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gatorbites-imagines · 2 years

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Kinktober day 19

Din Djarin + Shower sex

The reader is also Mandalorian in this, if that matters to anyone.

My oral fixation appearing in literally anything I write: 😎

Kinktober list

Din cursed softly under his breath as he leant against you, his arm over your shoulder as you supported most of his weight and brought him into your shared room on Tattooine. It had been a gift from Boba after everything went down, so you both had some place to return too. You had both been on a bounty that was meant to be over quickly, but it had gone down in flames and you both returned home with more bruises and cuts than you were used too.

Placing Din down on the edge of your shared bed, you worked off your armor with ease and placed it on its armor stand, before moving over to help Din remove his own. When you pulled his helmet off you leant in to kiss him, your lips pressing together in a love filled motion. Din hissed softly at the pain as you removed the rest of his armor, placing it off on its stand for cleaning later.

The both of you were left in your skintight blacks that you wore under your armor, and knowing Din wouldn’t be able to remove his on his own, you got to work pulling it off him. You couldn’t help but take in the sight of Dins body as you rolled off the suit, pressing feather light kisses against his skin when it was exposed. As you made your way down, you pulled off his boxers along the way so you wouldn’t have to do that later.

Din ran his hand through your hair as you got him undressed, his grip tightening just a tad when you pressed a kiss against a bruise on his torso. When Din was naked, you made much quicker work of getting your own blacks and boxers off, throwing the clothing off to the side with little care, knowing you would just clean it later.

You both leant in, pressing your lips together and slowly running your hands up and down each other’s bodies, your kisses never going deeper than a slight brush of tongues and your hands never going anywhere too adventurous. With one last kiss you pulled back and got to your feet, “We really need a shower” you said, holding out a hand for Din so he could pull himself to his feet, which he soon did though he still leant on you to support his weight as he limped to the bathroom.

The bathroom wasn’t anything too impressive, a shower stall big enough for two, courtesy of Boba, a toilet, a sink and mirror and some storage space for your things. With a bit of struggle, the two of you got into the shower and flicked on the water, neither of you reacting to the ice-cold water that shot out. You were both too used to ice cold showers or no showers at all, that you didn’t complain as the water slowly heated.

Din leant back against the wall as you pulled out what was the Tatooine version of a loofah, wet it, and put soap on it. On any other day Din would have tried to take care of you instead, but he was too tired and hurting to fight against the attention as you slowly ran the loofah up and down his body, pressing tiny kisses to his lips when you were anywhere near his face. Din let his eyes fall shut and let his head drop back against the wall behind him, exhaling at he slowly untensed his body, focusing solely on your hands as they explored his frame.

He could feel you slowly sink to your knees as your soaped up hands ran down his thighs, rubbing the suds on the inside and outside of his legs. He couldn’t help but twitch as he felt your lips press against his lower abdomen, his flaccid length giving a small twitch of interest as you slowly washed up and down his legs.

Dins eyes opened as he felt your lips press against the base of his cock, turning his head to watch as you pressed kisses all the way down his slowly hardening length until you reached the head. Looking up you met his eyes, and with a wink you took the tip into your mouth, running your tongue over the head as you slowly took it further into your mouth. You kept your attention of Din as he let his eyes fall shut again, his hands immediately going to your hair where he just held on but never moved your head for you.

Keeping up your movements, you ran your hands up his calves and thighs, reaching around him until you could grab his ass, where you squeezed a cheek in each palm, causing a gasp to leave your lover. Running your fingers through his crack you couldn’t help but feel quite pleased at the tiny gasps Din made, pressing a finger against his hole to hear more of his noises.

Pressing your finger inside wasn’t difficult, though at other times you would have used lube, your finger slowly going deeper until you had worked it all the way in. You had stopped bobbing your head, simply keeping his length in your mouth as you worked your wrist, slowly getting him used to the stretch of your finger so you could work a second inside. Above you Din started breathing deeper, his hips giving small twitches as you stretched him open and warmed his cock in your mouth.

The water of the shower washer over you still, keeping you both warm and wet as you worked a third finger in, crooking them until Din let out a tiny moan as they brushed against his prostate. You slurped around his cock as you tasted precum drip from the tip, your tongue making quick work of licking it up as you kept pressing your fingers against the bundle of nerves inside him.

Letting your free hand drop from where it had been palming at his ass, you fondled your own hard length and slowly worked it, the slick noises of it making Din whimper, the knowledge that touching him made you hard causing him to shiver. As you added a fourth finger you started moving your head again, swallowing around his length and pressing it further into your mouth until you couldn’t fit more, where you would pull back just to repeat the process again.

His thighs started to quiver on either side of your head, the notion immediately telling you he was close as the muscles in his lower stomach tensed and he audibly swallowed above you. Din cursed in Mandalorian as he spilled in your mouth, your tongue accepting the white as it splashed over the top of your mouth and back of your throat. You kept on pulling at your own length until you came, your cum quickly being washed away by the water still raining down on you.

You carefully removed your fingers from his hole and pulled his length out of your mouth, keeping your mouth shut to not spill any of his release as you quickly got to your feet and kissed him, pressing your tongue into his mouth and making him taste himself. Din whimpered at the taste and wrapped his arms around your neck, running his tongue over the inside of your mouth to get as much of it as possible.

When there was nothing more to lick up you disconnected the kiss and looked at Din with a grin, your lover panting softly to catch his breath. As the water started going cold, the two of you quickly finished up washing and dried off just as quickly, cuddling up in bed under your covers when you had finished. Getting comfortable you put on an old Mandalorian movie, Din resting his head on your chest and melting into your arms as it seemed all the action had worn him out.

#male reader #din djarin #mandalorian #star wars #din djarin x male reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin headcanon #din djarin imagine #Mandalorian Headcanon #mandalorian imagine #mandalorian x male reader #star wars imagine #star wars headcanon #star wars x male reader #star wars x reader

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bloggingnsfw · 6 months

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Deep in the woods Pt 2

Sequel to Werewolf breeding

Warning: smut, pregnancy, female reader, Gnoll, mutiple Monsters X fem reader, creampie, implied creampie, rough,

Part 3

Feverishly, she stroked his erection through his trousers, feeling the rough texture beneath her palm.

The gnoll beside her couldn’t help but notice the prominent bulge protruding from your lower region. With a salacious grin, he leaned forward and placed a calloused finger on her swollen abdomen. “It seems our little lady is already expecting,” he remarked, his tone dripping with amusement. Y/N blushed crimson, yet refused to let embarrassment deter her from pursuing pleasure. Instead, she took advantage of the distraction, diverting the conversation away from her condition.

“Why don’t we share your table?” she suggested coyly, nodding toward the nearby wooden surface strewn with empty mugs and plates. The gnoll smirked appreciatively, understanding her intention perfectly. Without hesitation, he gestured for her to follow him to the table, while simultaneously signaling another member of his group to join them.

Grasping his hand, Y/N allowed herself to be led past numerous boisterous individuals who turned their heads when they noticed the attractive couple entering the premises. Their whispers and stares sent shivers down her spine, though Y/N maintained her composure, determined to showcase her fearlessness in front of these wild beasts.

Reaching the table, Y/N observed the gnarled woodwork covered in years of accumulated residues, evidence of countless gatherings held here.

But it was the two gnolls awaiting her approach that captured her full attention. Both males bore a similar resemblance to wolves—powerful, imposing figures capable of instigating fear amongst those they deemed inferior. However, as they stood side by side, the contrast in their attitudes became evident. One appeared nervous, constantly looking around to ensure none would interfere with their private business. On the other hand, the braver individual approached confidently, displaying dominance without effort.

As he stepped closer, his muscles rippling beneath his worn fur cloak, Y/N noted the fierce determination dancing in his steel-grey eyes. This man was different; unlike the first, he displayed clear signs of self-assurance and power. He knew precisely how to capture your attention, ensuring that hers remained solely focused on him throughout their encounter.

He moved closer still, bending over to grasp your hips forcefully, guiding her towards the edge of the table.

Her heart raced as he claimed ownership over her, refusing to relinquish his vice-like grip on her form. With his free hand, he cupped her left breast, pinching the nipple roughly between thumb and index finger, evoking a mixture of surprise and delight within her. The combination of pain and eroticism caused her to moan softly, encouraging him to continue his assault on her sensitive flesh.

Deliberately, he lifted her leg, placing it expertly on the corner of the table, angling her hip just right.

His dominant position over her allowed complete access to her most sensitive areas, rendering her helplessly enthralled by his expertise. Y/N surrendered fully to his skillful manipulation, her body responding fervently to his every touch. With steady hands, he massaged her inner thighs, gradually moving higher, driving her closer to the precipice of ecstasy. Each stroke raised her pulse, building tension within her core.

His mouth descended upon her, tenderly kissing along her jawline and down her throat.

His hot breath tickled her earlobe, causing her to tremble with anticipation. Just as she thought he might consume her whole, his hand reached for her breast once again, stroking and pinching with renewed intensity. Simultaneously, he gripped her ass tightly, lifting her closer towards his face. The combined stimuli drove Y/N to madness; unable to bear the wait any longer, she shifted her hips restlessly, searching for release. The gnoll took note of her impatience and swiftly adjusted his position, straddling her upper thigh, hovering inches above her exposed entrance. His eyes blazed with raw passion, fueling the flames of her desire even further. She could feel the pressure mounting inside her, urging her to press against his weight, aching for something more substantial. Grasping his base, she directed him closer to her entrance, welcoming him with open arms. Moans escaped her lips as he finally entered her tight passageway, thrusting rhythmically. The intensity of his entry surprised You, almost bringing tears to her eyes as he penetrated deeper. Despite the initial discomfort, she reveled in the sensation of being taken by this powerful creature. Every surge sent shockwaves through her entire body, heightening her awareness and desire for more. The world around them ceased to exist, reduced merely to the carnal act unfolding between them. Time seemed to stand still as Y/N found herself lost in the depths of pure, unadulterated pleasure. Never had she experienced such intense satisfaction – not even in her fantasies.

#smut #monster #monster smut #smut writing #gnoll smut #gnoll x reader #gnollvember #gnoll #x y/n #y/n #reader #female reader #x reader #fem reader #reader insert

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thecityofselcouth · 2 years

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After waiting half an hour for Damian and Lily to show up, Tony and Fume simply decided to head home and send the driver for them later. Manuel was fast asleep on the couch when they arrived and Tony decided it was best to not poke a sleeping bear, especially since he did not have the energy himself to tackle whatever task Manuel had planned for him.

Tony made his way to the backyard and crossed the lawn to enter the guest house. Although the main house had plenty of bedrooms for him to choose from, Tony liked his space away from his family every now and then. He still liked to be close by, spending more nights in the guesthouse than his actual home, so living in the guesthouse had its perks.

Closing the front door behind him, Tony walked through the bedroom and to the bathroom, tossing his suit jacket, pants, belt, socks, and everything else onto the floor as he made his way to the shower and turned the dial to its hottest setting.

A stream of water jetted from the showerhead, steam rising to the ceiling as the temperature of the water grew hotter.

Tony climbed inside, closing the glass door behind him. He lifted his chin upwards and closed his eyes, letting the water run over his face and wash away the dirt.

An image of June flashed in his mind, the sun illuminating her skin, a tiny bead of sweat running down her sternum and in between her breasts, disappearing underneath her tank top.

Tony opened his eyes and stood still. He had never imagined June like that before but assumed it was a tiny detail of her that he hadn’t noticed earlier. That made sense, since he had replayed their interaction numerous times in his mind during the car ride home.

He closed his eyes again, dropping his head and feeling the water glide down his back. The feeling reminded him of June’s hands and made it easy to imagine her hands, delicate and smooth, trailing down his back and pulling him closer to her. Tony had an erection now, though it seemed the blood had never truly left from earlier, and kept his eyes closed to not disturb his fantasy.

Tony lifted his head, stepping back to let the warm water run over his chest and mimic the feeling of June’s kisses as she left a trail from his neck to his abdomen. He swallowed, holding his manhood in his hand, picturing June with her hands there instead of his, and slowly ran his hand up and down his shaft.

What if he hadn’t left the fairgrounds early? June in his fantasy teased, dropping to her knees and staring up at him. Her almond shaped, hazel brown eyes did not leave his as she moved her hand to the base of his shaft and, at a very slow pace, pushed his manhood inside of her mouth until her lips were wrapped around his base.

Tony felt his knees buckle, placing one hand on the shower wall to keep his balance and increasing the speed of his other hand. In his fantasy, June matched his speed, tears forming in her eyes as she tried to manage his length, the tip of his manhood pressing against the back of her throat with every thrust and generating her gag reflex. He held her hair out of her face, one hand on the back of her head and the other holding her hair, as he felt heat forming in his lower abdomen.

A low moan escaped, coming from under his breath, and he didn’t know if he imagined it or if it was reality, but he was so close to his peak that he didn’t really care. His image of her faded away, Tony opening his eyes and focusing on the heat building in his abdomen. His abs were tense, the veins in his arms raised as he ran his hand up his shaft and felt all of the heat from his body release, his manhood pulsating with each release, and pressed his forehead against the shower wall.

He had never done that with solely an image of a woman, and part of that concerned him.

After he cleaned up and finished his shower, Tony got dressed in a simple white-T shirt and sweats, and picked up his old clothes to take to the hamper. But something did not feel right, and he looked through his clothes to ultimately realize he was missing his dress shirt.

The same dress shirt that had his wallet.

Tony sighed, glancing at the time on his watch. There was still time to make it to June’s house before it got too late, so he grabbed his car keys and headed over.

And, yeah, Tony felt a little awkward about seeing her after everything that happened in the shower, but he shrugged the nerves away once he arrived and walked towards her front door. But to his surprise, he found a much smaller, almost identical version of June to answer the door. Mister Italian Muscles? He raised an eyebrow, and couldn’t help but chuckle. “Uh, I just need to speak to your,” he didn’t really know who the child was, and threw a few words out there to see which one’s she responded to. “Aunt? Sister? Mother?” he cleared his throat, “I believe she has a shirt of mine that has my wallet in it.”

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americxn · 3 years

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Welcome to the Cortez

James Patrick March x GN!Reader

《 as a detective, the reader attempts to infiltrate James’ life at the hotel for information regarding several disappearances centred around the Cortez 》

requested by @just-some-lesbian - the original request asked for smut, it is likely that I will write a part two and incorporate smut into that but this scenario seemed too heavy and inappropriate for smut. (I’ll write out the headcanons you requested too, I just really liked this idea and wanted to turn it into a full fic!)

wordcount: 3.8k warnings: swearing, blood, violence, gore, death

Your stomach leaped as James opened the door, a mere second following the last rap of your knuckles against the hard wood. Dressed in his usual finery, his appearance sucked all moisture from your throat, your fingers betrayingly stiff as you expected the hand he held out to you. You had been meeting twice weekly with the man, your nervousness in his presence seeming to only grow with each dinner you were subjected to; this evening, your nerves were at an all time high. This wasn’t a scheduled meeting. Several hours ago, Mr. March had instructed Miss Evers to invite you for an impromptu meeting that evening, which could only mean bad news for you, an undercover detective that had been secretly prying into the several recent disappearances at the Cortez, Mr. March being your prime suspect.

“Come in, dearest. You look wonderful.” He drawled, leading you into the all too familiar room, full plates of food and tall glasses of wine already ornamenting the long dining table. You thanked him, allowing him to lead you through the twice weekly routine: pulling out your chair, pressing a swift kiss to your temple and offering you a cigarette before skirting around the table to his own chair, the brush of his fingertips on your shoulder a cold, lingering touch as he moved away from you. “So, why did you call me here?” You enquired, taking a deep drink of your wine in the hopes that it would quell your nerves, your words presenting a feigned confidence. “Not that I mind, of course.” You adding quickly, causing James to smile softly as he glanced down at his food. Your own stomach growled quietly, the fragrance of the food beckoning; James never ate in your presence and out of caution, you didn’t dare touch the food either. “I just wanted to see you again, my apologies for any convenience.” He’s lying. You smiled pleasantly, looking down at your plate in faux flattery. “No convenience at all, James. You know I always look forward to our dinners.” Now who’s lying? You silenced your inner voice, taking another sip of your drink, utilising the opportunity to scan the room over the rim of your glass, looking for anything out of place that could potentially raise alarm. James never did anything without ulterior motives. That was something you had learned very quickly; he always had a reason for everything. James matched your easy smile, taking a swig of his own drink, some sort of liqueur. Strong liqueur, if the smell of it was any indication; he was always drinking but you had never seen the alcohol hold any effect over the man. You had always just written it off as high tolerance, but watching him now as he drained the remaining liquid from the glass before immediately filling it back to the brim, the ice softly clinking from within, it tugged at some part of you, willing you to question why. The room fell into awkward silence, your eyes flicking back to James as you lowered your glass, setting it gently back onto the table. He was already staring right at you, his eyes dark and gleaming with something you couldn’t place as they searched your face. You blinked at him, shifting slightly on your seat, his intense gaze unsettling. The corners of his mouth rose, almost as if he knew he was making you uncomfortable and took pleasure in it. “So, uh, you were telling the me other night about those hotel renovations. How are they going?” You took absolutely no interest in whether or not James recent renovations to the Cortez were going successfully or not, but asked anyway, if other to clear the awkward tenor of the room. “Progression is slow, but I suppose that perfection can’t be rushed.” He responded mildly, his eyes still trained on you. Clearing your throat, you nodded, your spine prickling in warning. Leave. There was no ignoring the voice whispering from the darkest pocket of your mind, not as James cocked his head, predatory intent settling over his pale features. Your stomach tightened to the point of pain, your eyes dropping in a vain attempt to avoid his vindictive scrutiny. “Well James, I appreciate you having wanting to see me this evening but I’m feeling kinda tired. Do you mind if I go back to my room? Sorry, I know I haven’t been here for long.” James’ mouth quirked upwards at your timid explanation, taking another long sip of his drink before leaning forwards, his eyes flicking down to the fist you had laid on the table before you, your fingers tight with stress. “Yes, I do mind.” Your mouth went thoroughly dry, your mouth parting in surprise. “I dismiss you. And I’ll be damned if I let you leave so soon.” All coherent thought cleared from your mind at his statement, his dark eyes filling with utter amusement at the mask of alarmed surprised that slipped over your features. “What do you mean?” You ventured, your feet shifting beneath the table, soles pressing firmly into the floor, readying to flee from the man if this interaction grew any more worrying. He seemed to blindly track the moment, his self-satisfied smirk only growing. “I mean, I’m not permitting you to leave yet.” He spelled the words out for you, taking pleasure in employing a condensing tone into his voice. Your spine straightened, your eyes flicking around the room to ensure that there was no one hidden within the dark corners of the space; James was an odd, eccentric man, his energy charged with a strange humour. But even for him, this situation was uncomfortably disarming. “You don’t get to ‘permit’ me to do anything.” You breathed, pushing back your chair slightly as you readied to stand, wanting nothing more than to be out of this room and away from the man before you. James sat back, his eyes twinkling in the light of the candles scattered across the surface of the table between you. Pulling the small silver case from his breast pocket, he flicked it open with a thumb, surveying you darkly as he took a cigarette and tapped it on the lid. A lighter appeared in his other hand, a spark flashing before a small flame sprung up; James lifted the cigarette to his lips, storing it between his teeth as he brought the flame up, a swift inhale lighting the cigarette. “You’re prying around my hotel. I would be inclined to argue that I can permit you to do as I please.” His words clanged through you. Prying.| Taking a glance to the side of the table, your eyes landed on the smaller wooden table beside the one you dined on; several platters, their contents spilled on the plates before you and James, resided on a silver tray atop it, but you didn’t miss the gleaming slice of the edge of a knife, almost completely hidden from your view behind a large bowl full of untouched buttered vegetables. Flicking your eyes away from the knife, careful to keep your possible intentions hidden from the sly man before you, you focused all of your attention on his predatory scrutiny, not daring to so much as shift under his stare. “I want to leave.” You stated firmly, growing increasingly anxious as to the real reason he called you here, and having absolutely no intention of staying in his presence long enough to find out. “You don’t get to leave until I dismiss you.” “Then tell me why you actually called me here.” You threw your words across the table at him without hesitation, every nerve in your body attempting to recoil from his dark gaze as his eyes widened with glee. “I have a sneaking suspicion that you already know full well why I called you here... detective.” You were on your feet the moment he uttered the first syllable of that condemning title, your chair falling onto the floor as you reached over the dining table, your fingers straining to reach the knife winking at you from the silver tray. The carving knife was as long and cruel looking as you had hoped it would be, a cool weight in your palm as you pushed away from the table, twisting towards the exit and preparing to step over your fallen chair. You squealed in surprise when, instead of meeting open air, you slammed into a hard, suit covered body, the knife in your hand tilting and driving up into his stomach; it was a reflex, a terrible, terrible reflex and your mind emptied as you stared at the hilt in your hand, already slick with hot blood, the blade fully submerged is his gut. Your eyes were wide as your gaze travelled up his body, his own already trained on your face, his head tilted to the side with what you could only describe as curiosity. You recoiled in horror, the edge of the table hitting the backs of your thighs as you released your hold on the knife, his blood running in hot rivers down your hand and wrist, dripping onto the tips of your shoes as James’ mouth curled upwards in a slow, predatory smile. “That was one of my favourite shirts.” He mused, gripping onto the simple handle of the carving knife and drawing it from his abdomen with a flourish. You gaped at him, rooted to the spot as the sharp intruder was removed from its burrow, expecting him to collapse to the floor as a torrent of blood spurted in wake of the knife. A multitude of questions formed on your lips as you watched him take a step towards you, frozen as he chucked the knife onto the table behind where you stood motionless with a loud clatter, his hand bloody. All words dissipated into the cold air as James reached up, looking right at you as he pulled his signature neck tie away from his throat, the fabric immediately drinking in the thick coating of blood on his pale fingertips. Ripping open the top button on his neatly laundered shirt with one hand, his smirk turned positively feral as your eyes widened, your jaw falling slack as you beheld the fleshy chasm marring the base of his pale throat, sinew and torn tissue exposed in a deep slice. “An admiral effort, darling. But you can’t kill the dead.” You lurched to the side, stumbling over the long legs of the capsized chair as every nerve in your body bleated in terror, urging you to put as much distance between you and the ghost leering before you as possible. The floor swooped towards you as you lost your footing, only just managing to recover before your body slammed into the soft carpeted ground. It took a matter of seconds for you to cross the room, your palms slamming into the surface of the door as you ran at it, unable to slow your momentum as you reached for the handle, wrists creaking at the impact. Pulling the door open, you threw a sparing glance over your shoulder, your racing mind slowing as you beheld James standing motionless where you left him, his bloodied neck tie discarded on the table as he placed another cigarette between his lips, watching you with an amusement disposition as he coaxed a flame from the lighter. Time seemed to slow as you turned back around, Sally appearing before you on the threshold of the room, her lipstick-smeared smile teary as she reached forwards, taking ahold of the side of your head and slamming it into the wall to your left with a savage force, hard enough to cause the world to slip away into blackness.

Reality presented itself to you in throbbing waves, light infiltrating your lightly shut eyelids, coaxing you to stir with a small groan. Your allowed your eyes to open, trying to pull a hand to your throbbing temple; in your dazed exhaustion, your inability to move your hand failed to register as you forced your eyes open wider, the dim light of the room aiding in the slow process of pulling your mind back to full consciousness. James surveyed you from across the room as you stirred, the artful pleasure he took in having you at his disposal evident in the neatly tied ropes that secured your wrists to the centre of the dining table you had sat at hours earlier, your torso stretched to the edge of the table, your legs dangling freely off the side. He walked slowly to you as you turned your head, your eyes alight with terror as the brutal seriousness of your situation settled over you. James smiled warmly as you beheld him, hot, unrestrained tears already sputtering from the corners of your eyes as you watched him near, dressed in a fresh shirt, another necktie neatly secured around the base of his throat. You moaned in defeat as he paused by your head, taking a long pull on the old fashioned pipe clutched in his pale, slender fingers. You jerked away from him as he dropped his cold gaze to your face, physically recoiling from his stare and shifting on the surface of the table as far as the ropes would allow. “I’ve spent a long while thinking of what, exactly, I wanted to do to you.” You felt physically ill at his words, the pounding headache racking your temples doing nothing to soothe the sudden roils of nausea. “But then I realised,” he began, his mouth quirking to the side as he leant down, running the tip of his finger down the side of your wet face from your ear to the sharp angle of your jaw, “why should I have to choose just one scenario?” You willed your mind to fade back into unconsciousness, your mouth turning utterly dry as his finger completed its journey down the side of your face. “You knew.” You groaned quietly, James’ eyes flicking from the exposed length of your throat to your lidded eyes. James didn’t need an elaboration to know what you were talking about. “Of course I knew. I was made aware of your prying intentions from the moment that you stepped foot into my hotel.” His face blurred through your gathering tears, pouring down the sides of your face and disappearing into the wisps hair just above your ears. At your silence, he sighed, withdrawing his finger from where it rested on the line of your jaw, ensuring that his nail scraped against your soft skin as he did so. You flinched, looking up at his harsh face. “Aren’t you curious to know what I’m planning to do with you?” Your chin wobbled at his question, the hesitant shaking of your head in response worsening the pain radiating through your skull; your very scalp felt tight, with pain or fear, you could’t tell. Perhaps both. James tutted in disappointment, moving to sit on the table just above your head, your eyes straining to follow him as your chin lifted slightly, terrified to take your eyes off him for so much as a second. “Well, I suppose I can let you in on my plans. It’s not as if you have anywhere else to be.” He winked down at you, malicious cruelty twinkling in his eyes. He was toying with you, taking twisted delight in watching your eyes shutter with terror. “Cruel bastard.” You hissed quietly, shrinking away from him once more in regretful fear as soon as the words were spoken. “Yes.” James mused simply, taking another puff on his pipe, directing the exhaled smoke down at your face. “Yes, I suppose I am.” He closely tracked the movement in the column of your neck as you swallowed thickly, a dim ache glowing in the back of your throat as you fought to keep your cries contained, a wave of sobs trying to claw their way out of you, threatening to spill over. “As I was saying.” He continued, his eyes locking with yours as he explained with brutal simplicity: “I intend in killing you first.” The air caught in your throat, your worst suspicions confirmed with condemning simplicity. But James continued, elaborating further: “As I’m sure you have come to realise, no one really dies in this hotel. Therefore, once I’ve taken your life, you will be unable to leave these grounds and your eternal punishment will begin.” The fruitful information that he had just provided you regarding the supernatural nature of the hotel fell deaf on your ears as his final statement settled over you. “No, James! Please. Please, I’ll leave. I’ll leave this hotel and not say a word, I swear.” He smirked in response to your frantic words, pulling a short, slender blade from his breast pocket. You shrieked, bringing your legs up onto the table and twisting your torso away from him, your eyes squeezing shut as his cold grasp settled on your wrist, holding your trembling arm still as he cut the rope securing you to the table in one smooth motion. One of your eyes cracked open hesitantly as he did the same with the second coil of rope, the two of you moving in synchronisation, anticipating one another’s next move as you pushed yourself upright, lurching forwards; James’ arms wrapped tightly around your torso, pulling you back to him before your toes could so much as skim the deep red carpet. A sob bubbled up from your chest as your body collapsed into his, your arms clawing at the hands he had secured around your waist in savage desperation, his lips moving to your ear. You stilled as his warm breath settled over the side of your face. “Plead all you want.” He sneered, his voice a low growl in your ear. “In fact, I prefer it.” You clenched your teeth, lunging forwards in his hold with a cry of indignation; it was an attempt made in vain, his hold was too strong. “Are you familiar with my black closet?” He crooned, taking immense pleasure in your futile struggling. Groaning despairingly, your head fell forwards as more tears built and spilled, staining your hot cheeks with salty streaks. “Let me show you. And then you get to make a choice.” James slid off the table, taking you with him, forcing you to stand and heaving your body across the room, through a small archway set into the wall and depositing you in the large room that served as James’ personal bedroom and living space. With a harsh kick to the back of your calf, he forced you deeper into the room, spinning you around to face him and gripping onto your jaw, forcing your head up and exposing the flesh of your throat to him. You reached up, hitting at his chest and clawing at his face. In his other hand, a cruel, curved blade was summoned into his grip, the metal cold as he pressed it to your throat. You froze, your breath catching as your eyes searched his, pleading silently with him. “It’s your choice.” He grunted, eyes bright with perverted excitement. “Choice?” You repeated on a stammering breath as he pressed the wickedly sharp blade further into he soft flesh of your neck, itching to rip into skin, to spill blood. James’ eyes flicked over your shoulder, an exalted smile curving his lips upwards as he applied even more pressure to the knife at your skin, his other hand coming to grip the back of your neck, pulling it towards the instrument at your throat. Small scarlet beads of blood appeared around the sharp edge, igniting a pyre of utter dread within you. You took a step back, James closely mirroring your actions, closing in on you. Heart hammering at his close proximity, you stepped back, again and again, your eyes frantically searching his, his own glowing in building excitement as he backed you to the wall. Your back bumped against the edge of the room, cruel amusement slipping onto James’ face. The wall behind you gave way slightly as he pressed you even further into it. “Excellent choice.” He uttered darkly, eyes flashing before he allowed the knife at your throat to fall to the floor, his hand coming to rest on your chest. Your brows furrowed, your relief at the removal of the blade at your throat short lived when he gave your chest a sharp shove. The wall behind you parted entirely, James quickly driving you into very small, dark room, the air suffocatingly stale, his force on your chest causing you to stumble back. A blinding pain ignited in your lower back and you cried out, straining to push away from whatever was causing the pain. But James’ body proved an impenetrable barrier and he gripped onto your throat with both hands, driving you even further into the room. An ungodly scream ripped from your throat as the pain worsened, your insides bleating as they were unforgivingly torn through, bone splintering, skin ripping and stretching. James’ face was alight with perverted satisfaction, your shoulder blades hitting the wall behind you. Pain like you had never know radiated outwards from your centre, your hands falling to your stomach as more burning pain grew from the front of your abdomen, akin to the one at your back. James landed a harsh kick to the front of your thighs and with a sickening crunch, your full back collided with the wall, your mouth parted in a silent scream as the world spun, dangerously close to pulling you under. You prayed that it would, begging the darkness to quell the unbearable pain radiating through every nerve of your body. Your hands fell onto something hard and slick with warmth. In the dark, it was almost impossible to make out what it was and the sickening spinning of your pain fogged mind only made it more difficult to decipher what you were touching. James watched on in eager delight, releasing his constricting hold on your throat, allowing your head to fall forwards. The world tilted on its axis as you beheld the impossibly thick wooden stake running straight through your stomach, your blood running off the dull end, it’s surface marred with deep gashes and bumps; it pried your flesh apart, your hands completely covered in the blood that ran in torrents down its length, dripping from the blunt tip and pooling around James’ feet. James leaned in as the corners of your vision began to fade, your body beginning to slump around the stake that held your upright. You felt utterly numb, the pain dimming as the world was swept away. “Welcome to the Cortez.” He whispered, pressing a sickeningly sweet kiss to your temple before every sense of life slipped from your limp grasp, consciousness and feeling fading into blissful nothingness.

taglist: @kitwalker02 @three-eyed-snail @forevercountess @kitwalkerangel @milly-louise @thecountessesglove @undeadcortez @kitwalker64 @samsassinparvismagna @xmaximoffic @divineruler @liandav @tatesweaterweather @evanmybeloved @tatelangdonsupremacist @ikkleroniekins

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hpalways · 3 years

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A New World || Albedo

I decided to make it an AU, so it'll take place in the modern world, and not the Genshin world.

The request: Albedo x Gen Z! reader (made on Quotev)

RAIN pelted against the glass panes, rolling down like blobs of slime and making the world outside a blur. Down below was the city, filled off honking cars and traffic. It was always quite the ruckus living here, but you supposed you had gotten used to it. Planting your arms against the sill, you leaned your chin down and released a sigh. What was planned to be a day for you to go on a date with Albedo was now cancelled. It somehow decided to rain at a 20 percent chance. Life sure liked to ruin you.

The ashy blond haired male was sitting at your desk in the other corner of the room, completely focused on his current research. You could never get over how pretty he looked, hunched over doing the mundaneness of things. His hair tied up halfway into a neat braided ponytail, he was always ready for business. Teal eyes locked upon his large textbook, he was in his own world. He truly did not care that the date was cancelled, was he? Slightly pouting, you crossed your arms across your chest and slumped down to the floor.

At the sound of your actions, his eyes flitted over to you and he gave you a smile. You were beginning to feel childish under his stare. Maybe you should just be glad that he was here to spend time with you.

Slowly getting up from his seat, he lumbered across the room and sat down beside you. "It's raining," he murmured. "The soil is moist and it would be nice to collect samples of some of the plants I'm studying."

Your features contorted in slight annoyance at the mention of this. Research this, research that. That was all there was in his mind. Couldn't he please take a break? "That's it. You're not going to be researching for the rest of the time you're here," you snapped at him, a stern look on your face.

"What...?" he uttered, growing blank as if no one had ever said that to him. "But... it's raining."

"We can still have a date at home, can't we?" you pointed out. Pushing yourself from the floor, you stood up and held a hand towards him. Lips curling upward, you were getting excited for the ideas that had entered your mind. And when his cold hands clamped around yours, you knew that this date was not yet a failure. Nodding in agreement with you, he stood up and followed you to the couch.

The two of you sat down on the couch and you turned the TV on. "We're watching something?" he asked, seemingly confused as to why you would want to spend a date in front of the TV.

"Yep. Anime," you told him, using the remote to enter Netflix.

"Anime? I have not watched anime before."

"I figured as much. You're quite the uncultured swine, aren't you? I can't let my boyfriend stay like this," you said, dramatically sighing with your hand placed over your heart. He cocked an eyebrow up, shaking his head at your remark. "Anyway, yes. We're gonna watch One Piece. Any objections? No? Okay, perfect. We would have to break up if you said no."

He chuckled under his breath. "You're something, [Y/N]. You never fall short of fascination."

Knitting your brows together, you burst out laughing. He blinked at you, his cheeks growing slightly red. "Is that supposed to be a compliment? Don't describe me like one of your studies," you said, laying your head upon his shoulder. "I appreciate the sentiment though."

The brightly lit show began on the screen and the two of you fell silent, focused on the show. Nostalgia began to brim out from you, reminding you of the days when you had first watched the anime. It could never fail to pull your heartstrings and belonged in a special place within you. It was why you so dearly hoped that Albedo would like it.

An hour or so went by when you decided to take a pause. Giving a glance towards Albedo, you could see him scribbling something down on his notebook. Curious, you took a peek and saw that he was taking notes about the show. You dropped your jaw and had no clue what to say. He turned his head towards you and beat you to it instead. "I like it so far. The guy who ate that gum-gum fruit... I would study him some more later on."

Of course he wished to study Luffy, the main character of the show. But perhaps, this was also to appease the urge of wishing to study his actual research. To see his gaze flashing towards the window every so often to check if it was still raining was a no-brainer. Albedo was Albedo. Nothing could stop him from pursuing his ambitions... his truth. "Go do your research," you said, placing a hand over his.

"You've noticed, huh," he breathed out, lowering his head in shame. "This is unfair to you--"

"Not really," you said. "Let me go with you. Walking under an umbrella sounds romantic. I've always wanted to do that with you, Albedo."

He immediately grew flustered at your explanation, now truly red as a tomato. Averting his eyes from you for a bit, he had managed to calm himself down, before giving you a kiss at the top of your head. His lips brushed your hair, leaving a warm aftertaste that reached to your core. "If that is what you wish for, I will do my utmost best to satisfy you."

"You're so silly," you giggled, stretching and yawning. Getting up from the couch, you found the umbrella hanging on the jacket rack, waiting to be used. He took it from you and with that, you left the apartment and entered the thrumming rhythm of rain.

Bunching closely to him, you could feel his body heat waving off. The roof the umbrella pattered loudly and the gray pavement below were filled of puddles. Too much noise and water was seeping through your soles, wetting the socks inside. This was a lot less romantic than you anticipated. How unfortunate.

“Watch out!” he suddenly hollered, pulling you towards him. Face stuffed into his chest, you could feel your heart racing at the close proximity. He smelled of pine and cinnamon, a scent that reminded you of home. He was your home, after all. A splash! interrupted your thoughts, bringing you back into the present. Pulling away from him, you saw that a biker had zoomed straight through where you were originally standing. It was a mystery why someone would be biking in such weather, but what angered you more was how Albedo had taken a hit from it. His long trenchcoat was soaking wet... and so was his hair.

“You got wet for me...” you murmured.

He wiped a side of his face off and looked off into the distance. “Of course I did. A promise is a promise.”

Leaning in even closer to him, you gave him a soft kiss, your lips brushing against his warm ones. It wasn’t long or deep, but it was enough to erupt flutters in your abdomen. You tilted away to find him taken off guard for the millionth time today, his hues wide, his cheeks blazing, and a hand covering half of his face. Adorable was an understatement to describe him.

#genshin #genshin impact #albedo #albedo x y/n #albedo x reader #romance #fluff #oneshot #OneShots #love #x reader #reader insert #modern au #anime #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #zhongli #childe #kaeya

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gophergal · 3 years

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So this is the third oneshot I've finished this week (second I've posted here. The other that isn't posted here is already up on Ao3.) Don't expect this often, I just wanted to get some WIPs off my plate and I still have many to finish. This is just a short, sweet ficlet, but may have a companion or sequel later on. Who fucking knows. This is a sort of a collection of short moments with the two of them. No real plot, just fluff.

Home On The Range

Word Count: 2,000+ | Rating: T+ | Michael Myers x Jason Voorhees (Western AU) | M/M

Warnings: Implied Murder, Description of Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Failed Hanging Mention, Rushed Ending, Fluff

Samhain plodded along wearily, his rider slumped forward in the saddle as he made his way toward safety. The shootout in town, when the Shape had been driven from its prey, had resulted in Michael being shot thrice, twice in the shoulder, once center mass. He'd fled in a haze of pain and blood loss, mounted his horse, and eventually passed out.

And so that led Samhain to his current situation, following instinct to get he and his master somewhere safe, preferably somewhere with abundant food and water. The stallion stopped for a moment, ears perking up as he caught the sound of whistling coming from the valley below. A tall man, his head covered in a feed sack, was the source. The horse tentatively descended from the hilltop towards the strange man, focused on his joyful whistling.

Hearing the careful clop of hooves behind him, the large man turned, ready to strike with the ax in his hands, which he quickly lowered. Samhain snorted weakly where he stood, far away enough that the man couldn't grab him. Instead, the bag-headed man reached into a pocket on his tattered jacket, and pulled out a half eaten stick of peppermint, holding it out to the stallion who took it, eating greedily. His rough hand pet the horse's black, velvety nose and he hummed reassuringly. The horse's rider did not move, even as the tall man took the reins from his hands and led the horse away from the area.

Trees became more dense as they walked until they came upon a small cabin. Samhain's head perked up as his rider was removed from his back, and he let out a piercing whinny. The man hummed again, reassuring the distressed animal, who slowly returned to a relaxed state. Michael was taken from the horse's back, draped limply in the big man's arms like a doll. He groaned, still unconscious, but alive. After taking the smaller man into the tiny log cabin, the large man returned and removed the tack from the black stallion, running his hand along the sweaty, matted coat that had been beneath, then led the horse to a small stream by the halter, leaving him there to graze and drink the fresh cool water that flowed so freely.

Back in the cabin, Jason studied the man he'd sat on his bed, scratching his beard through the rough burlap of his hood. The dark haired man was covered with a layer of cold sweat, his face twisted in pain, even while asleep. Grabbing a basin of clean water and a rag, Jason set to work undressing the man's torso, looking at the bullet wounds that littered his flesh, nestled alongside other pale scars, some fresher than others. While dabbing the blood crusted injuries, he examined them, determining that the shoulders had been entered and exited cleanly. They would only need liquor poured on them to fight infection. The shot in the abdomen, however, looked more serious, and had no exit wound, all but guaranteeing that the offending lead was lodged within. Jason debated whether he should remove the bullet while the man was unconscious or not, deciding to finish dressing the other two wounds beforehand.

When the alcohol was administered, the man roused with a shout of pain, startling Jason, who in turn fell backward. The man looked around in panic, wearily reaching for his gun, which was no longer on his hip. There was a fire in his eyes, which Jason could now see were mismatched, one black as the horse he rode in on and the other milky white. Rolling off the bed, the man struggled to get to his feet, groaning quietly in agony. Jason approached slowly, as one would a wild animal, which earned him a glare. Disregarding this, he grabbed the man's good arm, careful to help him get seated on the mattress. He did not fight back, but kept scowling weakly, allowing his saviour to do as he pleased. With little fuss, his wounds were bandaged, the pressure of it relieving some of the aching.

Michael fell back onto the cushion, flinching in pain that radiated from his midsection. He inhaled sharply, looking over at the bag headed man who gestured to the leaking wound. He mimed pulling something out, which Michael nodded in response to. Steeling himself in preparation of the pain and biting down on the rolled cloth which was put in his mouth. His eyes screwed shut at the first penetration of the hole, burning pain blinding all his senses as the man's fingers searched for the bullet. It seemed to last forever, and Michael threatened to black out.

His stomach turned as the white hot agony coursed through him, reaching every point on his body. Finally, the man extracted his fingers, and he relaxed slightly, breathing heavily around the fabric gripped tightly in his mouth. When he looked up, the man held the bullet in his bloodied hand. Which he set down beside the basin of water. The pain had subsided enough that Michael could feel the touch of water on his abdomen as the man cleaned his wound again, and finally wrapped it.

“Michael,” he rasped, exhaling sharply and extending a hand to the other man, who said nothing in reply, instead holding his hand after shaking it, and drawing wobbly letters into his palm with a finger. He did this twice, then again, writing on his palm until Michael picked it up: J-A-S-O-N. Michael nodded in recognition, leaning back into the mattress and shutting his eyes. He let out a shaky breath, recalling what had happened in the past week. Then shoving it aside. Yet again, the Shape had led him into danger, just as it always had in search of feeding its insatiable hunger.

A few days passed with Michael resting up and Jason keeping his wounds clean. The two would sit in each other's presence, drinking in the peace. Samhain was well, happy to munch on the green grass of the field nearby. It was nice, but Michael was growing restless. His wounds were beginning to close and hurt far less than they had at first. As soon as he was well enough to ride out again, he'd go after that damned Marshall's head. The thought was delightful and served as his sole motivator for remaining at the cabin. So he told himself, that is.

The other big reason was standing out in the clearing around the back, the muscles of his arms shifting as he chopped firewood. Jason had the strength and stature of no one Michael had ever seen. Even the big bastards he'd get in fights with while swacked on whiskey were puny in comparison, though Jason didn't seem the type to fight drunkards in run down dead-fall saloons. No, he seemed like a good enough man that Michael felt no worry around him. Even if he hadn't seen the man's face, which Michael figured was his right to hide anyway, he could tell in his gut that Jason could be trusted. Michael stirred the pot of stew on the stove as he tried to figure out his plan for when he'd head out.

The more he thought about it, he began to realize that he had no idea where to start looking for Marshall Loomis. In theory, he could just go to the nearest town and start shit, then wait while word spread of his whereabouts, but that just wasn't the way Michael liked to do things. He'd much rather be the hunter, waiting in the shadows for his prey.

Jason walked in, skin still glistening from his hard work outside. It should be time for supper soon, he figured. After all, the sun was hanging low in the sky, ready to set within a couple hours. Jason stopped in the doorway, watching as Michael stood at the stove. Something was nice about watching the smaller man (and that's smaller, mind you, not small. Michael was a large fellow in his own right) tend to their supper.

It was very thoughtful of him, despite how Jason tried to keep him off his feet, lest his wounds reopen. There was also something about the scene that caused warmth to bloom in his chest. He pushed it down. Michael would leave at some point. Jason would be on his own again. He didn't even know why he'd helped the younger man.

A month later, December brought cold, dry weather and Michael sitting in front of the fireplace with Jason, whittling away at a chunk of wood. As he whittled, he made excuses for why he should stay now that his wounds had fully healed, now just marks on his skin where the skin dipped low. He owed it to Jason to repay him for all he'd done in nursing him back to health. Samhain needed time to recuperate. Things to justify his extended stay.

With a glance to his side, he stopped carving for a moment, taking in the picture of Jason, his burlap hood nowhere to be seen. His red hair burned vibrant in the firelight as he mended the hole in a shirt. Michael stopped lying to himself, knowing in his heart that he stayed for his own selfish reasons. Jason was a warm presence. Comforting in a way Michael had never felt.

It was contentment, he supposed it would be called. The closest he'd ever gotten was the come down off an adrenaline high of fighting or the fuzzy, numb stupor he would often find at the bottom of a bottle, but neither of those quite fit the word. It just felt good to be around the red haired man. Michael was good at reading people, a trait that came from many years of playing poker to pay for his needs, but he didn't need any of that to know that Jason felt the same. Michael just couldn't leave him now, he simply had no desire to.

Jason had once showed his face freely to those around him. Back when his mama was alive. He remembers the name calling, the tears Mama wiped away, the accusations after her death, the first bit of darkness when his head covered when he was to be hanged, all of the things that led to his hiding. He'd been nervous when Michael saw his face that first time. Washing his burlap hood in the stream, he'd been suddenly confronted by the brunet. His good eye scanned Jason's face with curiosity. He didn't say anything, just looked. There was no laughter or disgust, just the fire of interest, then of concern when they dropped to the faint ring of scarring around his neck. The two sat there quietly, a silent understanding forming.

That had been within the first couple weeks of Michael's stay. Now, Jason kept the hood off. Only putting it back on when trespassers came to their land, in need of disposal. Michael showed no hatred of that horrible face, but often looked at him, focused as though he were looking at the brightest star in the heavens. Jason allowed himself to hold onto the warmth it brought this time, savoring the way Michael brought him comfort.

Michael rode off to take his vengeance on the Marshall in mid spring. He'd put it off long enough, for as much as he wished to stay with Jason, true peace would not come to him until Marshall Loomis was dead and buried. There was a kiss goodbye, a lingering farewell and promise of return, then suddenly the red haired man was left alone once again. The land was emptier now without Michael. Jason busied himself with protecting their home (for now it was just as much Michael's as it was Jason's before) in the meantime.

It was incredibly lonesome, more than he'd expected. It's not as though Michael left without warning, he'd mentioned he would, and yet Jason was worried. Worried that he'd never see the dark haired man again. Had those silent confessions of adoration been lies? They never were on Jason's part, but Michael's face held no clues to the truth. He supposed Michael would been great at bluffing. It reminded him of something Mama once said: You ought not trust a poker player, Jason, they'll steal everything from you, and they'll make you feel special when it happens. He didn't want to think about that, and held on to the memory of the last time he held the black eyed man.

Days began to blend together before Michael returned on his black stallion. He'd been injured again, but nowhere near as badly. He fell into Jason's arms two months after he'd first left. He was weaker now, a husk of who he'd been. Anger no longer held him together. Jason could tell that he'd ate little and slept less since he'd been gone. His heart was simultaneously broken at the sight of his frail state and filled with his presence. He didn't want to ever let him go again. After a few days rest and many good meals, Michael looked much better physically, but something was different still.

Touching was more common than it had been before. When they sat in front of the fireplace of an evening, Jason would often find Michael reaching out for his own calloused hand, weaving their fingers together and scooting closer. Once, he pushed a curly, red lock of hair behind his ear, the corners of his mouth quirked up in an unpracticed smile. Jason melted at that first smile and every smile after. The weight that had been lifted from Michael's shoulders would never be commented on by either of them. They were simply too wrapped up in the pleasure of one other's presence and comfort to bring up that pain.

There was no pain or unhappiness in their little home that they built, not anymore. Not so long as they had each other to look out for them.

#slashers #michael myers #jason voorhees #myerhees #western au #gopher writes

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tothemeadow · 4 years

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Can I request sub! Muichiro and femdom!reader again???👀👀 I'm literally having the time of my life reading your work cause you're the only author I know who writes femdoms and who writes them WELL sjfjsjfjsjdjdjd Thank you so much for your hard work honey 💕 take care ❤️

You think so? 🥺

‘a touch too much’ / Tokito M. x Reader

warnings: NSFW, assplay, handjobs, feminine boy

words: 1,954

(a/n): Muichiro is 18+ in this, set in the Victorian Era

Everybody knows what happens when Mistress has a favorite. They get more breaks, little gifts, the ability to spend time at your side rather than being a slave to the grind. They’re competitive, ruthless, trying to work harder than everyone else for their Mistress’ attention. They’d sabotage each other if they had the chance, try to make everyone else’s lives a living hell.

It’s why your manor is so spectacularly clean; the floors impeccably glossy, the wooden railways without a hint of dust, the yards kept so finely trimmed that it seems each blade of glass is individually cut. Your staff comes to your every beck and call, waiting, just waiting, for you to slip them a little note or pull them to the side. They’ve seen what happens when one is picked, when one is lucky.

The special treatments are one thing, sure. To be able to eat an exquisite dinner by your side, to be spoiled by riches they could only dream of. But there’s the other thing, the darker, more carnal side of the process. What they crave is the mark – a neat bite mark that sits high above the collar of the uniform, just taunting everyone else. If the staff are lucky enough, they get to hear the pleasured screams coming from your private quarters, the sharp smack of skin being bruised. No… what they crave the most is your touch.

It’s what drives Muichiro, along with everyone else. He commits himself to his work, scrubs at the floors and dusts the fine china until his fingers are numb. If one wishes to be noticed by the Mistress, their work skill must be superb, and they must keep up a proper aesthetic. He’s careful to keep his nails trimmed and neat, constantly keeps watch for cracked nails and broken skin. Luckily for him, he’s been graced with a lithe, feminine body; compared to the other male staff members, he doesn’t wear the usual button up and breeches, but a female maid’s uniform instead.

At first, he thought it was ridiculous, having to be forced to wear something so humiliating, but the head maid quickly informed him that Mistress has a certain affinity to femboys, or whatever that was supposed to mean. Over time, Muichiro’s gotten used to the constant breeze flowing under his skirts, the garters and socks clinging to his slender legs. He was advised to keep up on a skincare routine, to keep his pristine skin and healthy glow. You look so much like a doll, the head maid had said to him. Muichiro planned to use his looks to his advantage as much as he could.

Even now, as he’s bent over the floor, he purposely keeps his hair tied back in a loose ponytail – it’s perfect to keep his hair out of his face while working and it’s a useful handle to yank his head back. He’s alone for the time being, so he can relax as he scrubs the immaculate floor, wiping away the nonexistent dirt and grime. If he remembers correctly, it was imported from France, if the tiny golden roses imprinted in the tile is anything to go off on.

There’s a particular clacking that catches his attention. The usual flat soled shoes the staff members wear don’t make that noise; only the head butler and maid are permitted to have shoes with heels on them. However, they must be busy with their own duties, so that can only mean—

Snapping to attention, Muichiro arches his back just enough so it doesn’t seem like he’s doing in on purpose. Although the skirt to his uniform falls to his knees when he stands, he hikes it up even further his hips to show off more of his legs. As he suspected, you come around the corner, the heels of your imported boots clacking against the floor. He pretends like he doesn’t notice your presence at first – not until the toes of your boots come into his vision, anyway.

“Everything alright?” you say. Muichiro shudders at the smokiness of your voice, at the pure, sweet honey dripping from your tone. His thighs twitch, a surge of warmth filling his lower belly.

“Mistress,” he says lightly. Setting his scrub brush to the side, he wipes his hands on his apron as he sits back on his haunches. “My apologies for not noticing you before.”

By god do you look absolutely stunning in your dress. The color of rich wine, it clings to your shape wonderfully, the thick swell of your breasts and hips accentuated by the tight cording of your corset. Muichiro can’t help but stare at your bare shoulders and neck, the delicate velvet choker wrapped around it so enticingly. With you standing over him like this, he’s feeling incredibly weak, mind turning hazy as he focuses on your polished lips.

“Working out here by yourself… Must be lonely,” you say absentmindedly. Your gaze flicks over his face and down his chest before it settles on his hands, which are folded neatly in his lap. You look back up to his face. “What’s your name?”

Muichiro’s heart kicks in his chest. “Muichiro, Mistress,” he tells you. “My name is Muichiro.”

You cock your head at him. “Well, Muichiro, why don’t you take a break? You look terribly parched.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice; shooting up from the floor, Muichiro quickly smooths his skirt and hair to make himself a bit more presentable. “I’d be honored, Mistress.”

“Fantastic,” you say. You grace him with a wonderous smile, something so utterly breathtaking that Muichiro honestly believes he might feel faint.

It starts off innocently enough – escorting him to your private study, requesting someone bring up a pot of tea (the maid who brought the tray up glared daggers at Muichiro), settling for some idle chit chat. Muichiro enjoys the time he gets to spend in your company, your luscious voice music to his ears. And maybe that’s what does it, the precious lull of your voice, your dazzling eyes. Or maybe the head maid is right and you do like seeing pretty boys like him in skirts and dresses.

Either way, in a wild spur of events, Muichiro finds himself bent over your mahogany desk, abdomen pressed to the glossy surface. The skirts of his uniform are bunched around his slender waist, his legs spread as your hands grope his perky ass. Okay, so maybe he doesn’t wear under on most days since he’s hoping you’d notice him. Maybe he’s already rock hard, his cock leaking precum.

“You walked around like this all day, doll?” you husk. He shudders at the pet name. “You were expecting this, huh? Looking all pretty, knowing that your little cock is hanging between your legs like some lewd whore.”

Muichiro stutters on a refusal, wanting to say no, he’s not a whore, but then you grab his asscheeks in such a way that it makes his heart leap to his throat. He’s not a dirty boy. He’s not.

“You know exactly what you’re doing, huh?” you breathe, dropping low over his back. Your painted lips brush against the shell of his ear; you nip at the earlobe, emitting a slight moan from him. “Admit it, doll. Tell me you were hoping that I’d bend you over my desk like this.”

“I-I didn’t—”

He cuts himself off with a cry as you spank his ass. You do it again and again, getting harsher with each strike. Muichiro scrambles on your desk, his blunt nails scratching at the surface. His cute little ass is beet red, both from your spankings and his embarrassment. He can’t deny the way his cock bobs with each spanking, how delightful it is whenever his cockhead gets caught on the material of his skirts.

“This will only be easier for you if you do as your mistress tells you.”

Oh, fuck. A whimper bubbles from the back of Muichiro’s throat. He hastily licks at his lips, tries to maintain his grasp on reality. “Mistress,” he squeaks, “I want you to fuck me.” He sounds so submissive, so pathetically weak. But he continues, throwing all caution to the wind in hopes that you would give him what he wants. “I always wanted you to flip my skirt and have your way with me.” And, to really sell his point, he cranes his neck to look at you over his shoulder. “Please, Mistress.”

You coo at his little show, your fingers tracing over the swell of his ass. “Doesn’t this little whore know how to charm a person,” you grit. Nudging your foot between him, you lightly kick at his ankles, forcing him to spread his legs. “Let your mistress see everything,” you purr. Muichiro moans as your tongue flicks at his ear.

Dropping to a crouch, you admire the sight before you. His ass is just so cute, so delightfully round and perky that you just want to bite it. His cock hangs heavily between his legs, curved towards his stomach and smearing precum all over the inside of his skirt. Reaching between his spread legs, you cup his balls, fondle them in your palm. Muichiro jolts at the feeling, his face pressing itself to the desk. He’s panting so fucking hard, and it feels like he’s going to burst.

Your hand reaches in even further, fingers wrapping around his cock and pumping it a couple of times. Muichiro’s breath hitches as your fingertip collects the precum beading on his cockhead and spreads it all over his length, the sounds getting wetter and wetter as you continue to jerk him off.

“Mistress,” Muichiro pants, “fuck – ah – that feels so good…”

He whines when you remove your hand; it quickly turns into a surprised squeal as you grab onto both of his asscheeks and pull them apart. The cool air hits his exposed hole, leaves his shivering violently. There’s the sound of you clearing your throat and then he’s wet down there. With a high-pitched keen, Muichiro tries to jerk away as your tongue suddenly flicks over the tight ring of muscle. You hold him still, though, your nails digging into his flesh as a warning.

“D-don’t use your tongue like that,” Muichiro squeaks. “It – unh – feels weird…”

Instead of answering, though, you lightly tap his ass and plunge your tongue into him. The noise that leaves Muichiro’s mouth is nothing short of animalistic; surely, all of the staff members in the manor could hear him. You do it again and again, your tongue thrusting in and out of him. Everything is too hot, too stuffy. Muichiro can’t breathe, can’t think. All he can do is call out for his mistress, beg for more, more, more. Your lips suckle around his hole, the sounds filling the room absolutely sinful.

Muichiro can’t believe what’s happening. Your lips and tongue are heavenly, so fucking good that it’s making him see stars. Your fingers tease his cock, his balls, his perineum—

Another ragged moan rips itself from the depths of his chest as Muichiro suddenly cums, thick spurts of white ruining the material of his skirt. He’s panting wildly, his eyes going wide as he realizes just what happened.

“My, my,” you purr, drawing away. “I can’t say that’s the quickest I’ve made someone cum, but it’s up there.” The tip of your finger pushes past the ring of muscle, replaces the spot where your tongue was. Muichiro’s velvety walls clamp down around the digit, a shaky groan slipping from his lips. “Tell you what, doll. We’ll have your stamina built up in no time. Do you like the sound of that, you filthy whore?”

“Yes! Yes, oh fuck yes!”

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer x reader #muichiro tokito x reader #tokito muichiro x reader #tokito muichiro #muichiro tokito #kny muichiro #request

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traitorousheroes · 3 years

Text

and she greeted the End as an old friend

(Hannibal/The Magnus Archives Crossover. I've had this sitting in my drafts for over a year, and its technically finished, although originally it was going to be part of a series.)

Case #0170723

Statement of Abigail Hobbs, regarding her fathers and her subsequent deaths at their hands. Statement given directly by subject on July 23rd, 2017 to Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Statement begins...

The London streets were cold in the early morning, very different from the warmth of Italy. In a way they reminded her of Lithuania, of the dungeons beneath the old Lecter estate. The moth that Will had left was still beautiful, even as the skin sloughed off and spiders spun their webs in the empty eye sockets. There had been echoes of death that clung to the very stones of that place, but nothing that was unique, except for the fact of who it had affected. Those that it was continuing to affect.

Abigail pulled at the braid that covered her missing ear as she walked up to the Magnus Institute. Pressing her hand against the door, the feeling of being Known overcame her. The Eye focused on her as she stepped through and into the foyer, and she could feel that it wanted what she had come here to give. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Unlike her own patron, the Eye was unused to waiting.

“Excuse me,” she said, walking up to the main desk.

The woman who sat behind it looked up at her in surprise. Her name tag read Rosie, which seemed to fit the woman.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“I was hoping to make an appointment to speak with Elias Bouchard?”

“I’m not sure that Mr. Bouchard has any openings in his schedule for the next week,” Rosie said, flipping through a planner. “If you’d like, there looks to be an appointment open in a fortnight-”

The phone on her desk rang. Rosie gave her a small smile and held up a finger as she picked up the receiver. Abigail could hear the sound of a male voice on the other end, though what he was saying was indistinct. Rosie looked back up at her, confusion on her face as she listened to whatever the man on the line was saying.

“Of course, Mr. Bouchard,” she said. “I’ll let her know.” Rosie put the phone receiver to her shoulder and turned her smile back to Abigail. “Mr. Bouchard says that he has an appointment open at around noon. In return, he asks if you would be willing to give a statement to the Archives.”

“Of course.”

Rosie relayed her acceptance to him, giving a perfunctory goodbye and hanging up the phone. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you down to the Archives.”

Abigail nodded. Rosie turned and walked further into the building, her heels clicking against the stone floor; Abigail’s own shoes, a pair of comfortable flats, made no sound in comparison. They walked past a set of large wooden doors, above which sat a plaque that read Artifact Storage, before coming to a set of stairs that led down. At the basement landing there was only one door, which sat innocuously against the left hand wall. The plaque above it was similar to the one upstairs, but read Archives instead. It also appeared to be damaged with what appeared to be some sort of fire suppressant caked on the upper right hand corner.

Rosie opened the door, revealing a surprisingly large room with two chairs on the wall next to the door. Four desks sat in the middle of the room, each one stacked with paper and knick knacks. On the far left hand side of the room there were offices, one of which had a plaque next to it stating Archivist. A piece of paper was taped over the name holder below it, with the name Jonathon Sims printed on it. There were another two offices beside it, though neither of them had any designations. The door to the furthest one was cracked open slightly, letting her see what appeared to be a cot wedged against the wall. A small kitchenette sat against the back wall, the sink filled with what looked like used mugs.

“You can wait here if you’d like,” Rosie said, gesturing to a chair. “Would you like a coffee? Tea?”

“No, thank you,” Abigail replied, taking the seat. “I’ll be fine.”

“Well, if you need anything before they arrive, I’ll be at the front desk.”

Abigail nodded, letting her smile drop as the woman left. She let out a deep breath, all the air leaving her body in a deathly rattle. The air in the room was silent as the grave, not even the spider spinning its web in the corner making a sound to disturb it. She could feel the cold as it overtook her limbs like an old friend embracing her, her sight disappearing behind clouds of milky white. The echoes of death that lingered in the Archives were tantalizing in their amount. There was the faint tang of Corruption to them, a hive mind bound to flesh screaming out in unison as their lives were snuffed out.

“I think she’s dead.”

“Christ, not again.”

Abigail drew herself back from the deaths of the Flesh Hive, a curl of satisfaction settling itself in her chest. A faint whirring caught her ear as she acclimated back to her body, the sound like the VCR from her childhood. She blinked, clearing away the clouds that had settled over her corneas. One of the men who had been talking yelped, the soles of his shoes squeaking on the floor as he stumbled away. Abigail rolled her neck and stretched her fingers, chasing the torpor away.

As she focused on the two men in front of her she smiled. The one who yelped was braced against a desk, his eyes locked on her. The other had drawn a knife, the edge pointed at her chest. It was obvious that he had never used one before, not only for the slight tremor that transferred from his hand to the blade. Abigail took a deep breath, feeling her lungs reinflate with a wheeze.

“If you wanted to kill someone, you need to point the blade a bit lower,” she told the one with the knife. She raised her hand slowly and wrapped it around his own. He flinched at her touch, but didn’t resist as she pulled him closer and set the knife right below her sternum. “Press in and pull down to disembowel them. If you want them to suffer,” she said, dragging his knife down lower to her abdomen, “you can cut across and perforate their intestines and let them bleed out.”

“Let go,” he said, trying in vain to pull his hand from her grip.

Abigail didn’t, pulling it up so that the edge of the knife rested against the scarf that wrapped around her neck. “Of course, you can also cut the throat. It’s a bit harder than they make it look in the movies, but your victim is aware the entire time they choke on their own blood. Though the blood loss makes the pain feel almost non-existent. It’s almost peaceful.”

“Please,” the larger, terrified man said, “let him go.”

“Of course,” Abigail agreed, releasing the hand that held the knife. The man stepped away, the knife clattering to the floor between them. He rubbed at the skin she had touched, as if doing so would erase the feeling of it.

“Are you okay Tim?”

“Fine,” Tim spat. “Just dandy in fact. There’s only something else that wants to kill us here, Martin. Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“I’m not here to kill you,” Abigail said.

They both looked at her sceptically. She sighed, bending over and picking up the knife from the floor. Both men flinched as she did so, but neither made any movement to get closer to her. It was a passable knife, though the edge was a bit dull when she tested it against the tip of her finger. Folding it back, she stood and held it out to Tim, whose gaze had turned wary. She waved it, and he reached out and took it like a snake striking at prey.

“What are you doing here then?” Martin asked. “How’d you even get in here?”

“Rosie let me in. I’m here to make a statement for the Archivist.”

“You’re here to make a statement,” Tim said, his tone disbelieving.

“I need to give it to the Archivist,” Abigail said. “It’s very important that I do it now.”

“Well, Jon isn’t here right now,” Martin told her. “We could set you up with some pen and paper if you’d like-”

Whatever he was offering was cut off as a man stormed into the Archives, almost running into Tim. He looked between the three of them, his eyes cataloging the two men before looking at her. Abigail felt a tingle of power spread over her skin as the Archivist focused on her with the full weight of the Eye.

“What are you?” the Archivist asked, a thread of power snapping out at her.

“Someone who came to give a statement,” she said, neatly sidestepping what he intended her to answer with another truth.

The Archivist grimaced, accepting what she said while still knowing that what she said wasn’t what he wanted. His shoulders slumped as he let go of what little power he had mustered against her. He rubbed at his eyes with a scarred hand before letting out an annoyed breath. He stalked over to the office marked as his, leaving the door open behind him. Abigail looked at the other two, who seemed unsure of what they should do. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her remaining ear, she went to the Archivist’s door.

“May I come in?”

“If you want to give a statement, yes,” he said shortly. “If you’ve changed your mind, I’m sure you can find the way out.”

“I’m sure,” Abigail said, passing through the threshold and shutting the door behind her. There was a click-whirr as the tape recorder on the Archivist’s desk turned on. She raised an eyebrow which he returned drolly. “I hope you don’t mind me ambushing you here, Archivist.”

“As long as you aren’t here to kill me, I’m sure we will get along fine. And it’s Jon, please. And you are?”

“Abigail Hobbs. It’s nice to meet you, Jon.”

“At least one of us is happy about this. You said you’re here to give a statement?”

“Yes.”

“What about?” Jon asked. For all that his tone implied disinterest, there was a hunger behind his eyes.

“My deaths,” she said simply. “Should I just start, or...”

Jon nodded, his posture straightening as he looked her directly in the eyes. Abigail met them directly, letting the Eye in. She took a deep breath, letting the memories flow out.

“I knew from a young age that my dad was different. He wasn’t too different, not in any way that would make anyone suspicious. He worked a blue collar job, but a lot of people in my town did. It paid well enough, and we were happy. Or, at least, I was.

“My dad never really let me out of his sight. I just thought he was overprotective, especially when I hit my teenage years. It wasn’t until I caught him sitting outside my junior prom that I thought it was weird. He played it off, saying that he was worried about someone spiking the punch. Which, I mean, someone did, but that’s part of the high school experience. But it was soon after that when he got super weird.

“I wasn’t a fan of hunting, but my dad was really into it. He always bagged his allotment during deer season, which meant that we had enough venison for the winter. I think throughout my childhood I ate more deer meat than hamburgers. But that year he took me with him during deer season. He said it was important that I learned how to hunt. He had this weird look in his eye when he said it. Like he was sizing me up like one of his bucks. So I went with him and bagged one. I didn't like it, and I don’t think he liked the idea that I didn’t like it. I thought it was just the fact that he wanted to share it with me.

“After that, he never took me back to his hunting cabin. I can’t say I wasn’t happy about it, because it honestly creeped me out. Mom had put her foot down on the amount of antlers and hunting trophies in the house, but the cabin was absolutely stuffed with them. The upstairs was full of antlers and hooves. I thought he would have sold some of them to collectors or hobbyists, but I don’t think he ever did. I don’t think he thought that would be honoring them.

“That was a big thing with him. He used every part of a deer. You would think there would be some kind of waste, but he was very careful to limit that. It's probably what stopped him from being caught for as long as it did.

“I guess you don’t really pay attention to a lot of American news over here. Which is fair, since I never really paid attention to what happened over here. Plus, there are a lot of serial killers in the States. And I’ve met more than most people. Including my father.

“Like I said, my father was really overprotective. The therapists I talked to, afterwards, said that it wasn’t my fault what happened. That he was just sick in the head and that it manifested in him hunting girls who looked like me and eating them. And they were mostly right. Only they didn’t know that he used me to pick them out. He was a good hunter, you see. And a good hunter knows how to stalk his prey, how to use bait to get them where he wants them. I was his bait. And I knew it.

“I wasn’t scared of him. I don’t think any of the therapists understood that. Even after everything, I never was afraid of him. It wasn’t even fear of what he did when he was hunting. Because the only thing I wanted to do was survive. I wanted to live past whatever happened. If that meant helping him choose his prey, I would do it. In his own way, I think he thought I was close to him, close to the Hunt that drove him. He didn't realize that I was already marked for something else.

“From what I’ve learned about the Hunt, my father wasn’t fully under its influence. Certainly not enough to become something... more. I think that’s why one of the Web’s agents decided to press. I think he was curious to see what happened. He called our house, and when I picked up the phone he asked to speak to my dad.

“He told me afterwards what he said to my dad. That the F.B.I. was onto him, that they were coming for him. But my dad just hung up the phone and continued cooking breakfast. My mom didn’t notice anything different, which I guess is a small kindness. When we heard the car pull up outside he grabbed her and put the knife to her neck. He walked her to the front door, slit her throat, and tossed her onto the front porch. She bled out not knowing why it was happening.

“I should have run the moment I saw him grab my mom. But I couldn’t. I was so afraid, but it wasn’t because of him. Even when he came back, the knife in his hand wet with my mother’s blood, I wasn’t afraid of him. He whispered how sorry he was in my ear, that he loved me, and I still wasn’t afraid of him. It wasn’t until the man from the F.B.I. rushed into the kitchen and my dad slit my throat that I realized what I was afraid of.

“It was the same reason why I had picked out the girls for him to kill. I didn’t want to die. The man from the F.B.I. killed my dad, and still the only thing I could think of as I choked on my own blood was that I didn't want to die like this.

“I did though. For less than a minute on the operating table, my heart stopped. It was enough for the thing that had marked me to deepen it's hold, but not enough for it to claim me completely. That came later. Instead I was dragged into the Web’s games.

“His name was Hannibal Lecter, and he became my father. If it’s a manipulation of the Web for me to think so, I don’t really care. He did do that, of course. It’s in the nature of those who weave. But he cared for me, cocooned me in safety, for a given value of the word. Of course, I was simply a pawn in a game to get him what he really wanted.

“The F.B.I. agent who killed my dad was like me, marked. But the one who held claim on him had more of an influence. I think he would have happily gone through the rest of his life being a conduit and repository of fear if Hannibal hadn’t caught him in his machinations. The Web is always interested in what the Eye does, after all.

“Will didn’t know what Hannibal was. Anything of what he was, really. Remember how I said I’d met more serial killers than most? Hannibal was one as well, and fairly prolific. The Web’s influence helped, letting him make horrific displays that fed it and let him express himself. That same influence let him blind Will to the fact. Not that he needed to do much, other than let Will’s brain cook itself. I’m not sure when he decided to let him live, but I played a part in what came next.

“Hannibal took my ear with my permission. Or, at least, as much permission as the Web needs. We faked my death and framed Will for it. Then he left me to my own devices in a house by the sea. He told me that when the time was right, I would come back and meet him and Will. That we would leave and go somewhere far away to be a family.

“It was a lie, of course. A pretty lie, but a lie nonetheless. Or maybe it wasn’t. I’ll have to ask Hannibal when I see him again.

“It always comes down to choices. And Will chose to stand against Hannibal. He saw the manipulations, the cocoon that Hannibal had put him in, and chose not to become what he wanted. It made him angry. You probably think that monsters can’t get angry, but they were human once. And under everything, they still are. It just depends on how much they want to acknowledge it.

“I asked Hannibal how he would kill me once. He said he would slit my throat like my father had. And he did. He severed me from his web; the same hands that had saved my life, ending it. And I felt the same fear. I didn't want to die. I wanted to live.

“Will tried to save me, but Hannibal had gutted him. The last thing I saw was myself reflected in his eyes. And my life Ended.

“I don’t remember making my choice. Of giving myself over to the power that had claimed me. I know that I made the choice. And so I woke up in a body bag, my own blood caked across my face and clothes, breath rattling in lungs that did not need it.

“I’m still not sure how I got out of the morgue without someone screaming about a dead girl returning to life. There wasn’t ever any news coverage about someone stealing my body from the morgue. I do know that the grave that bears my name is empty; they held a closed casket funeral to hide the fact that they don’t know what happened to my body. I wouldn’t be surprised if they think Hannibal took it. I hope no one ever asks him about it. I want to surprise him.

“That’s part of the reason I came here. He’s up to his games again, from what I’ve seen, and he’s dragged Will back into it as well. So I wanted to leave them a message. I’ll be on the Silver Coast, waiting for them. For as long as it may be until we see each other again.”

Jon blinked, his eyes losing the manic need that had filled them during her statement. Abigail watched as he seemed to sink into himself, a pall of weariness weighing down his limbs. Despite it there was a brightness to his complexion, as if he had just spent the day lazing in the sun.

“Statement ends,” he said. The tape recorder clicked off, leaving their breathing as the only sound in the room.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’re of the End, then?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not what I would have expected,” Jon said.

Abigail shrugged. “We can’t all be grim reapers and shambling corpses. Do you need anything else for the statement?”

“No, I think you’ve given us enough details. Not that it would be easy to follow up on, considering.”

“Kind of hard to explain talking to a dead girl?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve talked with the dead. You seem more at peace than some of the others.”

“I’ve had time to get used to it.”

“Yes, I imagine so. Do you need help finding your way out?”

“I actually need to go speak with Mr. Bouchard. Could you direct me to his office?”

“Um, yes,” Jon said. He looked perturbed at her question, but she imagined he wanted her out of his domain as soon as possible. “Up the stairs, past Artifact Storage, then take the stairs to your left and it will be on the second landing. You can’t miss it.”

“I’ll leave you be, then.”

Abigail stood up from her chair and opened the door. Four sets of eyes looked up as she left the office, with Martin getting up from his desk as she walked past. She heard him say something to Jon as she exited the Archives. Unlike when she had entered, the doors to Artifact Storage were open, with what looked like a few people examining pieces on long tables. Following the instructions Jon had given her, she went up two flights of stairs. As she began to walk across to the door marked Head of the Magnus Institute, it opened.

“Ms. Hobbs,” Mr. Bouchard said. “Please, come in. I do believe we have matters to discuss.”

#hannibal #the magnus archives #abigail hobbs #jonathan sims #tma au #martin blackwood #tim stoker #mid-season 3 of tma #technically season 3 of hannibal #elias bouchard #thwrites #end!abigail hobbs #web!hannibal lecter #eye!will graham

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odissey061 · 4 years

Text

Kinktober, day 2.

Fandom: Obey me

Solomon + Hickeys

Jealousy was an emotion really common in humans being and Solomon understood this. During the millenia, he had seen people, driven by that feeling, behave in the most cruel ways and he thought that ugly feeling couldn’t nest in his heart. After all, whom he could envy? He was the most powerful sorcerer in the world and he had a really vast acknowledge. Yet, since he understood that he fell in love with the other human, during their year in Devildom, that feeling appeared and it wasn’t intentioned to leave soon.

Pieces of clothing followed layers of clothing followed one another and soon both Solomon and the girl were naked, laying on the sorcerer’s bed in Purgatory All. The feeling of jealousy rage in his heart when he saw the merks on her body. The problem wasn’t the number -seven marks were nothing in comparison to him- but the positions: Lucifer left his one on her neck, low enough to be covered by a shirt; Mammon on her lower back, close to the hem of underwear; Leviathan on her elbow; Satan on her ankle; Asmodeus on her inner thigh, close to the pelvis; Beelzebub on her side and Belphegor on her nape. They had different size and Solomon knew that it depended on the demon’s feeling of attachment toward the human. His face twisted in displeasure when he saw that Mammon’s and Belphegor’s were the biggest.

In that moment he discovered how much the love he felt for her was similar to a pact: like a demon had to do anything his master wished, Solomon was the same. He would have done everything for her, if only she would have asked.

He wanted to leave marks on her body too, to let them know that no matter how many times Mammon called her “his human”, because she was Solomon’s. For a second he gazed at her and he wondered if she felt this unfamiliar sense of possession too. She knew how demons leaved pact marks and he was curious to know if she was jealous of the demons and the succubi that had touched him in the past. In her eyes, for a very brief second, passed a feeling of insecurity and Solomon felt somehow reassured that they weren't alone on that ship that sailed in unknown waters.

He cupped her face:”There’s no need to worry we are the only ones here”. With those words he wanted to tell her that neither she or he had to worry about their previous partners, because Solomon chose her amongst all the more powerful and more beautiful demons that surrounded him and she chose him instead of the brothers living with her. That quenched by little the ugly feeling inside him, but he still wanted to leave signs of his love on her body .

He started with her neck. Sometimes he sank the teeth without any mercy in order to be sure that it would have taken some days to vanish and she moaned for the sharp pain, other times he was more delicate: he biteded and pulled the soft skin, then he soothed the slight pain with the tongue. He left two love bites on a side and another one on the other, high enough to don’t be covered by any turtle neck. She pulled his hair, commanding:”In place where they cannot be seen”. He let out a verse of discontempt, but he followed her directions.

He went down on her abdomen and mapping the flesh with his lips, as the hands pinched the breasts. He knew what made her squirm and moan and he used this information for himself. Everyone believed that the sorcerer was a selfish lover who’d rather receive than give, but the truth was that he liked giving as much as receiving. This until the person with him was his partner. Her sighs were music to his ears and he almost lost it, biting her stronger than he intended, when she moaned his name. He cast the eyes to admire the beautiful nebula of hickeys he had left. There were a lot, but it wasn’t enough.

Next, he focused on the inner tights and he left three love bites for each leg. Casually, when he moved to the other tight, his nose brushed lightly against the slickness of her panties. Feeling satisfied of his marking work, he decided to take things to the next level.

She unconsciously grinded herself against his face and Solomon quickly removed the last obstacle with an able movement of teeth and lips. He trails the fingers on her knees, spreading more her legs and putting them on his shoulders. And he started to tease her entrance with two digits. Whatever she was going to say got swallowed up by the need to push against his fingers, seeking more friction than what he was currently giving her. "Solomon" his name came from her mouth like a plea and she could almost cry of happiness when he used the pad of his fingers to rub them up and down. "Yes?" he wondered, "Stop, ah — stop teasing" she asked. He knew he was being unfair, but how could he not tease her when she was so cute as she pleaded?

Solomon whispered here name once and she locked eyes with his for barely a second, before he began to lap at her slit without any warning. Her hands had found themselves a new home on his head, urging him and he thumbed her clit in circular motions. The other hand rubbed circles on her inner thigh. When his tongue began to move in and out of her, she strongly pulled his silver hair and he let out a moan of approval.

"A-ah, I'm going to-" she cut yourself off with a whine and Solomon hums and pulls away, sounding far too pleased with himself:"Mmh". The void in her aching core was quickly replaced by him inserting two fingers and curling them. His actions began to increase in speed and his attention was focused solely on your face. Enjoying himself watching her coming apart under his fingers, was one of his favorite activities.

Solomon did something with his wrist then and the pad of his fingers brushed a specific spot inside of her that had you outright screaming. "Fuck!" she screamed and the sorcerer wasted no time in hitting that bundle of nerves over and over again until the orgasm crashed over her. She gripped the bed sheets under her, chasing the last remnants of the orgasm.

And then he brought his hips closer to her,so that she could feel the erection sliding against the entrance. Solomon was deliberately teasing her now. His gazed at her face, her reactions, as he slid his desire against her cunt, but not making any effort into guiding it where she most craved it. His body leaned forwards, with his arms angling her hips to elevate them a little easier and the process made another inch of his member make its way inside of her.

She circled her arms behind his neck, closing the eyes, as she pulled him closer. He pulled back until she could feel the head of his cock slipping the cunt before he slammed his hips forward. The action was rougher than she expected and she arched the back. Solomon finally savoured the taste of her lips, like a child ate a candy, setting a steady pace, his strokes deep and hard. Her hands kept running across any expanse of skin they could reach from his back, her thighs squeezing around him as a particular harsh trust knocked the air out of you. The room was filled with their moans, the indecent sound of his hips snapping against her, and Solomon breathing her name.

He shifted his angle just slightly before rocking his hips and soon, she was only able to focus on the passionate lovemaking. His thrusts grew uncoordinated as he began to chase his own pleasure. With a drawn out moan of her name, Solomon cursed when the pussy tightened around his dick and, with another thrust, he ended up burying himself deep in you. The way her name fell against her skin as he repeated it over and over again sent a shiver of tenderness on her back.

For some minutes, he gently caressed her hair and the cheeks, peppering the lips with hot kisses and she thought it was over, but then he snapped his hips forward again. There was a hiss of sensitivity escaping from his lips, and when she questioned him about it, he lifted up his head to give her a look that had her reeling from the possessiveness of it. "Done? No, I don't think so. The night is still young".

#Obey me solomon #Solomon x reader #Solomon smut #Obey me smut #Kinktober2020works

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albino-whumpee · 3 years

Text

Mareland 2

Part 2.5 I wrote for myself because part two was sadly, lost to the marvelous job staff does with their mobile app. It´s not the exact same and it feels different, but that´s what happens when you don´t use the right tools to write. Anyways, hope you like it too!

TW:// Slavery, implied abuse, acid burns, stockholm syndrome, non-con touching, vomiting and body modifications.

Salarien opened the door to a guest who came out of the fog. An smile on his face as he made the usual conversation before walking them to the entrance.

“Was it fun? I´m glad you enjoyed it! We will be thrilled to have you around again soon”

The client told the boy they wouldn´t be coming again because they would move out next week. The experience they would visit so much was standing still only because that client came so regularly. Now that they would be gone, it was doomed. Unpopular experiences got replaced. Salarien comically put a sad face that made them laugh.

“Thanks for your patronage!” Salarien waved them goodbye turning back to the office as a smile wore down. It was closing time. He opened the door to his master sitting on the chair reading a book. The mage saw the boy drop to his knees and laughed.

“Stand up, Salarien” they said closing the book and pushing themselves up “we have a lot of things to do” the boy took the black cape of his master and put it on thier shoulders “Thank you, let´s go”

The boy followed his master through the halls of doors with wildly elaborate frames. Knocking on one with a smile on their face “Some clients are fascinated by you guys, keep it up!” they said before resume walking. Salarien wondered if they could hear them at all.

The mage suddenly stopped with a hand on their chin, staring at a door. “Salarien, is this experience popular?” they asked him to the boy rushing to stand next to them. Salarien took a look at the wood door with “keep out” signs over it.

Not really. A few people would come from time to time. It wasn´t often, but the clients that came, told him it was a quite hooking story.

The boy shrugged. His master nodded staring back at the door before walking away. “If it doesn´t get 30 visitors in the next three months, I´ll replace it” They said. Salarien´s heart sank a bit as they followed. It was one of the first experiences. He remembered his master feeling particularly proud of it back in the day. But now they wouldn´t even look back as they praised newer experiences with a tap on their door.

The mage opened the door to the experience, only fog engulfed by darkness as far as his eyes could tell, and stretched their arm “Could you take out the box?” Salarien knelt next to his master and leaned into the cape. It was like putting your hand inside a paint bucket. Slimy and cold, but not sticky. He tainted around until he found a box and took it out. His hands were covered in black goo with sparkles that resembled a galaxy. The liquid burning him to the bone “Open it, please” they commanded him. The boy was poker faced as he focused on turning a switch clockwise and then pull it up. The box opened to reveal concentrated black goo with a ring of purple bubbling liquid around it. The black goo was acidic enough, that small drops made holes on the floor. “If you may” they told their servant grabbing the handle of the door. Salarien prepared to throw it.

Before the door slammed shut, Salarien catched a bright light. Only followed by infernal screamings of various voices. His burnt hands trembled on his sides when the mage took them and gave them a kiss. Salarien let out a small whine as he saw the burnt skin heal and cover the newly formed muscle and bones.

“That goo is like clouds for mages. Wonder why it does that to you…” they said as they opened the door again, revealing a room covered in black goo and the box on the middle. The sole of his burning up wasn´t pain he didn´t know already. Normal replacement procedure.

Salarien ran to grab the box and give it back to his master with a small bow. They put it back in the cape like nothing. Taking out a piece of coal instead. The mage whispered words Salarien couldn´t understand and looked prideful at the mineral as it gleamed for a second. His master walked to the boy and masterfully pinched the sides of his face, exactly at the point it forced his mouth open. “Open wide~” they said putting the coal on the far back of his mouth and shutting it until the boy swallowed.

It took a moment until the boy felt a pain rising up his throat. Squeezing his eyes shut as he regurgitated something in his master´s hand. The boy trembled as the other stared at the gem on his hands. Blue with orange and white lines running over it as tiger stripes. The mage smiled as they dropped it in the ground. “On to the best part”

As the gem touched the floor, it faded into a sea of clouds. As they went down Salarien could see dunes that moved along what the had been a city. Going even lower black goo webs starting forming people on a laboratory at a pace eyes couldn´t follow. Lab coats, glasses, gloves and surgical wear forming on the go as the people who wore them moved around ignoring them. In the tanks one of the scientists was looking over, a fetus popped up, quickly growing into a boy with curly hair and a metal plank over his eyes. A big air bubble went up and disappeared as the boy´s chest expanded and then went down. A monitor that wasn´t there before, showing a pulse and beeping rythmically. More bubbles going up as they boy breathed slowly.

The boy in the tank reached to the mage as they got close. Lifting his hand towards the tank´s glass before getting zapped. Salarien turned his head at the exact moment his owner laughed at him. He felt them grab his arm and take him outside before closing the door.

“Ok, last step, Salarien” they said putting the boy´s hand next to his. Touching the door. “1, 2…3!”

“Anima!” Both of them yelled as a loud bang shook the building a bit.

The mage rested their hands on their hips with a proud smile on their face. Just at the moment Salarien´s legs gave out and violently trembled on the ground. “Oh?” the mage looked at him for a second before kneeling “Oh, yeah. I always forget you can die making new experiences” they said laying the boy on his lap. His hands lighting up to a wheeze “Well, gotta keep that tummy of yours functional if I want to keep this shop going” they said slapping somewhat harsh the boy´s abdomen. He covered his face with his hands to not let out a scream “If seeds furnaces didn´t require vital energy I would have put it on my own stomach” they said as they healed the boy. The tremor slightly getting better. “But having to taste coal? Yikes! Good thing golems like you can take it” the mage put his hands away and let the boy straighten by himself.

He still felt weak and dizzy. Shaking a bit as he stood up, not enough to make him fall, but feeling his limbs as heavy as lead. “Aw, look at you” The mage cupped his flushed face and he leaned into the comforting touch of his master with a purr. “all needy and trembly” they said before lifting him up bridal style. The boy was almost weightless for them. “I love it when you look like that. The best part of replacing, to be honest” they said walking back to the office.

His owner laid him down on their own bed and covered them with their blankets. Giving them a kiss on the forehead before standing up and dropping their cape over the white throne. His master´s bed felt cozy and warm. Very different to the ratty mat he slept on. He forced himself to stay awake to catch a glimpse of his master´s magic, he so much loved seeing.

Vivid colored lights and sparkles made the shapes of animals made of pure light. Clouds of nebula floating around the mage´s hair as small creatures rushed around them. It was an spectacle he loved watching when he could.

Salarien didn´t know if he hated his master. He didn´t have much owners to compare them to anyways. Even if the pain was immense, the comfort he would feel after was greater. It made him feel like his master loved him enough to never throw him away.

The naive views of the golem were nothing to the mage, who noticed the boy hadn´t fallen asleep yet and created a light butterfly as the boy´s smile widened. The soft smile quickly turned into a horrified face as he realized he had broken a rule.

The mage ran a hand through his hair. “It´s ok, it´s your reward for today. Smile for me, Salarien” they said before whispering into the air as light animals and vivid clouds formed a galaxy of things that catched the boy´s attention. A wide smile on his face as he stared in awe at his creator´s magic.

Salarien wouldn´t ever remember it, but the mage did. The moment the clay figure chased a light purple butterfly on the mage´s apprentice desk. The apprentice staring happily at the first golem they had made as they rested their head on bandaged arms. The butterfly puffed out and the golem turned to see it´s creator.

The young apprentice straightened up and blinked as the small clay figure bent down “My…Name´s…Salarien”

“You can talk? Awesome! I´m Rogue” they said rubbing their finger over the golem´s head.

#whump #writing #my writing #mareland #Salarien #rogue #tw slavery #tw implied abuse #tw acid burns #Stockholm syndrome #tw noncon touching #tw emeto #tw body modifications #non human whumpee #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #power imbalance #magic whump #fantasy whump

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namorres · 4 years

Text

AS THE DRUMMERS DRUM ∞ E. MIKAELSON

wc | 6k (i’m sorry i got carried away)

warnings | violence, blood, death. but also fluff. it’s all in there.

masterlist

The cool morning air licked her bare, exposed shoulder, enticing a hiss from her as she slowly stepped into the waking world. Pulling the duvet closer to her chin, she reveled in the warmth that it provided, turning just slightly to reach out and place a soft palm on the opposite side of the bed. Her fingers came in contact with something just as warm as the covers, a chuckle hitting her ears moments later.

Reluctantly, but happily, she opened her eyes and gave him a lazy smile over her shoulder, turning fully to lay on her side and stare up at him. It was obvious enough to her that he’d been up already, likely trapped in his own world of thought. The smile he offered her in return told her that those thoughts were vacating his mind, though, and for that, she took solace.

Her hand found his on the top of the duvet, her bare chest meeting the brisk air he had already been sitting in, but she ignored it. Their fingers tangled together, her eyes tracing each and every scar, line, and knuckle. She adored his hands, adored what they could do, adored what they could hold, adored that, no matter what activity he’d previously participated in, they were always soft in the center. When she looked back up to his face, she saw that his eyes were locked on her own hand, that lazy smirk having made a home upon his lips.

“How’d you sleep?” She asked in a low whisper, shifting in her spot so that she could lean against him, her free hand resting on his bare chest.

“As well as could be expected,” he sighed, eyebrows furrowing for a moment before he looked at her with adoration painted across his irises. “You?”

“Well,” she laughed, her eyebrows twitching upward, “I had this crazy dream where,” she took in a breath, “it was crazy, Elijah.” Her joking smile had relieved him of any worry the moment her sentence began, and he was already beginning to laugh with her as she giggled through her next few words, “I had this dream where you,” she poked his chest, “made me a cup of my favorite tea, and then you made me your signature breakfast─ I know, it sounds crazy!”

He was laughing with her then, bringing her hand up to his lips and placing a soft kiss on her knuckles, “That does sound quite… ludicrous, darling.”

The two of them chuckled quietly, staring at one another. Her eyes danced across his face, much like they had his hand, and she took in each part, each dimple, freckle, scar. She had never in her life loved a man such as she did Elijah, with so much passion, so much fervor it was hard for her to contain it all. How long it had been, at this point she wasn’t sure, nor was she sure of the exact moment she’d fallen in love with the man, but she was sure in saying that she’d never regret a day of it.

Leaning forward, her hand cupped Elijah’s face and she pulled him down to her level, their lips meeting in a soft kiss. His palm ran along her arm, fingertips pressing into her skin whenever she didn’t pull away and the kiss lasted a moment too long to be considered just a good-morning-kiss. He pushed forward, pressing into the kiss as much as he could.

She pulled herself down so that she rested on her back, head against the mess of pillows they slept on. A moment spared between their kisses, and then Elijah was meeting her again, on top of her and hands traveling anywhere they could reach. Her fingers tangled into the hair on the nape of his neck, tugging lightly whenever he’d touch a sweet spot on her bare skin. He pulled away from her with a sigh, hot breathing leaving a tingling path down her neck as he pressed open-mouthed kisses to every inch he possibly could. His teeth grazed against her skin, empty threats to pierce it hanging in the air between them.

“Elijah,” her voice was breathless, her neck tipped back and ever so exposed. She was taunting him, could feel his eyes focused on the vein that echoed with her heartbeat, knew just what she was doing. Usually, she would do this until she knew he couldn’t deny it anymore, couldn’t hold himself back, and then she would take the permission from him, to tease, to take pleasure in the denial of such pleasures to an Original vampire. But, now, as his fingers worked her skin, and his breath cascaded over her sensitive collarbone, she found that she couldn’t deny him this. “Don’t hold back.”

His hand came up from her ribcage, clutching the side of her neck he couldn’t see. He bit into her throat, a moan escaping his chest at the taste of her blood on his tongue. Any pain she’d felt at the initial bite was gone, replaced with only a feeling of almost sadistic pleasure paired with a sudden lightness she hadn’t felt beforehand. He stopped himself whenever an involuntary whimper echoed quietly, pulling back and kissing the puncture wounds, cleaning up the blood around it with his tongue.

His traced kisses all the way up to her ear, then down her cheekbone, to her lips, where he pushed harder into her. One hand grasped the back of his neck, the other sliding down his bare chest, over his ribs, as far as she could reach. He moaned at the feeling, forearms bracing himself around her head, hands tangling loosely into her hair. When he pulled away, his forehead rested on hers, his chest heaving just slightly for lack of breath.

She pushed him up and over, taking her own position above him as she sat on his abdomen. The adoration that flashed through his dark eyes, yet again, made her heart race and a smile light up her features. She was exposed to him, everything bared in front of him but neatly hidden to anyone that might walk in, and God, he loved it.

She was perfection to him, every bit of beautiful and worth every risk. He took the hands that rested on his chest in his own, looking up at her as he kissed each knuckle, a smile so clearly traced across his lips. He couldn’t begin to understand how he’d managed to become so enthralled in this woman, but he couldn’t seem to convince himself to give a damn. She was everything to him, and he let her in, and he was perfectly okay with that.

“I love you,” he said in a low tone, eyes narrowing as they danced between her own.

She bit her bottom lip, lowering herself down so that their chests were pressed together, “I love you, Elijah Mikaelson.” She pressed a kiss to his lips, to which he returned gratefully, and as she pulled away, he noticed the marks on her neck still angry and red.

He chuckled to himself, hand reaching up and lightly tracing the wounds, “Forgive me.” Biting his wrist, he offered to her, which she took without question, drinking just enough for her marks to fade with a quickness. His thumb traced away the remnant of blood left on her bottom lip and he smiled so genuinely, so softly, he was sure his thousand-year-old heart wouldn’t be able to take it.

────

Elijah had given her a kiss goodbye as he left the Compound, having to assist Niklaus in something he surely would garner no good will from. She wasn’t sure if assist was so much the right word as save the ass of, but she figured it would do her well to think of it as helping instead of the both of them being put in mortal danger. She was well acquainted with the idea that it came as part of the Mikaelson’s – pain, being shoved into life-threatening situations, disregard for personal health when faced with the doom of another member – but that didn’t mean she always saw it necessary for Elijah to be the one who picked up after his younger brother.

But as luck would have it, neither Rebekah, Freya, nor Kol, or Marcel for that matter, cared to give him much assistance in his endeavors, leaving the sole sibling to take care of it. With all of this in mind, she found herself quite alone at the Compound, traveling the halls and searching for things to do in her state of absolute boredom. She’d leave, but it simply required too much of her effort to want to get dressed and go out and talk with people, maybe even encounter those she’d rather not have anything to do with. So, with her almost egregious amount of time, she did absolutely nothing productive and busied herself with sweet nothings.

The past hour, she’d found herself in Elijah’s study, glossing over the books he kept on his shelf. She’d been with him for almost eight years now, traveled alongside him wherever Niklaus went, so she was more than aware of the literature he chose to indulge in, but these works were things she’d never seen him with before, let alone mention. They dated back to the earlier part of the fifteen hundreds, some even before that, and to imagine that he’d kept them so beautifully intact amazed her.

Her eyes found the trunk that sat at the corner of the room, just by the doorway, and without much thought, her feet took her to it. She sat down, opening the lid and pulling out the journal that had been tied and retied and retied a million times by none other than herself, as she always gave in to the guilty pleasure of reading what her Elijah wrote of in his times on the planet. He’d seen empires rise and fall, he’d seen countries burn, world wars, the likes, and yet he still managed to find a reason to love this place, to stay in it.

That fact amazed her almost as much as his fanatical-librarian alter ego that kept five-hundred-year-old books because maybe he might pick them up again someday.

A smile danced across her lips as she read the familiar handwriting, fingertips tracing over the paper and feeling the dips where his quill had pressed. Some words were deeper than others, scrawled in anger or sorrow, but others were barely a divot in the page, written with a light hand, happily, carefully. She could picture the very day he was describing in her mind’s eye, the look on his face as he gazed upon his siblings laughing, finally feeling as a family.

But the image was cut short by a rather loud thud from somewhere in the house, tearing her attention away from the words on the page and up to the doorway. Her eyes peered through the crack between the door and the frame, watching three figures clad in all back march through the levels, obviously looking for something and not giving a damn if they were caught. She closed the book softly, wrapping it up and tucking back in the trunk, letting the lid shut quietly.

Standing from her position on the floor, she padded over to the bookshelf, pulling two books that were too new, too vividly colored to match the rest of the old works. She set them on a lower shelf, grabbing the small dagger that was hidden behind them in case of emergency and tucking it behind her wrist.

Another thud startled her by its closeness, a sharp gasp leaving her mouth as she turned and looked to the doorway, where two of the three men stood. They were stocky, a mask covering their face and only adding to the element of wickedness the men held. There was barely a moment’s pause before one lunged at her, hands reaching for her throat. Fixing the dagger into her grip, she drove it into the side of his neck to the best of her ability, pulling it out and watching as he dropped, blood dripping from the black cloth that covered his body.

The other was quick to follow his lead, this time reaching for her wrist and pinning it against the bookshelf behind her. His thumb pressed on a pressure point, causing her fingers to relinquish the grip they had on the blade and a yell of pain to leave her. The dagger clattered to the ground, and the much bigger man subdued her with a quick strike across the jaw. She slumped against the bookshelf and the man picked her up by the waist, slinging her over his shoulder and shouting to the other assailant that he’d gotten what they came for.

––

She awoke with a start, pulling upward and being met with great resistance from her wrists and her stomach. She looked down, eyes tracing the tight rings of rope that bound her to the chair. Her stomach had been looped just the same, as well as her feet. A lingering coldness seeped through her nerves, and she noticed then that the bindings had been cutting off the circulation of blood to her extremities, and if she were to move, it would only make it tighter.

Chest heaving, she looked around wildly, trying to recollect the moments that lead up to this one in her racing mind. She remembered the men in the house, the dagger behind the bookshelf… the dead man on the floor, and then being struck. Her eyes became hooded as she realized there was likely no one aware that anything was wrong in the Mikaelson compound – she’d been the only one there, something she’d been rather unopposed to at the start of the day. Now, however, she found herself wishing she’d gone out somewhere; perhaps a drink could’ve stopped her and these… who were they? from crossing paths.

She could guess as much that they weren’t vampires – they didn’t speed when they came after her, and if she was any wise to how the blood-thirsty creatures were, any advantage they had they were sure to use. They could have been werewolves, but that would mean the wolves had even attempted to come out of the bayou and that just didn’t make any sense in her mind.

That left only the witches. Because of course, the witches would have something against her or the Mikaelson’s. She was not without her own guilts, this much was true, but they really did pale in comparison to the thousands of year’s worth of bloodshed that stained the hands of Niklaus, Elijah, the lot of them. An irritated tug to the ropes made her hiss in regret, her head hanging low when she realized she was practically powerless. She was not of the supernatural world – a choice she’d made when she first fell for the Original vampire. A life, she’s said, she wanted to have a life, and just the one would be quite enough for her.

A sinking feeling invaded her heart when she realized that life she’d so desperately wanted was going to end rather abruptly today, with none of her own say in the matter. Shaking her head, she let out a scoff, tears threatening to well up in her eyes, leaving a burning feeling in her head and the back of her throat.

Her gaze shot up as she heard the echo of footsteps, approaching her from somewhere she couldn’t see. She breathed angrily, her lip snarling upward as the person in question stepped into the light, a harsh shadow playing on his face.

“Y/n,” he grinned evilly, “so good for us to meet again.”

“I’m sorry?” She raised a brow, a bite to each word, “Am I supposed to know who you are?”

“I suppose not,” he gave a thoughtful nod, “but no matter. I know exactly who you are. And what you mean to the Mikaelson’s.”

The necklace that hung from his neck, something she’d seen tons of witches wear before, as well as the tan-colored pigment of his skin tone, sparked something of recognition in her mind, but she genuinely could not place where or when she’d seen him. Shaking her head, she let out a breath, “What do you want?”

“Answers,” he gave, as if it were simple.

“To,” she looked around, confusion written all over her features, “to what, exactly?”

“Well,” he smiled at her, walking over to the side of the room, shrouded in darkness. When he came back, he’d shrugged off his coat and stood in front of her, sleeves rolled up and palms clasped together. “You’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”

────

Elijah stepped into the compound, tugging at the ends of his dress shirt and overcoat, fixing his now bloodied suit to the best of his abilities. It had been torn in his small scrap with the vampire variety, so he would have to discard it, but that did not deter him from keeping up a false pretense of management. Niklaus was not far behind him, storming in with angry sneer, and completely shattering that management Elijah clung to.

“I am tired of this city thinking it can rule itself,” he growled, turning and facing his older brother as he pointed to the door. “Don’t they see that they’re all fools! Don’t they see there’s no sense in challenging me! I’m the King!”

Elijah stared at his brother with a blank expression on his face, waiting for his usual tirade to end before drawing in a breath and letting it out, mouth hanging open as he processed the words he was about to let out, “Brother, might I say, you may be King, but this city does not take well to self-pronounced royalty.”

“They’ll fear me, Elijah,” he said in a final statement, though it hardly counted as a response to what the elder Original had said. With nothing else remaining, he stormed off into a different area of the Compound.

A sigh left the elder brother, his hands tucking into his pockets as he stood in the courtyard, closing his eyes and taking in the moment of silence.

Absolute silence.

His eyes cracked open again, and he looked up at the second level, listening for anything other than Niklaus cracking open a bottle of bourbon from the cellar. But there was nothing. He clenched his jaw, walking toward the stairs and continuing to listen for something he was beginning to fear he would not find. His eyes narrowed as he looked about, waiting to see if she would pop out from a separate room, or perhaps from their own. But the door to their room was wide open, likely with little regard to closing it, and he took sudden notice to the lack of closed doors.

Swallowing, he walked into their room, saw nothing, and then raced to his study. If Y/n hadn’t been there, she’d be in his other area, reading his journal or perhaps sleeping on the couch. But as he looked in, his heart rose to his throat and his breath ceased. A man lay on the ground, blood pooled around him, and the dagger presumably used to take his life lay next to him. Pulling his hand from his pocket, a piece of paper fluttered to the ground, folded into a ball.

His gaze bounced between the corpse and the paper, and that dread that had been gripping his mind now took up home in his stomach. He squatted down, unfolding the paper and reading the messily scrawled words along the paper.

Give back what’s mine, I’ll give back what’s yours.

He crumpled the paper in his fist, anger flaring up in his body. Standing, he left the study and stood against the banister, “Niklaus!”

His brother rounded the corner, having rid himself of his coat, “Must you yell, Elijah?”

“They took her,” he said lowly, not fearing Niklaus’s ability to hear him.

“What?” The younger brother suddenly stood alert, looking up at Elijah with a clenched jaw that mirrored his own.

“The damned witches,” he threw the paper ball down to the courtyard, Niklaus racing to grab it before it hit the ground. He uncrinkled it, reading the note and shaking his head. Elijah fixed his suit jacket, the fabric still slightly damp from the blood. “We have to find her.”

Niklaus pulled his phone from his pocket, dialing no doubt their older sister’s number, and explaining the situation very briefly before hanging up, “Grab something of Y/n’s. We’re going to Freya.”

–

The brothers stood behind Freya as she cast the spell, chanting under her breath and then watching as the grey substance traced its way across the city of New Orleans all the way to the edge. It stopped at what seemed like nothing, but the siblings knew better – it was likely whatever they’d hidden her in was underground or unregistered with the city. A safe spot no one would think to look if no one knew of its existence.

“This doesn’t feel right,” Freya shook her head, hands braced on the table, “it shouldn’t have been that easy. If it was the witches like you say, they would have used a- a cloaking spell, something.”

“So it’s a trap?” Klaus spoke up.

“Likely,” Elijah nodded, tone calm. His hands were tucked in his suit pockets again, gaze trained on the slats of the window as he thought of the possibilities that could greet them in that place. “Is it possible the spell isn’t tracing Y/n directly?”

Freya thought for a moment before shaking her head, “No. The spell doesn’t chase remnants – it either finds them or it doesn’t. That’s where she is.”

“Then we’re wasting time,” Niklaus growled, turning heavily over his shoulder and stalking out of the tower.

Elijah went to follow, but Freya turned and grabbed his elbow, stopping him in his path. “Be aware, Elijah. They wanted her to be found for a reason.”

Elijah nodded, giving one last look to his sister before turning on his heel and following his younger brother out.

────

Her head hung low, aching with a dull pain starting at her crown and descending to her collarbone. She was sure if they struck her again her head would fly off – a mercy killing, at this point. The blood from her mouth pooled in her lap and she cringed at the look of it, wishing she could make this all stop.

He’d started with telling her who he was – a New Orleans witch with a vendetta against the Mikaelsons. “They stole something from me, you see,” he’d shrugged, running his fingers down the length of an impressively long dagger, “and I intend to get it back.”

Y/n had asked what it was, and he explained rather simply that it was an important family heirloom, passed down through his bloodline, that was meant to increase the power of the possessor tenfold. But, of course, if any witch possessed that kind of magic and wasn’t the reagent, there was surely an innumerable amount of ways they could defile and abuse it.

He, who had not given a name for whatever reason she wasn’t sure of, asked her first if she’d seen it. When she answered that she had no idea what it looked like, he smiled tightly and sighed, asking again. She shrugged in the chair, hands reflexively pulling up against the ropes. Setting the knife down, he walked so that he was crouched in front of her, fingers ghosting over her kneecap. “See, love, this is going to work in one of two ways. You’ll give me what I need, I wait for the Mikaelson’s to rescue their pitiful human,” he sneered a little at the word, as if he weren’t one himself, anyway, “and then all will be well. Or,” his hand clasped around her leg, a searing pain emitting from his fingertips as he burned into her thigh, “you deny me what I want and I leave your dead body for your beloved Elijah to find.”

She grimaced slightly at the mention of Elijah – if he found out that anything happened to her, she was sure he would not hold back the part of himself kept behind the door, away from the world. “He’s going to kill you,” she growled lowly, fingernails digging into her palms.

“Oh I know,” he chuckled, “I count on it.” He grabbed her palm, slicing it open and letting blood spill into a bowl. With a few words chanted quietly, he looked up at her through dark lashes and grinned, “Should I meet my demise, sweetheart, so will you. But fear not – anything done to you doesn’t affect me. Magic is a wonderful thing.”

After that, every answer she gave him that wasn’t the exact location of whatever heirloom he was talking about, he’d do something that hurt just a little more. Then he’d cast a spell, heal her of the wounds, and do it all over again. What felt like hours had passed, her throat was raw from screaming, her head pounding, her body consumed in searing pain.

Lifting her gaze, just slightly, she tried to see something, anything. A person, hopefully not that bastard of a witch, a door, another light, anything that could tell her where she was. But the harsh light above her shrouded the rest of her surroundings in a deep darkness she couldn’t see through. Her breath escaped shakily, her head dropping again while tears began to roll down her cheeks.

What if they weren’t coming? What if this was going to be her end? What was going to happen if… if Elijah found her dead? He’d undoubtedly blame himself, push himself so far into a corner of his mind, and he’d never be the same. And, Niklaus, the poor man, would lose his brother, lose his best friend. He cared for Y/n, too, but he cared for her because she brought a happiness to his brother that hadn’t been evident in over a century.

The fear of leaving Elijah alone was what gripped her most, and the idea that it was going to be over something so trivial as a trinket, it broke her. She wished, she really wished she could give the location to the witch, to make this stop, but she couldn’t because she didn’t know what, or where it was – both key factors in giving him the answer he wanted. This was a fact she’d given time and time again and was called a liar for.

She sputtered a small heap of blood into her lap, the feeling of it tickling the back of her throat. Hurried footsteps echoed through the dark, and she looked up, eyebrows furrowed and eyes narrowed, trying to see who it was that was coming back. Her mind told her it would be Elijah – he had found her, he was going to untie her, get her out of here. But her gut told her it would be the witch, coming back to do as much damage as he could.

Her gut had won out, and she screamed whenever he came into light, “No, please! Please!” Her voice broke and she sobbed, the rope around her stomach digging into her skin as she leaned forward, hyperventilating, “I don’t– I don’t know where, I don’t have it,” she murmured, shaking her head.

The witch said nothing, gripping the knife beside him and standing just in front of her, not even looking at her sorry heap in the chair. His gaze was hyperfocused on the darkness she couldn’t see past. A second and third set of footsteps, just as hurried as before, hit her ears, and she silenced her erratic sobbing, hoping to whatever god there was that it had been Elijah.

“Let her go,” she hissed inwardly, staring at the darkness with wide eyes, the ever recognizable voice of her beloved practically a melody. “She has nothing to do with this.”

“Oh, but she does,” the witch smirked, “in fact, she has everything to do with this.” Turning over his shoulder, he raised a hand in the air. The ropes around her loosened, and she lifted with his fingers, completely at the mercy of his magic. Any struggle she put up was quickly quelled by the power around her, so she was quick to simply give in to the force.

Elijah’s eyes widened as he looked on at her, stepping closer to the witch. Niklaus, who had been standing beside his brother, closed the distance further, coming right up to the witch’s face and asking with a growl, “What do you want?”

“My pendant,” he challenged the hybrid, staring him in the eye and snarling. His fist closed behind him, Y/n letting out sputtering noises as she choked on a magical force squeezing around her throat.

Klaus surged forward, holding the man up by his throat, hoping that would release his hold on Y/n. But, instead, his fist remained closed, pressing tighter and choking her more. Klaus clenched a tight palm around the witch’s throat, straining to fight against the magic that was protecting him. “We don’t have it!”

“Yes! You do!” The witch cried, pushing the knife into the hybrid’s chest then following with his free palm, sending him into a cement post behind them. Klaus sprawled on the ground, breathing heavily, angrily, gripping at the handle of the blade lodged in him.

Elijah sighed, stepping closer once more, “We don’t have it. We don’t care to take such trivial trinkets.” There was truth in every word he spoke, every syllable that passed his lips. They truly did not have it, had no idea of what he was talking about.

“I did a locator spell,” the witch growled, letting the grip he had on Y/n’s throat go just slightly, and she let out a breath, but nevertheless continued to claw at her throat, “it was at your home.”

“We have no care to know who you are,” Klaus said lowly, standing and letting the knife clatter to the ground, “why would we care to take something from you?”

Obviously, his words offended the witch, his brows furrowed and his eyes darkening. “You will care about who I am when I take something from you.” Looking to Y/n, he smiled and drew his thumbnail across his own throat, cutting hers in the process. She choked on the blood, holding her hands to her neck and trying to stop the bleeding. Elijah cried out, racing to her body as she dropped. He caught her, placing her on the concrete, and Niklaus raced forward, grabbing the witch by the collar and biting into his throat, ripping it out without a second thought.

The witch collapsed to the ground, and briefly, he wondered why he hadn’t done it earlier. But, he knew it was likely the witch had tied himself to her or made it so that if he died, she went with him. Klaus stared at the dead body a moment longer, then walked over to his brother.

Elijah cried into her shirt, gripping the back of her neck and pulling her as close to him as he could. A yell ripped through his throat, and Klaus clenched his jaw, ready to rip the entire coven to shreds for this. Placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder, he closed his eyes and listened for just a moment. There was no one else with them, they were quite alone in this warehouse. “She’s dead, Niklaus,” Elijah whimpered, looking up at him with lost, broken brown eyes. “She’s gone.”

Klaus’s jaw clenched, and he looked away a moment then returned his gaze back to his brother, “Let’s take her home.”

────

Freya had been the one to greet them at the door, a sorrowful look in her eyes whenever she saw Elijah cradling the love of his life against his chest, face absolutely stoic. Blood coated his already ruined suit, and from the ashen look of Y/n’s skin, it had been all of hers. Klaus said nothing as he walked up the stairs and into his room, slamming the door. Elijah looked at Freya, mouth open as he took a breath, eyebrows furrowed. Tears filled his eyes, but he just shook his head, walking past her and clutching Y/n as tightly as possible.

Laying her down on a couch in their room, he sat beside her and kissed her fingers, tears slipping down his face. This was never supposed to happen – she was never supposed to get hurt this way. He made her a promise, gave her his word that she would be safe as long as he loved her. He broke his promise. How could he do that to her?

His eyes trained themselves on the cut around her throat, and a shaky breath left his chest. He closed his eyes, shaking his head and wanting nothing more than to be back with her this morning, holding her, talking with her again. He remembered each moment of the morning with a vivid mind’s eye, smiling to himself at her jokes, at the feeling of her lips on his, her skin in his hands, the soft moan that left her whenever he’d bitten into her collarbone.

He stopped, stilling completely as he looked at her. His eyes widened and he looked down, eyes darting back and forth as he remembered seeing her atop him, drinking blood from his wrist to heal the bite he’d left on her neck. His sight was back on her, watching for any signs of movement, of something. But it would likely be hours before she came back – it wasn’t a quick resurrection.

She could’ve been drained completely of his blood, though; her state when they finally found her was battered, to say the least. Even so, the hope that she could come back to him made the tears dry and sudden desperation to kick in. Leaning forward, he whispered to her to come back to him, to wake up, and then pressed his lips into her cold forehead.

–

The Original hadn’t left the room the entire night, watching and waiting for her to wake. With each passing hour that she didn’t, that desperate hope vacated his much-too-old soul, and he briefly wondered if he’d be able to stomach life without her. At some point, he stood, making a trip to his study and pulling a book from his shelf that he’d read a thousand times over. A smile threatened this corner of his lips as he thought of what she might’ve said to see him picking up the ancient works again.

As he pulled back the cover, a gasp echoed in his ears, along with an erratic heartbeat. Dropping the book, he raced to his room to see Y/n sitting up straight, grasping at her throat with wide eyes and terrified expression. Elijah kneeled beside her, holding her face and letting her register that it was him before pulling her into his chest. His hands petted the back of her head, ragged breaths leaving the both of them.

“What happened?” She whispered.

“You died,” he answered simply, pulling away and looking at her with water-filled eyes, “you died, Y/n.”

“Then–” Her hands gripped his wrists, and for a moment she searched his face, looking for an answer to the question. Once she found it, she stilled beneath him for a moment, “I’m... I’m a–”

“Yes,” Elijah said, nodding to her and looking away for a moment, shame filling him. This isn’t what she wanted to be – she’d told him that from the beginning. “Forgive me.”

Her eyebrows furrowed, her head shaking, “Why?”

“This isn’t what you wanted, Y/n,” his voice was low, quiet, “you wanted a life. I took that from you.”

She waited a moment, letting out a breath and realizing that she didn’t care. She didn’t care if she no longer had that life to live – it had become plainly obvious to her she wasn’t going to have it if she loved a Mikaelson. Her eyes closed as she took in all the sounds around her, her thoughts slowly draining out of her mind and being replaced by hyper-awareness of her surroundings. She shook her head, “It’s too much. The sound– it’s too loud.”

“You need to feed, love,” Niklaus appeared in the doorway, surprising the both of them. Y/n looked at him, still holding Elijah’s arms. “That is if you want to.”

Her head ached, and from the look in Klaus’s eyes, she realized that he wasn’t really giving her a choice. “I don’t want to die.. again,” she cracked a joke with a shaky laugh, and Elijah’s mouth turned up just slightly before it fell again.

“Are you sure about this, Y/n?” His thumbs came up to her face, caressing her cheekbones.

“Yes. I’m sure,” she nodded, forehead falling against Elijah’s. She pushed a kiss to his lips and let out a breath, “If it means I never leave you again, I’ll do it.”

“I love you,” he whispered, kissing her forehead and letting her head fall into his collarbone. Klaus left to get the blood, and Elijah made a vow to himself then that he would never stop loving her. Never.

#elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson imagine #*e. mikaelson #the originals #the originals x reader #*to #**#ash #the originals imagine

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amyscascadingtabs · 4 years

Text

i can’t see the future, but i know that it’s there

Two times Amy Santiago finds herself awake in the middle of the night. post 7x06.

(read on ao3)

(thank you to @fourdrinkamy and @letsperaltiago for helping inspire this ❤️)

She knew it was coming.

It’s been the same pattern this month as well as the last, and the one before that. First trying, then hoping, then a negative early pregnancy test and a few days later, the ever-dreaded and detested arrival of her period.

Amy’s never liked her period, but she’s never hated it this much before.

It used to just be something annoying, a bit of bleeding and exhaustion and cramps for a few days that temporarily made her life a tiny bit worse, but nothing she couldn't handle. She’d take some Midol, maybe ask Jake for a massage if she felt really sorry for herself, and move on with her life.

That was before they started trying.

She takes early pregnancy tests, the ones that will tell you the results up to six days before a missed period, and when they're negative she knows what to expect. Still, there's always that glint of stubborn hope in the back of her mind before she's gotten it - maybe it's slow-starting, maybe it's a false negative, maybe - and it's first when she sees the first dark drops on the toilet paper that she fully admits defeat.

She's not pregnant this month either. Her body's telling her look, I got ready, I was about to let something grow here but you failed, and it's a gut punch because Amy Santiago does not do failure. Amy Santiago is successful. Amy Santiago has control. Amy Santiago isn’t supposed to be sitting on the floor hugging her legs to her knees and crying after putting a tampon in, crying because nothing's working and her body hates her, and the universe hates her and doesn’t want her to ever have a baby.

She wasn't even hoping this time, because they're taking a much-needed break to regain their sanity after the last months, but she still breaks down in tears again after texting Jake and asking him to buy more tampons on his way home.

It feels wrong. She wants to be texting him about some ridiculous pregnancy craving that he would tease her for, or some morning sickness home remedy which he would gladly get. Not tampons.

It feels wrong when she wakes up in the middle of the night, too.

The digital clock shows half-past five in the morning, and she’s exhausted, but there’s a dull ache in her lower abdomen and back and it hurts too bad to sleep through. Near unconsciously, she searches for the pack of painkillers in her nightstand, until she remembers they can negatively impact fertility and are hidden in the back of the bathroom cabinet for that exact reason. She shifts position instead.

It doesn’t help. The cramps are terrible, the worst she’s had in months, and they don’t get better even though she tries to fold herself double and press a pillow to her stomach. She can’t tell why they’re so bad, wonders if it’s but another way for her body to remind her of what a failure she is, but she knows she won’t be able to fall asleep until the pain has eased. Keeping herself hunched over, she stumbles into the bathroom and weighs the blue Advil box in her hands for a second before swallowing two tablets. Screw possible negative impacts on fertility. She just wants to sleep.

Amy lies awake after, waiting for the medication to take effect. She focuses on the sound of Jake's even breaths next to her and tries to match her own inhales and exhales to it, making it a competition with herself to distract from the pain. The minutes on the clock tick by, one after the other, and she counts how many are left until the thirty-minute-mark. Twenty-three. Twenty-two. Don't think about the pain. Don't think about the fact that you're still not pregnant. Don't think about it don't think don't think don't think.

It feels wrong, unfair and wrong, to be awake at night because of her period. Amy wishes she had another reason.

It's been eight months since her first pregnancy scare, when they decided to start trying. If she had been pregnant then, and everything had gone well, they could have just had a baby by now. She could have been up feeding a tiny newborn, or rocking them to sleep, or changing diapers, and she would still have been exhausted and maybe still in pain, but she would have had a baby and nothing else would have mattered. She would have had her family, and maybe she would have been a little frustrated at Jake for sleeping through the cries, maybe she would have elbowed him in the side and wheezed at him that it was his turn to get up - but she would also have gotten to witness the sight of him lowering himself over the crib, picking up their baby and holding them against his chest before giving them to her for a feed. She pictures his sleep-dazed expression and those transcendent heart-eyes overpowering every sign of exhaustion once he looked at their child, and bites her lip at the memory of his despondent look when she showed him the latest negative test.

The discrepancy between her wishes, and the Universe’s plans for them, has never felt so wide.

She thinks of holding a positive pregnancy test for the first time in her life, of being told that something’s finally growing inside of her after months and months of single lines and minus signs and not pregnant-s. She thinks of going to an ultrasound, of seeing a perfect little alien-shaped blur kick their legs and wave their hands on the screen. Maybe she and Jake would go to one of those fancy 3D-scans later on, because if she knows them right, they would be too curious not to. She thinks of holding her just-born baby in her arms for the first time, being able to kiss their sweet little face after all those months of waiting.

They’re taking a break from trying, but the dreaming hasn’t stopped, and the pain of not knowing when - or even if - the dreams will come true, has only grown sharper.

She doesn’t realize she’s started crying again until Jake stirs next to her, mumbling a worried Amy? that she pretends not to hear because it’s embarrassing enough to be awake in the middle of the night crying about her period and it’s even worse to wake someone else up because of it.

“I’m fine,” she sniffles, quickly wiping away the tears. “Just go back to sleep.”

“Ames...”

“It’s just my period, okay? It’s just cramps. I’m okay,” she says, and curses her voice for breaking on the last word.

“Do you want painkillers? A heating pad? I can give you a massage -”

“Jake…”

“Whatever you need, I’m here, I promise -”

“Just…” She closes her eyes. “Just hold me for a bit.”

There’s a second’s silence like he’s surprised by the request, before he moves closer and wraps his arms around her.

There hasn’t been as much cuddling between them in the last few months. Every bit of physical intimacy has seemed to have just that tiny edge of pressure built into it, and lately, Amy’s found herself shying away from it, not wanting to instigate anything with the sole purpose of making her feel good. Her body’s betraying her, and whatever pleasure she may have longed for, she’s felt undeserving of it.

Tonight, though, she doesn’t care. She’s in pain and they’re taking a break from trying. She lets herself be pulled into his chest, her tears leaving wet stains on his shirt, and his hands stroke up and down her back as she lets herself relax in the embrace.

“It’s not about the cramps, is it?” He asks, and she shakes her head. “Hey, it’s going to be okay.”

You don’t know that, she wants to say, but Jake’s voice is mild and caring and easy to trust. She nods instead.

He doesn't say anything after, and she's grateful for the patience. His fingertips dance along her neck, pressing and drawing lazy patterns to make her relax, and slowly but surely, breathing gets easier.

“I can't stop thinking,” she whispers once she's certain her voice won't break again. “What if I had been pregnant that day at the manhunt? Or if we'd gotten pregnant our first month trying?”

“Ames…”

“We could have had a baby by now, Jake. But we don't.”

He opens his mouth as if to protest, but she shakes her head again.

“I just want a baby.” She rolls over on her back, staring up at the ceiling so she doesn't have to see the hurt in his eyes. Jake's arm slots around her shoulders, keeping her close.

“I don't want to be up at night because of fucking cramps. I wish I was up feeding our child, or soothing them, or forcing you to get up and do it. Hell, I would rather be up in the middle of the night because I was in labor than this, because at least that would mean we were having a baby, and it would have been better than this.”

Another single tear makes her way down her cheek. Jake wipes it away.

“I know, babe.”

“I know we're a family,” she says, reaching for his hand. “I love our family. But I just… I just want a baby.”

“We will have a baby,” he promises her without missing a beat. “Someday - somehow - we’ll have the most wanted and perfect baby. That’s a Peralta guarantee.”

The word makes her mouth twitch into a tired smile. Jake leans his head to the side, kissing her cheek.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” she nods, and she doesn't fully believe him yet, but she's tired and the painkillers are kicking in and she wants to believe him, which maybe, she figures, is a first step as good as any. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he whispers back, and she squeezes his hand a little harder.

He gets her the heating pad anyway, and then he lets her curl into his side, holding her as she’s finally able to fall asleep again.

He’s her family. He’s the person who knows her better than anyone, knows what she needs even when she’s not sure of it herself. She wants so badly for them to have children, more than she wants anything else in the world, and the period pains aren’t even a tenth as bad as the pain of knowing no, not this month either.

The lack of control is the worst part. The thought that something might be wrong with her is a close second. But most of all, she can’t shake the feeling that this isn't how it was supposed to be.

one year later.

Amy could have sworn it’s only been an hour since she was last up. When the soft whimpers from the crib next to her side of the bed turn to the sharp, ear-piercing cries they’ve already learned mean feed me now before I wake the entire building, she can’t help but mumble a curse over how tired she is. She thought she’d experienced exhaustion previously in her life, after night shifts and long stakeouts or cramming for exams, but she’s never even come close to the level at which two weeks into new motherhood measures. Amy Santiago of a year ago had no idea what she was in for.

Jake mumbles something, an attempt of offering to get up, but she tells him it’s fine, promise and he sighs in contentment, pulling the covers back up to his chin. He’s definitely taking the sleep-deprivation harder than she is, but he was also the one who was up changing a leaking diaper that demanded an outfit change without batting an eye about an hour ago, so Amy can’t be mad. Besides, she doesn’t need him for this. Breastfeeding is her thing, and she selfishly loves that she gets to have their daughter all to herself for these moments.

With some determination, she manages to sit up on the side of the bed, standing up to lean over the crib. It’s far from smooth, because she's still sore and ungraceful, but she powers through. Her baby needs her.

Gently hushing, she bends down to lift their daughter. The cries soften as the girl notices her, reducing to just a frustrated whining, and Amy smiles because she's not completely terrible at this.

“It's okay,” she says, cupping the back of her daughter's head and supporting her bottom, making sure the swaddle blanket with colorful circus animals is coming along as she holds the infant against her chest. “It's okay, baby, I'm here.”

There’s another whimper like her baby’s trying to make sure she’s being told the truth, and it’s one of the cutest sounds Amy’s heard. Pressing a kiss to her little forehead, shamelessly breathing in her scent because everyone was totally right when they talked about how addicting the smell of your own newborn is, Amy bites her lip and tries not to groan in discomfort as she adjusts herself back to a sitting position. People had warned her giving birth would be horrible; most forgot to mention the recovery part wouldn’t be any more fun. She’s grateful it’s getting better, and also to whoever invented disposable underwear and ice pads.

She reaches for the nursing pillow and turns on the nightstand lamp so she can see what she’s doing, squinting as the bright lighting hurts her eyes. Apparently, her baby isn’t a fan of it either, because she pouts her lip and makes an upset face that nearly breaks Amy’s heart.

“I know,” she tells her, brushing her hand over the soft black hair on her daughters’ head. “I’m sorry. No fun. I just haven’t learned to do this in darkness yet, so you have to be patient. I’m working on it. See?” Still holding the newborn on her right arm, she manages to use her left hand to unhook the strap of the nursing tank top, then doing the same for the bra.

“Impressed? You should be. I’m telling you, it’s harder than it looks with one hand.”

Her daughter doesn’t look too impressed, more impatient, so Amy shakes her head and guides her towards the breast, gently placing her jaw there and helping her get the right latch.

Breastfeeding had turned out to be much more complicated than she’d thought. It seemed so natural when she pictured it, so obviously something she would want to try, but she’d failed to prepare for how difficult it would be to a beginning. Sore, cracked nipples before they could figure out the correct latch, the feeling that her boobs were about to explode once her milk came in, the leaking and the fact that every feed seemed to last forever. She’d pictured fifteen minutes, not forty. It’d been a rough start with a lot of tears for both her and baby, but once she’d powered through the first ten days or so, she’d been positively surprised to discover how much easier it became. Her daughter knew what she was doing. If she just allowed herself to relax a little, so did Amy.

She counts to ten when her daughter sucks down rather hard - the first ten seconds are the worst - and then, she takes a deep breath once she can hear the peaceful suckling that’s already made its way to the top of her list of favorite baby noises. They're both learning how to do this now, and for every time, Amy’s loving it more. Sure, it's a little messy, and she never gets to sleep, but it's also the moments she feels closest to her newborn. This is something only she can do for her daughter. Anyone can hold her or change a diaper, and the kid falls asleep better in Jake's arms than anywhere else, but when it comes to this, Amy's the only one. This is their time together.

Her daughter seems to really like it, too. It’s clear in the way she’ll make eye contact while feeding, her light brown eyes - the same color as Jake’s - staring into Amy’s darker ones with surprising intent and focus. Newborns are nearsighted, Amy knows. She wonders sometimes if nature made it so that they’re born able to see exactly this distance, not needing anything else.

And then, like the moment wasn’t sweet enough already, her daughter brings her tiny hand up to rest on Amy’s chest, and she could cry from the feeling of overwhelming love, drowning her and casting her back up on shore a new person.

“I love you too,” she whispers, stroking her thumb over the round cheeks she’s so obsessed with. It’s cool to think about how they’re all thanks to her, because she’s nourishing this child with her body. “So much more than you could ever understand, baby.”

“You were so wanted. More than you’ll ever know. There were days where I thought about giving up, because nothing was working, and some days I wondered if we’d ever meet you.” She thinks of the night at Shaw’s when she finally confessed that she had no idea what to do, thinks of just wanting to start a family, getting a chance to grow the magic she and Jake already had together. “Most of the time I still can’t believe you’re here and this isn’t all just a dream.”

“You were so wished for, Evelyn,” she says, pronouncing her daughter’s name with all the care and love she has in her heart. “You were so wished for, it’s the reason we gave you your name.”

(Baby names had started a fun thing, quickly turned into intense debating, and calmed down once they agreed on a boy’s name - and then they found out they were having a girl. It had seemed a practically impossible feat to find common ground, resulting in more than one slightly too heated argument. Jake wanted something that sounded cool, Amy wanted something that had a nice meaning, and the two never seemed to overlap; until the day Jake came home from work and claimed he’d interviewed a witness that day with the coolest, most perfect name.

“And look at the meaning,” he’d said, showing her the NameBerry tab on his phone.

Meaning of Evelyn: “wished for child”.

Amy had only been able to nod.)

She remembers the detailed calendar with its green highlighted ovulation - fertile window, and the timing of sex that had felt clinical and half-hearted and not at all like them. Vitamins, too many vitamins even for her, the obsessive tracking of every glass of water and shift in temperature. She remembers every negative test, the shiny spark of hope each time she laid the little plastic stick down to develop, thinking this might be the one only to have all hope crushed again three minutes later. She remembers the disappointment in Jake’s eyes every time, remembers hating herself for the way he tried to hide it when really, it was probably all her fault and she was just bad at making babies. All the sleepless nights a year ago, when she tossed and turned with anxiety, wondering if a tiny half-her and half-Jake perfect baby would ever be in the cards for them.

It seems a lifetime ago, but she remembers every bit of pain and exhaustion like it was yesterday.

Motherhood is exhausting, too - Amy no longer remembers what it’s like to sleep for more than three hours at a time - but it’s also gratifying, and extraordinary, and indescribably beautiful despite the struggle. She feared she’d never get to experience this, but she is, and it’s worth every blocked milk duct and sleepless night when she nudges Evelyn’s little hand with her index finger and her daughter clasps her hand around it.

She got her baby in the end. She got her family.

Reaching for the glass of water on her nightstand and taking a few sips, she catches a glimpse of the digital clock next to it. It’s been around fifteen minutes since they started nursing, meaning she’s probably about halfway through. She should try to switch sides.

“Hey, Ev,” she whispers, brushing her thumb over the newborn’s chin. “You think we can do this? Maybe even somewhat smoothly?”

Evelyn hiccups at that, spitting out a little bit of milk that drips down Amy’s chest.

“Okay, forget smoothly. You think we can do this, period?”

She gives Jake a longing glance, wondering if she should try to wake him and ask for help, but he’s sleeping so soundly despite the bright lighting that she decides against it. Besides, she’s totally got this. She’s just going to get a nursing pad and a burp cloth from the nightstand, and then she’s going to unclasp the other side of the tank top and bra and put the first side back together, and then -

Evelyn pulls away suddenly - too quickly for the flow to stop - and it comes down all over her face, making her grimace in protest. Her little face scrunches up, and two seconds later, she's crying.

“Sscch, honey, it's okay,” Amy whispers, quickly following the instinct to hold her daughter upright against her chest, swaying slightly from side to side. “Sorry about that.”

She manages to reach for a burp cloth, wiping away the milk that seems to have gotten all over the newborn’s face. Evelyn stops crying and Amy takes a relieved breath, switching the newborn to her left arm and unclasping that side of her tank top and bra. Her daughter latches on, quicker this time, and Amy’s just about to relax again when she realizes she never had a chance to fix the other side, and now it’s leaking. She tries to at least clasp the hooks of the bra together, but what’s doable with her left hand is impossible with just her right, and she fumbles and gives up. She can’t get a nursing pad, either, because they’re on the nightstand to her left and she can’t reach for them without twisting herself completely and disturbing her daughter. She tries to use the burp cloth still in her hand to save some of the worst, but her tank top is already uncomfortably damp from it and Amy’s stuck.

It’s so far from glamorous - new motherhood in general, but especially this right now - and she’s deliriously tired but so happy at the same time, it’s all she can do to laugh.

“This is a mess, huh, Ev?” She asks her daughter, adjusting the legs of her pajamas. Jake had remarked the other day that baby pajamas must be one of the most pointless inventions, considering newborns sleep as much or little no matter the time of the day, but they also both agreed on it being the cutest category of clothing known to mankind. This one has a pattern with smiling clouds and stars on it, and it’s already making Amy emotional to think that her daughter will have grown out of it in a couple of weeks.

“We’re all a bit of a mess right now,” she whispers to the child. “I think that's okay. We're figuring it out together. It’s all that matters.”

Evelyn hiccups, dribbling more milk over herself and Amy, and Amy can't help but laugh again because she’s slowly being covered in it and she's not going to have a chance at freshening up with a shower for several hours if she wants any sleep at all, and yet everything has never felt so perfect. A year ago, she wouldn’t have dared to dream of this, but now it’s her life.

Jake yawns next to her, rubbing his eyes before looking up at them with an entertained grin.

“How are things going?”

“Messy,” Amy groans. “I’m not sure I’m nailing this thing just yet. There’s milk everywhere.”

“You're doing great,” he assures her, patting her leg, and she grimaces at the praise. “Need any help?”

“Desperately. Please fix this side for me,” she nods to her right and Jake laughs, but he gets out of bed, gets the stuff and fixes it for her without comment, bending down to kiss the top of their daughter’s head when he's done.

“You’re beautiful,” he tells them, slotting back on his side of the bed but supporting his head with his hand to hold himself up. “This - this is beautiful.”

“Ev's beautiful. I smell like sour milk and have never slept less in my life,” Amy corrects him, but he just smiles.

“You’ve never looked so happy before,” he says. “That's beautiful.”

She rolls her eyes at him, but it’s a loving eye-roll, because he’s absolutely right. Even with the exhaustion, messiness and slight chaos of the moment, she’s never been so happy.

“I can’t believe we got here,” she whispers. Evelyn pulls away, finally seeming content, and Amy gives her over to Jake who practically shines with pride as he drapes a burp cloth over his shoulder.

“Told you we would.”

“I know.” Amy wipes a little bit of milk away from Evelyn’s chin with her thumb before kissing Jake’s cheek. “I love our family.”

“Mm-hmm,” he says, eyes soft as he looks at their daughter again. He pats her back a little harder and she looks right at him before letting out a loud burp, making both of her parents laugh. “So do I.”

This, Amy thinks as Jake gets up to change another diaper while she closes her eyes to get the chance of a few more hours of sleep, this is how it was supposed to be.

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winchester-fantasies · 5 years

Text

Under The Cover of Night

Summary: You and Dean share a heated and intimate tryst shrouded in darkness with only the moon and the passion between you as your guides.

Word Count: 3234

Warnings: smut, swearing, fluff

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Winchester Fantasies’ Masterlist

“I want you. I want your sleepy confused look when you wake up. I want to be the warmth that fills the space in your bed. I want to be the sheets your fingers crave at night; the blanket that wraps around you all night. I want to drink tea with you, share some records we find. I want to talk about everything in the world newspapers. I want to discuss with you, to be stubborn and quick-witted with you. I want to have differences between us. I want your flaws. All of them. I want to go into the deepest corners of your mind and never get bored of you. I want to be surprised by the new all the time. I want to look at you like a movie, a living piece of art; always trying to chase what you crave...and capture you.”

--Elay Neal Moses

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You stood at the edge of the forest, leaves crunching beneath your feet as you shifted your weight from foot to foot. Your breath puffed in the cold night air, and you shivered, pulling your coat tighter around you.

You glanced at the digital watch on your wrist - 11:00 p.m. With trembling fingers you raised the flashlight and flashed it twice. Then you waited.

You stuffed the flashlight into your coat pocket but almost immediately took it out again. You needed something to fiddle with to take your mind off the butterflies of anticipation dancing in your stomach.

Your eyes strained to see into the dark as you scanned the horizon. The moon was just bright enough for you to make out a figure in the distance, walking towards you. A shiver of excitement ran down your spine as he grew closer. You could see the outline of his broad shoulders as he walked with his unintentional but natural swagger and the long strides of his muscular bow legs.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said as he reached you. He immediately pulled you into his arms and kissed you. You melted against him, surrendering to his touch. His tongue snaked past your lips and into your mouth, exploring every inch. You moaned into his mouth; he tasted like mint and whiskey - two such distinct flavors that oddly complemented each other and gave Dean his unique taste.

You were breathless and light-headed when he pulled away. “Almost missed your signal, sweetheart,” Dean panted, his own breathing uneven.

This had been going on for nearly a year now - these trysts of yours. Jody found you after one of the werewolves your parents had been hunting escaped and came back for revenge. You'd been the only one to survive. Jody wanted to take you in, but with Alex and Claire already there she had little room to spare. So instead you'd gone to live with Bobby.

At first you weren't sure you liked living with the rough-and-tumble man. He was salty most of the time, and when he wasn't cooking or reading up on lore he was reprimanding you about one thing or another. But however much he might have been critical, he was always there for you. That's when you realized that although his exterior was gruff, he possessed a heart of gold. Especially when it came to the Winchester boys.

When you first laid eyes on Dean Winchester, you knew there was something different about him - something that made you weak in the knees. You soon realized Dean felt the same way about you.

At first it was late night talks and stolen kisses. But eventually things changed and grew more earnest and heated. Soon it had shifted to secret and intimate rendezvous.

You tried to keep it under wraps for Bobby's sake. Even though he loved the boys like his own, he'd always warned you they were trouble. He knew you had a soft spot for Dean. But he didn't want you to get mixed up in the dangerous life the Winchesters led. He said you'd already seen your fair share of heartache; you didn't need more.

But Dean was like a drug and you were an addict. You craved him when he wasn't with you and when he came to visit it was if you couldn't get enough. So it became your ritual that when he’d come, you'd sneak out and meet in the woods - a quick flash of light your signal.

“Well, it's a good thing you didn't. Otherwise I would have had to take things into my own hands,” you said coyly, nipping at his lower lip playfully.

“Hmm. Would’ve paid to see that,” Dean chuckled. “But let's be honest,” he said, backing you up till your back met the rough bark of the tree behind you. “I wouldn’t have missed this pretty, little pussy of yours for anything or seeing you cum again and again and having the satisfaction of knowing I'm the one that made you fall apart,” he growled, his hand cupping your core.

You gasped as his fingers met your clit through the thin fabric of your nightgown. “Dean,” you whimpered, hiking up the hem. You needed to feel skin on skin. He seemed to take the hint because he removed his hand and slid it under your nightgown. He hummed appreciatively when he found his path unobstructed by panties.

His fingers found your clit again and he began to rub small, even strokes over the little bundle of nerves. “Oh, god,” you moaned, closing your eyes and leaning your head back against the tree.

“Does that feel good, baby?” Dean whispered in your ear, his voice husky.

“Mhm,” you whimpered, biting your lower lip to keep from crying out. “The best,” you said, your voice shaky.

“Good,” Dean said. “Just wanna make you feel good.”

His fingers dipped into your dripping your core and he chuckled. “Always love that you're so fucking wet,” he said. “This all for me, babygirl?”

“Y...yes, Dean,” you panted. “All for you.”

“That's what I like to hear,” Dean growled. He abruptly removed his fingers from your core, and you whimpered at the loss. But you were quickly placated when he replaced his hand with his leg, his thigh pressed firmly onto your clit.

“Ride me,” Dean demanded. “Wanna see you come undone.”

You wasted no time in fulfilling his request, the ache between your thighs almost unbearable. You rocked your hips, your clit sliding over the denim of his jeans just right.

“Fuucckkk,” you breathed. You gripped his shoulders as Dean's hands moved to your hips, his thumbs drawing circles over your skin.

You could feel your wetness pooling beneath you and soaking into Dean's jeans as you continued to move, your movements steady and firm. “That's it, babygirl,” Dean said, his voice tense. “Just like that. Fuck, you looking so fucking hot right now, riding my thigh.”

His words sent a shockwave of arousal straight to your core, and you bucked, your hips almost meeting his. You could feel his erection through his jeans, straining against the taut material. You smirked in pleasure. He was just as turned on by this as you were.

Dean's grip on your hips tightened, and he pressed his thigh a little firmer against your sensitive bud. You moaned at the pressure as Dean guided your movements. “Come on, baby,” Dean said. “Cum for me.” With those words you came, your hips bucking wildly over his leg, your clit catching deliciously on the denim.

Dean kissed you as you came down from your high. “God, you don't know how long I've wanted to do that,” Dean said with a salacious chuckle.

You smiled against his lips and wrapped your arms around his neck. He placed kisses all along your jaw and down your neck. His tongue licked a stripe up the side of your neck, and he sucked a mark just below your ear. You moaned at the sensation before Dean's lips grazed your ear. “Wanna taste you,” he breathed, and a shiver ran down your spine.

Dean pulled away, pecking your lips softly. He lowered you to the ground, the leaves cold and prickly beneath you. Your chest heaved in nervous excitement as Dean knelt between your legs, his calloused hands settling on your shins.

He kneaded your flesh softly as his hands traveled up your legs, leaving tingles of desire over your skin. His fingers stopped just below the hemline of your nightgown. He toyed with the material, and you whimpered. He smirked. “Eager little thing aren't you?” he asked.

His hands finally started moving again, sliding underneath your nightgown. You lifted your hips off the ground as he pushed the material up, bunching it around your waist.

You moaned as his fingers slid over your still sopping folds. “Mmm,” Dean growled. “Such a beautiful pussy.”

You spread your legs further to accommodate Dean's broad shoulders as he lowered himself to his stomach. He trailed kisses along your inner thighs before reaching your core. You shuddered as he placed a soft kiss to your mound.

Without warning his tongue slid through your folds. You moaned and arched your back. Dean glanced up from between your legs with a grin. “You taste so good, baby. So sweet,” he said before returning his focus to your core.

This time his tongue met your clit causing you to shudder as an electrifying wave of pleasure assaulted your body. You weaved your fingers into his hair, desperate to hang onto something.

Dean pushed a finger into you, then another, and yet another. Soon he was pumping his fingers into you as you writhed under his ministrations. Your legs trembled as you felt your approaching climax, and you bucked your hips up to meet his mouth, desperate to placate the almost painful pleasure.

Dean's hand came to rest on your abdomen firmly, halting your movements. He removed his mouth from your clit to look at you, his fingers keeping their steady pace. “Relax, (Y/N),” Dean gruffly soothed. “Let me take care of you.”

You nodded and sucked your lip between your teeth. You breathed in deeply and closed your eyes, tuning out all other sights, sounds, and distractions and focusing solely on Dean and the way your body was responding to him.

His mouth was once again latched onto your clit, but this time you focused on the sensation rather than the release your body was screaming for. The ecstasy was unmeasurable and soon your muscles were tensing and your body quivering uncontrollably. Dean sensed your approaching orgasm, and he abruptly crooked his fingers, the rough pads of his fingertips meeting your sweet spot.

Your back arched off the ground, and you grasped blindly in the dark for something to grasp onto. You bit your lower lip hard to try to keep yourself quiet, the metallic taste of blood meeting your tongue.

But the pleasure was rising to heights you'd never experienced before, bordering on rapture. Something was different about this time. You weren't sure what it was, but you wanted to revel in it. With that a scream erupted from your throat, piercing the night as you came.

Dean continued to pump his fingers, helping you ride out your orgasm. He chuckled once you'd stilled, your body nothing more than a sweaty and exhausted heap. “You'd better be quiet, baby,” Dean said in a throaty whisper. “Otherwise Bobby’ll think there's a damn banshee in his woods.”

You laughed and brushed back a few strands of hair that had become plastered to your brow. “But I'd be lying if I didn't say it wasn't the hottest fucking thing I've witnessed all night,” Dean husked.

You smirked. “I thought me dry humping your thigh was the hottest thing you'd seen,” you teased.

Dean let out a languid hum as he hovered over you. “Mmm, that's still first place,” Dean murmured before his lips were on yours. He snaked his tongue into your mouth, your tangy sweetness lingering on his taste buds.

You slid your hand down his torso, slipped it under the waistband of his jeans and past his boxers before grabbing his manhood. He shuddered and groaned against your mouth. You rubbed your thumb over the head, finding pre-cum and smearing it around and down his shaft. You began pumping it slowly, relishing the soft grunts and sighs coming from his lips. He began moving his hips, matching your rhythm with his own. You felt him twitch in your palm and knew he was close.

Dean suddenly pulled away with a hiss. “Baby, baby, stop,” he said breathlessly.

“But I wanted to feel you cum,” you pouted.

“And you will,” Dean reassured. “Just...not in your hand,” he added with a devilish smirk.

You felt another wave of arousal at his implications, and you whined as his hands fell to the button on his jeans. He knew you were watching his every move so he went slow, giving you ample time to take in everything. You bit your lip again to stifle the wanton moan at the back of your throat, and your fingers found your over-sensitive bud as he began to strip.

Dean smirked, knowing he was driving you insane as he pushed his jeans and boxers down his legs, his erection springing free. He tossed them to the side before he reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head and adding it to the pile beside him.

You couldn’t hold back a groan this time as the moon illuminated his toned abdomen and chest, the muscles rippling as he leaned over you once more. Your hands came to his chest, caressing his soft skin. Dean hoisted you into a sitting position. You shrugged off your coat before raising your arms as he removed your nightgown from your body.

You laid back down, the crunching leaves scratching your bare skin. Dean leaned forward, his chapped lips making contact with your abdomen, and you shivered. His breath was warm as he trailed wet, sloppy kisses from your waist to your bellybutton before sliding his tongue up to the valley of your breasts.

You spread your legs wide as he settled between your thighs. You let out a small gasp as he gently entered you. He was patient, allowing you time to adjust. He kissed you once he was fully seated within your warm heat.

“You can move,” you whispered hoarsely. You wrapped your legs around him as he began to move. His arms were on either side of you, holding him up as he thrust into you slowly. You ran your hands up his arms and to the back of his neck, pulling him down for another lazy kiss.

It wasn't long before you felt that familiar warmth flooding your lower belly. You closed your eyes. “Dean,” you said, his name a breathy moan on your lips.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” Dean implored urgently, rubbing his thumb across your cheekbone, coaxing your eyes open. You locked gazes, and even under the cover of darkness you could see his eyes, pupils blown wide with desire and emanating nothing but admiration.

He groaned deeply as he felt the first, soft flutterings of your walls around him. He leaned his forehead against yours, his warm breath fanning across your face as his mouth hung open in pleasure.

Something was different this time, you again acknowledged. This time it wasn't hurried - Dean rushing to get you both to your releases before Bobby realized you were gone. This time he was taking his time, enjoying everything you had and giving you all he could.

His movements were still slow and steady, and you could feel your orgasm rising higher and higher. You let out a low mewl and wrapped your arms around his back, fingers digging into his sweaty flesh as you felt yourself on the precipice of release.

Dean shifted slightly, the new angle affording him to thrust deeper. He slid over your sweet spot, and with that, you came harder than you ever had. Dean followed behind closely, his hips stuttering and ropes of hot cum spilling inside you.

Dean buried his face into the crook of your neck, kissing your damp skin before he gingerly pulled out and rose to his knees. He reached over, grabbing his t-shirt. He cleaned you up with his shirt before draping your coat over your already cooling body.

He pulled you into him, your still bare breasts plastered to his chest. He kissed you gently, his hand rubbing up and down your back before settling on your hip. You stared into his eyes and stroked his jaw, his stubble rough against your fingertips.

“Run away with me,” Dean murmured, his lips turning up into a soft smile. His fingers rubbed your skin, his hand sliding lower to caress your ass.

You gave him a half-smile. “Dean,” you said, your voice holding a small warning. “I can't.”

“Sure you can,” Dean said, kissing your nose. “You have nothing holding you here.”

“Bobby…” you started.

“Has lived alone longer than he ever has with someone,” Dean said, with a smile, cutting you off.

You gave him a skeptical look. “Alex and Claire…” you tried again.

“Have Jody,” Dean said. “(Y/N), you're not responsible for everyone. You know that right?”

You bit your lip and looked at his chest. You traced his anti-possession tattoo as you thought over his plea.

“Baby,” Dean said, tucking you further into him. “Not everyone needs you. Hell, even I don't need you,” he said. You jerked your gaze upward, a pang of hurt stabbing your heart at his words.

“But I want you,” he said, placing a soft kiss to your forehead, your hurt almost immediately subsiding. “I want to be your good mornings, and your every goodnight,” Dean whispered, kissing your left cheekbone.

“I want to come home to you everyday, and see that beautiful smile of yours and feel your arms around me.” He kissed your other cheekbone. “I want to kiss you...and hug you...and hold your hand whenever I want.” His lips grazed over your chin.

“But most importantly,” he said, eyes staring deeply into yours, searing your very soul. “I want you by my side forever.” He placed his lips on yours, reverent and chaste but conveying everything you'd one day hope to hear. He drew back, his eyes studying your face.

He ran his thumb over your lips, and you closed your eyes, his touch almost as enticing as his lips. “Because I love you,” he breathed hoarsely.

Your eyes shot open, and you stared at him, shocked and nearly convinced you'd misheard him. He stared back at you, his eyes searching yours for some kind of reaction. You were finally able to compose yourself enough to smile. “I...I love you, too,” you whispered almost shyly.

A wide grin lit up Dean's face, and he leaned forward, capturing your lips in his, this time his tongue dancing with yours. You were gasping for air once you pulled away.

Dean's own breathing was labored, his chest heaving from excitement and lack of oxygen. “So...does that mean?...” he asked uncertainly.

You grinned, running your fingers through his hair and down his cheek. “Yes,” you said. “I'll run away with you. I'll go anywhere with you, Dean Winchester.... Even to the ends of the Earth.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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219 notes · View notes

asgardianthot · 5 years

Text

Tip of my tongue (sambucky)

Smut (v light dom/sub undertones)

summary: Sam fucks his way into getting Bucky to say ‘I love you’

words: 2534

The words were out in the air. Bucky just couldn’t spit them out.

The three words, the big declaration. He didn’t understand the fuzz around the big pronunciation, the whole ‘choosing the right moment’ deal. Those kinds of norms escaped him, yet he was completely aware of the importance of actually saying it. Especially when you feel that way about someone else; and boy did he feel.

He had tried to say it before. Tell Sam how much he meant to him through those three simple syllables. More than once he had corrected himself in the middle of the sentence. "I fucking... you're amazing." had come out a few times.

Sam said it before already. Once. No proper reply. To be fair, he would have questioned the whole relationship if he wasn’t absolutely certain of the fact Bucky felt the same way about him. He knew the soldier simply didn’t have the courage to pronounce them while staring into his eyes. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to write them down, so all Sam had to do was wait.

Nevertheless, when the opportunity revealed itself, Wilson couldn’t resist pushing him just a little in the right direction. It hadn’t worked so far, but perhaps a little extra stimulation would do the trick.

He and Bucky had been going at it for long now, first making out in Sam’s bed, then getting rid of their clothes at the same time, in order to finally get all the lube they required around Sam’s dick and stretching Bucky until he could take him fully in. The way Sam reacted to Bucky’s loving gestures and caresses and movements never changed, it never ceased to amaze him. He almost forgot every single time, a period in time where they wouldn’t even think about sharing a conversation, let alone a relationship.

Now Bucky melted at the sound of Sam’s low voice. Sam’s eyes rolled all the way back into his skull when the man touched him, wrapped his mouth around his member and didn’t let go until he was coming undone directly onto Bucky’s throat. Bucky’s mouth searched for Sam’s no matter what, no matter how decided the veteran was at focusing on something else. Sam’s hands couldn’t not wrap Bucky’s in his when sank down on his cock.

That was pretty much the overall look of the interaction: Bucky laying on his side while Sam held his thigh for better access as he pounded into him from the back. The soldier’s head was thrown back in pleasure and it allowed Wilson to kiss his now exposed neck like his life depended on pampering this man.

And in between kisses and panting and moaning and ‘oh my god’, ‘yes’, and ‘right there’, some different kind of sentence echoed through the sound-filled room.

"I love you." Sam breathed out right against Bucky’s ear.

He didn’t feel Barnes tense. He physically couldn’t, seeing how relaxed he was during the whole sexual exchange, being held and fucked and kissed. However, he didn’t say anything either. Absolute silence, then he went back to focusing on the stimulation in the lower half of his body.

So Sam thought about giving up, but that lasted for over less than half a second. He would get the words out, somehow, not by pushing the subject but by giving Bucky a reason to want to let Sam know. So he lowered his hand and stroked his lover’s erect member, softly, sweetly. It had Bucky groaning out in pleasure and lack of expectance, but after a minute or so of the same movement that held the man in a frenzy, Wilson decided to change positions. Bucky whined minimally, yet when he was manhandled into sinking down on Sam’s cock, the latter being sat down on the edge of the bed, he moaned loud.

When straddling his lover, he got stretched all over again as his own weight helped him take Sam whole. It was amazing, for a second. Then he needed more stimulation, other than just the motionless pressure on his prostate, but found it rather impossible as Wilson held his hips in place.

"Sam..." he let out.

"What?" he cooed, staring up at the pleasure-filled man, almost condescendingly.

Bucky whined. He hid his face on the crook of Sam's neck, the latter caressing his hair, later reaching to leave hot breathy words into Bucky’s ear.

"I love when you're needy."

Bucky didn’t shift. "I'm not..."

"Yes you are." Sam chuckled before biting into his earlobe.

It provoked a breathy moan to leave Barnes’ mouth. He tried to create some sort of movement but Sam kept him still, fingers digging into his skin.

"You gonna bruise my hips." Bucky lied.

First of all, the darker man wasn’t nearly putting enough pressure to harm the supersoldier. Second of all, not that he’d ever care. Not that Bucky had ever had any form of self-care or self-preservation. He normally wouldn’t have even thought about protesting the grabbing, meaning he was simply protesting the sole fact he couldn’t move on his own.

"I won't, baby." Sam reminded him, a smile escaping him, one that Bucky couldn’t see as he had his forehead pressed against Sam’s shoulder, but he could hear it in the man’s voice.

Wilson was right. He was performing the stunt rather carefully, perhaps strongly enough to mark a regular person’s skin, but just strongly enough to make it uncomfortable for Barnes to move on his own. In fact, the latter attempted a swift movement that wasn’t even close to the amount of stimulation he desired at the time, but enough to want to moan.

And his sounds caused Sam to hum in satisfaction.

"Sam..." Bucky moaned again.

"Look at me." The veteran demanded in a soft voice.

Bucky did so, retracted his head from Sam’s shoulder and stared down. A lingering look took place for a few seconds, suspended seconds of pure intimacy where the only thing moving were their pupils. The moment was broken when Wilson attacked Bucky’s neck for good measure.

"You're pretty." He panted out against the salty skin.

He soon began thrusting in, helping himself with his own arm which rested behind his body, sinking the mattress as it held Sam’s entire body and Bucky’s weight as well. He managed to rock his hips in and out of Bucky, fucking him slowly, and it made the latter whine out.

"You feel good." Wilson continued complimenting his lover.

He was holding him tightly as all hell, one hand wrapped around his torso and pulling him closer to his own abdomen, while doing him nice and slow. All the while he left sloppy kisses on the supersoldier’s neck.

"Sam-" Bucky breathed out, barely.

The appellee wouldn’t stop praising him. "I love fucking you."

"Sam-" he was now whining the name in a begging manner.

"Hmm?" Sam finally paid attention.

When he stared up at the man he had on his legs, he saw Bucky’s eyes shut as he breathed in with difficulty, absolutely overrun by pleasure.

"I-"

Sam listened carefully.

"What?" he asked sweetly.

Barnes was having a hard time with words, instead letting his face drop down a little throughout his moans, doing his best to help Sam’s hips in the task of fucking himself. The whole act had him bracing himself on Sam’s shoulders and the back of his neck.

"I'm-" he whined in a high-pitched tone. "I'm really close, I'm-"

Sam admitted to himself he felt a little disappointed at the come-out of the words. He expected an entirely different set of three words. Nevertheless, he wasn’t giving up. ‘I love you’ or no ‘I love you’, he would bang Bucky’s heart out. He knew that was what this was about; knew that Bucky was trying his best and was letting himself get love-fucked because that’s one way of letting Sam know.

On a different note, Wilson absolutely adored watching Bucky cum, so he didn’t make thing easier for him in that department.

"I know." He finally said, cheekily.

Bucky groaned. He needed a little help getting there and had unfortunately figured out his lover was just toying with him.

"I don't wanna pin you down and fuck ya brains out, baby." Sam said in a low voice.

A complaint was heard from Barnes. That sounded pretty good.

"I know you too well." Wilson continued, earning another groan since Bucky knew that to be true. "I know you'd rather hold me like this." He lulled while moving hair off of his man’s face, cupping one side of said face and never stopping his thrusts. "You love it when I'm real slow and make it last, don't you?"

Bucky had to nod. Had to. He was completely known by Sam, exposed in what he enjoyed, what he was feeling right then, and what it took for Sam to make him cum. There wasn’t much more to do but nod and let himself get worked. He was lost in the touch, quite literally.

It went on at that exact same pace for a while, and Bucky couldn’t possibly hold him tighter, as he was effectively holding on for dear life all the while Sam left kisses on his human-flesh shoulder.

"You love it when I coddle you." Sam eventually returned to that same dynamic, and it got him a high approving moan from the man. "Even more than when I rough you up, am I right?"

Bucky bit his lip. That he didn’t really want to admit.

"That's not true." He lied.

Yet Wilson was confident, so he nosed at his jaw. "Hmm, yes it is. You love this."

It soon was a bit too much for Bucky, in the good way. He felt the upcoming sensation build up in his stomach, like he was about to hit the edge. The feeling of his head getting dizzy only confirmed it.

"I-" he let out, breathless.

"You close, baby?” Sam cooed, getting no reply besides another whine. “'course you are. You know why?"

Bucky’s eyes shut tightly. "Why?" he breathed hectically, painfully close.

"Cause you love me."

A deep groan escaped the soldier’s throat. He couldn’t not say it. It was pressing on his chest, begging to come out. He felt it; love. All over his body from his heart to his tight fluttering stomach, to his flushed cheeks and the curling tips of his toes. He wanted to say it, and at the same time he felt embarrassed to say it because he had just gotten fucked into saying it and it made him adore Sam even more. His compromising reaction was to hide his face again, on the crook of Sam’s neck.

He felt the orgasm hit his spine, his stomach, his cock, his head.

"I love you." He moaned before the big climax hit him and he was shaking.

It waved over him, making a loud moan fill the room, yet sound muffled against Sam’s skin.

"I love you, too." Sam hummed.

"Fuck."

After letting the panting man ride it off, Sam stopped. Both of their breathing was hectic, although Bucky’s had some more exhaustion to it, coming down from such a high high. He eventually threw his head back, still recovering from it, eyes still closed, chest still heaving. Wilson couldn’t resist brushing wet locks of hair off of his sweaty forehead. Neither could he prevent himself from staring up in complete admiration.

"Took you long enough." He mocked Barnes.

"Fuck you." The man replied, breathing roughly through his nose.

"I think it's the other way around."

Bucky shook his head, still trying to keep a straight face. "I hate you."

"Nope." Sam smirked, and Bucky finally laughed. "Can't take it back."

Between that smooth, pure laugh, was an amused frown. "I kinda want to."

Wilson grabbed a hold of Barnes’ neck and made him stare down. Already recovering from the climax, he bit the inside of his cheek as their eyes met.

"Too bad, you already said it."

He dragged his head down so their lips could meet. Seconds later, Bucky moved his body off of Sam’s, and consequentially, slid off of Sam’s member out of discomfort and the lube having worn off by then.

"Want me to...?"

"No." Sam shook his head, drunk on love words, before dropping another sweet, wet kiss on his partner’s lips. "I'm good."

The latter left one last kiss on Sam’s temple before laying down on the bed. "So..."

"So?" Wilson raised his eyebrow, crawling to lay next to him.

Bucky faced him, and realized he was sort of speechless, so he just shrugged. "I don't know. I can't really figure out what to say." He let out awkwardly.

"You've said more than enough." Sam assured him; to which Barnes rolled his eyes, but a smile escaped as well. "What? Don't want anyone to know what a big softie you are?"

The soldier scoffed, reaching to hug Sam and bring him closer to his own heating body. "Shut up."

He squinted his eyes while absorbing the mockery, but it soon turned into a deep stareoff, where his own pupils couldn’t detach from hazel brown ones. As he felt the seriousness around them both, he swallowed.

"I love you.” He said, easily this time, and looking into his lover’s gaze. “Feels... good to say it."

Half of Sam’s lip curled up. “Why was it so hard?”

It had. It had been much more difficult for Bucky than it should have. And he didn’t have the answer, not really. It just was one of those Winter Soldier things; everything that involved feelings and vulnerability, especially the bridge where those two met, was exceptionally hard for Bucky to process. He felt, God be his witness, he felt so much. But speaking up about said feelings, and involving those he cared about into his own vulnerability, he just thought as selfish, or reckless.

“I didn’t wanna mess up.” He said, and it made sense to him.

Sam ran his palm down Bucky’s head until it found his cheek, and he ran his thumb up and down against the rough skin.

“Mess what up? Us?” he questioned truthfully, always doing his best to understand Bucky’s reasoning; gaining an honest nod, he dropped a kiss on the man’s nose. “You could never. Okay? I’m glad you finally said it.”

Bucky nodded. While Sam made an effort to understand Barnes, his effort involved believing and trusting. ‘I can’t even trust my own mind’ began taking less and less space in his list of concerns when someone else reassured him on the fact his mind was just fine. But he couldn’t believe that fact if he didn’t believe the people telling him said fact in the first place.

“Yeah, me too.” He sighed out, a small happy grin taking over his features, yet changing rapidly for a more threatening one. “Just don’t tell Wanda. She’ll tease me forever.”

This time, it was Sam who squinted, but for a reason much more similar to disbelief. Not only was that such a chicken move, he couldn’t believe Bucky still thought they were a discrete couple.

“She already knows, you idiot.” He chuckled through his frown.

#sambucky #smut #sam wilson #bucky barnes #sam x bucky #marvel fanfiction #ftws #ca:tws #dom/sub #sub!bucky #fluff #marvel smut #anthony mackie #sebastian stan

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quillforge-library · 4 years

Text

May 1st: Cage

Despite all of my rage I am still just a rat in a cage.

Subject TK-77-473, or 433 for short, peered out from her home within the confines of the cage. The floor of the environment was coarse sand, warmed with a heat lamp used to alternate a realistic day and night cycle in this laboratory environment. She stood just inside of the wooden beach hut that she was afforded to live in, though there were no doors for privacy. It stood at twice her height and consisted of a single room of square proportions. Mass manufactured and built to scale. The other items in the cage consisted of a pool of water inside a ceramic bowl that was slightly sunken into the sand, a climbing frame and some outdoors exercise equipment. The pool was used for washing, her hydration came from a water bottle attached with cable ties to the outside of the bars.

Most frustrating of all was that she had no alternative than to drink from the bottle, even when she watched one of the scientists pippet something into the water. The water in the bowl had a chemical added to it which made subjects violently ill if they drank from it. It wasn’t something they tended to do more than once, as it was excruciating as well as debilitating. She peered with a sense of intense trepidation at the water bottle all the same, knowing full well that something had been dropped in earlier that morning. Every day for the last two weeks something had been dropped in, and Subject 433 could feel her skin growing more and more sensitive with each drink of water.

It began with the sensation of the sand on her bare feet. Before the dosing the artificially warmed sand had felt pleasant, but now the slightest shifting of the grains would cause her to squeal and hop back and forth. Making a simple trek across the cage was now akin to torture. Little did she know it was only just beginning.

433 had never known the sensation of wearing clothing, instead absorbing warmth from the artificially controlled environment, which allowed her mostly hairless skin to remain comfortable. Her body was slight and well toned, as a result of having little to alleviate boredom other than watching outside of the cage and using the exercise equipment. This, combined with the strict diet of food pellets given once daily, ensured that she was in good physical condition. Her naturally straight platinum blonde hair cascaded to the middle of her back and her pale grey eyes fixated upon the water bottle, occasionally darting back and forth to ensure no scientists were paying attention to her cage.

A surge of movement, and in three long hops she was over to the edge of her confinement. Hopping up and placing her feet to the bars, she grasped the tip of the water bottle in both hands and pressed her lips to the cohesive droplet dribbling from the end. 433 drank deeply, satiating her thirst kept her occupied long enough for a scientist to come to her cage from the far side and unclip the fastening, reaching a grasping hand inside. She spotted the hand all too late.squirming to hold on to the bars as a final act of defiance before her whole torso was enveloped in the palm of her captor’s hand and she was lifted out of the enclosure.

Within a few moments they were at the other end of the laboratory, 433 had gone past numbered cages just like her own in rack after rack stretching endlessly down the long corridors. She was set down onto a metal table, which looked to be the length of a football field from her perspective. It was painfully cold on her bare skin, but she had a feeling that it wouldn’t be for long.

The scientist took some metal wiring and proceeded to snip off four small lengths of it. With minimal fuss they picked up 433 by every limb in turn and securely wound the wire around each wrist and ankle individually. She was far too weak and small to resist, and similarly she had no chance of unwinding the wire for the same reasons. Being placed back onto the table, her wrists and ankles adhered to the now clearly magnetic surface.

“What are you going to do to me?” She cried out indignantly, but the scientist didn’t even answer her. Instead he picked up a tablet computer and typed a number of things into it.

As this was happening 433 tested her bonds and found that she was completely stuck with no hope of moving any of her limbs from where they had fallen. She could raise her hips and shoulders, but her ankles and wrists weren’t going anywhere. The scientist moved a box closer to 433 and moved a magnifying glass over that was hooked to the edge of the table. He reached into the box and took out a pair of metal tweezers, pinching them together a few times before lowering them towards his captive.

“No! Please! Don’t!” 433 cried out again, unable to do anything about her predicament.

Expecting the tweezers to do something vicious, cruel or painful, she had to watch as they pinched the metal wire wrapped around her ankle and stretched until her leg was fully extended. He did the same with her other leg until her bare soles were bound side by side, heels resting together. Both wrists followed until her arms were above her head in a similar position to her legs.

The tweezers went back into the box and out came a simple cotton swab, the tip of which was roughly the shape of her palm. As she lay there wondering what was about to happen, the scientist pressed a button on the tablet and began to speak in his booming voice.

“The subject has displayed an increase in sensitivity of the epidermis from the solution administered over the last seven days. I will now begin to examine how much more sensitive this has made the subject.”

She blinked in surprise, a silly expression plastered on her face as the scientist pressed the tablet a few more times and lights appeared on the surface of the table all around her. She couldn’t see this, but it was now displaying a number of vital measurements relating to the poor creature restrained on the table.

Without another word, the tickling began. The cotton swab swept deftly up and down the soles of Subject 433’s feet. The muscles in her thighs tightened as she struggled to pull her ticklish foot bottoms away from the maddening sensation. She laughed and tossed her platinum blonde hair as she struggled fruitlessly. The magnets were too powerful and 433 was effectively helpless and could only laugh and plead. And plead she did.

“Pleee-hee-hee-ase! Please don’t!”

She squealed and squirmed and struggled, the cotton swab having its way with her. The scientist was not a particularly varied tickler and instead seemed to be trying his best to maintain the strokes at a pace and location that was consistent. All the while he was studying the various metrics and displays around his captive subject, and ignored everything she said in her tiny voice.

“It seems that there has been a 43% increase in sensitivity using this particular implement, against the baseline measurements.”

“Stop! I can’t take this!” She hollered, bouncing her hips up and down on the metal table repeatedly.

“Moving on to the next implement.” He said, pressing a button and swapping for the next implement in the box.

This time it was a soft feather that was about as tall as 433 herself was. She shook her head vigorously when she saw it and began struggling before it even touched her body. The scientist swept the plume up and down the length of her body. It began at her neckline, down over her chest and bare breasts, catching her underarms as it went. It continued over her abdomen, with the soft fibres slipping into her navel. Down further over her hips and vagina, down her thighs, down her knees, over her shins and ankles and finishing on the tops of her feet. Each stroke began anew almost as soon as the previous one had ended.

By now, 433 was suffering intensely from the tickling she was receiving. Having been unable to withstand having her soles tickled with a simple cotton implement, this whole body continuous stimulation was too much. Even as the feather caressed her more intimate areas, the arousal did little to quell the sensations. If anything, it made them more intense in feeling, though allowed her mind an outlet of something else to focus on.

“Mmm oh… no-ho-ho-ho! Pleee-heeeese!” Her voice was growing hoarse by this point in the experiment.

“There has been a 66% increase in sensitivity with this tool, mostly focused in the breasts and… ahem… hip areas.”

The feather was lifting away from her body and 433 thought that meant this particular torment was over, but suddenly the very tip of the feather swished across the soles of her feet and tormented between her tiny toes. Three quick swishes, eliciting peals of laughter with each one, and that was that. The feather went into the box again. She couldn’t help but think that movement was perhaps not part of the experiment and instead was for the scientist’s own amusement.

“Entering the automated phase of the experiment. Commencing sensory overrides.” He pressed a button on the tablet and 433 was instantly cast into darkness.

“Wh-what have you done?” She shouted, frightened by the sudden blindness which had overtaken her.

Her sudden inability to see was caused by the table again. Her eyes were still there, still uncovered, and still actually entirely capable of seeing. The only change was a simple filter had been applied on her ocular nerve, preventing the information from flowing to her brain.

“Ocular filter applied. Commencing automation.”

Though 433 could not see what was happening, she could hear a mechanical whirring sound. Something clicked into place and then the sound of energy transfer began. She lay perfectly still, crooking her head to the side to try and point one ear towards the source of the noise, brain working overtime to decipher what was going on. She did not need to wait long to find out. With the sound of energy transfer complete, the sound changed to one of energy discharge.

A small laser streamed from a device which now sat above Subject 433. The red beam made contact with her underarm and she shrieked in ticklish abandon, squirming to get away. The laser followed to ensure pinpoint accuracy right into her underarm. 433 simply began to scream and her tight muscles rippled in the strain of trying to move. She desperately wanted to cover herself up, to curl into a fetal position and to cry out that she submitted, but her submission was neither necessary nor the goal of the experiment.

The scientist remained to watch as the laser worked all over Subject 433’s body, the precisely calibrated equipment capturing an enormous amount of data as each moment passed. The sensitivity enhancing drug would soon be ready for market, he mused to himself, noting that the metrics had reached over 100% increased sensitivity in some areas. Once every single millimeter of her body had been scoped, catalogued and filed, only then was she released from the magnetic bondage. 433 merely gasped, lying completely still as the scientist used the tweezers to carefully remove each of the wires wrapped around her limbs.

A few final records were taken. She was measured, weighed and poked and prodded a little. By this point she was despondent and compliant, allowing this to happen. Her body was picked up, cradled slightly and taken back to the confinement of her cage. As she was dropped gently onto the warm sand, she sank down into it and embraced the warmth compared with the chill of the metal table.

“Well done.”

The scientist’s voice boomed as he secured her door in place and began replacing the water bottle. It was the first time he had spoken directly to Subject 433 and it caused her to look up at him from her vantage in the sand with a quirked brow. This particular experiment was over, but indignity welled up within as she wondered what test tomorrow would bring.

After all, despite all of her rage she was still just a rat in a cage.

#tickling #tickle story

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