbows to look up at him. 

“Strip.” He demanded, eyes focused only on you. Hesitantly leaning up into a sitting position, you started with your heels, unbuckling the strap then dropping them to the floor— only debating for a moment if you should throw them at him or try something else, but you didn’t want to take any chances. Moving on to your dress, you pulled the zipper down until it loosened and took a deep breath before moving the straps so that the dress fell to around your hips. You lifted your lower half off the bed a little to slide it the rest of the way off, then waited. 

“Please don’t play dumb, it’s not a good look on you. You know what I want.” He said, all but rolling his eyes. Letting out a shaky breath, you reached behind yourself to unclasp your bra, discarding it to the growing pile on the floor. Your underwear was next, slowly sliding them off and keeping your legs together before covering yourself with your hands. 

“Fuck they’re even better up close.” He groaned, taking off his suit jacket. “Do you know how many times I jerked off just watching you walk around naked? You should really learn to close your blinds, you know. Sure people from the street can’t see you, but I could see you perfectly from the roof on the building across from yours.”

“Why are you doing this?” You whimpered, watching as he unbuckled his belt before taking it off. 

“People pay me to.” He said with a  shrug, making you scoff. 

“People are paying you to rape me?” 

“Of course not. That’s just a bonus.” 

“You’re sick.” You hissed. 

“Maybe. But what does that make you?” A smirk was making its way on his lips. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“I can see how wet you are.” He said plainly, gaze dropping to your legs. 

“You’re fucking delusional.” You spat. 

“Am I?” He walked over to pick up your discarded— damp— underwear, holding them up for you to see, making your face burn. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I’ve been told I’m conventionally attractive and I know you’re into this, even if you won’t admit it.” 

“Into what? Being raped?” You scoffed. 

“Not to that extreme. You want to be forced— dominated against your will. You want me to take what I want from you and trust me, I have every intention of doing that.” 

“Look I don’t know who you think you are but you can’t just,” He was on you in a second, roughly shoving you so you were laying down, then holding you there with a hand wrapped tight around your throat. 

“I can’t what?” His voice was low and menacing, a warning. “Hm?” He raised his brows and you clenched your jaw, trying not to panic as your head was starting to feel light again. “That’s what I thought. If you’re done with your tantrum, let’s get started.” You glared at him, teeth grinding together painfully. Despite everything, the fact that you just gave in so easily was what made you feel the worst. You barely put up a fight… and you know why. Because he’s right. You came up here with him because you thought he was attractive and wanted to fuck him. It’s not like you can just turn off that attraction. 

“Please let me go.” You whispered, eyes brimming with tears of humiliation. 

“No.” 

“Then just fucking get it over with already! Do you want help? Is that it?” You reached for his pants and started working on the button, but he released your neck to pull your hands away, holding them in one hand above your head. When you swallowed thickly and turned away from him, he grabbed your neck again, but didn’t squeeze as hard as before. 

“I watched you for weeks. I’m not about to rush things now.” Your eyes fluttered shut and you willed the tears away. You let out a stifled sob, biting your bottom lip when it started trembling again. His mouth was on yours suddenly, pressing a rough kiss to your lips as you tried to flinch away from him. His hand snaked down from your neck to grope your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers in a way that was bordering on painful. 

He trailed kisses over your jaw, down to your neck, then sucked the skin into his mouth, only releasing you when he was satisfied with the darkness of the bruise. Moving to a new place, he did the same thing, leaving hickeys all over your neck and down your chest before sucking your nipple into his mouth. You tried to stifle the gasp, but he heard it anyway. Once he deemed your nipple hard enough, he moved to the other one to give it the same treatment. His hands were pawing at your body, groping your breast and gripping your side to hold you still as you squirmed. He pulled up, looking at you through his lashes with slightly parted lips as he panted. 

“Ready for the fun part?” He smirked and you thought that meant he was going to fuck you, but he kissed down your stomach until he made his way to your legs, settling between them. He pried them apart even more and eyed your sex eagerly, making your cheeks heat up. 

“What are you doing?” You choked out and he tore his eyes away from your cunt to look at you. 

“You thought I’d watch you play with this pretty pussy for so long and not enjoy it?” He scoffed. Before you could protest, he was leaning down and licking a long stripe up your slit. Biting your lip, you swallowed down the moans threatening to escape. He focused mostly on your hole, lapping up your arousal and fucking you with his tongue, all while groaning against you. 

Moving up, he sucked your clit into his mouth and swiftly pushed a finger inside, making you jolt. Your lip was aching because of how hard you were biting it but you couldn’t risk letting out any moans. 

“Please,” You whimpered, trying to push yourself up the bed. In retaliation he inserted another finger, then wrapped his other arm around your thigh, pulling you down onto his hand. “Please stop.” You cried. If anything, your begging made him work harder. 

“Why? Getting close?” He smirked, barely pulling away from your clit to speak. You shook your head with a whimper as the tears finally started to fall. The thing is though… you were getting close. It’s been so long since you’ve been with another person, let alone someone this talented. 

“Stop...” You whined, bringing your hands down to push at his head. 

“God- I can fucking feel you clenching down on my fingers. You are close aren’t you?” He looked up at you through his lashes with a glint in his eyes. 

“We can’t have that though.” He said, removing his fingers and pulling away from your clit. “Not yet.” 

“Why are you doing this?” You whispered, staring at his figure that was blurry with unshed tears. 

“It’s nothing against you. The job leaves little time for.. personal activities… I saw an opportunity so I took it.” He all but shrugged. Instead of giving you a chance to respond, he pushed his fingers back in and sucked your clit into his mouth again. As his fingers curled against your walls in places that previous partners— and yourself— haven’t even discovered, you couldn’t hold back the sounds anymore. 

“There you go.” He cooed. “Just give in and I’ll make you feel so good.” He mumbled against your clit before flicking his tongue against it. 

“Stop.” You whined. In response, all he did was force another finger inside. You don’t know how he knew, but the second you neared the edge again, he pulled back, making you whine. 

“Feels good doesn’t it?” He asked, slowly curling his fingers against your walls, but keeping his mouth away from your clit. “No boyfriend, no one night stands… Just you and your vibrator.” He chuckled, making your face heat up. “You really like that thing. It’s cute.” 

“Fuck you.” There wasn't even a hint of malice in your tone. Just pure embarrassment and need. 

“Yeah I bet you want that too. Don’t worry, there’s no fucking way I’m leaving here before getting my cock in this tight little cunt.” You let out a choked sob and turned your head to the side as your hips started moving against his hand. “I could feel you clench down on my fingers… dirty girl.” He clicked his tongue in mock disapproval, then leaned down to suck your clit into his mouth again. 

As you squirmed under him, you gripped the sheets hard enough to make your fingers hurt so that you wouldn’t move your hands to his hair— knowing you would try to pull him closer rather than push him away. He continued the assault on your cunt, his mouth and fingers creating utterly vulgar sounds that completely filled the room, adding to your humiliation. 

He slowed to a stop again and you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from protesting. Once he knew your orgasm had faded, he slowly curled his fingers against your walls as his other hand reached down to pull out his phone. He eyed it, then set it on the bed next to your thigh. 

“If you give me what I want, I can speed all this up and give you what you want.” 

“You’ll let me go?” That made him chuckle. 

“That’s not what you really want.” The worst part is that it wasn’t… You wanted your orgasm that he’s been teasing you with for the past few minutes. 

“You still haven’t told me what you want.” You said, changing the subject. 

“Right to business then. Alright.” He removed his fingers suddenly and your hips flinched forward, chasing the pleasure. “I need to know the code to disarm the alarm at your work.” 

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about, I don’t have access to that.” You said nervously, making him sigh. 

“Please don’t waste my time. Tell me and I’ll make you come. If you don’t tell me, I’ll have to resort to more… unconventional methods.” You tried not to scoff at that— how is this not already unconventional? 

“What are you going to do with it?” 

“I’m not going to do anything. All I have to do is to get you to talk, by any means necessary, and I’m very dedicated to my job. That’s why I stalked you for a couple weeks— to get to know you.” Your breath caught in your throat at the admission. How did you not notice that you were being stalked for weeks? “Unfortunately your family isn’t in the picture and you don’t really have friends— you definitely don’t have a boyfriend. All of that really limited my options. Luckily I like a challenge.” He smirked and you waited anxiously for where he was going with this. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I’ve tortured people before. But after watching you for so long, I knew I needed to do something special. You deserve so much more than just water boarding or a beating.”

“You’re fucking sick.” You whispered, trying not to cry at the fact that this was not his worst.

“I could’ve threatened to rape you instead— obviously I still would’ve done it after I got what I wanted— but I had a feeling you’d respond better to this. So, you give me what I want and I’ll make you come, it’s as simple as that.” 

“Fuck you.” You spat, making him chuckle and check the clock on the nightstand for the time. 

“I’m trying to be nice, sweetheart, but if you don’t give me what I want… I will hurt you.” He condescended. “And not in a normal way— no, that would be a missed opportunity.” He leaned over you until his breath fanned your lips. “You don’t give me what I want, and I fuck your ass instead. No lube, no prep, just my fat cock splitting you open until you beg for mercy.” He said lowly. You tried not to show any outward signs of fear, but judging by the look on his face, you knew you were unsuccessful. “And I won’t give it to you. I’ll keep fucking you until you eventually pass out from the pain, but even then I still won’t stop. You’ll tell me everything I want to know and more, just to have the slightest chance of me stopping.” Your body trembled as you stared up at him, watching his gaze move all over your face as he studied you. 

“Now,” He whispered, “are you going to give me what I want or am I going to have to hurt you?” Your brows furrowed as you thought, trying not to cry. Maybe he’s bluffing? “Is this really worth getting raped in the ass over?” He asked, tilting his head slightly. When you remained silent, paralyzed in fear, he hummed and pursed his lips, then leaned back up. He flipped you onto your stomach and when you heard the zipper on his pants go down, you started thrashing. He placed a firm hand on your upper back to hold you down as he freed his cock. 

“Wait!” You yelled, when you felt his length brush your ass. “Wait— please, I- I’ll tell you, just please don’t.” You cried, anxiously awaiting his next move. “Please— I’m sorry, Jackson. I’ll tell you.” You rushed out, breathing growing more labored as panic and fear consumed you. 

“If you lie, I’ll know, and I’ll do it anyway.” 

“I- I won’t, I promise.” You whimpered as he picked up the phone, then a moment later, held it to his ear. 

“Yeah.. Are you ready for it?” You listened anxiously. “Go ahead.” He said, talking to you now. You told him and he repeated it back into the phone. “Good. Alright, let me know.” He tossed the phone back onto the bed. 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” You were starting to relax now that the threat wasn’t there anymore, but calming down made you feel all of the other emotions at the same time— anger for being stupid enough to fall for his charm, shame for enjoying the way he was pleasuring you, guilt for betraying your work so easily, and worst of all, desperation. You were desperate for more, and both of you knew that. 

You let out a choked sob and he removed his hand from your back but you didn’t move, you just buried your face into the sheets and cried. 

“You’re a crier?” He said, almost disgusted. “Those are the worst people to work with— actually I shouldn’t say people. It’s the women who cry, and usually before I even get to the fun part. The men that do cry at least wait until after they’ve been tortured for a while.” You couldn’t respond, not when you were focusing so hard on trying to take in oxygen through sporadic breaths with your face in the sheets. You were just glad he wasn’t pushing on your lungs anymore. 

“God- will you quit it already?” He snapped, making you flinch. He suddenly leaned over you, his cock laying heavy on your ass. He brushed your hair back to see your face, then roughly grabbed a fistful to turn your head enough to make eye contact. “As long as you didn’t lie, you have nothing to worry about… So what’s the problem?” You knew he wasn’t genuinely asking.  

“I- I,” You couldn’t hold down the sob crawling up your throat. “Please don’t. Please— I gave you what you want.” You whimpered, making him raise his brows, as if to say, really?

“Have you ever been raped before?” He suddenly asked, making you let out another quiet sob. 

“No…”   

“You’ll live.” He shrugged, as if that made it better. “Sure you’ll think about this every day for the rest of your life and you’ll hate yourself for craving it again, but you’ll survive.” You let out a stifled whimper and squeezed your eyes shut. “You won’t even hate me more than you’ll hate yourself, you know why? Cause all I did was give you what you want. You’re the sick fuck who actually enjoyed being raped.” 

“Please stop.” You whimpered, wincing when he tightened his grip on your hair. 

“I bet you really do want me to rape your ass. Are you just being coy, baby?” He cooed and you violently shook your head to disagree. “Let me ask again.” He reached down and shoved two fingers in your cunt. “Do you want me to rape your ass?” He repeated, barking out a laugh when you sobbed harder, but clenched down on his fingers. “God you’re fucking disgusting. No wonder you don’t have a boyfriend. I mean, who would want to date a girl who practically belongs in a brothel for fucks sake?” He started moving his fingers inside you, making you choke on a moan. 

“Actually— not even that. You’re not worth any amount of money. You belong on the streets, just a free use whore for anyone who needs a warm hole to fuck, isn’t that right?”

“Fuck you.” You muttered weakly. 

“Did I strike a nerve?” He cooed mockingly, curling his fingers inside you just a little bit faster. “Surely with a body like this you must be used to people objectifying you by now.” You weren’t. At least not to your face. 

“How’d you even get your job, huh? You fuck your boss?” You bit the inside of your cheek to try and ground yourself, not let your emotions consume you. “Did this run through little cunt get you a promotion? Even if it didn’t, I’m sure the only reason you were hired was so that your coworkers could have a pretty little thing to look at everyday.” He snickered. Even though you knew that everything he was saying wasn’t true, tears were still brimming in your eyes from his words. 

“Sluts like you are the worst kind. No one likes it when you play hard to get, that defeats the whole purpose of being a whore.” He removed his fingers from your cunt, making you hiss at the sudden loss. When he leaned back up and picked up his phone, you didn’t turn to face him, you just remained still. 

“Lucky girl. Thank you for your cooperation.” You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “Now that business is done, I’d say we’re long overdue for some pleasure, wouldn’t you? Get up on your knees.” He moved off of you to let you rise up, but quickly stopped you. “Did I say on your hands? You don’t deserve to be fucked with dignity.” He roughly shoved your head forward until you landed against the mattress with a grunt. “You deserve to be fucked like the whore you are. Now stick that ass up, you don’t want me to tell you again.” You adjusted your position on your knees and felt the bed shift as he moved behind you. 

“Jackson, please.” You whimpered, turning your head to the side so he could hear you. You didn’t even know what you were begging for anymore. He ignored you and lined himself up with your entrance, rubbing the thick head through your folds, spreading your arousal. 

“You better hope your whore pussy isn’t too loose because if you can’t make me feel good, I’ll have to use a different hole.” As if to emphasize his point, he placed the tip of his cock against your asshole, making you stiffen. He quickly went back down to your cunt, then applied some pressure. When your walls finally gave in to the intrusion, you cried out at the stretch and tried to move away, making him grab your hips to hold you still. 

“Ah, ah, ah— keep that fucking back arched.” He placed a hand on you and pushed down until your lower back was bent uncomfortably. “That’s it. Good little slut… Ready for more?” Before you could answer, his hips were snapping forward until he was flush with your ass, making you all but scream at the sudden force. Because of his hand holding you down, you couldn’t move away and the pressure of his hips against your ass was bending your back almost painfully. 

“Huh… Tighter than I thought it’d be.” He said, almost to himself. And you had to keep from saying ‘no fucking shit’ because of the way he was stretching your walls to their limit. He started up a slow, but hard pace, dragging out, then snapping back in. Each thrust made you scream and he moved his hand from your hip to push your face into the sheets. 

“Jesus- shut the fuck up already. You may want everyone in this damn hotel to know that you’re being fucked stupid right now, but I don’t. My line of work requires discretion.” Your moans quieted a bit and he let go of your head and leaned back up. 

“And just so we’re on the same page, sweetheart, if you attract any attention and someone comes to the room, I’ll kill them and then you. I don’t need you alive for this part so you better do everything you can to convince me not to break your fucking neck.” He growled and you let out a muffled sob. His thrusts sped up, and you bit down on your lip hard enough to draw blood so that you’d stay quiet. 

“God- you fucking love this shit, don’t you? I might even have to keep you as a full time fuck toy.” You whimpered at the horrible thought, even though it made your clit throb. “Yeah I bet you’d like that too. Wouldn’t have to worry about anything else but pleasing me— no job, no social life, I’d take the burden completely off your shoulders and let you live the way you were meant to; as a worthless little fleshlight, desperate for cock anywhere you can get it.” 

You’ve never been talked to like this before. Sure, past partners have indulged in some of your kinks, but never to this extent, and never this well. You could feel your mind slipping away from you too. The longer he fucked you, the harder it was to remember why you didn’t want him to.  

“Are you on birth control?” He suddenly asked. You were confused about why he would care about being safe now, when you’re already in the middle of the act. 

“No…?”

“Of course you’re not. God it’s like you’re fucking begging to be knocked up.” You suddenly realized how this night was going to end and it was like a bucket of ice water was poured on your head. 

“W-wait,” You started lifting yourself into your elbows, but he placed a hand on the back of your neck and forced you down, keeping you there as he shushed you. 

“There's no need to panic. It’s your own fault for not protecting yourself.” You let out a choked sob and he pushed you down harder into the bed to muffle your sounds. “And anyway, this is what you were made for so how about you just stop fucking whining and be a good little breeding bitch.” You were crying again now, almost hyperventilating into the sheets, but he didn’t let up, he just held you down harder and fucked you faster. 

“I can’t say I necessarily want kids myself but maybe every nine months I’ll auction you off to the highest bidder— let you really fulfill your life’s purpose.” You couldn’t tell if this was a meaningless threat or not. “I’ll still whore you out during the nine months though, don’t worry. I’m not completely cruel.” He snickered. His thrusts were growing more erratic now and his breathing was getting more and more labored. 

“Don’t you like that idea, baby? I’ll strap you down to a breeding bench and let all of those disgusting men that you pretend you’re above have a turn with whichever hole they want. You’ll be so fucking covered in come by the end of it that you won’t even recognize yourself.” He roughly grabbed your hair and pulled your head back uncomfortably, making you cry out. “I’d still have my fun with you though, don’t worry. No matter how many cocks you take in those pathetic little fuck holes, you’ll still be mine.” The softness of his tone was a harsh contrast to his words, making your head spin. The speed in which he pulled out and flipped you over made your head spin even more though. He leaned back over you and grabbed your cheeks with one hand while the other positioned his cock at your entrance again, pushing back in. 

“Tell me you’re mine.” He said quietly and your brows furrowed as you looked away. “Tell me, baby. Tell me this whore body is mine to use however I want.” You whined loudly and he gripped your face tighter. 

“I’m yours.” You whispered, bottom lip trembling. He jerked his hand back and slapped you across the cheek before placing it on your neck and squeezing hard. You looked away from him as a scared whimper escaped you. 

“What was that?” 

“I’m yours! I- I’m yours…” You sobbed out. His lips curled up into a satisfied smirk. 

“Tell me you’re only good for being my cocksleeve.” 

“I- I’m only good for being your cocksleeve.” You whimpered. 

“Tell me you’re my breeding bitch whose only purpose is to make babies and take cock.” He growled, grip tightening on your neck. You whined and squeezed your eyes shut, then shook your head. “You know it’s true so fucking tell me.” He warned, pushing down on your windpipe until you gasped for air. 

“I’m your breeding- bitch whose only purpose is…” You were actually struggling to breathe now, barely able to get the words out, but he didn’t seem to care, “to make babies and take cock.” You wheezed, making him loosen his grip. You gasped in a breath as your chest heaved. 

“That’s right. Now… I know I said if you give me what I want, I’ll give you what you want… and I can feel how your pathetic cunt’s about to cream all over my cock, but… like you said, your only purpose is to make babies and take cock. Breeding bitches don’t need orgasms.” The choked sob you let out was probably the worst part of all of this because it was genuine. You really were getting close and you were looking forward to that release— for one moment to just forget what was happening. 

“No- no, please.” You whimpered, eyes filling with tears for an entirely new, more humiliating, reason. “Please, Jackson, I’ve been good. I- I did what you said— I gave you what you wanted.” You cried, bottom lip wobbling. 

“I know, honey.” He cooed condescendingly. “Other than the insolence and fighting back, you’ve been so good, haven’t you?” Your frown deepened at that. 

“Please, I’m sorry— I’m sorry, just please let me come,” Your voice had a whiny edge to it that you couldn’t control. 

“You poor thing… Look at me, baby, there you go.” Once you were staring into those hypnotizing blue eyes, he continued, voice much lower now. “I want you… to remember this moment. I want you to remember the way you begged your rapist to let you come.” You swallowed down a whimper, throat bobbing under his hand. 

“The next time you think you’re anything more than a pair of tits and a set of holes, think of this moment.” Your brows furrowed and you bit your trembling lip, trying not to cry. No matter how much you wished to deny it though, his words had you barreling toward your orgasm. “Do you understand?” He asked softly and you nodded, making his grip tighten on your neck. 

“Yes.” You whispered, voice shaking. 

“Good. Now I’m tired of listening to your fucking whining.” He said, pulling out, then flipping you back onto your knees and pushing your head down as he filled you again. He was chasing his orgasm now— his thrusts growing more frenzied and desperate, quiet grunts getting just a little bit louder. He brought his other hand up to join the one on your back, using it to hold himself up and keep you down at the expense of your lungs and breathing. 

“God- I can feel your pathetic little fuck hole clenching down on my cock. Are you close?” All you could do to respond was make a muffled noise against the sheets. “You better not fucking come.” He spat. “You don’t want that pretty neck broken do you?” He asked, softer, making you let out a loud sob. 

He was pounding you ruthlessly now, hips smacking your ass so hard you’d probably bruise. His balls hitting your clit with every thrust made you jolt each time and it was getting harder to stave off your orgasm. His movements started to slow but became rougher, almost pushing you forward from the intensity. When he finally stilled with a low groan, you whined and shifted uncomfortably. You could feel hot come filling you up with each twitch of his cock and every time he tried to push a little deeper, your back arched even more, to the point where it was starting to hurt, rather than just feel uncomfortable. He let out a heavy breath and pulled out, then sat back on his heels as he pulled your folds apart. 

Hour two

(I know it’s cut kind of awkwardly but this one shot turned into 18k words so I had to cut it somewhere skdhdk)

I have some questions rq. Pls answer🙏🏻

I was maybe thinking of saying “hour 1” etc instead of “part 1” for each part since.. yk it takes place over the course of serveral hours lol. Is that dumb? Should I just keep it as “part 1”?

Also I chose the title when the fic was only the length of part 1 and im not sure if I should keep it or not so lmk if you think I should make it something that relates to the whole fic rather than just one comment in the first part lol

Taglist (join here)

@pedrisgatorade @lunyyx @faebirdie @nashja @rentaldarling @cillianscrybaby @vivvive @ceruleanrainblues @mrkdvidal1989 @brooklynscherry-z @ohmysatansstuff @d1lf-loverthinqs @butlersluvbot @mandowhatnow @baekhyunstruly @halleysc6met @babaohhhriley (didn’t let me tag ->) @deceitfuldevout @crunchsworld @bluujaiwrites @idkdudsworld @miyababby @n1ghtw1ngslver @aviamulier @xxorazz

[sixhours]

One Day at a Time - Chapter 5 - Labor

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel Miller x f!OFC, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, SMUT, gratuitous smut, dubious consent (drunk sex), unplanned pregnancy, fluff, references to past miscarriages, angst, hurt/comfort, romance, age gap (~21 years), childbirth, fluffy baby stuff, I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

~*~

Charlie and Joel find a new routine, stumbling around each other in the early days–passing each other in the hall with stilted greetings, overly polite glances, two lone wolves sharing a den.

The hardest part of having her around is her insistence on doing things . He finds the laundry hamper in his bathroom empty, the dishes washed and put away in the cupboard, the floor swept and the bookshelves dusted.

“You don’t need to clean up after me,” he grumbles after finding a bunch of his shirts folded and pressed and stacked neatly on the bed in Ellie’s old room. “Didn’t ask you here to be a maid.”

“I have to do something,” she says from her place on the couch. “They have me on reduced hours. All I do is water plants and sort donations, and there are only so many books to read. At this rate, I’ll be halfway through the library by the time the kid is born.”

“That’s the point. You’re s’posed to rest,” he says.

“I haven’t bled in three weeks,” she says. “The kid’s fine. I’m fine. A load of laundry isn’t going to kill us.”

He winces. “Don’t say it like that. And I can do my own damn laundry.”

In a vain attempt to get her to stay put, he brings home stacks of DVDs from the library and makes movies a nightly routine. If nothing else, it keeps her off her feet for a couple of hours, and he already knows they have similar tastes. Sometimes Ellie joins them, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch with a bowl of popcorn in her lap, and their weird little arrangement feels almost familial.

On one such night, Charlie is fast asleep when the movie credits roll. Ellie bowed out halfway through, claiming she couldn’t take the cheesy dialogue for one more second.

Charlie’s head is propped on a pillow next to Joel’s thigh, and he resists the urge to push an errant strand of silver hair out of her eyes. Instead, he draws a fingertip down her cheek until she stirs.

“You missed the best part,” he murmurs. “And you’re droolin’.”

“Mmm.”

She wipes a hand across her mouth and blinks up at him. It’s a long, lingering look that has him brushing the hair from her eyes after all, eager to have an excuse to touch her, if only for a second.

He realizes with a dull sense of shame that he wants to gather her in his arms and carry her to bed. The liquor that put them here may have acted as a lubricant, but at a different time, under different circumstances, he would have tried to get her to bed regardless.

The thought is pushed roughly aside as he stands slowly, stiffly, stretching through the low-level ache in his back, ignoring the creak in his knees.

He puts out a hand to help her up and she takes it, using it as leverage to hoist herself off the too-soft couch, overcoming her unfamiliar extra weight. Her hand lingers in his once she’s up, just a second too long, and he feels that familiar spark of heat low in his spine.

He fakes a cough and takes his hand away, grateful she can’t see the flush creeping up his neck in the low light.

“C’mon…let’s get you to bed.”

He plods up the stairs behind her, purposefully looking at his feet instead of the sway of her hips ahead of him.

“G’night, Joel,” she yawns, lingering in the doorway to his bedroom.

Christ, even her yawn is cute.

“Night,” he grates out, ducking into the spare room and closing the door behind him. He’ll wait until she’s settled, then he’ll go to the bathroom down the hall and take his second shower of the day, because there’s no fucking way he can jerk off in Ellie’s old room.

~*~

It’s different from what Joel remembers. There is no attempt to outfit a nursery, no crib or cradle to put together, no paint swatches smoothed onto the walls. There is no discussion of names, of gender, of a future beyond the current day; just a nightly mark in his pocket calendar, one more day in a long countdown. He doesn’t know if it’s a shared fear of losing the pregnancy or of making it too real; probably both.

Instead, they refer to the baby as a fruit, based on the list in the “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” book that someone, probably Maria, dropped on their doorstep.

“How’s…is it Avocado?” he asks, returning home from patrol. Tommy must have pulled some strings with the council because he’s been put on daytime shifts only, no overnights, and nothing longer than six hours.

“I think it’s Pepper now. No…wait,” Charlie frowns, reaching for the book and flipping to a dog-eared page. “We’re up to Sweet Potato.”

He wrinkles his nose. “How is that a fruit?”

“I dunno, but it’s making me want fries.”

He does his best to stifle the urge to follow her around and pester her to eat, to drink, to relax, but tonight the question slips out before he can stop it.

“You hungry? Did you eat?”

“I was joking,” she sighs, and he catches the tail-end of an eye roll. “But no, I haven’t eaten yet.”

“Heard it’s pizza night at the caf. Prob’ly still have the good stuff if we go now. No mushrooms.”

“Sounds like heartburn waiting to happen,” she smiles. “But sure.”

They walk to the cafeteria together, a diversion from routine. Except for their nightly movie dates, they keep separate schedules, more like roommates than future parents.

”So, uh, you didn’t tell me before. How’s ‘Sweet Potato’?”

“Active,” she says, rubbing her stomach. “At least I think it’s the kid. Could be gas.”

He snorts a laugh. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It feels like…bubbles. Like fizzy bubbles, popping,” she says.

He nods. “You’re, uh, what, twenty weeks? Halfway.”

“You’re keeping track,” she says appraisingly.

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

Her lips quirk in a smile. “I’m not.”

He’s managed to keep his head down and avoid the rumors, but he feels eyes on them when they enter the cafeteria together; the old man and the reclusive widow. It’s almost enough to make him turn around, but her hand is suddenly warm in his, steadying him.

“Maybe we should give them something to talk about,” she whispers, arching an eyebrow.

“Pretty sure this is ‘something’ enough,” he says, gently poking at her stomach with the edge of his tray.

They find a table in the corner, someplace Joel can keep his back to the wall and glare at anyone who offers more than a sideways glance. Normally the caf’s pizza is good, but tonight it tastes like cheese-covered cardboard. He’s head down, focused on cutting up his food into little squares when a familiar voice pipes up.

“Hey, lovebirds!”

He looks up to find Ellie standing at their table, holding her tray and grinning.

“Not gonna interrupt your date, just wanted to say ‘hi.’ I’m eating with Cat and Dina,” she nods to the other side of the room.

“S’not a–”

“Have fun,” she chirps. Then she’s gone.

“Sorry,” he mutters, pushing his food around on his plate. “She’s…a lot.”

“How’s she dealing with all this?” Charlie asks, gesturing between them.

“Same way she deals with everythin’,” he snorts. “Bein’ a wiseass.”

Charlie looks over her shoulder to where Ellie is now laughing with her friends.

“How’d she end up with you, anyway? You’re a bit of an unlikely pair.”

“Made a promise to a friend,” he says roughly. “Then she…stuck.”

“The unwitting father,” she says, smiling a little, then frowns. “I used to wonder what kind of mother I’d be…before this. Now I just hope we make it out of this pregnancy alive.”

“You will,” he says quickly because he can’t bring himself to imagine the alternative. “And you’ll do fine. The first years, it’s mostly just about keepin’ ‘em alive…stop ‘em from doing stupid shit.”

He’s watching Ellie as he says this.

“Then you love ‘em and hope for the best,” he says softly. “Not much else to it.”

“Sounds like you speak from experience,” Charlie says curiously, and a pit of anxiety burrows deeper into his stomach. Sometimes he forgets she doesn’t know about Sarah.

“I took care of Tommy,” he explains, flushing. “Our folks weren’t, uh, around much. It was just me an’ him for a long time.”

She nods. She’s finished her pizza and he’s still moving his around on his plate. He pushes his tray over to her.

“Here. M’not hungry.”

“You sure?”

He nods, and she takes the tray and picks up one of the tiny pizza squares he’s carved out, popping it in her mouth.

“Well, she seems pretty happy, all things considered,” she says, chewing thoughtfully. “You must be doing something right.”

He winces, thinking of Ellie’s dead weight in his arms and the despair in her eyes when he couldn’t tell her the truth.

“M’not so sure about that.”

~*~

The moan drifts across the hall, and Joel is out of bed and at her door in an instant. He’s only half dressed, hasn’t even put a T-shirt on. Ellie hasn’t had one of her nightmares in months, but he’s operating on pure instinct, something drilled into him from the time Sarah was a baby. It’s a honed reflex; he does it without waking, without thinking.

He stops at the threshold, blinking away the sleep before he can knock on the door to his bedroom.

His bedroom. Ellie sleeps in the garage. Charlie is here now, not Ellie.

Another low moan, a gasp…a sigh.

His face gets hot as he realizes what’s happening. He stands frozen in the hall, her breathing carrying through the door. Panting, another moan. Arousal sends a tight knot of heat to his groin.

Fuck.

He turns on his heel, eager to put space between them, to give her some privacy, but his foot lands on the squeakiest floorboard, the one he’s been telling himself he needs to nail down before someone trips on the damn thing, and the sound is unmistakable and deafening.

All sounds from his bedroom cease with a tiny gasp.

Shit shit shit.

He’s fixed in place. There’s the sound of her soft footsteps on the other side of the door, the creak of the knob as it opens.

“Joel?”

He turns around, fists clenching at his sides. “Sorry…I thought you were, uh…sick.”

She’s watching him intently, silver eyes burning into his in a way that takes his voice. She’s dressed in a thin tank top and underwear, the fabric clinging to her skin, dewy with sweat from the heat of the summer, or from…other things.

His brain goes fuzzy.

The lacy edge of the tank top barely covers her, swollen as she is, breasts and belly normally covered by an oversized button-down. His eyes are drawn to the naked swell of her abdomen over the crease of her thigh.

Then she’s reaching toward him, and he catches her wrist before her palm makes contact with his bare chest, but just barely. The heat radiates off her and he feels every single degree of temperature.

“I…should go,” he murmurs, but his throat has gone dry and it comes out as a croak.

“Joel–”

He’s still holding her wrist when she moves toward him and presses her face to the center of his breastbone, her breath like a blessing on his skin. He can’t stop her, can’t turn her away, even as his hand holds her wrist steady and apart, the rest of her slides against him. Her forehead presses at the spot under his chin.

It’s so slow–so painfully, breathtakingly slow, this connection.

“We–” is all he can get out when he feels her lips on his chest, an open-mouthed kiss to his pec, and he shudders. Her tongue peeks out, lapping once at the tender skin, tasting him.

His other hand cups the back of her bare neck, intending to pull her away, but he’s entranced by the softness at her nape, the warmth of the skin, the way the muscles and bones shift under his palm. She has deftly extracted her wrist from his grip and is holding the hand that was meant to keep her at bay, fingers laced together and tucked between their bodies like a secret.

She tips her head back, waiting for the last vestiges of his control to break. It’s her eyes that do it, silver and shining with want…and sadness.

I’m here, I’m here, you can have this.

Oh, he really should turn away.

He kisses her like it’s the first time because he can’t remember the first time; only that it put them here. Maybe it hadn’t been the alcohol after all, because he’s lost himself to the first sip of her mouth. She tastes like chocolate, sweet and rich and deep, and he is so achingly hungry when she licks the taste of herself into him.

She’s pulling him, or maybe he’s pushing her, guiding her to the bed. His bed. Where she’d been touching herself not moments before–

He groans and separates himself from her just as she sinks onto the mattress.

“I need…I need a minute,” he gasps. He feels insane, primal, out of control. He needs this to just slow down and give him half a second to think, but he can’t fucking think because the blood is no longer answering to the part of his body that controls decision-making.

Charlie gets to her knees on the bed, swaying a little as she adjusts to her burgeoning center of gravity. “You asked how you could help. This is how. You can be with me.”

“Is that…really what you want?”

She blinks at him, slow and measured. Her voice shakes. “I want…I want to forget, just for a little bit. I want to…pretend.”

“I’m old enough t’be your father,” he grits out, even as he’s drawn to her, even as his hand finds hers and closes the distance. He watches their fingers entwine as if enchanted, her narrower ones sliding between his thick ones, the clutch of her nails skipping across the ridges of his palm.

“But you’re not my father,” she says evenly.

“The midwife said no–”

“It’s fine,” she soothes, placing his hand on her waist. She’s so fucking close and she smells like sex.

“Please.”

The catch in her voice dissolves what’s left of his restraint and his arm slips around her more fully, pulling her into him, his hand finding the soft skin under her tank top. He holds her close, feeling the thrum of his pulse at his throat when she kisses him there, licking at the scruff of his beard.

Then she’s urging him onto the bed, straddling his hips with her own, draping herself over him, her skin melting against his like warm honey. He feels feverish with want, with need, so lost in the sensations he’s denied himself for months that he might as well be drunk for all the control he has.

He nuzzles at one breast, cups the other, dark-tipped and heavy in his palm. She arches and whimpers when his thumb grazes a nipple, keens when he licks and licks and sucks it into his mouth, feels the pebbled skin tighten under his tongue.

She sits up on her knees, urges his boxers down over him before he fully realizes what she’s doing. He tries to still her with a hand to her hip.

“I don’t wanna hurt–”

“You won’t,” she says, and then she’s pulling her underwear aside and sinking on his length with a gasp and a whimper, fingers gripping his chest to steady herself as she rocks against him, taking him inside with slow, careful thrusts. A groan wrenches itself from his throat and he has to stop himself from thrusting up into her.

“There, there,” she whimpers, finding the right angle, pressing against him, rolling her hips until his cock is stroking and hitting that spot over and over. It doesn’t take long until she’s panting, whimpering, please, please, yes there, please, as she uses his body to climb higher.

He’s murmuring now, soft words of encouragement and praise and nonsense at her throat, her neck, wherever his mouth can reach. He doesn’t stop even when she kisses him, rumbling into her mouth, laying the words against her tongue with his own like an offering, yes, baby, just like that, so good, take it, take it, I got you, take it.

She comes with a final roll of her hips, pressing him inside her as deep as she can and grinding against him with a wail. He feels the pulse and flutter of her contractions around him, her eyes clamped shut, blunt nails digging into his shoulders. Her lip quivers and she lets out what sounds like a sob.

She slides off him with a whimper, tucking into the crook of his arm.

“Just…a sec,” she breathes.

He’s dizzy with her scent, her touch, still not entirely sure how they got here…again. But now her fingers are skating over his stomach and down, taking him in her hand and stroking him, watching his face.

“You don’t…have to,” he grits out, rolling to face her and edging backward to give her space. But she’s shimmying out of her underwear and hooking her leg over his hips, pulling him closer. She reaches between them to stroke his cock through her folds, then urges him inside with a sigh.

Pleasure sinks its hot tendrils into him as she rocks against him, her face pressed to his chest, soft panting at his collarbone. His free hand roams the landscape of her body, the hard swell of her womb pressed into the softness of his stomach, the weight of her breast in his hand.

He feels her fingers at the base of his cock, slicking herself, and his hand follows, covering hers.

“Show me,” he whispers.

She does, and he picks up her rhythm, swirling the pad of his finger around her swollen clit, yes yes, like that, more . He’s surprised when she comes again almost immediately, so sensitive, clamping tight and nipping at his clavicle. She grips his hip and grinds against him, forcing him to fuck her through it until he’s cresting.

“Gonna…soon…” he pants, trying to pull out, but she locks her leg tighter around him.

“Inside,” she whispers, grabbing at his jaw and pulling his mouth to hers.

He groans, pulling back to see her face. “You sure?”

“S’the worst that can happen?”

She looks down at them, at the swell just above where their bodies are joined, and then tilts her chin up and grins, a coy, fucked-out smirk that makes his cock ache and kick and throb inside her.

“Oh…oh fuck ,” he whispers, and then he’s pouring into her.

Her hand is splayed on his cheek when he comes to, her eyes closed, nose pressed to his jaw.

“Y’okay?”

“Mmm,” she sighs, a tiny, breathy little thing. She’s already half asleep.

“Should I—“

“Stay,” she murmurs, leg still locked around him.

He does.

#fanfic #joel miller #the last of us hbo #the last of us #fic recs #pregnancy #babyfic #baby #smut

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

Midnight Masquerade - Crosshair

Summary: The bottle chooses your partner, and it lands on Crosshair.

Chapter Warnings: minors DNI; vampire!Crosshair x f!reader. kinks: mind control + marking/biting. spitting, feeding, blood, consent is gained though it's a little fuzzy, praise, oral (m receiving), PiV sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it); if I missed anything, please let me know!

Word Count: 2.6k

Read the intro here! | Suggested listening

...Crosshair.

A round of wolf-whistles rises from the rest of the table (quite literally, in Hunter’s case). Your gaze snaps to Crosshair. His eyes, shining blood red in the strobing lights of the party, meet yours without hesitation. A slow, smug smirk tugs his lips over his teeth. Pointed canines gleam. Core clenching in a mix of anxiety and excitement, you swallow involuntarily. For a moment, you forget where you are, entranced by the ruby color of his eyes, vision tunneling so that all you can see is him. 

The moment passes. Tech appraises both you and Crosshair. “Please do take note of any physiological differences or changes during this proce—hmph—” 

Crosshair shoves his slim hand in his brother’s face, effectively shutting him up and providing leverage to climb out of the confines of the table. You rise on shaky legs. Crosshair moves to your side; he’s not as broad as his batchmates, but you still feel dwarfed by his presence, the pallid tint his skin has taken on, the sunken circles around his eyes, the faint scars on his neck that remind you what he’s transformed into. Even his clothing, a plain, high-collared black cape and simple button-down, sets your blood into a frenzy. When his hand comes to rest on the small of your back, you shudder. 

Peering at you with hooded eyes, Crosshair quirks one eyebrow. “Well, doll?”

“Let’s find somewhere more...private,” you say. Your heart is in your throat, choking your words, but you’re not scared so much as you are exhilarated. 

Crosshair’s grip curves around your waist and tugs you firmly against his side. The appreciative look he gives you reassures you; from the few times you’ve interacted, there’s always been an unspoken magnetism that draws you to him. His silent, stoic facade and piercing gaze haunt your dreams on occasion. 

The crowd of troopers and nat-born partiers alike parts before the two of you as Crosshair guides you, towards a doorway at the back you hadn’t noticed before. In your periphery, you catch the looks some of the troopers share, the dubious expressions on their faces, but the pulse and thrum of the music drowns out any comments they mutter. All that matters is the way that Cross’s fingers dig into your side, the angry glare he levels at anyone who gets too close to you.

It makes you feel wanted. Desired. You walk with your back a little straighter. 

At the back of the large building, the single doorway leads to a hallway that itself branches into tributary halls and connected rooms. Straight ahead, a set of stairs leads up to another level.

“You got a safe word?” Cross asks, voice silky and low, as the door shuts behind the two of you.

Nodding, you meet his gaze again with a daring smile, lifting your chin to expose your neck more than you normally would. His eyes flicker down from yours to trace the column of your throat, before returning to your face. In the low light, his red eyes gleam. Your breath grows shallower.

“Meiloorun,” you finally say. 

“Good,” he hums. Tugging you forward once more, he leads you down a series of twisting hallways that leave you disoriented and confused. The longer you walk, the more you yearn for him to slide his hand down to your ass, or to push you against the wall and take you there, or even to just sink his fangs into you and—

“You have loud thoughts, dollface. Patience.” 

Startled, you peer up at him with wide eyes. “Can you read my mind?”

Drawing you to a halt, he glances into the nearest chamber and seems to come to a decision. Pushing you gently, he guides you into the room. A light, dim and soft yellow, blooms to life from a lamp in the corner, revealing—a bed? In the center of the room, a massive bed with plush pillows awaits, and hanging along one wall are a myriad of tools, toys, and implements. Your body flushes with heat at the sight.

Crosshair slips his arm from around you. “I can hear vague impressions of what you’re thinking,” he finally answers.

“Oh.” You hesitate in the midst of the room as he shuts the door behind you. “So, uh, are you good with this?” 

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

“Right,” you say, “yeah. Just asking.”

He hums, wrapping his arms around you from behind, caging you in place, as he dips his head to breathe in your scent. Nose skimming over your skin, he inhales deeply. The groan he lets out rumbles against your back. Goosebumps skitter down your skin.

“You think too much,” he grumbles, then presses a chaste, close-mouthed kiss to the spot where your neck and shoulder meet. “Let me help with that.” 

“H-How?” you breathe out, nerves coming alive in reaction to him. Kriff, he’s barely touched you, and you’re already so sensitive, so open, so curious.

His hands guide you to turn around in his embrace. Snaking your arms up around his shoulders, you fiddle with the short, silvery locks at the nape of his neck. Slowly, you raise your gaze from his chest, where silver hair peeks through the unbuttoned top of his shirt, to the strong column of his throat, to his pouting mouth, to his crimson eyes. Again, peering into him, you lose awareness, just for a moment, of the room around you.

He runs his tongue over his fangs and grins, predatory and feral. “Just let go, doll. I’ll take care of the rest.”

You glance at his mouth, biting at your own lips, heart stuttering. “Kiss me first.” 

Grip tightening around your body, he captures your lips in a bruising kiss. You moan, unashamed and loud, against him. His mouth is rough, demanding; his sharp teeth catch at your bottom lip, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to remind you of why you’re here. Heat pulses through you. 

When he pulls back, his eyes darken, lips parted and swollen. Your chest heaves. Fingers tightening in his hair, you chase his mouth, but he just chuckles and steps out of your embrace.

“Undress,” he says, peering into your eyes. “Then wait by the bed.” 

A warm tingling sensation spills down your spine as his eyes seem to glow crimson. The weight of your thoughts seems to lift, ever so slightly. With a shiver, all you can do is nod, filled with the urge to comply. 

Stepping out of your shoes, you tug off your clothing as quickly as you can, discarding the offending garments haphazardly, uncaring where they go. In the chilled air of the room, your nipples pebble. The thought occurs to you to touch them, let Crosshair see you play with yourself—a thought that is immediately dashed. That hadn’t been part of the orders.

You wrench your attention back to the current moment as you position yourself by the side of the bed as told. Against the far wall, Crosshair leans, fingers absentmindedly caressing the worn grip of a flogger, an amused smile playing across his face as he watches you.

“Good,” he says, and a flush of pride skitters through you. “Kneel.”

Even across the room, the weight of his chromatic gaze presses on you, and you again succumb to the warm, floating feeling as you drop to your knees. You rest your palms on your thighs. Crosshair approaches, toys left behind on the wall, and you crane your head back to maintain eye contact. One hand, long and cool and tender, caresses your face, thumb swiping over your bottom lip. 

You lick his thumb, enticing him to touch you more, feel you deeper. 

“Behave.” 

The command washes over you and settles into your bones. The longer you stare into his eyes, the lighter you become, until all you’re aware of is the cold press of duracrete against your knees, the feel of his skin against yours, and those red, red eyes.

“That’s it,” he praises. “Open your mouth.” 

You anticipate the words before they leave his lips and your jaw is open halfway through his statement, tongue sticking over your bottom teeth. It’s like you can feel what he desires of you before he expresses it aloud; the pleased expression that curls over his face makes you happy. You’re doing so well for him.

Crosshair leans over you, still fully clothed, and while normally you’d be concerned with freeing his cock from his pants, right now all you’re worried about is making sure you follow orders. Keeping your mouth open, your eyes never leave his. 

He spits in your waiting mouth. “Swallow that.”

You do as told, thighs clenching together as you become aware of another thing: the slick coating of arousal dripping down your legs. 

“Crosshair,” you whine, breathless. 

“Patience,” he chides again. His hands move to undo his pants; you blink and his cock is fully free, swollen and flushed and drooping in front of your face. “Remember your safe word, pretty thing?” 

It takes you a moment, sifting through hazy thoughts and muddled memories, but it comes back to you. “Meiloorun.” 

“Good girl.”

This time, he doesn’t even have to voice what he wants from you. Once you drop your mouth open again, he slips the flushed tip of his cock past your lips. You hollow your cheeks, sucking on his leaking head, humming in contentment at his taste. Cross watches you with hooded lids, a flush blotching his neck and face. Stars, he looks good like this. You bob your head, fighting off your gag when he touches the back of your throat. 

“Kriff,” he grits out. 

You repeat the motion. The only sound you’re aware of is the wet suck of your lips wrapped tight around his length, and it only makes the wetness between your thighs grow worse. Whining, you sense the order Crosshair wants to give: stay still and let me fuck your face. 

So you do. Cross’s hands come to rest on your jaw, cradling your head gently, and you breathe deep and even through your nose as he pushes his hips forward. Gagging, your vision blurs with tears as he holds you on his cock—and when he releases, you sputter, coughing. 

“Filthy little thing,” he says, but the undertone of his voice is laced with praise. You flutter your eyelashes up at him, thick with tears. 

For a moment, the two of you remain like that, a string of spit connecting you to his dick. His chest heaves, straining against the buttons of his shirt. Your eyes flicker away from his ruby gaze long enough to soak in the sight of his bulging muscles; his fingers on your jaw angle your face back up. 

“On the bed,” he murmurs.

You rise to your feet and perch your ass on the side of the bed, your slick and aching cunt at the perfect level for him to sink into without any angling. Eyes on his, you sense what he wants—what he needs. You trail two fingers through your sopping folds to gather some of your juices. Spreading your arousal over his hard length, you whimper at the velvety feel of him in your hand.

“Such a good pet,” he croons.

He grips at your hips, yanking you forward so you’re supporting yourself by your elbows, entire body hanging off the bed. His jaw tightens as he rubs his cockhead through your folds, rutting into you, the tip catching at your entrance. You both moan. 

And then he’s pushing into you, or maybe he’s pulling you onto him, but either way all you can feel is his thick length spearing you, deeper than you’ve ever had another partner before. His balls rest heavy against your ass as he holds you still, his fingers likely leaving bruises where he holds your hips. Your cunt flutters around him. 

Another of his thoughts begins to form, and you sense it over your connection to him. Immediately you convulse, desire and pleasure rocketing through you. 

“Yes, please, Crosshair, mark me,” you beg. “Show everyone who I belong to. Fucking bite me.”

Face contorting into a snarl, he snaps his hips against yours. His cock sliding nearly all the way out of you before he impales you once again, you let your head fall back, moans clawing out of your throat with every thrust. Stars, he’s so deep, reaching parts of you that you only ever dreamed of, and it makes your entire body light up with pleasure.

He continues to fuck you as his arms slip around your body, pulling you flush to him, supporting your entire body weight.

And then his mouth is on your skin. He sucks a trail of hickeys across your chest, lavishes your nipples with licks and love bites, skims his fangs over your hot, sensitive buds. You pant. Snagging his hair in one hand, you gently guide his head up to your neck, your actions an extension of the burning desire coursing through you both. 

“Please,” you whimper, “please please please feed on me.”

“Kriff, girl,” he groans into you. 

There’s a split second of overwhelming pain when his fangs sink into you—but it is immediately dispersed by a rush of pleasure so blinding that you think you cum. You can’t tell. Your mind is too far gone to fully process anything but the fact that his cock is driving into that one devastating spot inside you and that his lips are latched around the double-puncture wound in your neck as he suckles from your life-force. His thumb finds your clit and rubs it in precise, tight circles. Sobbing from pleasure and overstimulation, you cum again around him, body locked up as he fucks you through it.

“That’s it, just like that,” he praises, sounding absolutely wrecked, tongue smoothing over the bite mark on your neck. “K-Kark, gonna—”

“Please!” It’s the only word you’re capable of. “Please, please.”

He lifts his head, eyes finding yours once more, as he thrusts once, twice, thrice more before stilling, cock buried as deep in your cunt as he can get. As his length throbs in your soaked pussy, you can’t help the ragged whimper that tears from your chest at the sensation, nearly tipping you over the edge yet again.

Slowly you become aware of your surroundings again. Against your back is a plush, soft surface: the bed. Crosshair’s voice, still silky and raspy, but lacking the previous hard edge, caresses your ears. “Did so good, doll. Come back down to me.”

Blinking, you loll your head to the side. Lying next to you, Crosshair gives you the barest hint of a smile, expression softer than you’ve ever seen him. His eyes have returned to their usual amber smolder, his skin devoid of the pallid, waxy hue. His fingers brush your cheek. 

“I hurt you.” 

He doesn’t phrase it as a question. You reach with weak fingers to poke the sore wound at the base of your neck, wincing slightly but chuckling nonetheless. “I wanted it. It felt amazing.”

Settling his hand in the center of your chest, the two of you bask in the pleasant silence, studying one another. Faintly, music reaches your ears—the party is still going, and you can return when you’re ready. Crosshair slowly recomposes his expression into the neutral scowl you’re so familiar with.

“What happened, fully?” you finally ask. 

“Mind control,” he says. “Sent you into a trance. Tried to, at least. Got carried away.” 

His eyes drop to your bare body and you follow his gaze. A gasp escapes you. Oh, that’s so many more hickeys and marks than you expected. You’d been lost in the heady pleasure, the cloudlike feeling of drifting and only being tethered to the real world by his cock.

The thought makes you giggle; once you start laughing, you find it hard to stop. After a moment, Crosshair joins, his low rumbling laugh echoing with yours. You’ll get back to the party eventually. For now, you just enjoy the comfy bed and good company.

Ragu list: Ragu list: @the-hexfiles @thorsterstrudle @dystopicjumpsuit @clonemedickixx @freesia-writes @littlemissmanga @wolffegirlsunite @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @sinfulsalutations @523rdrebel @sunshinesdaydream @moonlightwarriorqueen @sev-on-kamino @starrylothcat @deejadabbles @starqueensthings @mandos-mind-trick @idontgetanysleep @eyeluvmusic21 @wizardofrozz @mythical-illustrator @sleepycreativewriter @dreamie411 (if you'd like to be added or removed, click here!)

#tbb crosshair x reader #crosshair x reader #hallowkink23 #mdfm hallowkink 23 #kinktober 2023 #midnight masquerade #rhiwrites #the bad batch x reader #tbb x reader #crosshair x f!reader #crosshair x fem!reader #vampire!crosshair #monster!clone au

[mcyt-summer-of-yuri]

Hello all!! With the event nearly upon us, I figured it was about time (finally) to post a sort of FaQ for the event! So buckle up, everyone, this post is gonna be a bit of a long one.

What is the event timeline?

March 14th - March 28th: Mod applications

April 21st - May 4th: Signup period

April 21st: Discord opens

May 5th - May 18th: Assignments sent out

May 19th - June 29th: Gift making period

June 9th - June 29th: Pinch-hits period

June 30th - July 13th: Posting period

Is there an age limit to the event?

Since this event is run through Tumblr and an event Discord, the age limit to join will be 13 if you wish to join the Discord, but if you will only be participating via Tumblr, there will be no age minimum in place. To create/receive any NSFW gifts, on the other hand, the age limit will be 18 and we ask that your gift be censored when posted on Tumblr if it is a visual art medium (though if you wish to DM your giftee with an uncensored version, go right ahead!).

What is definitely not allowed?

• Themes of incest (canonical or in relation to headcanons specified in sign-ups)

• Themes of pedophilia (referring to ships containing minors, such as Child/Adult, Teen/Adult, Child/Child, or Teen/Child pairings, with an exception to platonic or romantic pairings consisting of only characters between the ages of 14 to 17 for Teen/Teen relationships)

• Themes of underage drinking/drug use (consumption of substances by characters under the age of 18)

• Themes of abuse (physical/mental/sexual harm inflicted on a character or mutually between multiple characters involved)

• Usage of slurs (words used in a derogatory fashion against a character in regards to aspects of who or what they are)

• Lack of consent (while dubious consent may be allowed if requested in your sign up, a lack of consent entirely will not be tolerated)

• AI generated art (this applies to fanart generated by AI, fanfic created using chat bots, and anything else along these lines)

What are the gift requirements?

There will be a few options for what kind of gift you can make, as well as the option to DM a mod either here or on the discord once it opens if your preferred gift type is not listed or if you would like to make your giftee an extra gift of a non-listed art type. The options and their requirements are listed as such!!

Art - clean sketch with lineart minimum (or whatever point of the process this would be in your art style if lineart is not applicable)

Writing - 1,000 word count minimum (if you intend to write multiple chapters, you must have at least 2/3 of your total story written by posting period and the first chapter must be no less than 800 words long)

Playlist - 2hr length minimum

Moodboards/Stimboards - minimum of 2 boards equaling out to 18 elements

Webweave - at least 1 board containing 10 elements

Video Edit - at least 45 seconds in length

Poem - 100 word count minimum (or multiple shorter poems with a total of no less than 100 words)

Other Original Content (DM a mod on the Tumblr or once the Discord opens for more information on alternative gift suggestions such as cosplay videos, original songs, animations, or other such ideas)

What are the included fandoms?

What are the Included Fandoms?:

For the sake of this event you will be given a list of fandoms to choose from in your sign up form to determine which series' you are willing to create/receive a gift about as well as listed characters in each series (with a section to include unlisted characters, though those will be taken as optional rather than required for the sake of matching you with a potential gifter) The selected series are listed (in no specific order) below!!

Life Series/Traffic Life SMP

Empires SMP

DSMP

QSMP

Witchcraft SMP

Rats SMP

Pirates SMP

Outsiders SMP

One Life SMP

X Life SMP

AfterLife SMP

New Life SMP

Hermitcraft

Kingdomcraft

Minecraft Diaries

MyStreet

What counts as "yuri"?

For the purposes of this event, we will not be accepting genderbends or trans headcanons of canonically cis male characters. Yuri would include any pairing or character who would be eligible to fit into either the Sapphic or Trixic umbrellas.

What if I just don't have the time?

Well, if you're worried about not being available during the creation period but still want to participate, you're more than welcome to sign on as a beta reader (not just for looking over/helping out with fics!) or a pinch hitter/bench warmer!! Beta readers are anyone who would like to help someone out in the creation of their gift, such as glancing it over for any errors, brainstorming ideas, or other helpful things!! A pinch hitter (also known sometimes as a bench warmer) is someone who steps up in the event that someone who was signed up previously decides that - for whatever reason - they would be unable to finish the gift on time, and it is given to someone else to make on a more time-crunched schedule!! Both of these roles are very helpful and valuable to have in an event like this, so if you aren't sure about joining the event as a primary member, keep in mind these roles may also be options for you! Beta readers will be a Discord-only role, but pinch hitter roles will be available to anyone interested on both Discord and Tumblr, just be sure to respond quickly or someone else may take the offered hit before you!

Is this a Tumblr-only event?

Yes and no. While the event is run on Tumblr, you don't have to only post your gift here during the posting period! Edits may be posted to YouTube/Tiktok, fics/poems may be posted to Ao3/Wattpad/ffdn, playlists can be uploaded to Spotify/YouTube, wherever else you would normally post your content!! The only thing asked of you is that you don't post any spoilers before the posting period begins. No "here's an update on an edit/fanart I'm making for a gift exchange" videos/screenshots or the like, no posting poetry/fic snippets, and keep any playlists made on Spotify privated, for example!! You'll be DMed on Discord with your assignment if you join the Discord, and DMed your assignment on Tumblr if you don't! No stress either way.

Is joining the Discord required?

You don't have to join the discord to participate if you don't want/are unable to!! The discord is just a hub for those participating to talk about things and interact with one another, but if you aren't able/don't want to join for whatever reason, that's perfectly okay! There will be a deadline countdown every so often on the Tumblr, and on the Discord as well, so those not in the server will stay in the loop on that front!! If you don't plan on joining the Discord, just mark that down in your sign up sheet and everything will be just fine.

Will there be an Ao3 collection?

There will be a collection you're free to add your gifts to if you so wish, but it will be moderated so only those with given access can approve it into the collection during the posting period! If you'd like to add a fic, fanart, series of poems, or whatever else to the collection, feel free to do so and it'll stay anonymous until the posting period begins!!

Finally, who are the mods?

Our lovely moderators are hard at work making sure this event can stay on track! Everyone give them a round of applause!!

@rutellingmeashrimpfriedthisrice (event runner)

@daisy-bugs @aliteral-ghost @feyscape @sexyinaratkindaway @kaije224 @blocky-tides @queercode-my-minecraft @muriers

[chaoticallywriting]

A Merciful King ☼ Chapter One

Pairing: Aegon Targaryen II x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, minors dni! 18+, Dubious consent, non-con, breeding kink, porn with plot, virgin!reader, virgin sex, slight choking kink, vaginal fingering, creampie, unprotected p n v sex, cockwarming, Aegon loves boobies, shitty marriage? Oh and cheating.

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: I originally posted this series on TheGreensWhore. Unfortunately I got shadowbanned on there so I’m reposting all of amk onto here and will be posting further chapters on here instead of there.

Synopsis: The war is over, the blacks have lost, and as Rhaenrya’s daughter it is your duty to marry a green to secure your younger brothers safety. If only Aemond paid attention to you like his brother does.

Next

Marriage has been something you spent your whole life dreaming about. A beautiful wedding with a traditional Valyrian ceremony and a reception decked out in bundles of the best flowers the realm could offer. There would be laughter ringing through the great hall as you looked upon your beloved, who would sit beside you, eyes meeting as you think of the night ahead. You had planned it to a T, even down to the bards that would at such an event, but with war comes great sacrifice and far too much suffering.

Your mother was not there for the big day, nor your father or your brothers. Instead of a joyous occasion, a somber feeling had thickly coated the day in a dreadful way that left all tense. There was no Valyrian ceremony, and the man that gave you away was practically a stranger to you as he handed you off to one of your uncles.

Upon the death of Rheanyra, Daemon, and Jacaerys Targaryen, the war finally ended with Aegon successfully staying on the throne with a smug look on his face. Your younger brothers had been locked in the nursery, for they were too young for the occasion and did not understand where their mother had gone. The poor toddlers were to grow up as orphans with the greens in their ears, plaguing their minds with lies about their parents.

And you? You were to marry Aemond Targaryen to stop the rumors of him harboring a bastard son at Harrenhal and to keep you in a cage. As Rheanrya’s oldest living child many had looked to you to continue the ghastly war that tore your family apart. But with so few dragons and a grief-stricken heart you had surrendered like the coward you were. Now you were to spend your days with a man who hated you and once teased you for your strong looks despite being in love with a strong bastard himself. Just not you.

He looked positively livid the day he found out, and all could hear Vhagar roar in anguish as he rode off on her. He did not return for quite some time before listening to the pleas of his mother and the demands of his king brother. Part of you thinks Aegon was punishing everyone for his own loveless marriage. It was no secret that Aegon was not in love with his wife, nor even particularly interested in her existence.

“You shall pay for the sins of your mother” had been a sentence passed around by many before and even after the wedding. Everyone could see the one-eyed prince's clear disdain towards you, and rumors spread quickly of an unconsummated marriage and frequent flights back to Harrenhal. Many moons dragged on as you spent your days with your brothers, trying to fill the unending void of the loveless marriage you had been forced into.

You had grown desperate as the gossip grew louder after your first anniversary, still with no child to claim as your own. You had tried many times to try to seduce Aemond whenever he visited and failed in such a humiliating manner that left a ghastly wound on your ego. Furthermore, you had once stalked these halls with pride, and now you hide away as you feel yourself slip into a deep depression that you could hardly claw yourself out of.

Maybe that’s what led to the truly idiotic plan you were currently conducting, or perhaps it had been the three glasses of dornish wine, but either way, you had become truly desperate for a change. For something to end the mockery and your torment, to finally feel a sliver of happiness again.

“My king,” you say with a shaky voice. Internally, you cringe at yourself while you stand from your curtsy, head still lowered in respect. “I was hoping to speak to you on a matter most private if you would only grant me your time.”

You had asked to speak to him in the council room but instead were told he would only see you in his chambers, which had left you with a feeling of unease. Whispers traveled throughout the land of his insatiable habits, and you only hoped your union with his brother would protect you. Or maybe even the mockery he used to cast towards you as children. As you said, you were desperate.

“My beautiful good sister, how surprising that you finally left your room. It’ll be nice to no longer hear my mother rant about your seclusion.” He says it all so cockily as he pours himself a chalice of wine and when he’s done he pours a second glass, one you can only assume will be for you.

You keep your eyes on the ground when he turns with a chalice in his hand, sipping his wine as he eyes you up and down. Your own self-conscious tendencies that came with Aemond’s constant rejection screamed at you to fold your arms around yourself, but the last of your dignity whispered not to.

“I wish to seek an annulment-” he begins to laugh, your sliver of confidence begins to crumble, “it is no secret that my marriage was never consummated. The whole keep knows it, and therefore the kingdom itself must as well. I know Alys Rivers has been gifted Harrenhal and shall soon become its Lady, I’m sure your brother wishes to be free of me when that time comes.”

You let out a deep sigh and finally meet his eyes as you take a step closer to him. “Please grant us both this kindness. I will go to Dragonstone with my brothers where we will live out the rest of our days in peace, I swear to you on my own mother's grave that I shall cause no unrest nor rebellion and all will know that I sta-”

“No” he rolls his eyes as tears well in your own, gulping down the rest of his wine he slams the chalice onto the table beside him. “My brother has spent his whole life speaking of honor and now expects us all to stand back and shame our family after such tumultuous times.” He strides towards you, causing you to stumble back with fright.

“He is my mother's favorite, always gaining praise as she shamed me for not wanting this life. Even after one of my children died, he still gained her affections over me! Even with a title such as kin slayer and even now as he blatantly abandons you and flaunts in Harrenhal! I am tired of him getting his way.”

With each word, you took a step back until you felt the cool stone wall against your back, your heart racing as he stood before you, almost nose to nose.

“I cannot be the only one wallowing in a life of misery while he gets to be happy. I will not bear this burden alone just for being born first,” he practically spits the last part out, a hand shooting up to roughly grab your jaw.

Your whimper of pain only seems to spur him on, and he inches closer, his lips almost touching yours. Something in you screams to try to run, but you don’t. There’s a weird, fiery feeling in the pit of your stomach that you’ve never felt before as his thumb traces your bottom lip.

“If it’s a consummation you wish for, then I shall be a merciful king and grant you that.” His lips crash against yours in a bruising manner. He tastes of wine, endless wine, and his hand on your jaw slides down to your neck and squeezes ever so slightly. You don’t realize you’ve stayed frozen in place until he squeezes harder, and you're brought back to reality. This man killed your mother. He smiled during her beheading, and now he’s kissing you like he’s a starving man, and you're his feast.

You struggle to push him away, hands pushing against his chest which makes him chuckle against your lips, your head begins to feel light as you struggle for air, and finally, he pulls away and loosens his hold to let you breathe. You bend with a hand delicately placed where his once was and struggle for air.

You think maybe he’s come to his senses, but soon his hands are on your waist as he pushes you, you stumble backwards as he pulls you away from the wall and struggle against him, hands shoving at his own and try to wiggle out of his grasp, but soon your knees meet something soft and your falling.

Your back meets the cushioned mattress of his four-poster bed, and you try to scramble away, but he grabs your ankles before you can get far and pulls you back to the edge, slotting himself between your legs. His hands slide up your legs, pushing your dress up in the process as he eyes your panicked form.

“No one will know,” he says as he crawls onto the bed. By now your skirts are pushed up to your hips, and he has one leg between yours and the other on your side, hands on either side of your face to support himself. “That your beautiful Targaryen babies aren’t his.”

Tears slide down your cheeks as he kisses down your neck, nipping at the hand shaped bruise forming on your neck, which sparks something deep inside you. You try to ignore the feeling as he unlaces your bindings and pulls your breasts out of your corset, tongue licking them and circling your nipples.

“You will no longer be humiliated, and you will have the children you desire to secure yourself here,” one of his hands goes lower until they reach between your thighs. You try to squirm away from him, but his other hand grips your hip in a way that will surely leave a nasty bruise. “While he will live the miserable life of a cuckold and I will finally have something all to myself.”

His hand touches a place no one has ever touched before, long fingers sliding up and rubbing in a spot you didn’t know existed. Your breath hitches as your eyes squeeze shut, that spark slowly burns brighter inside you at his ministrations. “I will have you, and no one will stop me. I will give you as many sons and daughters as I please, and I will make sure he never touches you or speaks out, for I am the king.”

You gasp out in shock when he pushes one of his fingers inside of you, a hand shooting out to grip his forearm and eyes flying open. Your brain is screaming at you to try to escape again, but the feeling of him slowly pushing his finger in and out brings a haze to your mind, and the words of protest die on your tongue. There’s a tinge of pain with the intrusion of his finger that slowly subsides into something else. Something you have a hard time admitting you like.

Instead, you roughly bite your bottom lip and look at the ceiling above, you can tell he’s trying to make you look at him, but you can’t bring yourself to do such a thing. This is far too intimate for someone who caused you so much despair. He pushes a second finger into you, and you whine at the slight increase in pain it causes you.

Aegon begins to pick up his pace to something that makes all the negative thoughts fly out of your brain and instinctively you push your pelvis against his hand which causes him to let out a mocking laugh, you feel your cheeks flush and close your eyes to try to hide. You continue to grind against his hand without even thinking about it. A hand grabs your jaw and jerks your head, the grip bruising.

“Open those pretty eyes and look at the whore you are” his words are demanding, and his voice leaves no room for objections. When you don’t open your eyes immediately, he impatiently shoves his fingers in harder, causing a moan to escape you and his grip tightens. You finally open your eyes and find him hovering above you, hair framing his face in a way that makes your body continue to betray you.

His eyes have darkened, and you stare into his as that spark in your stomach starts to become unbearable. You're openly moaning now, and you find yourself mentally berating yourself for sounding so desperate for him, but you can’t help the breathy noises that leave your mouth as you feel yourself being pushed toward a feeling you’ve never felt before.

Aegon cockily smirks before directing your gaze with his grip on your jaw to look down, and you see his fingers working themselves in and out of you, fingers coated with your slick. You find yourself beyond embarrassed at the sight, but it doesn’t deter the fast-approaching feeling. He must know you're close because he forces you to look at him once more, his hand leaving your jaw to place itself beside your head, eyes gazing into your own.

“You better come within the next minute, or I shall let the whole keep know that you have become my whore,” his lips crash onto yours again, teeth biting your bottom lip and his thumb finds that place he had rubbed earlier.

With his fingers thrusting into you at such a bruising pace and his thumb rubbing against you, a feeling you’ve never felt before crashes into you. So violently you find yourself arching your back and squeezing your eyes shut, the snap that’s happened within you can only be described as pure heaven, and you find yourself gripping his forearm so tightly that your knuckles have turned white. He pulls away from the kiss and watches you come undone underneath him, the feel of your walls against his fingers driving him mad.

All patience is out the window at such a delicious sight such as yourself, and he finds himself pulling his fingers out of you, hands flying to undo his breeches and pull himself out of his pants. You whine at the loss of him inside you, but quickly quiet at the feel of something against you. Something bigger than his fingers.

“Ae-Aegon?” Your voice is rough and full of panic. He looks up from between your thighs and smirks at the look of confusion on your face. Such an innocent, beautiful thing for him to corrupt. He leans over you once more, a hand cupping your cheek as he looks down at you. For a second, there’s something almost loving in his eyes. But it vanishes just as quickly.

“That was not the consummation, but simply an act of kindness” he says and with that, he slowly pushes himself inside of you. Your head falls back against the mattress once more, eyes squeezing shut and whining at the pain. This is far different from his fingers, this feels like being split in two, and you almost hate it. Almost.

His head falls in the juncture between your neck and shoulder and groans. The sound vibrates against his chest and one hand tightly grips the sheet beside you as he tries as hard as possible not to push in too fast. He thinks of lessons in his youth, being taught about how patience is a virtue, and tries his hardest to follow that teaching. Once he’s fully in you, he stills. You grip his shoulders as the seconds tick by, and slowly the invasive feeling lessens into something dull.

The ache remains, but so does the need that you feel building inside of you again. You can tell he’s trying to be gentle in this moment, something that truly shocks you, and so you do something that will shock him in return. Slowly you grind your hips against his and moan at the feeling it brings, he looks up from your neck and smirks at the desperate look on your face.

“Such a needy little whore,” he whispers against your neck, lips trailing to your breasts as he begins to pull out.

Your brows furrowed in confusion, lips opening to say something, but the protest dies in your throat when he slams back into you. A choked gasp leaves your throat as you throw your head back, he begins to thrust at a brutal pace, the gentleness is gone and at first, all you feel is an intrusive pain. His patience has worn thin and all he wants is to feel all of you.

“So fucking desperate for my cock” he moans out, eyes looking between the both of you and moaning louder at the sight. “Look at you sucking my cock in, your body is begging for me.”

You flush at his words, your gaze shifting down, and you gasp at the sight of you two connected. Slowly, the pain fades. Not completely, but simply stays in the background, a faint feeling with each thrust that is overpowered by that same feeling you felt when his fingers were inside you. You can only describe this other feeling as otherworldly and filling, it’s crashing back into you so unexpectedly, and you find yourself begging for more.

“P-Please” you moan, head thrown back and hands gripping the sheets. Aegon must not have expected you to like this part as his head snaps up to look at your face full of desperation, a smirk creeping onto his lips as he takes in your flushed cheeks and blown-out eyes.

“What?” he grunts out, nipping at your breasts. “What does my brother's wife want?” His mouth engulfs your nipple, sucking it between his lips, tongue lapping at it, and the feeling simply adds to that familiar feeling that licks at your insides. A burning fire with increasing volume and speed sits inside your stomach, his tongue, lips, hands, him, they all stoke the flames.

���Please, please make it happen again…. I want it…. I-I” you moan, letting go of the sheets and finding purchase on Aegon’s back, pulling him closer as your nails dig into his skin. The feeling is euphoric and addicting, you find yourself babbling like a common whore. The begging you begin to stoop to is embarrassing, but you're desperate for that same feeling again.

He seems to like your abuse as he moans around your nipple before letting it go, mouth moving to the other to give it that same attention. He’s a good man, he can’t simply leave it untouched. That would be cruel.

“Say that you are mine” he says, tongue flicking at your nipple, eyes dark and voice demanding. It terrifies you in the best way, a shiver creeping up your spine as the feeling nears again. His thrusts have started to turn sloppy and something tells you this moment is soon to be over. His brows are furrowed, forehead crinkled, and sweat beading across his face as he tries to keep his composure. “Say it!”

You come around him at his demands, repeatedly moaning out “yours! Yours!” With the tightening of your walls around him, Aegon finds him burying his face between your breasts and moaning while coming inside you.

The feeling is hot and almost possessive as if he’s fully claimed you as his for all the realm to see in this heated act. You find yourself worn out and hot as you lay in his bed, his cock still inside you and sweat covering both of your bodies. He nestles your breasts and wraps his arms around you, making no move to push you away or leave you.

Your whole body feels exhausted, and you find yourself wishing for sleep, but you know you must leave. It was late at night when you entered his chambers, and there’s no telling how much time has passed since then. There is little left of your reputation after the war, your surrender and your failed marriage, to be found in the king's bed, will all but seal your fate as a failure to your mother and a whore to the realm.

You try to wiggle free from his grasp, pushing against him and trying to peel his arms away from you. Aegon groans at your struggle, tightening his grip and thrusting into you again in warning. You groan, overly sensitive after what had just occurred, and continue trying.

“I…” your voice sounded hoarse, it was barely above a whisper. “I have to go.” He shakes his head at your words, pulling you closer if that were even possible. “Aegon I cannot stay, they’ll find me here and have my head.”

His face snaps up at your words, scowling. “No one will lay a hand on you, for I am the king.”

“But he has Vhagar, he may not love me nor even like me but we both know he does not do well with humiliation… T-This was a mistake” at your words, Aegon brings his face to yours, nose to nose and lips barely apart. You shiver at the dark look in his eyes. “He will know it's not his, Aegon.”

“When I complained about marrying my sister, Aemond told me he would perform his duty if it were him. He’s spent his whole life reminding all of us how dutiful of a son he truly was, and yet he’s ignored his duties as a husband when it truly counts.” That anger within his eyes, scares you in some ways, but in others, it begins to stoke that fire within you once more.

“I did not wish to be king, and yet he forced me onto the throne. I will kill Vhagar if I must, but you are not leaving this bed until I am certain that my seed has found purchase within your womb.”

With the finality of his words sinking in, Aegon rests his head on your chest once more, nestling closer to you and sighing. All you can do as you hear his soft snores is think of how your life has truly changed in just a matter of hours. And how you do not know if it is for better or worse.

#aegon x reader #aegon #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii x you #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii smut #aegon smut #aegon targaryen smut #aegon x you #aegon ii x reader #hotd x reader #hotd smut

[hungriestheidi]

IMPERATOR by ctimene

Tags: Historical (Roman Republic), Dubious Consent, Threats of Violence. Word Count: 5k Summary: George had cried at his first triumph. Alex had been too far ahead to see, crammed in with the other magistrates, but by the time George climbed the steps of the Capitoline temple, it had been obvious - pale gullies under his eyes where the red paint had washed down his face, dripped down his neck. He'd looked like he was bathed in blood even before he slit the bulls’ throats and offered them to Jupiter.

no precedent by crescenteluce

Tags: Time Loop. Word Count: 4k Summary: If he just wins, this will all end. If he just wins, Mercedes will build a fast car for next season. If he just wins, Alex will want him again.

table in the back by crescenteluce

Tags: Non-Famous. Word Count: 47k – 5 Chapters Summary: “Okay, here’s the offer." Alex says. "I’m going to make you something and if you don’t like it, you don’t pay. How does that sound?” “So I get a good meal or a free meal?” George asks. “Sounds like a no-lose scenario.” “Keen eye, George,” Alex grins. “Figured out my terrible business sense on the first try. Alright, take it or leave it.”

all green lights by orphan_account

Tags: Texting, Meet-Cute, Non Driver Alex. Word count: 22k – 2 Chapters Summary: “Sorry mate, I think you’ve got the wrong number”

the tenderness of his muscle would be beautiful to eat by zandvoortapex

Tags: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Cannibalism. Word Count: 2k Summary: he wished george was like him. it would make things easier, because maybe they could just eat each other and rid the world of whatever sickness rots him from the inside out. or, alex is an eater in love with his best friend.

finger on the dial by orphan_account

Tags: Accidental Voyeurism, Masturbation. Word Count: 3k Summary: Three nights in, Alex woke to the slither of sheets and a low huff.

the way back by orphan_account

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort. Word Count: 30k Summary: “You’ve never really been normal about each other,” Alex is told.

trust him like a brother by steviethenarwhal

Tags: Girl George, Friends to Lovers. Word Count: 11k Summary: “No, seriously, mate, she’s like my sister,” Alex says, still laughing. “I’m not doing it.” Sister. George’s mouth twists, feels like it’s full of dry chalk—making it impossible to speak—and she’s thankful for the darkness covering the flat. --- Five times Alex says George is like a sister and one time he tells the truth.

#galex #fic recs #f1 rpf #i'm genuinely so insane about every one of these fics #my motivation for this today was mercel asking me for recs last night BELOVED MERCEL TKM

[sugoi-and-spice]

Chapter Three - Careful What You Wish For

Pairing: Bully!Dabi x Fem!Reader, (3rd Person)

Summary: If a boy is picking on you, it means he likes you. She could almost laugh. By that logic, Dabi must’ve been fucking in love with her. That thought was what finally made the tears start to spill. Not because of how ridiculous it was or how isolating it felt.

But because it was exactly what she wanted.

CW: Alternate Universe - No Quirks (My Hero Academia), Dubious Consent, Unhealthy Relationships, Bullying, Manipulation, Humiliation, Childhood Friends, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Power Play, Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Drugs, Alcohol, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Attempted Sexual Assault, Rough Sex, Hate Sex, Smut, Porn With Plot, Explicit Sexual Content, Angst and Porn, Sadism, Loss of Virginity, Unreliable Narrator, Suicidal Thoughts, Dirty Talk, Name-Calling, Depression

A/N: An extra little content warning, there are instances of displaced anger and resentment, as well as suicidal ideation in this chapter. I feel this is a good time to remind readers that both Dabi and the MC in this story are unreliable narrators - they think things that are objectively untrue due to their traumas.

Remember, it is never a child's responsibility to save another child from abuse. And living a purposefully destructive life is a form of suicide.

Read Full Chapter on AO3

[excerpt]

When she was eight years old, she fell out of a tree in front of Touya’s house and hit her head on the concrete. 

Despite the many warnings from her parents, she and Touya played in that tree all the time. What was she supposed to do? It was way too big and twisty to pass up, a tree almost custom-built for climbing. She hadn’t even gotten the highest that she’d ever climbed that day, and Touya was several branches up ahead of her, teasing and goading her to follow him, catch him— faster, faster!

One moment she was climbing — her foot catching on a strangely pliable-feeling branch — the next, Touya was holding her in his arms, sprinting to her house as he cried for her mother. She didn’t even remember the fall really, she was pretty sure she had blacked out. But she remembered the pain and fear after, the tears already gushing down her cheeks when she came to, not to mention Touya’s own as he held his hand tight to her gushing forehead.

She’d made it out of the ordeal with a skull fracture and some stitches, not to mention a good old-fashioned concussion, but overall okay. When she returned home from the hospital, however, she was distressed to see that the tree was gone and that Touya had a black eye. He’d told her that it was because he fell too. And she believed him.

At the very least, she could honestly say that her head right now didn’t hurt as bad as it did that day.

But it was pretty damn close.

She lifted to her elbows with a groan, trying to rub some of the blur from her eyes. Things did get clearer as she blinked away the last of her sleep, but it wasn’t quite right yet. Blue. Everything was blue. And unfamiliar.

It looked like she was in a hotel room, a small one. It was more like a ship cabin, just large enough to fit a narrow walkway around the king-sized bed to one of two doors, and to open the drawers of the dresser doubling as an entertainment center with its surprisingly large flat-screen. The one currently turned on to some late-night variety show.

“Look who decided to wake up.”

She snapped towards the voice, where Dabi sat up against the pillows next to her in just his white undershirt and boxers. He didn’t even look at her, seemingly more interested in whether or not the idol on screen could guess what was in the box she was currently sticking her hand into, than anything to do with her .  

“Where—?” she started to sit up, glancing down as she felt the bed sheet fall down into her lap, then froze.

She was wearing nothing but her thin little white bra and (luckily, upon quick further inspection) panties.

“Oh my God!” she yelped as soon as she realized, yanking the covers up to her nose, “D-D-D-Did we…?” She couldn’t even finish the thought.

Dabi scoffed, “Hell no.”

“But… W-We’re not wearing any clothes.”

“That’s because you threw up all over them.”

And here she’d thought it was impossible for her to get any more embarrassed.

“I-I did…?”

“You’re lucky this place has laundry services.”

“Oh God,” she groaned.

A rush of nausea ripped up her throat before she could get any other question or apology out, brought on seemingly by the bloodrush of sitting up fully, and made even worse by the dry, rancid taste she was suddenly feeling on her tongue.

Dabi sighed, grabbing one of three water bottles off of the shelf behind him and tossing it into her lap.

“Drink.”

“I—” she gagged again at the thought, “I don’t think I can.”

“That wasn’t a request.”

He didn’t need to tell her twice with that tone. She quickly tore off the cap and started to down the water like no tomorrow. Dabi watched the frantic bobbing of her throat, sighing as a not small amount of water spilled down her chin and chest in a frustratingly not unattractive way. 

“Yeah alright, enough. You drink the whole thing that fast and you really will be sick,” he tapped her arm with the back of his hand before pulling a little Altoid tin from the shelf behind him and popping it open, “Take three of these.”

She eyed the tin of pills nervously then looked back up to Dabi.

“W-What are they?”

“Vicodin,” he said, completely stone-faced, “That’ll knock that hangover right out of your system.”

Her eyes widened commedically, “N-No, I don’t think I—!”

“It’s Tylenol you dipshit.”

She was relieved, of course. Although, not completely.

“...I read that you’re not supposed to mix Tylenol and alcohol.”

He groaned, loud and obviously annoyed. What the hell was he even doing here at this point? He’d met the requirements to not be a shitty person when he’d brought her to the hotel in the first place, he should’ve just fucking turned around as soon as she’d dropped onto the bed. She had a roof over her head and a door with an automatic lock, his duty was done. So why the fuck was she actively trying to make him regret sticking around even more than he already did?

“Do what you want, girl scout. I literally couldn’t care less,” he barked, snapping the tin closed and moving to climb off the bed.

“W-Wait,” she breathed, after a particularly rough throbbing knocked her brain, “I’m sorry, can I… Please?”

Luckily, he didn’t give her any extra flack for her indecision, just tipping a few pills into her hand.

“Small sip, alright? I mean it,” he said, “I’m not gonna clean up your puke twice tonight.”

She nodded sheepishly, popping the Tylenol into her mouth — all three at once.

“What time is it?” she exhaled after her last sip, not really worrying too much about the answer yet.

But that’d change on a dime.

“Three A.M.”

“W-What?!” she shrieked, throwing the covers off her, “Oh my god, oh my god, I gotta get home!”

As soon as her feet touched the carpet, a giant wave of dizziness crashed over her, causing her to lose her balance and fall back onto the bed.

Dabi just rolled his eyes at the sight. 

“Fucking relax,” he spat, “You’re in deep shit anyway, right? What’s an hour later? Might as well wait until the trains are running again at least.”

She couldn’t exactly argue with that logic, although it did very little to ease her anxiety. That seemed to matter even less to Dabi, she noticed, as she hazarded a look back at him. He just returned to flipping through channels, tired of this particular game show and fruitlessly searching to find something at least slightly more engaging.

He was being just as aloof and uncaring as usual, not giving her even the slightest time of day outside of taunting and demeaning her. 

But still, the fact of the matter remained…

“...you stayed with me.”

Continue on AO3

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#dabi #touya todoroki #dabi x reader #touya todoroki x oc #touya todoroki x reader #dabi x oc #dabi x female reader #bully!dabi #smut #dabi smut #touya todoroki smut #touya smut #quirkless au #mha #bnha #mha dabi #bnha dabi #burnt bridges fic #mha smut #bnha smut

[copiousloverofcopia]

🥀 TERZO FIC MASTER LIST🥀

These are all the fanfiction AO3 links to Terzo related content. Please see pinned post on Tumblr for other Papa content!

If you don't see something you are interested in please feel free to send an ask when open as well as commission me through the heart mug site. Link in pinned post!

Multi-Chapter Works:

⛧  Tied As One Eternally  (COMPLETE) >>> Terzo & OC Sister Alessandra Papa Emeritus III (Terzo) has had his eye on Sister Alessandra for some time, while she wants nothing to do with him. Now with Nihil breathing down Terzo's neck and the papacy on the line, will the devoted sister give in and accept his offer? (NSFW-Romance/Fluff/Angst/Sex w/the intention of pregnancy) Terzo x Alessandra Sequel Snippets (Mini sequels to the Papas in Love stories): 🜏 No Worries There Terzo introduces baby Filomena to Primo and Secondo for the first time. (SFW-Fluff/Humor/Daddy Terzo) 🜏 La Corsa Della Tua Vita Alessandra teases Terzo for a small taste when neither of them can control their lust for one another. (NSFW-Romance/Slight Bondage) 🜏 DracuMena It is a stormy night at the Abbey and a small, but very tenacious vampire is on the loose. (SFW-Fluff/Humor/Romance/Daddy Terzo) 🜏 If You Insist Only weeks before their second child is born, Terzo and his Prime Mover Alessandra decide to help one another relax. (NSFW-Romance/Pregnancy sex/Lactation Kink) 🜏 Won't Be the Last Alessandra struggles with leaky breasts during her last trimester and Terzo is more than happy to help put them to good use. (NSFW-Romance/Pregnancy sex/Lactation Kink) 🜏 Here Comes the Son Alessandra is so tired of being pregnant. Terzo and her have tried everything but still no baby. Will he ever show up? (SFW-Fluff/Birth/Pregnancy/Daddy Terzo) 🜏 Don't You Dare After Terzo gets drunk and Alessandra babysits him at the Cardinal's accession party, things get interesting as they return to the Papal suites. (NSFW-Romance/Fluff/Breeding Kink) 🜏 Practice What You Preach Alessandra struggles to get the kids ready for Black Mass that Terzo is leading today, a conversation needing to be had looming over them. When Terzo only adds to her stress, Ale denies him only to have things come to ahead in the chapel after Mass ends. (NSFW-Romance/Fluff/Chapel sex/Mentions of pregnancy) 🜏 While the Cat's Away Alessandra leaves Terzo in charge of the kids…chaos ensures. (SFW-Fluff/Humor/Daddy Terzo) 🜏 Chocolate Syrup Alessandra gets a day of relaxation which gets blissfully interrupted by Terzo and his ghoul Omega. (NSFW-Romance/threesome w/Omega/Ghoul sex/Pregnancy sex) 🜏 Terzo's Day The Ministry celebrates Father's Day with an annual BBQ cook out. Terzo reflects on becoming a father and the newfound meaning to the day when he learns an unspoken truth about his brother. (SFW-Fluff/Family/Angst/Father's Day) 🜏 The Greatest Honor Terzo and Alessandra have some news to share with the rest of the Emeritus family, though not everyone is excited. (SFW-Fluff/Family/Angst/Pregnancy announcement)

⛧ Holy Mary (IN PROGRESS) Sister Mary Catherine was only weeks away from taking her vows when she has a chance encounter with a man. A man she finds out is the Pope of the Satanic church. (Dubious Consent/Romance/Breeding/Pregnancy/Blood/Blasphemy Kink)

One Off Works:

Divino del Sangue Sister Vittoria roams the halls of the Abbey on a stormy night, on her way to meet her lover for a late night rendezvous. (NSFW-Vampre Terzo, Blood) The Monstrance Clock is Ticking You've been invited to help Papa III and Cardinal Copia with a very pressing matter. (NSFW- Threeway w/Copia/Breeding Kink/Sex w/ the intention of pregnancy) Solo la Vostra Fueled by both his passion and rage, a resurrected Papa Emeritus III seeks solace with you, his most faithful of followers. (NSFW-Resurrected Terzo, Blood) Among the Flowers It's been a stressful day at the Abbey and you go to your favorite spot to unwind, pining for your lover Terzo...when an unexpected surprise happens. (NSFW-Romance/Comfort) When You Wake Up You'll never get used to him leaving. You try to wait up for Papa Emeritus III (Terzo) to come home after a trip before he starts the Meliora tour but end up falling asleep. (SFW-Fluff/Romance/Comfort) Ginger Thins You've been in a haze of your illness, batted down by its fury when Terzo comes to help you feel a bit better... (NSFW-Fluff/Romance/Comfort) L'Annunciazione Oscura You've been in a haze of your illness, batted down by its fury when Terzo comes to help you feel a bit better... (NSFW-Breeding Kink/Sex w/the intention of pregnancy) Bad Day You're stress level has reached its peak as you find yourself alone in the cloister. Alone in your thoughts and feeling the world closing in you feel a familiar squeeze. (SFW-Part 1/2/Comfort/Fluff) Good Night After your "Bad Day", Terzo is more than happy to help you forget about your stress. (NSFW-Part 2/2/Romance/Comfort) An Acquired Taste While on your moon you discover that Papa Emeritus III may have returned from the dead. There are only whispers and rumors, but you can't fight the feeling and need to go see for yourself. (NSFW-Vampire Terzo/Blood/Resurrected Terzo/Dark Romance/Period Sex) In the Light of the Fire Terzo and you have been trying to start your family, his reigns now handed over to the Cardinal, but the business in the Abbey hasn't given you alone time together. Tonight he promised would be different so you wait by the fire for him to arrive. (NSFW-Romance/Breeding Kink/Humor/Sex w/ the intention of pregnancy) They Come At Night The Cardinal has been sneaking out at night, tonight you find out where he goes. (NSFW-Three-way with Copia/Vampire Terzo/Dracopia/Blood/Resurrected Terzo/Dark Romance/Period Sex) Too Small Couch A night spent cuddling and binge watching your favorite shower with your lovers, Cardinal Copia and Papa Emeritus III. (SFW- Hanging w/Copia/Fluff/Comfort/Humor/Non-Gendered reader) Scorching You are feeling self-conscious about your growing pregnant belly while Terzo reminds you just how beautiful you truly are. (NSFW-Romance/Body Worship/Pregnancy sex)

Ghristmas in the Attic It's Christmas day at the Abbey and while "Christmas" itself isn't celebrated, the Winter Solstice is. Your lover, Terzo Emeritus has a surprise waiting for you under the grand tree, intriguing and thoughtful. (NSFW-Christmas/Yule/Romance/Fluff/Surprise gift) The Moon and Stars Align The moon and the stars have aligned and the night to procreate the unholy bastard of the Emeritus heir has now arrived for Terzo and his Prime Mover. (NSFW-Romance/Breeding Kink/Ritual/Sex w/the intention of pregnancy) Rope Burn Terzo Emeritus is tired of being the one in control all the time, of always being the one to call the shots. You help him unwind in a way only you are allowed. (NSFW-Male reader/Light BDSM/Crying/Rope/Knifeplay/Aftercare) Thinking of You Papa Emeritus III misses you while touring and finds a way to occupy his time...and hand. (NSFW-Masturbation/Tour bus/Angst/Spit Kink) Smeared Paint Though you are hesitant...Terzo insists that you take your seat. (NSFW-Oral Sex/Face Ridding/Sex from behind) Held You have pushed yourself too hard dear sorella, and Terzo is here to remind you that you deserve your rest. (SFW-Sleepy Sister/Comfort) Gelato Terzo and you enjoy some gelato while battling the heat in the Abbey courtyard...until Terzo decides to make you his sweet, sticky treat. (NSFW-Romance/Food Play)

Terzo One Off Works Featuring Other's OCs):

Someone For Who I Belong (feat. OC Scarlett) A Sister of Sin battles her inner demons and troubled past when her lover decides to prove to her she is no longer alone. (NSFW-Romance/Blood/Ritual/Angst/Cardinal Terzo) The Confessional (feat. OC of @ryuzatodraws from their masterpiece Luce Perduta) Sister of Sin Lucilla is Papa Emeritus the III's most devout of followers but her feelings for him have grown to a level she can no longer control and must confess to someone. (NSFW-Confession booth sex, Loss of virginity) Lupercalia (feat. OC of @ryuzatodraws from their masterpiece Luce Perduta) Sister of Sin Lucilla is about to embark on her first Lupercalian celebration with Papa Emeritus the III. While her lover is quite experienced and thrilled to show her all the sins of the flesh, the dauting reality of participating in the Asmodeus ritual begins to set in. (NSFW-Valentine's Day/Lupercalia/Romance/Mentions of Orgy) Driven to Madness (feat. OC of @kittenburps) Sister of Sin Lucrecia has caught the eye of Papa Emeritus III. While neither one will admit their full feelings for the other, an innocent gesture between her and a new sibling of sin makes Terzo need to remind her to whom she belongs. (NSFW-Jealousy/Dominance/Rough sex/Possessive)

⚠️COPIIA-Unrelated/Non-related AU⚠️

As the Night Settled In (Spin off from Let There Be Night) Copia pulls an all nighter after becoming Cardinal and gets some much-needed release when he gets back to his lover. (NSFW-Romance/MFM/Established relationship/UNRELATED/NON-RELATED AU)

Thank you for reading!

May he walk with you in Darkness, leading you from the Light

⛧ PM Ren

#Terzo #Papa Emeritus III #Papa III #ren writes #ghost #the band ghost #ghost fic #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfics #ghost fanfiction #the band ghost fic #the band ghost fanfic #the band ghost fanfiction #ao3 smut #ao3 writer #ghost fanfiction writer #ao3 works #ghost smut #the band ghost smut

[elemit]

A Gift, A Curse

A story in which we discover just how damned an ascended vampire can be, and just how far you will go to save the spawn you loved.

Read in full on AO3

dead dove/not beta read

fic warnings: Abuse, Angst, Biting, Blood and Gore, Blood Drinking, Bondage, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Food Restriction, Hate Sex, Horror, Mental Coercion, Mind Control, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Sexual Coercion, Torture, Total Power Exchange, Trauma, Vampire Bites

(chapter warnings highlighted)

Chapter 2: Aftermath

The sound of a seventh and final bloody death has barely left your ears when the glowing red runes begin to fade. The chanting is done, and the magic seems to slowly seep inwards to the ritual’s epicentre. Astarion is still cloaked in otherworldly flames, eyes all aglow, when he finally speaks.

“My hunger… it’s gone. I’m free. I’m finally free.”

You watch as he turns towards you, his every move carrying a newfound confidence. You don’t know what you were expecting - relief, joy, exhaustion, perhaps - but his expression surprises you. He looks hungry. Predatory. A shiver runs down your spine.

“You’re finally free of Cazador. Aren’t you relieved?”

“Never again. I will never think about him again. Everything has changed now. I felt so little for so long… my edges dulled over the numb years of rotting in the boudoir and kennels. But now, at last, I can hear it. I can see it. How all the lowly creatures of this plane are begging to serve.”

You look at him in horror. To serve? This ritual was meant to free him. To grant him the power to walk with you in the sun. Not to give him the power to rule over others.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, my love. In you, too, I can tell… your heartbeat races. You hold your breath while I speak. You await my command.” He tilts his head and smiles a devilish smile. “The world will stir in fear.”

This is not him, you think to yourself. This is just the fear and the blood and the rush of being free. You know the real him. So you say to him, “I’m not afraid of you.”

He laughs. “Yes, you have been very brave, haven’t you? And now everything will be ours. Everything.”

---

You feel numb as you walk back through the dungeon in silence by his side. Behind you, you can hear Gale and Shadowheart muttering in disapproving tones, but neither of them speaks up. You try to keep your eyes fixed firmly in front of you, but a single flicker of your gaze to the cages that you pass tells you everything you didn’t want to know: they are filled with the gore and viscera of those who were destroyed.

Remembering Astarion’s torment at being confronted by his victims earlier, you search his face with a worried glance, but you see no reaction to the visible proof of the damnation of these poor doomed souls. Then again, he has always been a master at masking his feelings.

He comes to a sudden stop, and you think for a moment that the guilt of what you’ve just done has overcome him. He sniffs the air, and his full lips wrinkle in a sneer.

“Gur,” he says, eyes narrowing.

Looking ahead, you can see that there is a group of people blocking the way out of the dungeon. One of them calls out to you, and you recognise her by her voice in the dimness.

“I had hoped to avoid this path, but I was a fool to ever hope a beast like you could be saved.” Ulma’s voice is sombre as it echoes off of the dungeon walls.

“Oh please,” Astarion scoffs, resuming his path towards the Gur, “I promised you Cazador’s death, and he’s dead, isn’t he?”

“This doesn’t need to be a fight, Ulma,” you say, worrying about the monster hunters’ intentions.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Astarion says, as an aside that is nevertheless loud enough to carry, “this might be the perfect place for them to die.”

You give him a sharp look; this is no time for jokes, and you tell him as much.

“I’m not joking. Look at the hate in their eyes. They won’t ever stop hunting me.”

“There’s no hope for him,” calls Ulma. “But to the rest of you, I ask: Will you stand against evil? Will you help us destroy this monster?”

Gale and Shadowheart remain silent behind you, and you know the decision lies solely at your feet. Your throat feels tight, and you swallow, but the decision has already been made. You would never turn on one of your own, least of all him.

“I can’t,” you say, your voice not as strong as you would like. “There has to be another way.”

“There is not,” says Ulma frankly.

Astarion is grinning. “My dear,” he says to you, “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

With that, Ulma gives the command to fight. Before many of the Gur have even had a chance to draw their weapons, Astarion is on them. You barely even saw him move, he charges at them at such speed. You watch in frozen shock as he falls upon Ulma, draining her in a single bite, flying on to his next victim in a burst of mist and darkness before the old woman’s body has even hit the floor.

Gale lets out a groan of horror from behind you and murmurs, “What have we done?”

You and your companions stand there, awestruck spectators of a bloody battle that is over in moments. When it is over, Astarion returns to your side, panting and ensanguined, eyes all aglow with bloodlust.

“Oh, that was incredibly satisfying,” he says, a wild smile on his crimson-stained lips. “Who better to test my new powers on? And who better to have by my side than you, who helped me get them? Still, I can't believe you let me do that. Killing all those people. A pleasant surprise.”

You don’t know if he means the Gur, or the spawn, but your answer is the same regardless. “I don't feel great about it, honestly.”

“Well, what's done is done. And there's simply no point in dwelling on the past, is there? Not when you have given me a glorious new future.” He pulls you into an embrace, kissing you possessively, completely ignoring the presence of your companions. His mouth tastes like the Gurs’ blood, and the taste makes you gasp in disgust, but he uses his newfound strength to keep you pinned in place until he decides the embrace is done.

#astarion #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x reader #astarion romance #bg3 spoilers #astarion smut #astarion x you #astarion x tav #a gift a curse

[xxavengingangelxx]

Long Way From Home 3/?

YA'LL, trigger warning again:

For the love of God, please read the triggers and tags. I'm gonna go ahead and add: Dead Dove. Minors DNI. Smut starts!

TRIIGGERS: Implied/attempted suicide, self-harm, torture, brainwashing, physical abuse, mind fuckery, threatened rape, EXTREMELY dubious consent. If I miss, any let me know, please! DARK FIC

This fic is taking away from my COD MW playing time, ya'll ;)

Probably not important but this fic was born and continues to be created with the Inception soundtrack blasting through my headphones.

Phillip Graves's track? Dream is Collapsing. That track is so evil sounding and fits him well!

Chapter 1:

Chapter 2:

You found yourself back on that concrete floor and against that same cold concrete wall. Lying in a bed for however long you did made the floor feel almost painful. Days passed. Or you guessed days passed.

And of course, there was Graves again. It was like the man never left you alone.

“What’d you want?” you whispered.

“How long have you been here?”

“I don’t know,” you replied. “You’re using all kinds of sensory deprivation.”

“10 days,”

When you heard Graves say you’d been there 10 days you almost had a complete mental breakdown. 10 days?! You sat up.

“No way,” you met his gaze. He was kneeling in front of you again.

He pointed to the wounds on your chest and signaled at your left wrist. The bastard had the audacity to say that you must’ve blacked out when they stitched up all the cuts on your body because it was done with no pain control whatsoever. Your left wrist was still bandaged so that couldn’t have happened too long ago.

You heard him say that you screamed when they stitched you up.

He added that they’d had to put you on an IV line 2 days ago because you refused all liquid and food intake. That’s not something you remembered.

“You don’t remember ripping the IV out of your arm and saying you wanted to die?”

You did not.

You then realized that you weren’t even wearing your uniform anymore. Just a long-sleeved hooded shirt and simple black sweatpants. At least they’d let you keep your boots.

You were obviously losing it. You had huge periods of time missing and it was freaking you the hell out. Who knows what the fuck else they’d done to you that you couldn’t remember. And what had you told them, if anything?

“You’re lying,” you glanced up at him as he smirked in front of you, still kneeling to meet your gaze. You couldn’t even hold his gaze anymore. That’s how broken you were.

You pulled up the sleeves of your shirt and sure enough…along your right arm were IV track marks. On your left arm there was a bruise that ran from the crook of your elbow and followed a vein until the bruise disappeared under the bandage on your left wrist. It was obvious that the action of ripping an IV out had bruised you horribly and lacerated your skin. It was sure to scar. That laceration? 3 inches of sutures.

You were really starting to feel hopeless, helpless…where the hell was 141?

Your impulsive and intrusive thoughts won and you lunged at him. He shot to his feet as did you.

“You’re lying!” You yelled.

“Getting violent with me isn’t gonna do you any favors, darlin’,” Graves warned. “That’s a guarantee.” He stepped closer and you shoved him. Or tried to. You were nowhere near big enough or strong enough to even make him budge.

“Next time you put your hands on me I’m gonna break your arm,” he warned. He sounded serious and you believed him.

He again stepped towards you. And fearfully you said, “Don’t get any closer.” You were on edge and if you were completely honest you were on the edge of losing your sanity.

“When did you get here?”

You did the math in your head. 10 days would make it…

“I’ll prove it,” Graves said. He was trying to hide a smirk and that just reminded you of how sadistic he was. He unlatched the military watch from his left wrist and tossed it to you. You caught it.

10 days. It had been 10 days. He hadn’t been wanting to play mind games with you. He was telling you the truth. 10 days, about to be 11. You’d spent almost two weeks being tortured and tormented all for information you prayed you wouldn’t reveal.

“Havin’ a rough night?” There was that smirk again. He easily plucked the heavy watch from your trembling hands and put it back on his left wrist.

“Tell you what,” Graves started, “Come hang out with me tonight,”

Your horrified gaze must have told him everything he needed to know. You were terrified of him. And he knew it.

“On my life,” Graves stated. “I won’t hurt you.” He paused before adding, “Unless you try somthin’ or get violent.”

You were desperate to get away from the freezing cold room you had associated with pain and torture and pure misery. He really hadn’t lied when he said that if you didn’t cooperate you’d suffer. You couldn’t keep this up.

“You won’t let them hurt me, either?”

“Who?” he started walking towards the door but still didn’t dare follow him.

Your exhausted, terrified look must have told him everything he needed to know.

“My boys?” he scoffed. “Nah,” he shook his head. “They don’t do anything unless I tell ‘em to.”

You still weren’t convinced.

“And I’ve told them hands off when it comes to you.”

That was all you needed.

So you walked next to him.

You had no clue what the hell he wanted with you or what the hell mind game he was trying to play here but if you could get away from this room and the horrible isolation for a few hours and get away from physical pain, you’d take it.

You followed him like a puppy. “You got 141’s puppy? That cute little thing?” Shepherd’s voice echoed in your head. So did that mean you were now Graves’s puppy? Graves’s cute little thing?

You assumed the room he led you back to was his. It was neat, clean. It smelled like a combination of gun oil, fresh laundry, and cologne. It was a much nicer smell than the smell or that tiny room they were keeping you in. That room smelled like a hospital: so cold and sterile.

You glanced in his direction, almost flinching when you heard him close and lock the door.

“Relax,” he chuckled. “We’re not doing anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Why the sudden nice guy routine? Did he know how desperate you were to feel anything but pain? How desperate you were to escape the isolation from that tiny room? Had you revealed information and didn’t remember?

And in your completely unstable mind, you did the last thing you ever thought you would do. It was the last thing on your mind since you were taken. When you were first taken, you had the mental power to plot a plan to try and get Graves into bed and then escape. But the almost two weeks of sleeplessness, torture, pain, and suffering had totally ruined your decision making ability. You obviously weren’t getting out of here any time soon.

You walked forward to where Graves was, placed your hands on his vest, and used it as leverage when you got on your toes to kiss him. You hadn’t had any pleasure, any real rest, since before Las Almas.

He wasn’t completely caught off guard which made you think maybe he had planned this. But you didn’t care. You’d do anything for a gentle touch, for pleasure, for the ability to sleep in a bed instead of a hard concrete floor.

He placed his hands on your hips at first before tracing his fingers up your arms, and into your soft hair. He kissed you back and you moaned. Because you were frantic for a gentle touch.

Graves clearly didn’t need to be told twice. He moved one of his hands to his mouth, where he used his teeth to pull his glove off. He repeated the action with his other hand. He then easily broke off the kiss, reached for your shirt and pulled it over your head before tossing it aside somewhere. His calloused, rough hands ghosted over your ribs. You glanced down and saw you still had blue and yellowing bruises from the beatings you’d taken, from the bullet your vest had stopped almost two weeks ago.

Again desperate, even more so, you leaned forward again, got on your toes again, and kissed him. He tasted the same as the last time you’d kissed him. It was his turn to moan into your mouth and his hands worked quickly to untie the waistband of your sweats. You kicked your boots off. He hoisted you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist. Just like old times. He trailed kisses and teeth down your throat and you gasped, your breaths coming hot and heavy.

You were dropped onto a bed and it was so damn comfortable. You felt him climb over you, and he was quick to slide your pants off followed by your underwear. He straddled you, his knees on either side of your hips.

Graves’s lips fell on yours, hot and heavy and his tongue swept your mouth possessively. His rough hands were kneading your breasts and it was one of the most pleasurable things you’d felt in your life as far as you were concerned. So much better than pain and torture.

You heard the sound of Velcro ripping and saw as he lowered his vest to the floor next to the bed. Velcro ripping from a Kevlar vest had to be an aphrodisiac for you. His hands left your body for a second and he quickly unbuttoned his shirt before getting rid of that, too. You heard him unbuckling his belt hastily and it wasn’t long before you felt him at your entrance.

His cock was replaced by his fingers and when you felt him penetrate you with those coarse fingers you gasped and moaned. He worked you open, his fingers curling inside of you like he’d never forgotten you. He knew exactly how to touch you.

Graves’s sharp blue eyes met yours. You could barely see the blue as his pupils were blown wide with lust. He withdrew his fingers and despite yourself you almost whimpered at the loss. His eyes were almost asking for permission.

While you weren’t entirely sure this was entirely consensual. You were clearly mentally unstable after having learned how long you’d been held with Shadow Company. But you’d decided you needed this. You needed pleasure to balance out all the pain and suffering you’d suffered for almost the past two weeks. Besides, you’d been using sex as a coping mechanism and escape mechanism since you were a teenager.

Apparently your eyes communicated everything he needed because that was when he started pushing himself inside of you. And fuck if you didn’t almost moan his name because hell that was so much better than torture and sleep deprivation and pain. So you did moan his name. And you remembered that he preferred hearing his last name when he fucked the common sense out of you.

His hair fell on his forehead as he eased himself into you. It was his turn to moan and he did as he bottomed out inside of you. As he leaned forward to catch your neck and breasts in his hot mouth you felt his dirty blonde hair further stimulate you as it brushed your skin. It was sending tiny electric shocks through your body.

Those hot lips finally brushed yours and you felt his short gasps before you met his lips and kissed him. He, of course, took control and possessively swept your mouth with his tongue. You fought for dominance but it was no use. Just like all those nights before this one, he loved being in control. He got off on it.

You wanted more. You wanted these sensations to make you forget about all the suffering you’d endured in the last two weeks. So you placed your small hands on his broad shoulders and met his thrusts. He was going too slow and it was making you desperate.

He chuckled, the bastard. You were almost certain this had been planned.

You saw him about to reach up and pin your wrists down like he loved doing before but he stopped himself and you wondered if he stopped himself because it might feel too much like rape, like he was using force given the current situation that you were his hostage and he was your captor.

So he placed his arms on either side of you and continued his deliberately slow movements.

So you then wrapped your hands around his shoulders and scratched him. You full on scratched his shoulders, hearing him groan and making his thrusts stutter. He’d always liked women scratching his shoulders enough to make him bleed, or so he claimed.

He picked up his pace and you met him thrust for thrust. He was hitting that spot inside of you and his thrusts were picking up pace. You squeezed his cock with your muscles, prompting him to whisper, “Fuck.”

He then abruptly stilled his movements. You groaned in annoyance because damn it you’d been building up a momentum and you had just started to feel that heat, that heaviness deep inside of you that signaled you were close to climax.

Graves ground himself against you, rubbing against you clit in a way that made you see stars. And then he reached towards your chest and he dragged light fingers over the cuts he himself had inflicted almost 2 weeks ago. It was almost creepy but then again your hypersexualized, unstable mind thought of it as hot seeing as he had marked you as his.

The blue in his eyes were barely visible due to his dilated pupils, and as a result the only blue visible was a thin circle. And then he seemed to catch a second wind. His hands grasped your hips as he pulled you forward and before you knew it your face was inches from him and you were in his lap, straddling him as he and you both sat up with you on top.

Graves’s bruising grip in your hips continued and that was all it took for you to grasp his shoulders and ride him. It wasn’t long before you were both breathing heavy and sweating. Your breasts rasped his chest and it only added to the cacophony of pleasurable sensations. You ground against him, getting stimulation from your clit and from deep inside you as you felt him meet your thrusts.

His breath came in short, hurried gasps and his grip on your hips was almost painful, almost tight enough to where his fingernails cut into your skin. And it was with all those sensations combined that you let yourself go, giving in to him completely. You moaned your release but he was quick to cover your mouth with his.

In pursuit of his own orgasm, he shoved you back down on the bed, climbing over you once more. He lasted half a dozen sloppy, desperate thrusts before he spilled inside of you, riding out his own climax with shuddering gasps.

“Fuck,” he repeated. “You’re as good as I remember you.”

You tried catching your own breath and that was when the pain came back. You felt it in your arm, in your wrist, your ribs, and around your knees, elbows, and palms, which were scratched raw and bleeding from all the time you’d spent on concrete.

And that was when Graves did something surprising. He led you to lie down, told you to relax.

It wasn’t something you were expecting and it only confused you further.

 -

You had your first hot shower. All the other showers before had been freezing cold and after you got dressed, from what you could remember, they’d toss you back into that tiny cement room that only seemed to get colder and colder. You wanted to relax and enjoy, to let the warmth ease your body it but something was nagging at you. Why the sudden change in treatment? Had you finally broken under all the torture and given them something? What if you betrayed your team…your ex-team? You couldn’t help it if you thought of them as your ex team, right? You’d been here almost two weeks and you were starting to feel abandoned.

Plus almost every time you moved somewhere deep inside your body you’d be reminded of what you’d done only an hour before. Sleeping with the enemy, Valdez, really? What would 141 think? They’d probably label you a traitor and a whore. A small voice in your mind told you that no they wouldn’t, that they would understand you adapted and had to do what you had to in order to survive. But that small voice was getting quieter and quieter.

And another, louder voice was taking hold. Graves was only following orders, right? Orders were orders in the military. If Shepherd have given orders, Graves had no choice but to follow them, right? Was he really that bad a guy?

You look at yourself in the mirror for the first time in almost 2 weeks and you almost didn’t recognize yourself. Stitched cuts on your chest from that first night they took you. A laceration on the left side of your face from where Graves had struck you with his firearm when trying to find out that rendezvous point that you refused to give up, also that first night. Your knees? Scraped raw. Your elbows? Also scraped to the point of bleeding. The palms of your hands were also raw and red.

You ran a gentle hand over the cut on the side of your face and you wondered if it would scar. That tiny voice was trying to scream to blame Graves, that he was the one who’d mercilessly struck you across the face with a fucking firearm, his sidearm, when you refused to break that first night. You face had other injuries but those looked mild. You looked exhausted.

You torso was laden with bruises. Some were yellowing while others were fresh and blue and purple. You had marks on your body from where they’d forcefully held a Taser to you again trying to draw out information. You had no idea how long ago that was but the marks were evident. Some memories, unfortunately, were coming back in pieces.

*

You were still putting up a fight despite being exhausted and sleep deprived and in pain. They had come into your tiny room right as you were dozing off. Graves stepped through the door first of course. Three Shadows, one commander made 4 men and one of you. Your small stature and build had been useful in the past, for reconnaissance and intel gathering but you hated it now. There was no way you could fight them off.

As a woman you feared the worst. That Graves was going to make good on his threat to rape you and then let the other three pass you around.

You started crying as you tried to push them back, all to no avail. One of them damn near broke your arm restraining you.

Graves was asking you what the code was to get into 141’s homing beacons so they could track where 141 was. You said no.

The next few minutes, hours, or days were all the same. Electric shocks from a Taser being buried in your ribs and in your chest. They would let you doze off at times only to wake you up and do it all over again.

You startled easily one time and so swung at a Shadow from a sitting position on the floor. He easily dodged it and laughed at you.

Graves then reached out and smacked you so hard you woke up curled up on the concrete floor, bleeding. You were sure how long you’d been out but Graves’s voice brought you back to lucidity, back to the living hell that you were now convinced was going to last forever.

“You don’t swing at my boys, you understand me?” Graves snapped. He knelt next to you as you tried to catch your breath. He grasped your hair so hard you cried out, raising your hands to where his was tangled in your hair, desperate to get him to release you. “They might not have directives to put hands on ya yet but they can certainly defend themselves.”

*

And that was when that tiny voice faded away and that louder voice took over in your head. All the pain you’d gone through. It was your fault. You’d refused to give them what they wanted…what they needed. So you’d brought that torture on yourself. Besides, even if you had given up the rendezvous point, Graves said he wasn’t going to kill anyone, right? He wanted to recruit them.

And for all the torture you’d suffered Graves had never really hurt you badly, did he? He’d just hit you. Not once had he inflicted pain himself since you were brought there. And for all the times Graves had hit you, he’d never once punched you. You’d seen him in close combat and knew he could almost break someone’s neck from the punches he delivered.

He’d never really hurt you, right? And he sure as hell hadn’t killed you. He’d spared your life. So didn’t you owe him?

-

It still bothered you later. You assumed it was night but you were back to not knowing what day or what time it was. Graves’s bed smelled like him and you found it somewhat intoxicating. You’d missed him. You really had.

As always, open to feedback! Let me know what ya'll think of this dark fic :)

#phillip graves #cod mw2 #cod mwii #phillip graves x reader #graves x reader #mw2 141 #task force 141 #cod 141

[hexonthepeach]

a gentle tongue breaketh the bone | 15: release

pairing: fem hybrid fox omega!reader/hybrid Alpha!nct 127

tags: reverse harem, non-traditional omegaverse hybrid! cyberpunk au, pack dynamics, polyamory, slowburn/slowbuild, angst & hurt/comfort, heavy content warnings inc. torture, graphic violence, suicidal ideation, explicit sexual content

summary: the year is 2127. decades of eugenics and warfare have led to the rise of designated populations: the ruler Alphas and their rare, prized omegas sequestered from the Beta population. in the aftermath of the War of the Two Tigers, New Goryeo ushers in an Imperial dynasty determined not by birthright but by the alliance of the Syndicate’s clancorps to choose the best pack of your generation. you are destined to take your place within the Imperial harem as a queen, and–perhaps–Imperatrix herself

but you have a secret, written into your skin and bones–one that could easily kill you, depending on who finds it out

ten years ago you chose your Alpha and their pack in a fateful meeting

now, you must make them choose you

[masterlist & glossary] [read on AO3] [0: prologue] [1: escape, again] [2: lost and found] [3: returned] [4: bound] [5: home] [6: gift] [7: reunion] [8: security] [9: secret] [10: prisoner] [11: gambit] [12: haze] [13: shock] [14: feral]

wc: 4.3k

chapter warnings:  horror scenario, graphic violence, explicit non-con/extremely dubious consent involving a feral hybrid [dead dove do not eat], attempted suicide, angst

109 . . . 108 . . . 107 . . .

Numbers flash on the screen in the shuddering crawl down to the magical, distant 88. You keep looking through the spiderweb of the broken door each level for a sign of your pursuer, even though you know such speed would be superhuman, beyond anyone's ability. 

101 . . . 100 . . . 99 . . . 

There's a mechanical click-click-click and a screech of emergency brakes at the exact same moment that everything goes dark. For a moment you're struck by the glow coming from the city beyond the smoked glass, eerily similar to the auroras you'd seen far north.

Then the silence swallows you whole. 

It feels a little like you imagine the bottom of the sea might be–worse for the things lurking in the cold dark, silently approaching.

You're trapped in a tiny box in a huge building with the main power cut, with the utter certainty that if you do not escape, you will die. 

You could keep sobbing, could keep huddling on the floor and wait for it. Maybe it would be easier than what's ahead. A part of you more human than animal doesn't want to fight it anymore. It wants to crawl back and meet your fate head on, neck and belly exposed.

Is there a way out that doesn't involve fleeing?

You're high enough here that if you could make it off the floor, you'd most likely black out before the collision a hundred stories down. Your next life might be easier, as your mother had once said to you.

It wasn't so much of a comfort, now.

Trapped between floors, the steel edge of a ceiling bisects the glass just beyond. It's the only thing you can use to leverage as you kick through the broken glass, wounds reopening and new ones torn from your slowly healing skin as you stifle your own scream. 

Your fox knows you have to, by any means, be quiet. 

The only sound you can hear is the clatter as chunks of the door fall yards below, leaving you peering into the open dark, unable to see a thing. You wait for what feels like forever to move again, once the quiet is a roaring in your ears. 

The fight between the instinct to flee the elevator and the fear that if the power suddenly returns and you'll be bisected lasts only a moment. You squeeze through the painful jaws of the hole, clutching at the edge with bleeding hands before dropping to the floor. 

Whatever attempts you made to calculate distance it's still not enough–you fall from the ceiling hard, the ground immediately jarring your bones, concentrated on your wrists and ankle. You fold into yourself in pain, skull clacking with your teeth.

You have some vision in the dark–enough to make out the soft blips of emergency lighting deeper in the floor, the faint outlines of an office interior more familiar to you from old melos. Dust coats the trickle of blood from your legs as you move, trying to avoid the shuffling disturbance as you step on paper strewn across black tile, frayed cords erupting from the carpet. 

There’s something even more strange about this place, you realize–the smell of sulfur reeks throughout the room and there’s no sign of windows, as if the entire place has been barricaded and closed hermetically. Old screens are fractured with bullet holes, shell casings rolling beneath your feet. 

An echo of some lower ancestor guides you through the dark. 

Move. Freeze. Assess. Move again. 

It's a special kind of rhythm made erratic as you listen. Your ears are a guide, instinct driving their direction. 

There are sounds that are clearly building related–murmurs of distant elevators, droning from the city or lower floors. But without the constant hum and hiss of the air circulation there's an unsettling quiet here. You're in a cemetery for last century's corporations, tech abandoned and lifeless, useless to you now.

You look for anything in reach that might be able to help your escape, making your way slowly towards the familiar green man denoting an exit stairwell. The door is closed as far as you can see, slinking below the low dividers on the desks in case you're already being watched. 

You know you'll know when you’re found–the prickle on the back of your neck steadily increases as you make it to the exit door, finding it retrofitted with a series of internal locks and a dead console. 

You lift your wrist to it, realizing again that your agent, or rather Taeil’s, is back in Containment. You’re not even sure it would do anything, if you had it, but panic blazes through you at the knowledge that there’s not an easy way out. 

That prickle is now a sting, driving you mad at being unable to place its origin. 

All you know is that something is near.  

You duck below a desk, avoiding tangling in spare cords and cable. The sound that should be coming from the stairwell is somewhere else–faint clicks and taps that echo through the entire space. 

It's far enough away that you feel confident in slinking through the maze of stations towards another apparent exit. You wish you could transform–wish you could be the animal in this moment instead of a frightened human. 

You can't fight back–can't even subdue the other Alpha by collar command with your own digging into your sweat-damp throat. At least, you think, he won't be able to mark you–

Something makes a noise, only a few meters away. Overhead, loud for how unexpected it is. 

It's a soft chuff of breath, a rattling, gravely drone, and then–strangest of all–a soft rrowr.

If you weren't paralyzed with terror it would sound almost endearing. 

The vocalization repeats, plaintive. It reminds you of something you'd read about, in relation to the mating habits of large Felids.

You're not being hunted, you realize. 

You're being courted. 

The call repeats a few seconds later, further away. Your lungs burn from your held scream, inching away, eyes on the ceiling. 

Panels have been removed or hang haphazardly, revealing the space beyond for vents and wiring, surely too crowded to move in as quietly as your pursuer seems to be. 

You don't dare stand up, but you do find more speed in your crawl on all fours. The stained carpet muffles the sound but in your haste you accidentally tug something off a desk above–the equipment clattering to the floor.

The silence that follows is deadly. 

You make a decision in the split second between realizing your mistake and knowing the outcome. 

Now, you run.

Something thuds to the ground behind you–no,not the ground–on top of one of the low desks. You can't turn, you can't even glance over your shoulder as you sprint for the stairwell door. 

You expect the sound of footfalls, unable to accept when there are none. 

You turn to look one last time–seeing only an empty room–right before the heavy body slams into you from above.

You don't hold in your scream now, shrieking as you fight back, rolled across an explosion of paper and plastic remnants of some exploded machine, clawing at the man holding you down. Through the old burn of gunpowder you’re drowning in that Alpha scent that once seemed familiar, cedar bark warmth mixed with the rust of dried blood.

"Jaehyun," you wheeze out from under him, trying to reach him. "Please don't hurt me, please don't–"

Your babbling is cut short by the tongue on your neck, canines clinking against your collar. 

That rumble-tick–not a purr but something more sinister–fills your ears as he continues to lick at you, much more gently than you expected. You will yourself limp, face pressed painfully into the carpet, crying silently.

"Please don't hurt me," you repeat in a whisper. 

Hands knead into your pinned shoulders, claws tugging at your shirt but not penetrating. After a few moments he eases off, adjusting to straddle your thighs, scraping rough fingertips over your arms and the hair raised across them.

"Please come back," you say. "Please stop."

You're surprised when he speaks, still giving off that throaty noise–more feline than human.

"Mine," he says, softly.

You're able to see him from the corner of your eye, face and wide body shadowed in the dark.

"Yours," you agree, surrendering. "But you have to let me go." 

It doesn't appear to affect him, his eyes shining discs in the dim. He leans in to clean a swipe of blood from your cheek, making you moan uselessly. 

"Let me go, please. I won't run," you plead.

He only holds you more tightly, lifting you against his chest to better reach the skin not rubbed raw by his rough tongue. You hold your breath as your mouths meet–fangs too big to breach your lips, the smell of blood overwhelming. 

He kisses you–no, cleans you, dragging sweat and grime from your chin to your cheekbone. It's an intimate, loving gesture, leaving you shaking as your body responds outside of the fear and adrenaline, scent blooming at the Alpha care it's receiving. 

No, no, no, you think, horrified. She can’t want this. 

In the haze of heat you can still remember the way Mark’s breath had bubbled red on his lips as his throat was torn into. You know your fate will be the same if you resist, not even a collar will save you. But you have to try.

You fumble for something–anything–gripping a length of cord and tugging it to yank it free. His clawed hand encircles yours, crushing your fist until you yelp. 

Jaehyun hesitates in alarm–long enough for you to swirl out of his hold, on your back, rabbit kick activated–slamming your foot into his injured side. 

The noise that comes out of him is unbearable, more strangled cry than a roar. You don't wait, scrabbling along the floor with the cord in your grip, pulling yourself free. 

You stumble out of range, overturning a metal cabinet with a sudden burst of strength behind you, slipping through tight spaces between desks to the dark door. 

Another lock, but this one is blessedly de-activated, opening with a shove against the metal push lever that has you into the stairwell and rolling down the nearest incline, jarred as the door groans to close behind you.

You don’t have the time or sense to listen for his pursuit, throwing yourself down flight after flight without counting, past strange barricades of furniture and the charred smell of long-extinguished explosives, metal doors beckoning at each level. 

Then you finally see illumination through the reinforced glass of a floor’s window–something glowing on the other side. The hybrid scents pervading here are more recent, as if frequented.

A sign of life, perhaps. You pull the door, blasted by cold air just as something drops beside you from the open space past the railing, heavy and large.   

You slip through but so does he, just behind you, door slamming shut. You realize he's not even bothering to give chase as you run down a corridor into a labyrinth of ceiling-high server banks, humming in all directions. 

It’s impossible to know which direction to take, where to go, but one thing is clear as you feel the presence approach behind you, moving slowly and deliberately.

You are not going to escape. 

There’s only one way out, now. If you have a choice it will be how you meet it.

You just need to find an opening. 

You turn, and drop to your knees. 

“Please don’t do this,” you plead, seeing your breath in the air with your eyes lowered. “Please, Alpha.”

He circles you inquisitively, trailing blood from his bare feet, silent as the grave. 

“Jaehyun,” you say, willing him again to comply, desperately. “I know you’re there.”

You feel more than see him come down to meet you, shivering as his breath blows on your skin.

"Please come back to me. Please protect me, Alpha."

Your conviction works, or at least appears to as he returns to doting upon you in the manner of his true form.

Arms encircle you, back pressed to yours as he licks at the marked side of your face, beneath the sweat-soaked fall of your hair. Your tail swishes on its own whim, your body folding as he seems to relax along with you, carrying you down with his weight. 

“Mine,” he says again, more rumble than word.

That sound vibrates through you, treacherous in the way your body craves it to continue, to be soothed.

You hadn’t imagined any specific outcome when you’d run to him earlier, human mind calculating steps to earn his protection in much less violent fashion, but now you understand that the outcome would have always been the same. 

With or without conscious control, you’d both be driven to mate.

It was only natural that you wanted him to take you, to find some way to rewrite the thing screaming inside you for the male who had abandoned you and left you here with nothing but self-loathing for company. 

Perhaps you should feel guilt about this, too. But no–you only know survival. 

“Yours,” you answer, nuzzling experimentally into his nearby, bare arm.

His skin is radiating heat but you can feel the weakness of his pulse from blood loss, the tempting vanilla orchid of his scent growing stronger as you kiss down his arm towards his wrist in the illusion of seduction, tongue trailing until you feel the roughness of his gland beneath it.

You're careful not to make a sudden movement, gently indenting your teeth in to make sure you can–

Teeth close on your ear, not clamping down but firm enough to make your vision flash white, head yanked back as your arms give out and you're crushed beneath the full weight of the Felid, growling in between panting whines.

"No, no, no," you beg, angling to try and finish the claim, stilling when you realize his teeth are tearing your delicate ear. “Let go.”

He releases you to speak.

“Won’t run,” he whispers your own words back to you. “Mine.”

That single instant of relief dies when you feel the bite on your spine, above your collar. Jaehyun's teeth are poised to crush your neck where it connects to your skull, purr deep in his chest as he fumbles between you, between your legs–

"Crimson," you say, vision darkening even before the shock hits you.

Your muscles spasm, uncontrolled twitches. The cement floor rises to meet you, snatched back by the hold on your neck as your body goes limp.

Why didn’t it work? you think.

He’s still gently biting you as the seconds tick down, releasing you when you don’t move to lick at your neck and snarl when you twitch through the last of the seizures. 

In the dark and without any other recourse you feign death, all the fight leaching out of you along with the heat from your face against the frigid floor. Your nails scrape against it as your body is moved for you, the sounds of his whining desperation muffled in the aftermath. 

He paws at you to make sure you are still alive, licking at your ear until it moves, his delight apparent in the way he picks you up like a ragdoll to hold you tight to him. You’re so tired you can’t struggle away. All that energy expended only to end up here, submitting involuntarily. 

This is what you’d wanted, after all.

He can at least give you what you need.

The omega at your core doesn’t mind so much now that his taste is in her mouth, isn’t unwilling even as frighteningly human hands lift your hips, angling them up, trapping your limp tail between your bodies as he grinds into your thighs. 

Instead, she shudders into it, eyes closing against the soft green light the moment you're touched and freed from the constriction of your clothing, blooming into warm arousal in this worst of possible environments. You can only experience what happens next as if still paralyzed, distant and pulled back in a thousand-foot view. 

There's no escape. 

Humiliated, you weep slow tears, bracing yourself. Something thick and hot prods at your opening, forced so quickly into your ready heat you can't even scream. 

Just a moment’s relief courses through you, the need wound tight inside your belly cut loose as radiating waves of pleasure accompany being penetrated, being filled by your Alpha.

No, not your Alpha. Not yet.

That glow recedes, quickly, as savage claws rake you inside when he pulls out. And then he’s rocking into you again, deeper, your tears sliding across the cement as you’re pushed forward, immobilized by the pain. 

A croak escapes your chest, the aftereffects of the collar making speech impossible. Again, and again, until there’s no new sharpness, just an excruciating throbbing inseparable from the sweetness of reaching another peak.

You feel the gush of slick, the slipperiness tainted with something stickier, fresh blood lingering in the air. Your thighs quake as you try to find the control to break free, pull away, force him out. The animal in you resists it, but now at least she’s gnawing with the need to sink her teeth in, to make him stop hurting her in any way possible.

The Alpha’s panting snarls turn plaintive, a heavy head against yours as he makes one–final–rut into you. 

This one tears you open, just as you finally have enough breath to cry out, the scream muffled when your teeth snap shut, finally, on something other than air. 

The body over you stills as he surges deep and hot inside you, agony disintegrating your last will to fight as a familiar swelling follows–digging those claws in so deeply you feel like they'll never be released.

You sob in the dark, defeated, pulled into a gray unconscious where the horror can't follow.

Distantly, somewhere, someone calls your name.

Tense silence accompanies the journey back in the autocar, more-so when the elevator doors open to a pitch-black hangar, red emergency lighting making the everyday setting eerie. 

Johnny can scent it immediately–gunpowder and blood.

"Stay here. Guard him." Doyoung doesn't protest as Yuta thrusts the gun in his direction, Taeyong's bleary eyes blinking into full consciousness as he realizes the danger.

"Are we being attacked–?" 

"Quiet," Johnny orders, ears flicking up from his skull as soon as the space is silent again. 

Then he's off–too fast for Yuta to follow, though he knows his partner will catch up in time. 

There's a siren ringing in his head even if the alarms are quiet, an instinct in his marrow that has him stalking the peaceful interior corridors. 

All he has to do is follow the thick and cloying smell of drying blood, finding Jungwoo crouched over what looks to be a mangled body, next to the equally destroyed NeoTech elevator bay. 

The instant he enters the commons the younger man lifts a shotgun at him, eyes wild and grip shaking as the laser sight bounces across Johnny’s bare chest. Johnny doesn’t flinch, crouching down over the casualty. 

Mark. He’s breathing, barely, gurgling in his ravaged throat with each breath under a makeshift tourniquet.

Jungwoo lowers the barrel after a few, tense moments, hands slick with blood.

"I thought you were . . ." he says, voice a wisp. 

"Who did this?" Johnny asks.

Jungwoo shakes his head, wiping tears or sweat from his face with his sleeve. "He's still alive."

"WHO?!" Johnny repeats, voice booming through the empty space.

The Canid tosses something at his feet, metal mesh sliding across the floor. The collar is ravaged, torn apart with inhuman strength, shredded wires still sparking.

"No," he says, more to himself than the other Alpha.

"I didn't know," Jungwoo repeats quietly, sniffling. "I didn't–"

"Shut up, SHUT UP!" Johnny doesn't spare another moment to check his second-in-command, turning to find Yuta poised behind him, face haunted with more than alarm. 

"Get Moon up any way possible." He says, glancing back at Jungwoo. "If Lee dies you're dead, too." 

He's already headed where his nose is leading him–to the emergency stairwell. 

"Don't kill him," Jungwoo says–soft but not softly enough. "Please."

Johnny doesn't answer. 

It's a tortuous journey down, past the barricades and stopgaps they'd put in place long ago lest they ever face invasion from lower floors. Not once had they ever had to deal with a threat from outside–no one was stupid enough to go up against their security.

The threat had always been living in their midst. 

Jaehyun's scent is just as thick here as it was above, the trail solidified by the massive amount of blood he appears to have lost before healing began. His friend had never had an easy time with physical injury–too modified by anti-shift therapies to recover as easily as he or Yuta did. 

Something like a lead weight is pressed into Johnny's chest as he nears the brightest blooms of that familiar, woodsy scent–vanilla and tannins in his throat with each breath now tainted with something even more known. 

You. 

He doesn't know what floor he's on, just that he can taste you in the air, nauseatingly fresh. It leads him deep into the old research floors and the Nyctos kill house, strip lighting illuminating the blasted out office interiors they used for CQB training, every corridor and bank of ancient monitors a known checkpoint. 

He finds Jaehyun not by scent trail but by the soft sounds leading to his hiding place in a corner of one of the old server rooms, still used for environmental building controls. 

Hunched over his knees, the younger Alpha doesn’t even look up at him. The stack of data drives beside Jaehyun is smeared with gore, his hands flexing and clenching in the way he knows all too well as a self-soothing gesture once the claws are gone.

Johnny's fury diffuses. 

Regardless of circumstances, the defeated creature in this room is still his closest friend. The Alpha urge to protect his packmate remains even if he knows it won't last for long–can't when he's hit with the intensity of your pheromones and the acid taste of fear.

Something worse lingers in the air, something he can't confront. 

"What did she do?" He asks, not daring to come closer.

The Alpha's head bobs, unable to lift to meet his eyes.

"I can’t remember," he says, voice far away. "I can feel it."

Jaehyun's fingers sink in his greasy hair, threatening to tear it out at the root. His left wrist is a mangled wreck–blood pulsing dark down his forearm in an awful mirror of Johnny's matching scars. "I can feel everything."

"Where is she?" Johnny changes tack, panic making him desperate. "Where did she go?" 

Jaehyun shakes his head, devolving into horrible, choked sobs that shake his entire frame. There's no point in torturing him, no reason to stay when the beast in his blood is ready to kill the pathetic thing in front of him. 

Johnny flees instead. 

Coward, you'd called him.

Maybe you were right. 

He'd kept himself and his brothers alive until now, helped build this entire enterprise on a foundation of control and order that had slipped and collapsed the moment you'd come back into his life. 

If he's being honest with himself, you were always on a collision course: two dark objects in space in erratic orbit–never able to escape the gravity of the bond he's tried so hard to ignore until now. 

It's inescapable. 

He knows you're alive even if there's a hollow place inside his ribcage he can't explain, a grave stillness that only gets worse as he traces your exit. 

A smeared handprint on the banister leading to a lower floor. A spot of blood on a stairwell. A drip of saliva, or worse, on the tile leading into the old rec center they still maintained for the recruits on the 95th floor.

He doesn't know what he's looking at in the flicker of the decentralized lighting–an uncannily still, black and red haze in the murky pool. 

No. 

The word resonates through his entire being, throwing him into action, chemical-rich water burning his eyes as he plunges in. He's not capable of being gentle, tearing you to the surface to drag you out limp and unbreathing. 

Your face is bloodless and bruised, scratches weeping fresh pink rivulets from your arms and legs. 

There's no stiffness yet, you're still warm as he blows air into your lungs and presses on your breastbone to try and revive you–a horrible echo of a decade ago, when he'd managed to break free from the beast long enough to see you breathe once more.

This time, you don't choke up the water in your lungs.

You don't respond at all. 

Johnny lifts you up, head lolling against his arm, tears splashing hot from his face and onto yours. His fingers feel useless, clearing tangled webs of hair from your cheeks and forehead.

You can't be gone, you can't be.

He can still feel you. 

Even if you don't have a heartbeat, he can still feel you. 

Something breaks in him, holding you tight to his chest. It's like a thin rod of glass in a safe designed to never be cracked, the cable from which his entire world hangs snapping under the weight of every decision he's made. 

There is no existence that he can survive without you in it.

He braces your neck, clinging to you as he rocks back and forth involuntarily. A cold artificial texture under his fingertips brings him up long enough, the choice made before the word even leaves his mouth. 

"Crimson," he whispers. 

The collar's light blinks red, your body jerking with the electrical stimulation to your autonomic system. It's torture waiting for it to be over, only to find you're stilled again.

"Crimson," he repeats. 

Again, when the refractory period ends. 

"Crimson."

Over and over, until you finally heave and cough and hot fluid gushes down his back, until you're coming back to him in fits and starts, to his eternal relief.

He eases you down, cradled in his arms as your eyes flutter open, as you blink up at him.

There's an emptiness in your gaze he's never seen before–something reflected of what he's felt for so long, now dead. 

And in his heart, where the bond sings, a tiny tug of connection. The only thing on the other side destroys him more than those cruel few seconds of your absence–something worse in its finality. 

Boneless with exhaustion, features drawn and hollowed with pain, you repeat the sentiment thrumming through his burning chest. 

"You should have let me go," you whisper, turning your head so you don't have to look at him anymore.

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#agtbtb #nct x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 omegaverse #nct 127 cyberpunk au #nct fic #nct 127 fic #nct imagines #nct 127 fanfic #nct 127 imagines #nct smut #nct 127 smut

[envysnest]

Pity the Mayfly (ch. 2/?) - an Astarion/Tav fic

AO3 Link Here

Chapters: 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5

You had come to the Gate to forget your past, discard your elven name, and pursue alchemy against your family's wishes. On a visit to your old keep, you're found by the Nautiloid, and everything tilts sideways.

Trigger warnings for this chapter: Descriptions of endometriosis and adenomyosis; mentions of dubious consent; discussions of infertility/miscarriages (nothing graphic, just hypotheticals).

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

There’s screaming on the path ahead, where the cliffs give way to dense woods. Instinctively, you run towards the sound. Someone grabs your robes by the collar; you’re dragged, backwards, into the shade.

“What—” You struggle in the assailant’s arms and kick behind you. “Let go of me!”

“Stop that!” Astarion hisses behind you.

“Astari—mmph!” His hand over your mouth thwarts you.

“Are you dense?" he snaps. "There’s about ten goblins and a bloody gnoll. Let them kill each other.”

“Let go of me!” you shout into his hand: lggoofme.

“You know what?” he chirps. “I was quite beginning to like you. "Astarion lowers his voice to a grow. “And I was trying to keep us both from getting killed.”

Shadowheart and Lae’zel run by you, their respective weapons drawn. Gale is close behind; you can already see protective runes sprout up around him. If you let these people die, you’ll never forgive yourself. And you’ll have to be alone with—

You kick behind you again. Your heel only collides with Astarion’s thigh, but Astarion lets out a puff of air and drops you all the same. You rush into the bright sunlight, round the corner—

Tiefling soldiers scream and shoot their weapons from atop a large wooden gate. There’s a scuffle underway below, one Lae’zel is eagerly plunging herself into: goblins, howling with glee, and a gaggle of terrified humans. Shadowheart spears a goblin in the chest; Gale works through the familiar incantations for Haste.

And Astarion was wrong: there are several gnolls.

In the middle of the fray stands a human knight, fencing off enemies as they approach. He turns to engage a gnoll, and you hold your breath at his bright, confident smile. When the gnoll snarls, he rolls to the right. The gnoll overcorrects as it lunges forward; the knight had feinted successfully, and the gnoll lands on its snout. The knight rapidly moves his hands, setting up an incantation you recognize well. When he twists his wrist, a lightning bolt strikes the gnoll. It yelps, seizing.

Human warlock, you correct yourself.

Gale nods as you join him. “Nice of you to drop by, Tav.”

You roll your eyes. “Let’s finish this quick.”

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

When the goblins and gnolls are dead, you learn something interesting: the warlock also has a tadpole.

“I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced,” he says to you. His right eye is all smooth stone; the scars across his face are striking. “I’m Wyll. Many thanks for the help back there.”

“Don’t mention it,” says Shadowheart to your right. “I’m going to see about this gate.” She takes a step towards it before turning back to Wyll. “Shadowheart,” she says, and she points to herself. Shadowheart points to you. “That is Tavvendish.”

“Tav is fine,” you say to Wyll.

Wyll nods at you. “Tav it is.”

Someone rests their chin on your left shoulder, and you stiffen. Rosemary fills your nose.

“What a handsome, brave, dashing knight you are,” Astarion purrs from your shoulder.

Wyll gives you both a lopsided smile, taking a step back. “Well,” he says, turning his hand this way and that, “A warlock, really.”

You feel yourself turn bright red. You shrug Astarion off of you, but he doesn’t seem fazed by your disinterest. Rather, Astarion seems very interested in Wyll.

“My my,” says Astarion. “A man of many talents.”

Wyll thumps his fist against his chest. “You’re talking to the Blade of Frontiers.” Wyll bows to you with a flourish. “At your service, my lady.”

You offer him your hand. Wyll kisses it briefly, so perfunctory that you barely feel it. You feel the tension leave your shoulders.

Astarion taps his foot beside you, suddenly irate. “And where’s my introduction?”

Wyll gives him that lopsided smile again, his cheeks darkening. “Why, saer? Do you need a kiss as well?”

“I don’t need one,” Astarion says, a delicate hand to his chest, and he-- Oak Father preserve you-- bats his lashes at Wyll. “But I wouldn’t say no to a man like you.”

Wyll throws back his head and laughs. “And how the gentleman flirts!” He beckons to Astarion. “Alright, you jealous rogue. Give me your hand.”

Astarion does. When Wyll takes his hand, kissing it tenderly, Astarion giggles and fans himself.

You feel your face heat up all over again.

Lae’zel materializes by your side. “This is a waste of time,” she says. “The tadpole grows in our skulls by the minute.”

“Lae’zel’s quite right,” says Gale behind her. “Let’s find a healer, and quick.”

Wyll drops Astarion’s hand, much to the other man’s frustration. “Agreed. This cannot wait.”

With no enemy to guard against, the tiefling soldiers open the gate for you. As it rises, you look around at your strange, motley party. There had to be more survivors of the Nautiloid somewhere; you remember seeing other ships just like it as it passed through the Hells. How many more of you were there?

“Tavvendish, darling,” says Astarion. “I have a question.”

You turn to him. “Yes?”

Astarion shakes an amber bottle in your eyeview.  “This was very useful against those goblins back there. Whatever do you put in it?”

It’s the last of your Lesser Harpy Spider venom. 

Your eyes widen.  It had taken weeks to breed all the Lesser Harpy spiders you needed for it, and the rest of your venom stash was back on your shop bench. This single bottle— the one Astarion now dangled in front of you, like a trinket— was meant for the healers of Fox’s Keep: a crucial ingredient to its corresponding antivenom.

You think back to when he had pulled you against him in the shade. He wasn’t being protective at all; he had been stealing from you.

You swat at Astarion’s hand, but he’s faster, and the bottle vanishes before you can reach it. Your hand meets thin air instead. When you meet Astarion’s eyes, he twirls his wrist. The bottle reappears: a simple sleight-of-hand, one that makes you feel incredibly foolish.

He raises an eyebrow.

“Bastard,” you snarl, and you make a grab for it again—

—only for Astarion to hold the bottle up in his opposing hand.

“Ah-ah,” Astarion says, still wearing that infernal smirk. “Say 'please.'”

You bristle. “A drop of that will kill you, you know.”

He looks at the bottle with interest. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” You smile at him with gritted teeth. “Want to find out?”

“Mm.” Astarion looks up at the sky, pouting in thought. He looks back to you with mirth twinkling in his eyes. He leans in. “I’ll settle for learning where you get it.”

This makes you laugh. There was no way this prissy, Upper-City elf could milk venom without being bitten. You’d get a chance to test the antivenom again, and Astarion would learn his lesson. “Done,” you say. “Give that back.”

Astarion’s smile twists into something self-satisfied. He looks you up and down, and then he offers the bottle, pinched between index finger and thumb. 

You snatch it away from him. Astarion giggles. You shield your pack from his eyes and tuck the venom into a different pocket this time.

“Don’t pickpocket from me again,” you grumble.

He holds up a hand. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sister.”

The gate lurches open with a groan. Just inside, one of the elder tieflings stands nose-to-nose with a human soldier. They’re screaming at each other. 

“—if you had just opened the bloody gate—”

“And what?” the tiefling booms. “Unleash a horde of goblins on our camp, compromising the druids further? You’ll forgive me my caution, Aridin.”

The human— Aridin— rears up on his toes, looking at the tiefling as if he wishes to smite him. “Caution cost us lives. If you,” he jabs a finger into the tiefling’s chest, “had as much caution as sense, my men would still be standing.”

Shadowheart shakes her head beside you. “I’m not getting involved in this,” she mumbles. “I’ll tend to the wounded.”

You look between the two men. “What’s happening?”

Aridin glares at you. “Zevlor couldn’t open the gate in time, and now my friends are dead.” He turns back to the tiefling, hissing, “It’s a coward’s excuse.”

A muscle ticks in Zevlor’s jaw. “Hold your tongue, Aridin. Were it not for this coward, you’d be dead, too.”

Aridin takes a deep, noisy breath through his nose. “Wish I was,” he spits.

You hold up your hands. “Stop, both of you. It’s over. You’re alive. There’s nothing we can do about the dead.” You look up at Zevlor. “Next time, open the gate sooner.”

Zevlor looks down at you with his eyebrows raised. There’s a long pause, and you worry, for the moment, that you’ve overstepped. Your mother always said you had a mouth on you, after all.

You clear your throat. “Sorry.”

“No, I…” Zevlor shakes his head and turns back to Aridin. “I’m deeply sorry,” he says with a small bow. “Mistakes were made on my part.”

“You can say that again,” sniffs Aridin, but he’s less on-edge now that he has Zevlor’s apology. He nods at you. “Thanks for the help,” he mumbles, and then he’s shouldering past Zevlor with a sour expression.

Wyll whistles in appreciation. “A natural diplomat. Well done, then, Tav.” 

He shakes Zevlor’s hand firmly; Zevlor’s mood immediately brightens. Wyll smiles at him, his eyes crinkling with mirth. “Good to see you alive and well, Zevlor.”

Zevlor puts an appreciative hand on Wyll’s back. “Invaluable as always, Wyll." He turns to you and offers a hand. “You and your party won us our victory today. We owe you a great debt.”

You nod and shake his hand. You open your mouth to rebut, but Astarion interrupts from behind you: “We take gold, thank you.”

Zevlor’s brow creases. “Oh. Yes, well.” He lets go of your hand. “We…”

Wyll levels Astarion with a look. “We couldn’t take your coin,” he says to Zevlor. “My party is always ready and willing to help.”

“Are you serious?” Astarion snaps at him. “How does this help us with the tadpole?”

“We need access to the Emerald Grove,” Wyll says, now ignoring Astarion entirely. “We need a healer for an illithid parasite.”

Zevlor sighs deeply, pinches the bridge of his nose with frustration. Something about his hand bothers you, and you’re not sure what. “I’m afraid the Grove is closed to outsiders,” he says. “We have no eyes on Halsin, and with our location compromised, we may lose more. The druids will not be welcoming.”

“Druids?” you ask. They were close cousin to the wood elves, though their ranks were more diverse than any keep. Anyone could become a druid, a wood elf included, but wood elves kept almost exclusively to themselves.

Wyll groans. “How the fates taunt us. This is of the utmost urgency, Zevlor. Is there anything you can do?”

Zevlor shakes his head. “I’ve barely been able to find something for this,” he says, and he turns his hand— the very same hand that had bothered you— towards Wyll. There’s a scar on his left thumb joint, in that soft skin between thumb and index finger.

Wait.

You recognize that scar.

“May I see that, saer?” you ask.

Zevlor looks at you, looks at the scar. “See what?” he asks. “This?”

“Please,” you say, offering your own hand. “I’ll only be a moment.”

Visibly hesitant, Zevlor offers his hand. You take it in both of yours, turn it this way and that in the sunlight. On his thumb joint lies a small, interrupted semi-circle: two arcing lines, each terminating in deep puncture wounds.

He chuckles-- nervously-- above you. “Hurt terribly,” he says. “Bitten by a snake.”

“A rosebush viper,” you say softly, wonderingly. You release his hand. “Where?”

Zevlor raises his eyebrows. He tucks both hands behind his back. “Why, here,” he says. “Though it’s been a short while.”

Your head spins. Rosebush vipers were native to lands much, much further east than Baldur’s Gate. You had never seen one in the wild; you had only read about them in your books. Their territory was limited to the mountains of—

“Do excuse her,” says Astarion behind you. “She’s a little far from home.”

You wince. Wyll glares at Astarion again.

Zevlor coughs politely. “Indeed,” he says. “The nearest keep over is Otter’s Keep, along the river.”

Oh, yes. You were very far from home. You had never even been to Otter’s Keep; wood elves didn’t usually contact anyone beyond their immediate neighbors. Your heart thunders in your chest. “I’m too far east,” you breathe. “What—” You swallow and look up at Zevlor. “Where did the Nautiloid take us?”

“Where is your home keep, little one?”

“My mother is Fox’s Keep,” you say, “but I currently reside in the Gate.”

You can hear Astarion roll his eyes at your shoulder.

Zevlor deflates with relief. “Another Baldurian! I am in good company.” He furrows his brow. “But a wood elf, too? I’ve never seen your kind in the city. I thought such extensive travel was forbidden.”

“Baldurian wood elves do exist,” you lie. You gesture at yourself. “I am one of them.” You point to Zevlor’s hand again, at the snake bite. He eyes the bite scar thoughtfully. “I’d be happy to make an antivenom for the rosebush viper, if you’re in need.”

Astarion growls something unintelligible. When you turn to him, he’s already walking away, towards where Shadowheart hunches over the fallen soldiers. Lae’zel stands some yards away, keeping watch for more enemies. Gale has climbed up to the gate’s topmost ramparts, where he nods along to a tiefling’s story.

Zevlor gives you a polite smile. “We may have need of you yet,” he says. “With the Emerald Grove closed to outsiders, my people are in need of another healer.”

You scratch the back of your head. “I’m not…quite a healer. That honor belongs to Shadowheart.” You remove your hat, worry the brim in your hands. “I specialize in venom and poisonous things.” You hurry to add: “I also make their antidotes.”

“A dangerous woman,” Wyll muses next to you. “I’ll have to stay on your good side, then.”

Zevlor’s smile widens. “Indeed.” He gives you a small nod. “I’m sure the children will appreciate you. They’ve been getting nipped left and right, no matter how we warn them.” He beckons you. “Come along, then.”

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

Once everyone has settled to camp, you take stock of everything you have:

One tent, one bedroll, several changes of underthings and casual-wear, two pairs of robes (one now irreperably, horribly dusty), your books (Ten Easy Charms, Faerun Mycology Guide, a biography about Sadoris the Swift), one glass pipe, your notebooks, your staff, your makeup, your snakeskin hat, your ingredient pouches,a handheld mirror, several herbal tinctures, one bar of soap, four bottles of Lesser Harpy Spider antivenom, one bottle of Lesser Harpy Spider venom, several myriad poisons (including one bottle of Malice that may or may not be expired), and one healing potion. The tiefling camp had been generous in trading, at least to a fault.

You step out of your tent and stretch. Everyone has set up in a rough circle. You had chosen to stake your tent next to Lae’zel; the way she nodded at you in approval made you feel warm. The night is surprisingly chilly, compared to the blazing heat of midday, and you’re grateful for your long-sleeved blouse. Shadowheart, her tent set at the exact opposite to Lae’zel’s, meditates in silence. Gale, to her left, is buried in a book. Wyll lies on his bedroll just outside of his tent, dozing under the stars.

You look just past Lae’zel. Astarion sits on a mat just outside of his tent, hunched over a pile of fabric. His hand moves methodically. He’s mending something, you realize. 

Quietly, trying not to disturb him, you walk across camp to his tent. The man doesn’t look up, and you stand several feet from him, watching him work on his doublet.

He furrows his brow in concentration. His hands— fine-boned, pale, delicate— tremble as he works. His stitches are so even, they may as well be made by machine. This creature is so different to the Astarion you met: he is quiet, even contemplative, as he works gold thread through velveteen. You can see his spine through the thin, worn fabric of his shirt.

“I know you’re there,” Astarion says without looking up. “You’re blocking my light.”

“Oh.” You step to the left, towards his tent. The campfire behind you illuminates Astarion’s profile in orange.

“Much better.” He pulls the stitches through; they snap taught. He’s good, you think, as good as any professional tailor. There is fine embroidery on his doublet, gold waves as sinuous as smoke, and you wonder if he stitched that, too.

When you don’t move, he tenses. “What do you want?” he says to the fabric.

You wring your hands. “You’re quite good at that,” you say, nodding at his doublet.

Instantly, the tension melts from his shoulders. He looks up at you with a beaming smile. “Why, thank you, darling. At least someone notices.”

You gesture to the mat next to him. Astarion swings his legs out of the way, and you sit cross-legged next to him. 

Astarion turns his doublet to show you what he’s working on: an impressive rip now mars the doublet’s right side. It’s too early to see what design he’ll mask it with, but the gold thread he uses matches the doublet’s existing embroidery.  “One of those goblins caught me,” he sniffs. 

You rest your hand on your chin. “Really? I thought you weren’t trying to get killed.”

He levels a glare at you, but there’s no heat behind it. “And I thought you would listen to sense.” He picks up his needle and resumes his work.

You think of what the tadpole showed you of his mind: how claustrophobic it had felt, how much it made you yearn to scrub your skin raw. As abstract as it was, it brought up such horrible feelings in you. Familiar feelings.

Had— had Astarion seen—

“Can I ask what you saw?” you ask. “Earlier. With the tadpole.”

Astarion puts his needle down at that. He looks off into the middle distance. “I saw…a very tall woman, putting something on my head. A snake, biting into a jar.” He picks up the needle again. “Nothing else besides. You really ought to get out more.”

Relief floods over you in a wave.

Astarion smiles at his doublet, and all at once, the moment breaks. His hand stills. He tilts his head to you, just-so. “I rather had hoped you’d let me see the Witch Bolt, darling.” He glances at you sideways with a grin. “It sounds like it was agonizing.”

You make to rub your eyes, remember your eye paint, and drop your hand again. “I’m glad it didn’t take my sight. I wouldn’t be able to work.”

He continues mending. “You promised you’d tell me about that poison.”

“It’s not poison.” You lean back on your hands and watch the fire. “I do carry poison, but that was spider venom in your hand.”

“You’re a Baldurian, aren’t you?” He pulls the stitches taught again. “Where might one acquire spider venom in the city?”

“From me,” you say.

Astarion’s eyebrows shoot up as he works. His eyes slide to yours: he’s impressed. You’re glad to have startled him for once. “Aren’t you afraid of the dreadful little things?” His nose wrinkles. “Or are they,” he waves a hand, “Servants of Silvanus, or some other woodling drivel?”

You turn back to the fire. “Everything has its purpose,” you say, and Astarion snorts with obvious disdain. “They don’t frighten me. Though my youngest sister, Mellia, may agree with you. Spiders and insects terrify her.”

“I don’t suppose you have relatives in the Gate?”

You shake your head. “Just me.”

Astarion frowns at the doublet. “That’s queer,” he says. “A wood elf, living on her own.”

You pointedly ignore that comment. “What about you, brother?”

“Oh no, darling,” Astarion says with a smirk. “I was an only child.”

You groan with jealousy. “What’s that like? You must have had the washroom all to yourself.”

Astarion makes a thoughtful noise, tilts his head this way and that. “I do enjoy a hot bath,” he says finally. He looks up at you through his lashes. “And I don’t enjoy sharing.”

You have nothing to say to that, so you draw your knees to your chest and hug them. A long silence settles between you two. Crickets sing from the bushes; a log snaps in half in the fire. Your mind drifts back to Zevlor’s scar. Rosebush vipers were known to be reclusive, and they had heat sensors on their snouts; it was unlikely one would come so near to your camp. Zevlor must have startled one in the underbrush. The children, too, must disturb their nests during their playtime. The rosebush viper was not deadly, but its bite was excruciating.

“Let me ask you this, my dear,” Astarion says finally. He points the embroidery needle at you. “Would you rather die as a mind-flayer, or die by the venom in your pack?”

“The venom,” you say immediately. “No question. It’s painful, but it’s also quick. You would lose your consciousness for the shock of it. Though…” You trail off. There were a great many toxins less violent than the Lesser Harpy Spider’s venom. “There are…other options.”

Astarion smiles again. “Such as?”

You look up at the sky. “I don’t have it with me, but Dragon’s Head viper venom will put you to sleep before you know what’s happening. Combine that with oil from a poppy seed, and you’ll die quite peacefully.”

Astarion leans away from you out of the corner of your vision. “Impressive,” he says, with not a small amount of admiration. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this, haven’t you?”

You rest your cheek on your knees and smile at him. “Does that appeal to you?”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “The way you describe it, Tavvendish,” he drawls, something dark and heady in his gaze, “it just might.”

You startle. Astarion smirks, looks you up and down again— leers at you.

Your heart flutters in your chest, and you snap your head towards the campfire. “Mind-flayer or venom?” you ask.

Astarion shrugs in your periphery. “I’d quite like the venom as well,” he says airily. “Though I think I’d rather a nightshade.”

“Nightshade’s too easy,” you say to him. “It’s boring. Everyone does nightshade.”

Astarion points the needle at you again. “Mind yourself, sweetling. This is my tent. Yours,” and he points the needle towards your own tent, “is that-a-way.”

You shake your head as you stand up. Your head spins, briefly; you blink the spots away. “We’ll graduate you from nightshade,” you say. “You need something more…” You drum your fingers against your chin as you think. “Stylish. Maybe an Oil of Scarlet Bane; it doesn’t wash off easily. You can use it to coat a dagger.”

When you look down to Astarion, he’s watching you, lips slightly parted. “Do you always give free advice on how to kill you?” he asks, and he waves his needle in the air. “Just…to anyone who asks?”

“It benefits you to keep me alive.” You stretch. “Safety in numbers, right?”

He rests his chin on his hand and smiles up at you. “Don’t suppose you have enough poison for all of us, darling?”

You turn towards the fire to hide your blush from him. You shrug, making a show of nonchalance. “I’ll…I’ll see what I can do.”

“Run along, then, woodling.” He makes a shooing motion with his hand. “And don’t come back until you’ve killed that worm in your head.”

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

At the Gate, you introduced yourself as “Tavvendish.” You got away with it, if only because there were no wood elves nearby to say otherwise. Occasionally, a high elf gave you an odd look, hit you with a prying question, but they stopped quickly when they saw your wares. You began small: simple antivenoms and oils, rare mushrooms you had foraged yourself. You built yourself a small, but loyal, following. 

You apprenticed under a human man named Horst in exchange for the room above his shop. Malice sold particularly well, and drow poison was a rare treat. But one year, you strike upon a method for synthesizing something like wyrm poison for half the price, and Horst shook your hand so hard you thought he’d take off your arm. Business boomed after that.

You created antivenoms and antidotes, too. Your customers brought you dead things and asked, what is this, can you help, and you spent your nights dissecting venom sacs with glee. Occasionally, your customers brought you something alive, and this was even better. You milked the venom yourself and lost yourself at your workbench, studying its effects for days without end. A viper’s fangs sinking into taut leather; a spider crawling up the walls of a jar; your client’s face lighting up at seeing their custom antivenom; it all lit a fire in you. 

The city was full of forbidden knowledge. You spent your scant gold on scrolls and books and novels. Your necromancy improved. Before long, you could raise your own corpses and test your wares on them. You read about the old alchemical masters and re-created their work in the shop, learning from them and tweaking accordingly. You practiced in your room, practiced outside of Sorcerous Sundries with the other wizards.

You didn't miss wood-working a bit.

Horst and his wife had a son. You tutored the child from babe to man, passing on the elder Horst’s learnings as you went. When the elder Horst passed, his son became your new employer. 

Fox’s Keep is full of venomous things, and you start bringing your concoctions home during regular visits. You suffer being called by your elven name each time. The awkward stares, the cold shoulders: it’s almost too much. A wood elf doesn’t leave her keep, save to visit the neighboring keep, or to start her own. You were an aberration to your own people. Elder Mayanna Gardener always eyeed you on your way to your family's home. If you smiled at her, she'd clutch her broom tighter to her chest and sniff disdainfully. You stop smiling at her. Decades pass, and you stop meeting her eye entirely.

You are childless, and this distressed your family more than the Gate did. “You left our keep,” your father said one weekend, sneering at your pointed hat, “and you can’t even continue the family line? Hopefully, your siblings have more sense at your age.”

“I’m trying,” you snapped, and it had been true. But Baldur’s Gate was full of wandering hands and eyes. Not everyone is intent on settling down. A wood elf, for Baldurians, is a novelty, something for people to have and enjoy and experience. Over time, you grew numb to invasive questions, bawdy jokes about large families, the endless innuendo.

“I’ll bet you breed nicely,” said one date, laughing at your scornful expression.

Eventually, you stop hoping for a spouse at all. Perhaps marriage was yet another wood elf custom you weren’t made for. You began to feel like an alien thing, a paper cutout of a person: something other. You suffer all the jokes about inbred keeps with a smile. You let people touch and have and discard you. Some of them were kind: there was even a darling tiefling for a few years.

But everything always ended.

And then things become worse.

Your temper flared at nothing. You spent trance grinding your teeth. Your stomach rejected meals without warning, even when you were starving.  Orgasm hurt; your monthly blood hurt; everything hurt. You bled and bled and bled at the slightest provocation. Twice a month, you curl up on your bed, cast a simple Heat charm on the bedding to soothe the ache. The room always becomes unbearably hot, as fiery as the Hells, and you shiver as if caught in fever. It's sometimes so bad, you think of dying. Occasionally, you thought you were dying. 

And it was unpredictable. You kept crackers and bread around, poked hesitantly at new foods, tracked your cycle with religious fervor. You wrote down all your symptoms: couldn’t eat. Became ill after mince pie. Spotting visible. Lost consciousness. Can only stomach fruit. Why am I still bleeding? Your clothes never fit; your head swam; you were angry and you wanted to cry and it hurt. Potential lovers fretted and sneered and turned their backs. You bled on them; you bled on their beds; you cried with the humiliation.

You finally saw a healer in the Upper City when you couldn't stand it anymore.  She had examined you with a tight, terse frown. During the exam, she had pressed down into a particularly sore spot on your belly, making you yelp.

Afterwards, she sat you down on a bench and told you the horrible news: that women like you didn’t always have children. Sometimes, the children died before birth; sometimes, they never grew at all. Sometimes, they even grew in the wrong place. 

Your blood rushed in your ears.

There is always luck, the healer said, putting a sympathetic hand on your shoulder. But it gets harder with time. 

You begged her for help with the pain, asked her how to make yourself fertile again. The healer sighed and listed all the herbs you were already taking.

When you mentioned this, she said to try more of them. Higher dosages. As if you weren’t trying hard enough.

You walked home feeling numb.

You sat at your window, watching the street. You watched young couples hold hands, nuzzle in dark corners, cart around their awful, squealing children. You simmered with jealousy; lover’s hands are rough on you, and there would be no children for your trouble. In trance, you lived the week of your Trial all over again, and then you moved on to the next person who had their hands on you, and the next, and the next. More siblings appeared in Fox’s Keep, and then spouses, and then nieces and nephews, and all you felt was angry.

You cut a little too roughly into venom sacs, damaging them. You stopped sketching. You spend your weeks at your little window, staring and staring and staring, at everyone who had what you didn’t.

Your faith in Silvanus sputtered and died within you.

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

Your side twinges angrily when you wake from trance, but you are no mind-flayer. The sun has just risen, and you can already feel the day’s sticky heat pressing in around you. 

When you undress, you find pinpoints of blood in your smallclothes. You growl in frustration. Your blood was supposed to be over; perhaps the tadpole had taken its revenge on you in other ways.

You exit your tent and shield your eyes. Wyll and Gale have already made breakfast; Lae’zel and Shadowheart eat at opposite ends of the cookfire from each other. You smell burnt bacon. Gale is pouring fresh cream into a vat of scrambled eggs.

He nods at you. “Morning!”

You scowl back.

“Oh, look,” says Astarion from Shadowheart’s side. Unlike her, he doesn’t have a plate. “You made it another day.” He holds up both hands and wiggles his fingers. “Praise the Oak Father.”

“You’re looking surprisingly elven yourself, brother. Or, wait…” You make a show of leaning in, widening your eyes in mock fascination. “Your skin’s a little…blue.”

Shadowheart chokes back a laugh. 

Astarion shudders and holds out a hand. “Don’t you dare. You’ll give me indigestion.”

Wyll hands you a steaming cup of coffee. “No one’s looking illithid yet,” he says. “Perhaps someone’s watching out for us, Silvanus or no.”

You’ve barely situated the cup in your hands when Gale hands you a full plate of bacon and eggs. “I hope you slept well,” he says to you with a smile, and you roll your eyes. 

“As well as one can,” you reply.

Wyll raises his own cup of coffee to yours. “Drink up, then. We’ve got a long road ahead of us.”

As you sit next to Lae’zel, you sip at the coffee. Immediately, you recoil. It’s watery and bland, but it’s all your party has for now. You long for your coffee press at home. The eggs, at least, are fluffy and rich, but Gale’s burnt the bacon to a crisp. It disintegrates into salt on your tongue.

“Team!” Gale claps his hands together. “What’s on the docket for today?”

Lae’zel raises her fork next to you. “We should make our way to the creche,” she says, cutting the fork through the air. “Only the gith’yanki have the cure for this parasite. We should waste no time in heading west.”

Shadowheart pipes up. “I firmly disagree. We would be better served finding the druid. Less chance of death for the rest of us.”

Wyll nods at the ground, his arms crossed. “Shadowheart is right,” he says, and Shadowheart sits a little straighter. “Finding Halsin would actually be the safest option here, and it would help the refugees stay safe.”

Lae’zel looks vaguely chastised. She ducks her chin and steps back, scowling. “You waste our time. Are we certain this druid has the cure? Either we take a risk, or we take the guarantee. My people can cure this tadpole. There is no doubt.”

Gale strokes his beard, squinting out across the Chionthar. “A salient point, Lae’zel, but Wyll and Shadowheart argue strongly for finding the druid.”

“And there’s still the matter of Karlach,” says Wyll gravely. “I must find her. It’s up there with the tadpole in my mind.”

Lae’zel scoffs. No one’s listening to her; you feel a pang of sympathy.

You turn to her. “Lae’zel, which way is the creche?”

“West,” she says immediately. “I suspect Creche Y’llek is closest. I saw a red dragon cross the skies this morning, just before sunrise.”

Shadowheart raises her eyebrows. “How do you know it was red if the sun wasn’t up?”

Lae’zel points her fork at her from across the fire. “A red dragon is promised to Vlaakith’s finest warriors,” she says, with not a small amount of pride. “Their wingspans are large, and their tails have but a single segment.” She sits back. “It was red. This I know.”

You think of the rosebush viper again. “We’ve got to be near Rosymorn. Zevlor had a rosebush viper bite. That species is only found within the Rosymorn mountain range, maybe as far east as the Sea of Shining Stars.”

Lae’zel nods at her. “Then Creche Y’llek is indeed nearby.” She makes a fist. “We will be free of this tadpole yet.”

Wyll sits on the other side of you. “We must exercise caution,” he says. “We are well-equipped, but not so well-equipped as to survive both a red dragon and advocatus diaboli. I vote we neutralize the latter on our way to the former.”

Shadowheart gestures to you, disbelieving. “So, what, that’s it? We just ignore the druid and walk into certain death at the hands of the gith?” She stabs impatiently at a strip of bacon; it crumbles under her fork. “Forgive my lack of good cheer.”

Gale crosses his arms and paces. “Zevlor doesn’t think the druid is far,” he says. “His scouts report a goblin camp out west, in an old temple dedicated to the goddess Selune. He may be there.”

You point to Gale. “Then we head west and see what we see.” You point to Wyll. “Wyll hunts for his mark.” You point to Shadowheart. “We look for Halsin.” You point to Lae’zel. “We head in the direction of the creche. Someone’s got to have a cure for this thing.”

Gale stops pacing and turns to Astarion. “You’ve been rather quiet over there, Astarion. Care to weigh in?”

Astarion stares at Gale.

He shrugs.

Gale blinks. “Well, alright. We have our answer.” He turns a slow circle, looking at each of your party in turn. “All in favor?”

#astarion ancunin #tavstarion #bg3 tav #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #pity the mayfly

[rosanna-writer]

we said hello and your eyes look like coming home (12/?)

Summary: A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches. Warnings: dubious consent, canon-typical sexual violence, canon-typical violence Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~3.2k

Feyre is calm in a crisis. Rhys is unhinged. They get their Big Damn Kiss (basically, Feysand is being Feysand as usual this chapter).

Read on AO3 or you can find the twelfth chapter below the readmore.

ch. 1 - 10 | ch. 11 - she underestimated just who she was stealing from | ch. 12 - no amount of freedom gets you clean

The darkness lifted as quickly as it had appeared. Rhys's wings and talons were gone, a cruel smirk firmly in place. I wondered if anyone else had seen that flash of his true self in the darkness, but I suspected I'd been the only one.

Amarantha was sitting unnaturally stiffly, empty eyes staring straight ahead at nothing; Rhys must have already broken into her mind and held it. The crowd stared at him with naked fear. So did the other six High Lords.

I'd been so focused on getting Rhys back that I hadn't considered what dropping the ruse would mean for the rest of the faeries trapped Under the Mountain. They'd been hoping I'd free the Spring Court, and that might have changed the balance of power enough to release the other six courts one by one. Instead, I'd unleashed the lone daemati among the High Lords—and now there was nothing stopping the Lord of Nightmares from using that ability to force Amarantha to give him their magic.

I'd cleared a path for Rhys to crown himself High King.

He winnowed himself from the platform, coming to stand next to me in the trench. Even though I was covered in mud and shit and blood, Rhysand—the male I'd never seen with a single speck of lint on him, let alone dirt—draped an arm casually across my shoulders. This was an act, too. The bond was taut with anxiety, and his fingers dug into me, even as he carefully avoided my still-bleeding wound.

Rhys was ready to to shove me behind him and fight if it came to it. With so many potential enemies staring at me as I bled, instinct was riding him hard. He wasn't thinking about power at all, just my safety.

"Excellent work, Feyre darling," he drawled.

We were still playing a role, making a statement. It was obvious the physical closeness and the endearment were meant to send a message, and I was happy to play along. I let myself keep smiling as I said, "You know perfectly well that it's a joint effort. Finish this, Rhys."

His power was still rolling off him in waves, and I delighted in it. Not because of what he could do, but because it was a reminder that he was whole again. I let that show on my face; it was easy enough to allow everyone else to conclude I was basking in his praise. And the subtle command in my voice, the nickname—I'd made sure to send a message, too.

Rhys didn't need to be told twice. There was a blinding flash of light, and the air went thick with magic as the power of the six other High Lords returned to them. The spots had hardly cleared from my vision as another flick of Rhys's wrist turned Amarantha into nothing but blood-rain. It splattered on some of the other High Lords, the ones who'd been too stunned to put up a shield.

Rhys had been waiting for this moment since he'd been captured during the war. That need for vengeance had burned for centuries, even before she'd spent the last fifty years abusing him. But none of that came close to the power of a mating bond. He'd barely paid attention as he'd killed her, eyes on me—his injured mate—instead.

Through the bond, I could feel his control slipping. This close, I could even see it in the flare of his nostrils and the feral look in his eyes. Everyone else was too terrified and far away to notice, but if this lasted much longer, we'd have a bloodbath on our hands, starting with Tamlin and ending with whoever else looked at me the wrong way. I didn't want to see any more death today—we needed to leave, even if it meant letting too many questions go unanswered.

Just get us back to Velaris, I said, tugging on the bond gently.

Rhys wouldn't argue with that. I clung to him as the world fell away and wind roared, turning everything to smoke and shadow. It lasted a heartbeat, and then we were in the living room of his townhouse.

We'd made it out.

But Rhys hardly seemed to notice. He took a step back so he could examine me properly, no longer hiding the worry. The intensity of his focus on me and nothing else…it was so strong I could hardly bring myself to meet his gaze, even though I'd felt the same thing myself. That same overwhelming instinct had driven me Under the Mountain for him.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" he said.

"A few bruises, but nothing severe other than my arm," I said, turning my head to look at the wound properly for the first time. It didn't hurt, not since he'd taken away the pain, so I hadn't quite realized how bad it was. But once I took in the sight of the ripped tendons and exposed bone, I understood why he was barely holding it together.

"It will hurt for a moment. Same as it did with your nose."

"A small price to pay to keep my arm."

I thought that might get a smile from him, but it didn't. He just grabbed my arm with heartbreaking gentleness. I braced myself for the pain, trusting his touch to keep me steady. And it did; even through the burn of flesh knitting itself back together, I didn't cry out. The mud caked on us disappeared along with the injury, though I still felt a thin layer of oil on my skin. The glamour was lifted too, the swirling tattoo appearing on my left hand again.

And only then did Rhys relax. The tension melted from his posture as he finally took in our surroundings, blinking in disbelief. "You— You brought me home," he said, voice choked with the beginning of tears.

"We got you home," I said fiercely. We'd done it together.

My first time up close, I watched wings unfurl from his back. Rhys stretched them out wide, something he hadn't done in fifty years, and Cauldron—I hadn't realized how magnificent they were. Even without them, Rhys was the most beautiful person I'd ever seen, but something hadn't been quite right when his wings were hidden. He curved them around me as he reached forward with both hands to cup my face.

And then he finally kissed me.

At first it was soft—too soft, as if he were afraid of breaking me, lips barely ghosting against mine. I tugged on the bond, a clear request for more, and grabbed at the lapels of his jacket. His tongue swept into my mouth in answer, hands sliding from my face to my hair. He deepened the kiss, bending me backwards slightly as a sudden hunger swept through us both like wildfire.

It wasn't quite magic, but something close to it as our fear became exhilaration at what we'd just accomplished and a need to drink each other in.

Our breath was ragged when we finally pulled apart. We held each other tightly, my face against his shoulder and his nose against my temple. Shields down, I didn't know where my relief ended and his began, but if we hadn't been clutching each other, the strength of it might have brought us both to our knees.

I wasn't sure how long we stood there like that, both of us shaking. My tears soaked into the fabric of his shirt, and his left a wet spot in my hair. Nothing could have made us let go.

"I love you. I know you felt it, but you should hear it, too," he whispered, and I gripped him tighter, not trusting my voice.

At some point, another set of arms wrapped around us both. I turned my head and got a face full of blonde hair—Mor. Then everything became a tangle of wings and arms and tears as Cassian and Azriel and even Amren joined us next.

The next few minutes were a blur of crying and being embraced and "You fucking did it, Feyre" and "It's good to have you back, brother" and "Fifty years, never scare us like that again." The sound of everyone talking over each other, the slick feeling of oil coating my skin, and the bright faelights in the room all became too much. I felt like I might burst, fall asleep on my feet, or both at once.

It was a relief as everyone else's attention narrowed in focus to just Rhys, as it should have been. They hadn't seen him in decades, and while I was grateful for everything they'd done for me, I was still acutely aware that Cassian, Azriel, Mor, and Amren were Rhys's family. It might change one day, but a few weeks weren't enough time to make them mine, too.

I stood at the edge of the room, watching the five of them together, and couldn't help but feel a pang of unexpected loneliness.

I tugged on the bond gently. Azriel had been in the middle of saying something to Rhys, but Rhys's eyes immediately snapped to mine, his body going tense. A spike of anxiety lanced down the bond.

I understood—being in Velaris again didn't feel real to me, either. Not yet. We were both still bracing ourselves for threats.

"I need a bath. Even with the magic…that was a lot of mud. And I should sleep," I said.

Rhys nodded, shoulders slumping in relief that nothing was amiss. "Get some rest," he said softly.

I gave a brief nod back, then slipped out of the living room. It wasn't until I'd made it down the hallway and paused at the foot of the stairs that I realized there were no clothes here for me. It would be no trouble to use magic to bring my things at the House of Wind back here, but just the thought of having to ask made me feel painfully human.

Even Under the Mountain, I hadn't thought once about being the only human for miles.

Fears I'd forgotten about after leaving Velaris came rushing back in full force. I'd felt the depth of Rhys's power when it returned to him, and as a human without a scrap of magic I could use, it had never been more clear what a weak point I was. A burden.

I lingered at the foot of the stairs, unsure what to do. The sound of conversation drifted into the hall, warm and joyful, and I wondered what the rest of them had waited to say to Rhys until I'd left the room. It had been fifty years since they'd been together—far longer than my lifetime twice over. I couldn't bring myself to interrupt. But I wouldn't rifle through Rhys's things without permission, either.

So without a word, I left for the House of Wind.

The weather had warmed up since I'd left, and my tunic was enough to keep out the slight chill in the air. It wasn't a long walk, and the city was quiet. I'd half-expected to see celebrations in the streets at the end of Amarantha's reign, but perhaps news still hadn't spread quite yet. The Cauldron only knew what had happened Under the Mountain after Rhys and I left.

It had been too long since I'd felt a breeze on my face, and I'd forgotten that the air in Velaris smelled faintly of the sea. I breathed it in deep as I walked, savoring it. The full moon lit my way, and I tilted my head back to look at the stars as much as I dared. Velaris at rest settled something deep within me.

Before long, I reached the House. The bond had been quiet for the whole walk there, and at the base of the steps, I hesitated and wondered if I should tug on it again. But for once, there was no anxiety on Rhys's end, and ten thousand steps seemed better than even the smallest risk of disturbing that.

Despite the exhaustion settling over me like a heavy blanket, I began to climb.

I'd known that it would take a while, but reaching the top seemed to take an eternity. I stopped to lean against the wall and catch my breath at several points, wondering if my legs would give out under me. The burst of energy from running for my life was long gone.

To my relief, the room I'd stayed in appeared completely untouched since I'd left. The clothes Mor had gotten for me were in the closet where I'd left them, the bed still unmade. I nearly collapsed into it then and there, but after rolling in worm shit, my desire to get clean won out.

I ran a bath and peeled off my clothes. As I waited for the tub to fill, I thought about burning my tunic and leggings. I had no desire to touch anything from the Spring Court ever again. Once I slipped into the water, I scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed at my skin, even with the exhaustion threatening to overtake me. It wasn't just about the mud—I could feel Amarantha's court Under the Mountain on me, memories of what she'd done to me and Rhys sticking to me and refusing to wash away.

When the water went cold, I got out and dried off. I stared down at my skin, not quite convinced that the lack of paint and injuries was real, everything smooth and unblemished again. I traced the swirls of the tattoo on my left hand with the fingers of my right. I'd missed it—I hadn't realized until then that I hadn't felt quite myself with the glamour covering it.

If keeping my eyes open hadn't become a losing battle, I would have drained the tub and ran a second bath or even as a third, as many as it took to free myself from the lingering sensation of rot coating me. But this would have to do for now. I needed sleep.

I found a set of nightclothes and barely managed to pull them on; my muscles had begun to ache, deeper than I'd thought possible, even after long days in the woods that ended with carrying a deer carcass for miles. I slid under the covers and fell asleep before my head hit the pillow.

For the first time since Calanmai, I didn't dream at all.

I woke to bright light streaming in from the window and let out an involuntary groan before I realized it was sunlight and almost wept, even as it stung my eyes. As I reached over to shield them with a hand, my fingers brushed a piece of paper.

That was strange—there hadn't been one there when I'd fallen asleep.

I sat up, forcing my eyes open and gave it a minute for them to adjust. Based on the height of the sun in the sky, it must have been nearly noon. That was no surprise, considering the night I'd had.

When the need to squint to protect my eyes finally passed, I glanced down at the paper I'd found on my pillow. A note, written in someone's curling, elegant script, too ornate for me to make out a single word, no matter how long I stared at the letters. I'd had enough trouble reading printed books, and this looping handwriting was impossible to decipher. I didn't recognize who it belonged to, either.

I stood up and stretched, trying to get a sense of how severe the soreness in my muscles had gotten. Almost immediately after my feet hit the floor, Rhys's talons scraped desperately against my mind, nearly ripping down my shields in panic. My hand flew to my chest, the bond going taut. My stomach lurched.

The second my shields dropped, he said, Please let me know that you're alright. I'll leave you alone after if that's what you wish.

I froze in place, blinking in confusion. What are you talking about? Did something happen?

I felt you wake up. I know you saw my note.

Saw it, yes. But Rhys…I— I can't read.

Through the bond, I felt him go absolutely still. I couldn't help but think of Tamlin trying to be kind but still calling my illiteracy a shortcoming and the poem he'd made from the list of words I hadn't been able to read. Shame washed over me—back then, I'd been so willing to settle for scraps that I'd laughed instead of being properly outraged at a joke like that.

I should kill him for that.

Right. My shields were still down. I let out a long breath and leaned back against the bed. If Rhys had been here with me, I would have rolled my eyes; kidnapping was by far a bigger offense than a few jokes at my expense, but none of that was the point right now. I still wasn't even sure I wanted to see Tamlin dead, and if I did, I'd wield the ash dagger myself.

Just tell me what the note said.

When Rhys spoke next, his voice sounded small, even in my mind. I just wanted to know you were safe. And to apologize for whatever I'd done to upset you.

Sighing again, I ran a hand down my face. I hadn't considered what running off last night would look like to him, which had been nothing but stupid of me. I reached a mental hand out, curling it around one of his talons. There's nothing to apologize for because you haven't done anything wrong. And I'm perfectly fine.

The force of the relief on his side of the bond made me glad I was already leaning against the bed. Cauldron boil and fry me—I hadn't meant to make him panic.

This conversation should be continued face-to-face, and you're in danger of fainting from hunger. Breakfast?

I couldn't agree fast enough. I'd last eaten on Rhys's lap in Amarantha's throne room, and that hadn't been anything close to a meal—and it seemed like a lifetime ago now. So much had happened since then that I'd been able to ignore my stomach churning, but that was becoming impossible.

Rhys pulled out of my mind with a promise he'd be at the House of Wind in a few minutes. I took the time to wash up and change. As I pulled clothes from the dresser, I found myself assessing how well I'd be able to run and fight in them. Not that it mattered—though Mor had known me less than a day when she'd brought them, she'd understood I wouldn't wear anything I couldn't move freely in.

I slipped on the matching set that was the most in line with Night Court fashion: loose, high-waisted pants and a top with billowing sleeves gathered at the wrist, all made from lightweight peach-colored cloth. Every brush of the fabric against my skin was a reminder that I was back in Velaris. The silk slippers on my feet felt heavenly after all that time in work boots or barefoot on the stone floors Under the Mountain.

I was in the Night Court, and I was safe.

The bond uncoiled in my chest as I headed for the dining room and the distance between Rhys and me shortened. It was a subtle thing—we weren't that far from each other—but I felt an instinctual confirmation that it was the right direction.

And at the very least, we were long overdue to sit at a table and eat a proper meal together.

#feysand #feyre archeron #we said hello and your eyes look like coming home

[niragis-thot2]

Niragi’s Favorite Toy

Niragi x female reader

Summary: Niragi becomes interested in you after you kill someone together in a game of hearts. Not satisfied just to have you with him as he descends down his dark path, he desires to manipulate you into participating in his sadistic acts

Chapters 1/?

Warnings: CNC, Dubious consent, smut, knife play, manipulative relationship in future chapters, basically everything you would expect from Niragi.

If these are triggering to you, please take care of yourself and don’t read. I am completely fine with people blocking me if they don’t want to see any Niragi content. I do not intend to justify any of his actions, this is only intended as a way for people to live out their bad boy fantasy.

Waiting for the games to start was so much worse than the games themselves. Not only was there no time to overthink things once the game began, you also could do something about the predicament you were in. Until then there was only waiting. There was no time left to scavenge supplies that might help you, and since you couldn’t tell what the game would be ahead of time there wasn’t any real way to prepare.

Still you told yourself that no matter how anxious you felt you had to look confident as you entered the arena. Being a lone player was dangerous. No one would want to team up if you looked weak, or worse they might see you as an easy opponent to pick off. So when the lighted signs finally arrived at the arena’s entrance you started to smile.

It must have been convincing because someone across the lobby shouted “looks like someone else is ready to have a good time.” You glanced over at the man who had called out to you. If you had met in any situation other than preparing to play a death game your heart might have skipped a beat. He had a gorgeous face, but the piercings he had and the rifle he carried gave an edge to his beauty. No matter how attractive he was though you had to question if he was genuinely looking forward to a game where people would surely die.

You winked at his remark, but kept walking over to the table with the cell phones you would need for the game. Better not to try and rush your way into a group. Running up to who looked the strongest right away would look desperate. Desperate wasn’t a good look for the games. There were about 20 other players around the lobby. This was probably about to be a bloodbath.

As soon as you picked up the phone you felt a nudge on your right side. “Are you a good shot with that, or are you just carrying it to look cute?” It was the same man with the dark hair and piercings.

“Oh you know, can’t let the literal apocalypse stop me from being fashionable” you roll your eyes. “How about I show you in the game. And you are?”

“Niragi”

Then the phones lit up, “Registration has closed” a playing card appeared on the screen “Musical chairs - Difficulty: 5 of hearts”

So much for trying to team up, you can’t trust anyone in a hearts game.

“No outside weapons allowed. All players must leave weapons in the black bins or be eliminated”

“Boring” Niragi threw his head back in exasperation.

“You May use any weapon found within the game arena. Each round will last 6 minutes. By the end of the six minute timer, any player not seated in a chair will be eliminated. After every round more chairs will removed. Clear condition: survive four rounds”

Everyone began to shuffle into the arena. The room looked like a sort of playground for kids. There were platforms, slides, a trampoline park, foam pits, and all kinds of things that would have been fun in any other scenario. Some platforms had a chair or two, others had large black bins that were closed. Given the mention of items in the game rules you planned to run to a bin first, there wouldn’t be any use getting a chair if someone else had a weapon.

“The game will now commence. 6 minutes remaining for round one.”

You run towards a trampoline to use it to jump onto a platform with a black bin. It had two wrenches in the bottom. ‘Hopefully no one else is finding a gun in theirs’ you thought.

You ran towards the playground to look for a chair. You saw the man with tattoos on his face carrying a golf club and decided to steer clear. Heading to the opposite side you climbed a ladder up to the top level and sat down on the chair that was there.

There was one minute remaining. To your right was a narrow bridge surrounded by a net to prevent falls. And a man much larger than you was approaching down it. You weren’t sure that you could overpower him, but you were going to try and scare him off. It was time to act feral. You smiled, laughed, and started charging. That was enough to get him to go searching elsewhere. You sighed as you sat down.

At least you weren’t going to die during the first round.

“Round one has ended. Please step away from your chairs” you jump up and a few seconds later flames emerge from a grate beneath the chair you were just sitting in. ‘Well, that couldn’t have been a feature of this place back in the real world’ That was one of the strangest things about these games. There were new ones every night, yet you never saw any construction to implement them. But there wasn’t any time to think about how the games were engineered beneath their noses. “Round two starting”

You knew that loosing this chair meant you’d probably have to fight harder for the next one.

You decided to go for the foam pit this time. There were two chairs on the ledge above it, so even if another person went for the same place there was a chance you could survive without having to kill anyone. But hearts games had a way of giving you exactly what you didn’t want.

Stinging pain shot through your arm. She had bitten it in a last ditch effort to fight you off. But your adrenaline was too high to be deterred. You continued to hit her as she clawed and scratched. Until you were sure she wouldn’t be able to climb back up. You looked up and Niragi was gone. There wasn’t time to wonder where he went. You kicked her over the edge into the foam pit.

On the clock there were 25 seconds remaining. You turn to get into your chair and realize that you were engulfed in the heat of the moment that you didn’t notice he had already sat down and was leering at you. He stuck his pierced tongue out of his mouth and licked his lips with it. “Now that was fun to watch”

“What the fuck” you said sitting next to him.

<Round three ended> a laser beam shot down to the foam pit. You guessed that confirmed that the girl had still been alive when you pushed her off.

Niragi nudged your side “Let’s hunt that one next, he looks like he’s only survived by avoiding the stronger players.”

You had hoped that you could just stay put and defend your position, but once again both chairs burned. If you had to kill someone who got in the way of you surviving then so be it. But specifically targeting someone before you knew if it could be avoided? That didn’t sit right with you, and you were stuck doing it anyways. This man had just watched you murder a girl with the same demeanor you’d expect from giving him a strip tease. You were terrified to say no.

“Round three starting”

He drew you in close to him and whispered in your ear. “I’ll confront him, then you sneak up behind him sweetheart”

You jumped down and followed from a distance. Maybe he wouldn’t notice if you silently broke away now. But how would he react to that after the game ended?

“There’s more chairs!” You heard screaming in the distance. “Everyone stop fighting we found more chairs.”

On the other side of the room two people were pulling folding chairs out of one of the black bins. There were more than enough for everyone. Everyone began to swarm in that direction to take a seat when you heard a now familiar voice say “well that’s annoying”

It was over. The relief washed over you and you started to laugh. A few people around you joined in.

After everyone had a seat you just had to wait for the next twelve minutes to pass until you heard the, “Game cleared! Congratulations,” announcement. You got up as fast as you could and started running. There was no way you were loosing the weapon you had found because this sadistic game hadn’t let you bring it with you. You reached your shotgun before anyone else did, but the rest of the weapons collection didn’t go smoothly. You saw the man with tattoos hit someone over the head with the golf club he found in the game. That person had unwisely tried to reach for one of the firearms belonging to that group

You ended up leaning against the wall outside to take a rest. Niragi began to approach you, and you realized once again how attractive he was. Were you really thinking of flirting with him after having a front row seat to how messed up he could be.

“Damn baby, you ate that girl alive.” He reached out his hand for a high five, but as your hand went to meet his, he grabbed you by the wrist.

Note: This is my first time writing a fanfic so I feel a little nervous posting. I plan for this to be a pretty long fic. Right now I have about five chapters written and am working on editing

#niragi suguru #niragi x reader #niragi alice in borderland #niragi x you #niragi #aib niragi

[myqueenmarceline]

Hand in Unlovable Hand Chapter 1: Together, Then.

Summary: My AU of what happened after Fiona, Cake, and Simon zapped away from "evil Marceline"/The Star universe.

Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, attempted murder (for the whole fic: injury recovery, paralysis, manipulation, imprisonment, dubious consent, medical procedures.)

Thank you to @nebula-gaster for beta reading.

Read it on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50597539

[[MORE]]

“Together, then.” Bonnie pressed her arm forward.

Her stake slipped millimetre by millimetre closer to The Star’s heart. The Star glanced down at it, then looked into her eye. Her hair flew around her face, short black strands dancing in the air as they continued falling. Her arm flexed, and Bonnie felt her movement stop. The Star had gotten plenty of powers as she rose through the ranks of vampires, but Bonnie had spent years strength training for this moment.

To her surprise, The Star smiled. Her fangs stuck out, her sharp teeth glistening in the low light.

“Together.” She let go of Bonnie’s shoulder, reaching up and touching her cheek. “Go ahead, show me what you can do.”

Even as she spoke, The Star squeezed her arm harder, trying to push her back. Bonnie’s skin was slick with sweat, and her nails dug in as she tried to get a grip. Bonnie just pushed back, twisting her wrist as she tried to escape.

Her hand slipped forward. The tip of the stake plunged into The Star’s chest, just above her heart. Black ichor flowed from the wound, running in small drops down the stake and over the back of her hand. As it streaked over her skin, Bonnie noted with detachment that the drop pattern was reminiscent of the patterns falling raindrops made as they slid across the windows of her tank. That made sense; the laws of physics always applied, especially when one was hurtling toward the ground at full speed.

The Star hissed, her bones cracking as her face changed. She twisted, pulling away from the stake in her chest. Bonnie followed, pulled in by the grip on her wrist. They continued falling, their bodies now horizontal, side by side, as if in a grave. Bonnie felt a moment of satisfaction; if this would be her doom, at least she had accomplished what she set out to do.

They hit the ground. There was a blow to her back so violent that it knocked everything out of her. There was no air in her chest; it felt like everything in her body had been cracked and broken. Pain burned like the hottest fire, as if the sun’s rays had been concentrated into her body.

Then, there was only darkness.

#bubbline #atimers #adventure time #fionna and cake fanfic #the star #the star fanfic #bubbline fanfic #bubbline fanfiction #sugarless gum #sugarless gum fanfic #sugarless gum fanfiction #atimers fanfic #atimers fanfiction #marceline the vampire queen #marceline abadeer #marceline the star #princess bubblegum #bonnibel bubblegum #my fanfic #my fanfiction #my writing #my stuff #adventure time fanfic #adventure time fanfiction #darkfic #dead dove do not eat #psychological horror #suspense