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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 17 days

Text

1968 [Chapter 3: Hermes, God Of Thieves]

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 4.5k

Tagging: @arcielee @huramuna @glasscandlegrenades @gemmagirlss1 @humanpurposes @mariahossain @marvelescvpe @darkenchantress @aemondssapphirebussy @haslysl @bearwithegg @beautifulsweetschaos @travelingmypassion @althea-tavalas @chucklefak @serving-targaryen-realness @chaoticallywriting @moonfllowerr @rafeism @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @herfantasyworldd @mangosmootji @sunnysideaeggs

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

They say it’s the most dangerous job in Vietnam. That’s why I wanted to do it.

Chinooks transport men and equipment, Cobras are gunships, Jolly Green Giants are used in search-and-rescue missions. But the Loach—Light Observation Helicopter—is a scout. We have to fly low enough to spot fresh footprints in mud, glints of sunlit metal, blooms of firelight from smoldering cigarettes in the primordial maze of the jungle. And when you go looking for the enemy, sometimes that’s exactly who you find. U.S. Army regulations decree that each Loach must be inspected after 300 hours of flight time, but they rarely make it that long. I’ve been shot down twice already. You roll out of the wreckage, grab your buddies, and book it out of the area before the Vietcong kill you, or worse: drag you back to the Hanoi Hilton so you can die slow.

Currently we’re just north of Pleiku, coasting close enough to the treetops that I could reach out and touch them. I’m in the back seat with my M16, no door between me and the outside world, my hair tied back with a green bandana, the wind hot and sticky. It’s so fucking humid here. Why can’t the communists be trying to take over Malta or Sweden or Monterey Bay, California?

It was the old men who suggested I might be of greatest service to the family by enlisting. I was 25, newly graduated from Columbia Law—a family tradition—and dreading the desk job that awaited me at the Department of Justice. Some people are born to type their lives away in some leather-upholstered office with a view of Pennsylvania Avenue, but not me, and I know this like I know the sun or the stars, ancient truths that can never be changed. And so when Otto and Viserys sat me down—my father had only had one stroke by that point, and was still relatively involved in the day-to-day minutia of putting a Targaryen in the White House—and said Aemond having a brother in Vietnam would make him more relatable, more sympathetic, more noble, not an observer to the carnage of the war but a fellow victim of it…I told them I’d go.

Everyone needs a project. If you don’t have something to distract you from the futility of human existence, it’ll break you in half. I have the Loach. Otto and Viserys, both immigrants ineligible to serve as president of the United States, have their shared ambition of getting their bloodlines in the Oval Office. Aemond has his legacy. My mother has her children, and Criston has my mother. Helaena has her gardens, her bugs, quiet gentle things that she tends with her own thorn-pricked hands. Aegon doesn’t have a project, he never really has, and it’s driven him to the cliff’s edge of insanity. See what I mean?

Anyway, let me tell you something about Vietnam. The Army gives us all the steak, beer, and cigarettes we can handle, but I’d kill for a lemon-lime Mr. Misty—

“Daeron, get down!” the guy to my left screams over the noise of the rotors. His name is Richie Swindell, and he’s from Omaha, Nebraska, and now he’s plummeting out of the helicopter as bullets riddle his chest. I duck low and cover my head as we spiral sideways into the trees, snapping branches, shredding leaves like confetti. I can hear the pilot yelling something, but I can’t tell what. When we hit the earth, the lightweight aluminum skin of the Loach does exactly what it’s supposed to, crumpling to absorb the shock of the collision and reduce trauma to us mortals inside. I scramble out of the rubble on my hands and knees and go to check on the pilot, but it’s too late. He’s already being hauled out by the Vietcong and gets a bullet to the brain. I reach back into the ruins of the Loach to grab my M16, but there are hands around my ankles yanking me out. And now I’m next, and there’s nowhere left to run, and I’m hoping Criston will be there to hold my mother when she gets the Western Union telegram.

One of the soldiers shouts and stops the others, shoving them aside to get a better look at me. With the barrel of his AK-47, supplied by either China or the Russians, he prods at the patch displaying my last name: Targaryen. His compatriots don’t seem impressed. Again, he batters my nametag, speaking to them in Vietnamese.

He knows who I am, I realize. He knows Aemond is running for president.

Now there is a hell of a lot of excitement. The men are talking rapidly amongst themselves, marveling at me, poking and examining me. Then two of them grab me by the arms. I look to the soldier who knows English, at least enough of it to read those nine fated letters. He smiles at me, not like a friend. Like a wolf baring its teeth.

He says: “It is okay, Targaryen boy. We just have some questions for you.”

Guess I’ll be checking into the Hanoi Hilton after all.

~~~~~~~~~~

You wake up to Aegon strumming an acoustic guitar and singing Johnny Cash. The guitar must be new. The one he left at Asteria is plain maple wood and covered in stickers; this unfamiliar instrument is a vivid, Caribbean blue and has Gibson written across the headstock.

“I hear the train a-comin’, it’s rolling ‘round the bend

And I ain’t seen the sunshine since I don’t know when

I’m stuck in Folsom Prison, and time keeps draggin’ on…”

“Let me die. I’m ready to go.”

Aegon laughs, setting his new guitar aside.

“Is Ari okay?”

“Yeah, he’s doing great. And I got the stuff you asked for.”

Sure enough, there are three roomy sundresses hanging from the coatrack—you wanted to have options in case you had trouble finding one that fit correctly, though you gave Aegon a general neighborhood for sizes—as well as an array of cosmetics on the nightstand, including a bottle of shimmering champagne-colored nail polish. “I’m really impressed. You barely forgot anything. Though I will look odd with blush but no foundation.”

��Ohhhhh. Fuck.”

“And this isn’t human shampoo. It’s for dogs. That’s why it has a mastiff on the label.”

“I thought it looked like you,” Aegon says, smirking mischievously.

“Well, thanks for trying.”

“And I found this at the gift shop.” He tosses a card at you like a frisbee. You open the envelope to see a cartoon cow on the front, black and white and wearing a huge copper bell and a party hat. Inside is printed: May your graduation be legenDAIRY! Aegon has crossed it out and written instead I thought this was blank…congrats on the new calf! followed by his illegible scribble of a signature.

“A cow,” you say, smiling despite yourself. “Because I’m Io.”

“You’ve got about a million of those pouring in from all over the country. Congratulations cards, get well soon cards, we really hope your husband gets elected so we aren’t consumed by nuclear Armageddon cards. And then Richard Nixon sent a pipe bomb.”

You set Aegon’s card on your nightstand, half-open so it will stay standing upright. Then you drink the apple juice from the tray the nurses left for you. “Aemond’s not here yet?”

“Uh, no, not yet,” Aegon says vaguely, kicking his feet up on the ottoman. He’s been shopping for himself too. He’s wearing a denim jacket over a black The Kinks t-shirt, ripped jeans, moccasins. He uses the remote to turn on the television: The Dating Game. “So, what did you study in college? You went to Manhattanville, right?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “You really don’t listen when I talk, do you?”

“I try not to.”

“Yes, I went to Manhattanville. And I studied math.”

“No way. You didn’t major in math.”

“Women can’t do math?” you tease. “That’s sexist.”

“I didn’t say women can’t do math. I’m saying there’s no way your parents sent you to a housewife factory like Manhattanville College of the Sacred Heart to get a math degree.”

“They didn’t, which is why my bachelor’s is in math education. So half-math, half-kid stuff. Makes it a little more…domestic.”

“Cool. Teach me math.”

“What, really?”

“Yeah. Really.” He digs around in the pockets of his jeans until he finds a receipt, then locates a pen in the nightstand drawer. He hands both to you and then stands so he can watch over your shoulder as you work. You can smell him: cigarette smoke, rum, the cool grey rain that is falling outside. It drips off his hair, carelessly slicked back from his face.

“What’s something you don’t know how to do?” you ask, expecting to get an answer like exponents or calculating the volume of a pyramid.

“Uh. Long division.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Going all the way back to 4th grade. Alright then.” You begin writing. “So let’s take a large number—this year, 1968—and divide it by…hm…how many kids you have. So five.”

Aegon whistles. “Five kids. Goddamn.”

“Yes, and you probably couldn’t name them, but there are indeed five. Trust me, I’ve counted.”

“Okay, this is the part I don’t get. Five goes into 19 almost four times. But there’s no way to say almost four.”

“There certainly is not. Five goes into 19 three times, so we put a three up top and then subtract 15 from 19. We get four, drop down the six from 1968, and now we’re dividing 46 by five.”

“Nine.”

“Right. Five times nine is 45. So the nine goes up top and we subtract 45 from 46.”

“45 is basically 46. Let’s call it a day. Close enough.”

“No,” you insist. “We get one, then drop down the eight from 1968, which makes 18.”

“And five goes into 18 three times.”

“Where’s the three go?”

“Up top,” Aegon says, observing fixedly.

“And then we subtract…”

“15 from 18, which is three. So the answer is 393.3.”

“Wrong. Loser.”

“What! How am I wrong?!”

“You don’t just put the three after the decimal,” you say. “You drop down a zero—”

“A zero?! Where the fuck did a zero come from?”

“From the fact that 1968 is a whole number, so it’s actually 1968.0.”

“Oh.” Aegon blinks a few times. “Gotcha.”

“Add the zero after the three to get 30—”

“And 30 divided by five is six. So the answer is 393.6.”

“I am so proud. You are officially as smart as an average nine-year-old.”

He takes the receipt from you and studies it. “This was super enlightening.”

“You want to try calculus now?”

He cackles and sinks back into his plush salmon pink armchair, his miniature dominion in your hospital room kingdom. “You like teaching?”

“I love it,” you admit. “I had to do a semester of student teaching the spring before I graduated, and at first I was kind of petrified. But the kids are so hilarious and interesting and full of excitement about everything, and they’re sweet in totally unexpected ways. They’d chatter all through a lesson and make me want to jump out a five-story window, and then bring me some of their Easter candy. That’s when I realized they weren’t trying to torture me. They’re just kids.”

Aegon is meditative. “Yeah, kids are fun.”

“I wasn’t aware you had much interest in them.”

“No, I do.” And something about the way he says it makes you feel bad for taking the shot. He runs his fingers through his hair, perhaps debating how much he wants to share. “You know Viserys made us all do these little missions after college so we could learn about the real world, right?”

“Right.” Daeron spent his on lobster boats up in Maine, Helaena learned horticulture in France, Aemond helped register voters in Mississippi and Alabama. You can’t recall ever hearing about Aegon’s.

“I got sent to Yuma, Arizona to teach on the reservation there. When I stepped off the bus, I thought it was hell on earth. And then when my time was up I didn’t want to leave.”

“What did you teach?” And then you add: “Hopefully not math.”

“No, definitely not math,” he says, smiling but distant, remembering. “English. Books, poems, all that. But my favorite thing to do was take a song and break it down line by line, really get them curious about what the author was thinking. And then of course we’d all sing it together. I’d play guitar, they’d run around jumping on the furniture, it was a good time.”

“But you couldn’t stay.”

“No,” he sighs. “I had to come back here so I could get dragged kicking and screaming through law school and then married off.”

“And elected mayor of Trenton,” you say, trying to make him laugh. It works.

“Oh God, we are not talking about that. Most miserable two years of my life.”

“So far.”

“Yeah. If Aemond wins and makes me the attorney general, that might be worse.”

“Knock knock!” comes a cheerful trill from the doorway, and then Alicent and Mimi rush in. They descend upon your hospital bed, cooing and soothing, squeezing your hands and trying to smooth your untamed hair.

“What did it feel like?” Mimi is morbidly fascinated, swaying a little, eyes bleary with gin. “When they were digging around in there?”

“Well, obviously she was sedated, hon,” Aegon says, a bit impatiently. He and Mimi share a nod in greeting, no warmth, no depth. You wonder what it must be like for someone you spent so much time tangled up with to become a stranger.

“Oh, darling, I barely recognize you!” Alicent says. “You poor thing, you must be in such awful pain. I’ve never seen you like this before. Your face, your hair…”

Aegon gives her a quick, disapproving look and then lights a cigarette of the traditional variety. He puffs on it as he gazes at the window, like he’s counting the raindrops on the glass.

“I’m feeling a lot better now,” you assure Alicent.

Her eyes flick down to your belly, still swollen beneath your blankets. “Will it scar terribly, do you think?”

You shrug; you haven’t thought much about that part yet. “It’s a battle scar. Aemond gets them in the real world, I get them in here. Same war, different arenas.” You peek out into the hallway. “Is Aemond…is he with you…?”

“He wanted to be,” Alicent says, like it’s a consolation. “But, Washington, you know…the primary there is so close. So, so close. He kept saying that he and Humphrey were neck and neck, and they still are, I believe. Every vote counts, and he’s campaigning all over the Puget Sound.”

“He’s still in Washington?” Your voice is flat with disbelief, with disapproval.

“He wishes he could be here with you and the baby,” Alicent insists, stroking your hair. “I’m sure he’ll fly back as soon as he’s able. But he’s thinking of you so, so much. That’s why he let me and Mimi leave this morning.”

“Right,” you reply numbly. And then you remember what you’re supposed to say. “The election is important. It affects everyone, our son included. For the greater good, personal sacrifices are necessary.”

“We saw him,” Alicent tells you, radiant with joy. “Aristos Apollo.”

“So precious,” Mimi says. “But so small! And trapped in that hideous machine! We could only see him through those little round windows.”

Aegon casts her a violent glare. You are alarmed. “He’s not in an incubator?”

“They have him in a…what was it called, Mimi?” Alicent asks. Mimi has nothing useful to contribute. “A hyperbaric chamber, I think. To help him get more oxygen.”

“But he’s fine,” Aegon says firmly, giving his wife and mother a warning. “Didn’t the doctor say it was a precaution?”

“He did, he did,” Alicent promises you. “Yes, just a precaution, that’s what we were told. The doctor has been trying to reach Aemond, apparently, but since he landed in Washington, he’s never in one place for long…”

“We should buy gifts for the baby,” Mimi says excitedly. “Adorable hats and shirts and trousers. Although even the tiniest clothes might be too big for him right now.”

“Yes, gifts! We must shop for gifts. Oh, it’s all been such a whirlwind. We hurried off the plane to come straight here, love,” Alicent tells you. “Can Mimi and I get you something for dinner?”

“Sure, sure.” You are distracted, still thinking of Ari. “Anything is fine. Wherever you end up.”

“Would you like me to bring a priest to pray with you? Saint Nicholas Church is right around the corner.”

You smile. “That’s very kind, but I think I’d prefer some books.”

“Baby clothes, dinner, and books. We can do that. Can’t we, Mimi?”

“We absolutely can,” Mimi agrees with tipsy, girlish enthusiasm.

As an afterthought, Alicent says: “Aegon, have you been here all this time? You must be exhausted. We’re going to book a suite at the Plaza, there will be plenty of room for you too. We can drop you off there on our way to go shopping, if you’d like.”

“I’ll stay,” he says softly, watching the rain again.

Alicent’s brow furrows; her dark doe-like eyes are puzzled. “Alright, dear.” Then she and Mimi disappear into the hall.

“Is he really okay?” you ask Aegon when they’re gone.

“Yes. That’s exactly what the doctor told me, just a precaution. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Aegon,” you say, and don’t continue until he meets your eyes. “Why are you still here?”

He lights a fresh cigarette. “I don’t think you should be alone.”

“I’m not alone anymore. Alicent visits me, Mimi visits me.”

“Yeah, but you feel like you have to put on a show for them. Play the perfect Targaryen wife with all that stoic, dignified, unshakable faith. You hate me, so there isn’t as much pressure.”

“I don’t hate you, Aegon.”

“Yes you do. You always have. You don’t have to be polite about it.”

“Well…I have valid reasons to hate you.”

He smiles, exhaling smoke. “Right.”

“And you hate me too.”

Now he shrugs, avoiding your gaze. “Everybody worships you, everybody thinks I’m a waste of chromosomes, is it really that hard to psychoanalyze?”

“No one worships me. They worship Aemond.”

“But you’re a package deal. Jack and Jackie, Franklin and Eleanor.”

You trace the lines in your palm with a fingertip, not knowing what to say. You’re so close to Aemond, so inseparable, and yet so vastly far. “Will you wheel me downstairs to see Ari after dinner?” It’s best to go at night when there are less staff around to try to stop you.

“Sure. You want a Mr. Misty?”

“Yeah. Lemon-lime.” That’s what he brought you last time, and it wasn’t bad for a cardboard cup of florescent green sugar water.

“Got it,” Aegon says, and leaves you alone.

You look at the phone on your nightstand. You’ve tried to call Aemond to no avail, though you spoke to Criston twice; on both occasions he said Aemond was in the middle of an interview. It’s understandable that you would have difficulty getting ahold of your husband while he’s off campaigning, leaping from town to town like an electric current. There’s nothing unusual about it at all. But Aemond could call you anytime he likes. You haven’t moved; he knows exactly where you are.

You keep staring at the phone. It doesn’t ring.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s night again, and you swim up from morphine-soft dreams into your hospital room, dark except for the flashing color of the television, low volume, NBC news. Aegon is curled up in the chair he’s claimed, snoring and half-covered with a cheap, pale blue hospital blanket. And it’s a strange feeling—a foreign language, a new religion—to realize that you’re relieved to see he’s still here, that there’s a comfort in it, a safety.

Suddenly, Aemond is on the television screen. You sit up in bed as gingerly as you can, leaning in, listening close. He’s rarely looked better: blue suit, prosthetic eye, rested and measured and sharp. He’s giving a speech at the Hotel Sorrento in Seattle, three hours behind the time you’re living in on the East Coast. Flanking him on the stage are Criston, Otto, Helaena, Fosco, the eight charming children. Five-year-old Cosmo keeps waving at the camera.

“Right now, my wife and newborn son are at Mount Sinai Hospital in New York City,” Aemond says, beaming, and the audience whistles and cheers. You should smile, but you can’t. He’s not supposed to be there. He’s supposed to be on his way home. “But tonight I’m here with all of you, fighting with everything I’m made of to win the great state of Washington. And I won’t leave until the job is done, because I know the greatest act of devotion that any of us can show our children is to ensure they grow up in a better America than the one we find ourselves in today…”

You look over at Aegon and see that his glassy eyes are open, watching the television just like you are. You don’t know how long he’s been awake. The two of you exchange a glance, and there is a silent, shared recognition of what won’t be said. You can’t criticize your husband. Aegon isn’t going to kick you while you’re down. You are grateful for this. It is a conviction he has only recently acquired.

Aegon pulls his blanket up to his chin and rolls over, turning away from you. You close your eyes and dream of being a child back in Tarpon Springs, mesmerized as you watch Greek sponge divers emerge from the bubbling depths in their suits of rubber armor.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s the afternoon of the 13th. The Washington State Democratic Convention is being held tonight, and so win or lose Aemond will be walking into Mount Sinai Hospital tomorrow. He has to, he doesn’t have a choice. He’ll have no excuse to be anywhere else, and journalists will be swarming at the entranceway like bull sharks in the Gulf of Mexico.

It’s raining again. You’re reading one of the books that Alicent brought you, Dr. Spock’s Baby and Child Care. You had been meaning to get a copy before you were consumed by Aemond’s campaign and then his near-assassination, his maiming, his fleeting brush with oblivion. Aegon is cross-legged in the salmon pink armchair and plucking lazily at his guitar, singing so low no one outside the room would be able to hear him. It’s a Rolling Stones song, slow and mournful.

“You don’t know what’s going on

You’ve been away for far too long

You can’t come back and think you are still mine.”

As you flip a page and raindrops patter gently against the window, you find yourself thinking how easy this is, your hair undone and your feet bare, no photos to take or lines to remember, no practiced smiles, no overwrought itineraries, only compassion that is quiet and small and real.

“Well, baby, baby, baby, you’re out of time

I said, baby, baby, baby, you’re out of time…”

Aegon abruptly stops playing, cutting off with a twang. You look up at him. He’s gazing back with eyes that are filling up his face, glistening with horror. You turn to find out what he’s seen. There’s a doctor standing in the doorway, but he’s not alone. There’s a Greek Orthodox priest with him.

“Mrs. Targaryen,” the doctor begins, then glances to the priest. The holy man—black robes, gold chains, clasping a komboskini like the one Aemond keeps in a box on his writing desk at Asteria, stained with his own blood—gives an encouraging nod. “We’ve tried to reach your husband. We’ve called his hotel in Tacoma several times, but the senator must be out campaigning, and…” Again, he looks to the priest. Aegon is setting his guitar on the floor, covering his mouth with his hands.

Ari. Too early, too fragile, too defenseless in a world full of wolves.

Your words come out in a whisper. “He’s gone, isn’t he?”

“We must remember, child,” the priest tells you, vague patronizing pity. “That the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, but what is lost to us in this life is never truly gone. Those we love wait for us on the other side in paradise—”

“Please leave. I don’t want to talk to a priest. I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

I just gave birth to him. I just started to believe he was mine.

The doctor begins: “Ma’am, I’m so sorry to have to deliver this news—”

“I don’t want to talk to anyone, I want to be alone. So please leave,” you beg, your voice breaking. “I want to be alone. Please leave me alone.”

The doctor looks to Aegon. A man’s permission is sought. “Go,” Aegon manages, raspy and strangled, and the doctor obeys.

“God bless you and your husband, Mrs. Targaryen,” the priest says as he departs with a swift bow. You can’t reply. You’re biting back sobs as the tears begin to slither down your cheeks, scalding and furious, not just grief but the bottomless rage of Nemesis.

Aegon is watching you, not knowing what to do, not knowing what you need.

Aemond would want you to be stoic. Aemond would want you to have faith, forbearance, grace. “It is God’s will.”

“Hey.” Aegon reaches across the space between you, grabs your hand, holds it so tightly your bones ache. Still, you wouldn’t want him to let go. “You’re allowed to be fucked up about this. I am too.”

When your eyes drift to him, they are glaring and heartsick and poisonous. “Where’s Aemond?” Why isn’t he here?

Aegon sighs deeply and picks up the phone with his free hand. He spins the rotary dial with his index finger and then holds the handset to his ear. He waits as it rings. “Pantages Theater, Tacoma, Washington,” he tells the operator. A minute or more crawls by. “I need to speak to Senator Targaryen immediately. Yes, I know there’s a convention underway there, that’s why I’m calling you. Go get him.” More minutes, eternal, terrible beyond description. “What do you mean you can’t find him?!” Aegon snaps. “Okay, give me someone else. Anyone travelling with him. Criston Cole, Fosco Viviani, Otto Hightower, Helaena Targaryen. Hurry up. Let’s go.”

Outside the rain grows heavy and loud; it falls in sheets against the misty windows. In the distance, thunder growls.

“Hi, Criston, it’s me. He needs to come home now. Right now.”

Aegon closes his eyes. Criston must be arguing with him.

“No, you don’t understand,” Aegon says, forcing the words to leave his lips and ride the wires to the West Coast, to where the sun sets, to where the future is dawning. He’s still holding your hand. “Aemond doesn’t have a son anymore.”

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writethrough · 3 months

Note

Hello! I just finished reading your Morpheus fics and I absolutely love them! So I thought about requesting something, too. Morpheus x reader where reader is feeling well and calls for him. They spend all evening togheter after a long time. reading togheter, watching some movies, talking and sharing their thoughts... until Morpheus notice it’s really late, almost midnight, and it’s time for reader to sleep, but she doesn't want to ‘cause Morpheus is always busy and she misses spending time with him, even whe she's asleep lately he was never there. Morpheus feels guilty and promises her he’ll be more present, especially in her dreams. A nice ending where he stays with her until she falls asleep, and him appearing in her dreams as he promised? Thank you 💖

A Homemade Remedy

(Morpheus x Female Reader)

Synopsis: After days of dealing with your sickness by yourself, you give in and call your boyfriend, hoping he'll come.

Warnings: Minor language

Word Count: 815

A/N: Stop two on the apology tour. I'm so sorry this has taken so long! And I want to thank you profusely for your patience. And for sending the request in. I really hope you enjoy this fluffy little fic!

Normally, you wouldn’t bother Morpheus with this. He had more important things to deal with instead. But you felt as if Death would appear at any moment, and all you wanted was some comfort from your boyfriend.

You pressed the ruby pendant he gifted you to your heart, croaking his name.

“Beloved?”

You blinked, seemingly slower than usual.

“Hi,” you whispered, covers pulled to your chin.

He took you in for a few moments, brows pinched slightly. You could only tell he was worried because of how long you’d known him.

“You are unwell.”

“S’just a—” A coughing fit started, only ceasing when he handed you your glass of water. “Just a cold.”

Between the tissues piled in the trash beside your bed, the bottle of medication without its lid, and the two additional blankets on top of you, he knew that wasn’t the case. You’d been here much longer than a few hours.

“Why did you not call for me when your ailment began?”

And there it was, the look you were dreading the more you prolonged summoning him. You’re not even sure he’s aware of his “kicked puppy” look.

You shrugged, pulling the covers just below your nose.

Morpheus made no sound—as graceful and Endless as ever. The only indication he had moved was the lifting of your blankets as he slid in behind you.

“Turn around, my love.”

You were far too weak and needy to refuse.

Settling with your head on his thigh, he rested a hand on your hair.

“I am here now, and I will take care of you,” he said. “Whatever you may need, I will gather.”

“Just this.” Your voice barely carried on a whisper.

“Then here I shall remain.”

Morpheus always spoke softer than you would expect while still containing all the authority in the universe, but it sounded even softer. It held gentleness—kindness—a quality that said, “You are precious to me.”

“What about the Dreaming?” you asked, eyes closed.

“In Lucienne’s capable hands,” he replied without hesitation. You were so considerate of him and his duties, for once, he wished you’d be selfish.

“What if she needs you?” Even as you said this, your arm settled over his lap.

“She has looked after my realm much longer than you will be ill.”

You squeezed him as best you could at the reminder. You didn’t like to think about what had happened to him. Though you met long after that, it hurt to know someone could do that to another being—human or not.

Morpheus had reassured you he had healed. Much of that having to do with you.

“Could you read to me, then?” you asked.

A book appeared in seconds, his voice matching perfectly to the cadence of the lines. It didn’t matter what he was saying, hearing him speak in that hypnotic rumble was enough. Even the flipping of the page didn’t distract you. He was captivating from the first word.

He’d read two chapters when your stomach growled.

“When did you last eat?” His smile was soft, thumb grazing your arm.

You shrugged, not wanting to be scolded.

“Can you eat?”

You weren’t sure if it was how shitty you were feeling, how tired you were, or how helpless you felt, but his words went straight to your heart.

He considered how you might feel. He wasn’t pushing you to eat, but asking if you thought you could stomach anything. He wanted to help, but not at the risk of causing you more discomfort.

You nodded, keeping your eyes closed so he wouldn’t see them watering.

“Here.” He helped you sit up before picking up the bowl of broth that had manifested on the nightstand.

You went to grab it, but he tutted, picking the spoon up himself and bringing it to your mouth.

“I can feed myself,” you said after swallowing.

“I know,” he said. “Please. Let me help you.”

You ate the next spoonful without complaint, and soon, the bowl was empty.

“Thank you,” you mummered, head nestled into the crook of his shoulder.

“It’s late, you must rest,” he whispered into your hair.

You shook your head, and tried to snuggle yourself closer to him, like if you planted yourself firmly enough, he wouldn’t be able to leave.

“Haven’t seen you in forever,” you mumbled. “Don’t wanna waste it.”

Guilt flooded Morpheus. He knew he had been neglectful of you, but you had been so patient with him. You were the embodiment of understanding—and he had taken advantage of that.

“Go to sleep, dear one. I will meet you in the Dreaming.” His lips pressed to your crown.

You hummed, head growing heavy.

And when your eyes opened, there he was, holding you as you laid in his chambers.

He smiled fondly, brushing your chin with his knuckles.

“What shall we do now, my love?”

Taglist: @sayumiht, @hatterripper31, @snowsatsu, @1950schick, @navs-bhat, @bookshelf-dust, @sapphireonline, @fictional-hooman, @steph-speaks, @ladyredstar1991, @secretdreamlandmentality, @ababycake, @morpheuss1mp, @boofy1998, @alice-the-nerd, @herfantasyworldd, @poemfreak306, @tronnily, @commanderfreethatdust

If you’d like to be added to any taglists, please comment or message me with the character you’d like updates on.

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drefear · 7 months

Text

Hail to the King

Chapter 8: Conversion

Summary: Miguel O’Hara is the head of the biggest mafia family in Nueva York, scaring almost all of its citizens. Except you. And that’s exactly what he needs.

TW: car sex, memories of abuse, anxiety, dark thoughts, violence, murder, lots of shot. It’s a mafia fic, what do you think is about to happen?

The drive to wherever the fuck Miguel was taking you was filled with dread and completely soundless aside from the hum of the engine. Your arms covered your chest, as if trying to hug yourself as tight as possible and comfort yourself on the way to whatever meet up was happening. His hand lifted to hold you in some way, to show he was on your side and was going to keep you safe from the fuckers who tries to lay a finger on you.

But he didn’t. Miguel put his hand back on his phone and contacted the others, then being distracted by the tattoos on his knuckles, thinking about the numbers “2099” and back to his phone.

You sat, your face stained and rosy from the tears you cried, the anxieties pouring out of you as you heard Miguel directing the others.

Just then you saw a face out the window that you recognized as the car stopped at a light.

“Eddie.” You spoke and Miguel turned his face to look at you.

“What?”

“That’s- he’s right there!” You pointed as Eddie pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt and began to walk away. Without thinking, you opened the door and launched into a sprint, chasing him now.

“Get back here!” Miguel screamed at you, but the only sound you heard was your heart pounding in your ears. Your heels crunched under each heavy step as you panted, catching up with him and finally grabbing his shoulder, pushing him to the ground. You tried to stop, but fell forward from the lack of balance and landed on his back.

“Eddie!” You yelled as people began to stare and you yanked his hood back, revealing him to the light of day. Your name was heard from behind you, but you drowned it out with the pure rage you saw. The memories of broken bones and black eyes, bruises and beatings came back as your fists shot attacks to his shoulders and the back of his head, tears clouding your vision. You felt two hands wrap around your torso and pull you off of him as you let out a painful screech, thrashing in Miguel’s grip as he held you back. Eddie stood up and looked at you, face a bit blood from being punched into the cement. His face was bewildered, shocked you had fought him. The surprise turned to anger as his features scrunched together.

“You fucking little bitch, I’ll end you! I was nice until now, trying to show you I wanted you back-”

“That’s enough.” Miguel pulled you tight to his chest as he kept his eyes trained on Eddie, not daring to break eye contact, “She doesn’t want you, and you won’t be ‘ending’ anyone.” Miguel glanced behind Eddie briefly before both Hobie and Pav appeared behind him, resting a hand each on Eddie’s shoulders and pushing him to the ground onto his hands. Miguel released you finally, but held one of your hands as his foot moved to stomp on Eddie’s fingers, the pops of breaking bones making you twitch a bit. You watched the interaction as Eddie yelped in pain and looked up at Miguel, fear corrupting the soft lines of his face while he began to grovel.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t think she was-” He stuttered as Miguel crouched down.

“You laid a hand on the woman you claim to love, to need, so now I’m going to kill you. Painfully. I’m going to hang you by your throat from the highest building in Nueva York and watch you bleed out while fucking the woman you’re obsessed with.” Miguel pinched his nose and pulled his head up, a hiss coming from the lower man’s lips. “You’re a pathetic excuse for a human, so I’m going to exterminate you.”

Standing again, he fixed the creases in his suit and pulled you against him once more, pressing a kiss to your temple and then yanking you to follow him. “Clean this up.” you said to Hobie as he forced you to leave with him, leaving behind your previous abuser and the two henchmen.

“Miguel, did you-”

“From now on, let me handle things. Now we’re late for this meeting and that could mean serious consequences.” He opened the door to the SUV and gestured for you to get in, relaxing a bit more once you sat inside and the door was shut. He got in on the other side and pinched the bridge of his nose, something you noticed he did often when he was stressed.

You sat in silence as you wiped your face. Everything happened all at once, so intensely. Old wounds you thought were long healed were now reopened and even more painful than the first time. Miguel’s hand rested on your knee and your eyes shifted to his, meeting his ruby red irises with anticipation. “You’re a part of this now, and I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

“Now that Eddie can’t get to me, won’t they just hire someone else to get me?”

“Not if this meeting goes in my favor. No one in this city gets to challenge me without repercussions.“ You nodded and sighed, leaving your hand on top of his in a symbol of solidarity. Your eyes glistened with fear as you pulled him closer. He looked down in confusion as your hands moved to undo his belt and lower his pants. His hand caught your wrists and you looked up.

“Please, I-I,” You stopped speaking and began to feel your bottom lip wobble as you prayed the tears you felt coming on didn’t spill over. “I don’t know why, but I need you right now, I need this.” As your voice cracked, he let out a breath and let go of his harsh hold on your hand.

Miguel’s finger hit a button and a window came up to separate the front seat and the back, giving you two privacy. You pulled his cock free finally and marveled at its size, how thick it was in your hands. You immediately latched your mouth to the tip and swirled your tongue a bit, causing him to let out a slight hiss. His hands balled into fists next to him and you took one to place on the back of your head, eyes meeting his and giving him silent permission to guide you. He slid the hand to the back of your neck and let you bob on his cock before lifting you and enjoying the string of saliva from your lips.

“We don’t have time for me to fuck that mouth, now get on.” He squeezed your thigh and lifted your skirt, leaning down to give your clit a kiss and make you gasp before guiding you down. “Are you sure about this? We don’t have time to prep you.”

“Just shut up and put it in.” You answered sharply and he smirked, pulling your hips down to slide into you. Just the tip had you gasping and groaning, squeezing his shoulder as your walls fluttered around him. He kept his eyes on your expressions as he didn’t stop, moving you down until you were halfway, then jerking and bottoming out. The second his hips met yours, you let out a loud yelp and dug your nails into his suit jacket, teeth clenched as the burn turned to pleasure. That's when he began to swivel your hips back and forth on him, feeling him nudge against the deepest parts of you as your body rocked to his command. Your head bent into his neck as you panted and his thighs started to bounce under you a bit, making you do the same and rebound back onto him. You saw stars as you kept his hands on your waist now, staying in control of the pace and position. His movements made your jaw slack and open, letting out the loudest sounds you’d ever released as he pounded into you from the bottom. Quickly building, you felt your release about to pop and explode. He spurred on your climax by biting your shoulder and leaving a hard smack against your bobbing ass, making you squeeze your eyes shut and constrict around his dick as you shook with the orgasm that tore through you.

Gasping for air, you leaned onto his shoulder as he slipped out of you and tucked his still-hard dick back into his dress pants.

“We’re almost there, so relax for a minute.” he looked out the window as the car continued moving and the world spun around you from that earth shattering release. You sighed and closed your eyes, then freezing when you felt his hand slip into yours and intertwine with your fingers. “I wanted to have a better first time with you, but I know you needed it.” He mumbled without looking at you, surprise covering your features. “Get yourself presentable.”

The short amount of time you had left before the car stopped, you fixed your clothing and didn’t speak, avoiding eye contact with Miguel. Meanwhile, his eyes stayed glued on you, as if watching for any sign of malcontent or upset. You stared at your hands and picked at your nails, trying to breathe quietly as he stared holes in the side of your head like a gargoyle, not moving and eyes serious. The sound of the driver putting the gear shift into park made your head spring up and look forward, practically hopping out of your frozen position and filling up with life once more. Miguel’s hand trapped your wrist and yanked you towards him, his voice low as if warning you.

“Don’t make any sudden movements and don’t move away from me, make sure you stay within a foot of me.”

“Won’t that look suspicious?”

“I don’t care, this isn’t about what they think, it’s about keeping you safe. You’re part of the O’Hara family now, and that puts you under my protection, so you’ll stay close to me.” He repeated and you just nodded.

Your brain was still fuzzy, chasing Eddie and then riding Miguel. The whole day seemed to be a complete roller coaster and you were getting whiplash from the sharp turns it was taking.

He got out of the car and you saw him fix his suit jacket, clasping the last button before reaching in towards you and helping you climb out. You checked your reflection and saw how your hair was a bit frizzy and your jacket was a bit wrinkled. Tugging it down and combing your fingers over your head, you sighed and settled with the frazzled look you had. A hand fell on your shoulder and you looked up to see Miguel’s eyes soft, squeezing as if to comfort you. The gesture was well intended but you were once more reminded of the previous 20 minutes and began feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. He smirked slightly and pulled you forward with a hand on your lower back, as if guiding you across the River Styx for your eternal damnation. At least that’s what it felt like.

Walking into an elevator, you noticed that Hobie and Jess were now next to you. “When did-“

As if you weren’t even there, Jess looked through her yellow tinted glasses above you to Miguel. “He’s been taken care of.”

“A real whiny one, too, kept cryin-“

Miguel shot a glare at Hobie and then all of their eyes fell onto you, but you kept your gaze on the floor.

Taken care of… the words echoed in your head over and over. Eddie was dead, that’s what they meant. You knew that, but it still felt strange. He beat you, hurt you, destroyed your life, chased you from your home, stalked you and was going to kill you… yet, you still had a lump in your throat. Was it mourning? Mourning for the man you knew, or the man you thought he was? Maybe it was just pity, thinking of him as a sad excuse of a human. Or maybe it was anger. Anger because you wanted to see the light die in his eyes the way he had extinguished the joy you had in life and hope for love.

That one seemed to fit best as you felt your hand become almost numb from how tight of a fist you were making. You wanted to enjoy hurting him like he had hurt you, torture him just for a while as you got retribution for all the torture he put you through for years. Controlling you, belittling you, lying to you, cheating, screaming, hitting, hurting-

Your thoughts were interrupted by someone grabbing your wrist. You looked up to see Jess staring down at you with confusion and concern.

“You with us?”

“Yes, sorry.” You mumbled and avoided eye contact before Miguel grabbed your chin and forced your face to look at him.

“Your hand is bleeding.”

“What?” Your sights snapped to your plans, seeing that you were bleeding from the nails digging into your hands from your tight fists. Miguel opened his jacket and wiped the drops of blood on the inside of his suit, then planting a gentle kiss to the little cuts.

“Follow my lead.”

Tags: @luropo@yougavemeyourheartyouknow@not-9ok@bozos-r-us@byjessicalotufo @lifefullof-depression @chaoticbeanchild @neteyamsluvr11 @lilli-elen @vonev @juneonhoth @whatdudtheysay @ebonydumbslut @sarapaprikas-blog @darksidescorner @o-kei-beans @meeom @minalovesyoubabes @darkfairy102190 @imjustheretoreads-blog @softhewisdom @2008tillthen13 @shadowytravelerlover @s0fia4 @migueloharaluhver @silassinclair @ch3rry-l0z3r @its-carlerrr @kiaraking @berry-potchy @viriexo @mskye6522 @foundthem @the-ashtronaut @definitelynother-871 @literallydontlook @faithyourgirl @winteringfalls @cheerrioeoz @xxemmarldxx @freeloverpeanut @enheduannasposts @ashreblogsnow @itz-kiara @djarinluvr @lady-necromancer @phd-in-simpology @miguelswifey04 @oxrchd @deputy-videogamer @misswonderfrojustice @loxbbg

#miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara #miguel spiderman #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel smut #atsv miguel #angst #mafia Miguel #miguel angst #hail to the king #HTTK

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chelscait · 9 months

Text

the sniffles. | Guro Reiten

category: fluff with a pinch of angst.

summary: where Guro is sick during the first week of the world cup and you try to look out for her.

word count: 4.6k

a/n: i watched the travel day video and she was sniffling, as in this gif, and my immediate fucking terribly creative not brain just went; sick fic.

Travelling was never not going to be on the list when deciding to become a professional footballer, although it was a period to dread.

You could withstand 1-5 hour journeys, coach, plane or train, but over 24 hours in a small tightly compacted seat was not on your to do list.

It wasn’t on your girlfriend’s either, not exactly keen on sitting in one place for so long, you knew you’ll be having to do some distracting to stop her from fidgeting every 2 seconds.

However, you all knew discomforts come when journeying to great things, it’s never known to be a breeze, as well as the mishaps that happen a long the way.

The first one being; not able to wake your grumpy girlfriend up.

“Guro. I’m not going to tell you again, if you want to miss the world cup, that’s on you. Get up.” You told her for the 12th time this early morning, rushing around the small hotel room as you gathered up all of each others belongings as she laid asleep.

You lifted your head from your suitcase, gaping at her cosied figure in disbelief as she made no movement nor noise.

“I am going to have a full on meltdown...” You murmured to yourself as you chucked a pair of socks so hard into your bag they bounced back out again. “Guro!”

You lunged over the luggage before ripping the duvet from the end of the bed, finally getting a response as she moaned and sat up slightly to reach for it again although your chucked it on the floor before she could.

“Up! We’re going to miss breakfast, or even the flight, if you don’t hurry your ass, up!” You clapped your hand together as you watched her lift her body weight up to sit on the mattress, rubbing her eyes slightly as she pouted.

Your heart couldn’t help but warm at the action, sleepy Guro was always the cutest and her expression made you want to wrap her up into a caccoon, you hated to disturb her.

“Hey, you conscious?”

“Yeah..” She squeaked as she shuffled to sit on the edge of the bed, reaching for your glass of water that was the only one that still held its contents.

“Are you okay?” You asked, concerned as she downed the glass, stopping your actions to keep an eye on her for a second.

“Mhm.. just tired and a bit bunged up but i’m okay.” She sniffled, as she forced a fake smile through her heavy eyelids.

“Go get yourself ready, i’ll do the bags. There’s ibuprofen in there still, take two of them.”

She nodded half heartedly as she made her way through the puzzle you’ve made on the floor, turning the light on before starting her routine.

She kept the door open as she did so, which didn’t stop you from glancing at her every second, unhelpful to the amount you still needed to pack.

After about thirty minutes or so, you had finally gotten the bags on their wheels the right side up whilst Guro sat on the edge of the bed, trying desperately to keep herself upright.

Normally you would have felt annoyed at the lack of help but her distant face made you want to do anything and everything for her out of sympathy.

Your hands on her cheeks made her snap out of her dream, sighing as she leaned in to them before you bent down.

“No. I don’t want you to catch anything.” She twisted her head away from yours whilst trying to keep your touch, her cheeks squished slightly.

“A forehead kiss will not affect me.” You smiled while doing as you said before tucking the little flyaways behind her ears. “Ready?”

You held your hand out for her, pulling her slightly to a stand before guiding her downstairs to meet the others.

Upon entering the food area, you both paved your way towards the coffee machine, standing together with your hand on the small of her back.

“Do you feel alright? Take your jumper off, you look hot.” You eyed her up and down as you took in her posture, eyebrows furrowing at her clear discomfort.

“I always do.” She shrugged with a spiritless smile, glancing at you before returning her gaze back on the coffee filling up her mug.

“I know, very funny.. but seriously.”

“I’m okay, i’m a bit chilly actually.” She reassured as she took her mug in her hand, carrying it back to your table carefully with you trailing behind with yours.

You placed yours on the table but kept stood up, watching as Guro did the same.

“Sit down, i’ll get something, anything you fancy?”

“Maybe just some granola with yogurt.. and fruit maybe.” She looked up from where she perched on the edge of her seat, a sheepish smile forming on her face from your care. “Takk.”

“What’s with Y/N being your personal assistant?” One of your teammates, Emilie, asked from across the table sipping on her water as she stared at Guro questionably.

“She offered.” She sniffled before watching the realisation drown out her friends worry, hinting onto why you both are stuck to the hip at the moment.

She didn’t dare mention what she realised though.

Guro doesn’t like being told what she doesn’t want to be told, being ‘sick’ is one of them.

Every time you mention the possibility she becomes blindsided and grumpy at your accusation, even though what your saying is normally true. She didn’t like to be incapable, she was an independent person and a pinch of a hint of doing everything for her in an act of taking care of her, annoyed her.

You return was detected by Guro when you placed a bowl of all sorts of what she asked for in front of her, more options of breakfast items for her to choose also.

You left her again for a few minutes after placing a kiss to the top of her head, going off to get what you wanted.

The plain state of a variety of food to choose from made it obvious to what you were doing, what she didn’t like; you babying her.

Once you returned she gave you a glare and you reacted to it like a deer caught in head lights, no idea what she was insinuating.

“What?”

“I don’t need all this? I asked for one thing.” She told you, an irritated look on her face as she sat up straight.

“I gave options, i thought you’d like more of the stuff they had out so i put it on the side. If you don’t want it..” You rambled, confused at Guro’s change of tone.

“No. No, sorry.. i’m being silly. Thank you.” Guro softened at your look, yourself panicking slightly whilst figuring out what was wrong with what you did, making her feel a little guilty.

She grabbed hold of your hand under the table, threading her fingers in between yours, three small squeezes followed before she focused on eating.

You saw her nibble at the bits you gave her, whilst you chatted to your teammates around you, Guro only perking up when asked a question, even so not giving an incredible answer.

You leant an elbow on the back of her chair, hand rubbing her shoulder in an act of consolation as you ducked your head towards her gaze, unsure on what to do.

She gave you a reassuring smile before pushing her chair back, getting up and rounding the table with a hand brushing over your own shoulders.

“Is she okay? She’s rather quiet.” Ada commented from next to you, expression just as troubled as yours.

“Yeah. Just tired i guess, todays not a particular day to be excited for.”

“Fair enough.” She shrugged before changing the subject, however your focus was on the fact that Guro was taking a bit too long for your liking, peering at the door every time you stopped talking.

“Excuse me, sorry.” You interrupted, hands surrendered as you caved in to go find Guro, grimacing at your impoliteness.

“It’s okay.”

After 5 minutes of analysing the whole hotel for your where’s wally girlfriend, you found her slumped over yours and hers bag with your wash kit in her hands.

You cleared your throat at her as she didn’t notice your presence, continuing to search through your belongings.

“Hey.”

“You scared me.” She whipped her head up to face you, hand on her heart.

“What are you doing looking through my stuff, missus?” You tried to interrogate, although your smile broke at your girls pout.

“You don’t have any throat lozenges?” She whined, sniffling in the moment also.

“Well.. i didn’t plan on having a cold unlike someone, no i don’t.” You crouched down beside her as you sympathised, pressing a kiss to her cheek as you took your stuff back in your possession. “I could go ask if anyone else has any?”

“No! I’m fine, i can withdo.”

“Kay, we can get some at the airport when we get there, that is if you still want them.” You negotiated whilst zipping your bag back up before standing up straight, reaching both hands out to offer Guro help to her feet.

She nodded as she brushed out her tracksuit before she collapsed into you, moaning as she buried her head in your chest.

You sighed as she clung on to you, arms securely wrapped round her shoulders whilst you nuzzled your lips against the crown of her head, before spotting your teammates making their way to you out of the corner of your eye.

“I think we’re leaving now, you alright to carry your bags?” You unwrapped your arms from around her although she stayed kept, moving her head to face the other side of you to avoid your teams stare.

“Mhm.”

“Come on, elsker fugler, we’re going to the world cup!” You heard the voice of another Guro as she wrapped her arms around you both, squeezing you all into a tight hug.

Once you were all on the coach to the airport, Guro’s spirits were lifted slightly as you all joked around at the back of the bus, laughing at ada’s misfortunes.

However you could tell she was getting irritated whenever she sniffled, the wheeze appearing whenever she laughed and the clearing of her throat made her wince. It was definitely not what she needed whilst travelling to such an important tournament.

The bus all calmed down after a while, hushed conversations between each other as you felt Guro’s weight fall onto you, bit by bit.

She kept making noises with her throat, trying desperately to cover up a cough that was brewing and you leant towards your bag at the sign, retrieving a water bottle you had filled up for her and placing it in her lap.

She sipped at if for a few minutes before planting it on the table in front of her, ultimately to lay her head down in your lap and lay across the seats in between you and ada.

“Comfy, Guro?” Ada joked, patting her leg as she raised an eyebrow at the koala type attitude.

“Ja.”

“You guys are sick, some people are still single here.” Another one of your teammates who was opposite you, exaggerated.

“You can lay down on my lap too if you’d like?” You quipped back, a smirk on your face as you plaited a strand of your girlfriends hair.

Guro was properly asleep by the time your arrived at the airport, you hated to disturb her as she got the opportunity for a slither of peace, and you knew this flight would be horrific.

You gently stroked her cheek as you ducked your head, hair hiding you both from your friends, before you lightly shook her shoulder.

“Kjære..”

“I think sleeping made it worse.” Her eyes watered as she spoke, heavily congested. You cringed at her lack of voice.

“Come on, the quicker we do it the quicker we can relax.” You bargained knowing that the airport process was going to be long and sore.

The check in and security was tough, not only were the queue’s about the length of a car park but you also had a half asleep adult figure leaning against you at every stand still and by the time you were in the duty free area, you were sweating, fanning your passport across your face whereas Guro shivered next to you, passing her your stray hoodie to cover herself up with.

Before your gate was called, you had managed to get some things for the journey, some to help with her cold and some food to snack on. You also had managed to find her only bearable flavour of a throat sweet too.

“Look what i found.” You announced as you returned to her, whom was snuggled up on one of the uncomfortable airport chairs by the gate.

She slowly looked up underneath hooded eyes, finding you with the desired medicated sweet which put a relieved smile on her face.

She held her hand out for the packet, however you began to open it yourself. She furrowed her eyebrows as you did so, seeing you only take one out and placed it in her hand.

“Why can’t i have the whole packet?” She questioned as she laid her hand in her lap, the little packaged sweet still there.

“Because, Guro… I know what you’re like with them, you’ll eat them like they’re normal candy.” You told the truth, in the past you had always left a packet on her bedside table and by the time you went to check on her next, the whole packet was ripped up.

“No.”

“No?” You shook your head in disbelief. “Just eat that one.”

“Fine.”

You boarded the plane with her hand in yours and luckily you were sat next to each other. Letting her have the window seat you allowed her in first, passing her things from inside your bag before lifting it up in the overhead carrier.

During those few seconds, your girlfriend had managed to find the wanted packet again, plopping another one in her mouth as she watched what you were doing.

You slammed shut the cupboard before shuffling in, almost sensing what Guro had done with the look on her face. She gave it away by continuing to suck on it, yourself raising an eyebrow as she gave you a guilty look.

“Gu, what did i say? You’ll make it worse.” You sternly let out, expression coaxed in a serious manner.

“But it helps.”

“Well, don’t moan at me later when you can’t feel your mouth.”

The whole flight was tiring to Dubai, although unable to actually suppress that feeling by trying to get to sleep as Guro did perfectly next to you.

Arriving at the hotel for the night, she insisted that she wanted to stay in your room and sleep rather than go down for dinner and you left her be, confirming that she’ll be okay on her own.

You brought her up some food when you were finished and she nibbled at it, sat crossed legged on the bed as you got ready for the night.

“Guro, you need to eat, you barely touched the plane food.”

“I am eating.” She held up the piece of bread she was picking apart, not making an effort to look at you.

“Please, for me. A little more?” You perched on the end of her bed, pushing the plate a bit closer to encourage her.

“Not hungry.” She squeaked as she pushed it back, crumbs falling into her lap as she focused her attention back on her piece of bread.

“Guro.. if you don’t eat a third of that plate i will tell Hege that you can’t play on thursday.”

“You dont mean that.” Her eyes snapped up to yours, voice small as she froze.

“Want to find out? Eat.”

She managed to do what you asked, even if she ignored you with a pout on her face afterwards you could rest easier knowing that she’s got a partially full stomach.

The flight to New Zealand was better than the previous, you had managed to sleep a few hours of it no matter how many times Guro sneezed and sniffled next to you.

You got off the plane with the dedication of getting to your next destination, wanting to finally be over with the travelling and to relax with your Guro by yourselves for as long as possible.

Hood up and bags under your eyes you paved your way through the airport control, the repetition of the same process made you agitated and the slow rounding of the carousel locked your jaw.

“Guro, i swear.. stop sniffling and go blow your nose.” You spoke through gritted teeth, finger and thumb pinching your nose before rubbing your hand down your face.

“I don’t have any tissues, i can’t.” Her voice was hoarse as she shrugged you off, arms crossed as her eyes turned square by the constant circling of suitcases.

“Go to the bathroom and do it then, it’s annoying me.”

“Sorry that i’m sick, can’t really help it.” She spat.

“Wow you finally admit that?” You mention, scoffing as she rolled her eyes and moved away.

You sighed as you stared at her back, trudging towards where you told her to go, nearly missing one of the suitcases as suddenly everything progressed a bit faster.

She ignored you once again, both of you too stubborn to say anything to each other as you sat on the coach to go to your final hotel, cringing at every sniffle you heard again and again.

She split from you as soon as she got through the doors and you found that you weren’t rooming with her, instead you all had your own rooms which you didn’t know how to feel about.

Guro had finally gave in from the radio silence the morning after, clinging to you the whole off day, not bothering to go and explore auckland straight away and rather cuddled in her room, watching some random movie that was on the one of the Kiwi channels.

She had kept reassuring you that she was feeling better, putting on a brave face whenever there was a training session but you kept an eye on her and you could clearly tell she was lying, although you didn’t mention anything and carried on like normal because you didn’t need another dispute.

When the time came for the opening game against New Zealand, it was obvious that Guro would be apart of the starting line up and, thinking about the team, you weren’t sure whether you should say something about her illness.

She was white as a ghost and you weren’t the only one who noticed, Ada making eye contact with you from across the changing room as she nodded towards the girl next to you.

You shrugged in reply before tugging on your training top before you scanned your eyes over your girlfriends stance once again before realising she was struggling.

“Stop, let me do it.” You tapped the bench next to you as she sat upright, lifting her feet in front of you so you could tie her laces.

“You can’t play, Kjære.” You mumbled as you knotted up her other lace, not bothering to look at her.

“What do you mean?”

“What do you think i mean? Your sick and your not fit enough to play to your usual standards.”

“Bullshit. You can’t make every decision for me. I am my own person, by the way, you don’t know what i’m feeling only i do and i can assure you; i’m fine. Stop telling me what i can and can’t do!” She stood up and shuffled away from you, face fallen with betrayal.

“Guro, i’m saying what’s best for you and the team..” You looked around the room, hoping that you’re not causing a scene. You didn’t need any more added to the pre game nerves.

“I. can. play.” She leant closer to you as she hissed her words out and you stared at her with no emotion, letting out a huff of air as she left you.

During the warm up, you were split from Guro, not bothering to make an effort to even check on her. You knew what you were saying was right which meant you didn’t feel any guilt for trying to stop her being apart of the match, if she wanted to suffer that was on her.

Maren grabbed your arm in the tunnel as you made your way back, twisting towards her, confused.

“She can’t play.”

“I know, Maren, but i can’t do much about it. I’ve already tried.. you could try but she won’t listen to you. She’s adamant she’s fit to start.” You bit your lip as you shrugged, picking at the sleeve of your under layer.

“She’s may cost us the game if she doesn’t perform, it could affect her for the rest of the tournament.” Your captain exasperated, eyes full of concern for how this game is going to go.

“And i don’t know what to do to change her mind, i’m sorry.”

“No, im sorry i know you cant do everything. At least you had a go, we all know how stubborn she is.” She sighed as she focused on how tired you were, bringing you into her arms before guiding you further towards the changing room.

“I only care about her and she doesn’t like that or seem to appreciate it..”

You both came to a stand outside and you sighed once more.

“Hey.. she’ll realise it sooner rather than later, with the amount of times i’ve seen you do things for her these past couple of days, she’s bound to.”

You simply nodded before pushing the door open, catching Guro’s attention before she whipped her head back.

The game was shocking to say and you ran after the ball with your mouth half open as you tried to come to terms how horribly you were all playing, not just Guro.

There was no midfield during the game, at least if felt like it, and your legs were horrifically numb, you could barely feel the ball at your feet.

You still had a few chances, a few chances that were either missed or way off target. The whole team was in shambles against a low level team and it was embarrassing to start a major tournament like so.

Every shot that came off the forwards feet made you hold your breath for as long as it took, groaning when you watched it fly completely out the stadium.

Your weakness grew the whole game and New Zealand took advantage to that at the beginning of the first half, scoring the first goal of the world cup.

From that, it just kept going downhill even if you were higher in possession it didn’t work.

Once the subs came on it felt a bit lighter, the shots finally becoming on target but always saved and booted away.

You witness Guro trying her hardest and your heart still cracked at her disappointment every time she missed, shaking your head at the failed opportunities.

Once the penalty was given for the ferns the faces of all your teammates dropped lower, including the ones on the bench. It couldn’t get worse for this prolific Norway team.

The deep sigh of relief was visible when Ria missed, head down in shame for just conceding the penalty.

It was like the team came to life after that, as much as they could, and were attacking hard. Almost like everyone snapped back to reality to realise this is the world cup, not a friendly.

The ball hit your foot at one point, running down the wing, shoulder to shoulder with a defender and managing to push her aside innocently and make the cross.

Ada, unselfishly, passed it to Guro beside her who comically missed the open sitter before falling to the floor in incredulity.

Your hands flew to your head, audibly expressing your annoyance before you bent down to sort your socks out.

The frustration was seen in all your teammates eyes as the final whistle was blown, your own glazed over.

You saw Guro glance at you culpably, biting the inside of her cheek as she didn’t know whether to approach you once you shook the last Kiwi players hand.

Hege didn’t bother to do a team debrief circle, seeming as most of them were hiding themselves from the embarrassment and fleeing to the tunnel.

You flopped into your locker, head leant back against it as you closed your eyes, keeping the emotion at bay for the meanwhile.

A few of the girls, upon arrival, clapped your shoulder as you changed your position to lean your elbows on your knees, hands covering your face.

Hege came in to do her scolding speech and you didn’t notice your girlfriends absence until after, searching around the room for the brunette.

“Where’s Gu?” You asked Emilie, panicked as she shrugged in reply.

You got up and rushed to the bathroom, checking the toilets and the showers to find that she is most definitely not in the changing room and by herself somewhere in the stadium.

You ignored the looks you got as you rushed from one side of the room to the other, slamming open the door and trailing away from the pitch entrance, seeming as there was still attendance out there.

Rounding the corner you found her on the floor, back against the wall with her knees up to her chest, staring at the wall in front of her.

“Guro! Der er du, jeg var bekymret.” Guro! There you are, i was worried.

“Like you always are.” She whispered, almost to herself rather than directly to you as she pursed her lips.

“I have to be, i’m your girlfriend and jeg elsker deg.”

You shuffled over to her and crouched down beside her, placing a hand on her knee for comfort and also to support your from falling backwards.

“I love you too, i’m sorry. I should have done what you said, i shouldn’t have played.” Her gaze turned to upon you, a single tear falling down her cheek and you quickly wiped it away before sitting down next to her.

“Elskede.. it doesn’t matter whether you played or not, we were all shit. I was wrong for telling you what to do, i don’t mean to come off as controlling.”

“You’re not controlling, as you said; you just wanted what was best, i won’t hold you to that title.” She whispered before sniffling, again, and resting her head on your shoulder.

“I just worry about you, i always will in sickness and in health.” You took her hand in yours and squeezed it with both hands, bringing them up to your lips.

“We’re not married though, so..” She joked, the small huff of a laugh escaping the back of her throat.

“Not yet, in the future though but that rule counted from when we started dating. I’d do anything for you.”

“jeg elsker deg så mye.” I love you so much. Guro pouted a smile as she brought her head up to face you, rather close.

“Can i kiss you, it feels like forever since we last did.” You muttered, your hand crawling from her neck to her cheek as your eyes fluttered to her lips.

“I don’t want you to catch anything.. but please, if you really want to.”

#guro reiten x reader #guro reiten imagine #guro reiten oneshot #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso oneshot #woso fic #chelseafcw #chelsea imagine #chelsea women

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months

Text

All the Good Girls Go To Hell 18

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, power imbalance, injury, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You come home for the summer but your break is not as relaxing as you expect.

Character: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

Note: this week has been a week!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

You steer along to Naomi's directions, hesitant as she has you turn towards the mall. You're pretty sure this isn't the right way but you have no idea. You just assumed they all lived in the same suburbs.

"Um, Nay?" You roll slowly between the rows of cars, "is this a shortcut or something?"

"Pfft, nope! We're going shopping. We need something cute to wear to the party."

"Shopping?" You frown, "I don't... have money."

"I do," she wiggles her phone, "the miracle of technology. I still have all the cards on my cell."

"Oh, do you think that's a good idea?"

"Look, we can't show up looking like this," she whines, "besides, it'll be fun. Girls' day!"

"Mmm, well, I'm fine in what I'm wearing," you shrug as you look for a spot.

Her phone lights up and she quickly reads the screen, blacking it out and rolling her eyes. She flips down the visor and checks herself in the mirror as you strain to see around her. You turn into an empty spot and roll up the windows.

"You have to get something extra cute. It's not about the boys, alright? It's about us."

"Sure," you say, letting your seat belt repel as you stare across the lot.

You still can't believe it. You're effectively homeless and Naomi doesn't seem to care. Well, she's used to the uncertainty by now, you can understand now how it made her so erratic.

You exhale. What else can you do? Wallow in reality. The distraction might do you well. No wonder she's always up to something. Anything. It's not pointless when the important things are so scary.

"Come on," she nudges you, "I wanna dress you up!"

You peek at her and give in with a nod. You grab your purse and fix your glasses. Anything to waste time, not that you're looking forward to anything.

She leads the way down the aisle of cars, almost skipping. You can't decide if she's compartmentalizing well or hopelessly optimistic. You drag your soles up the tarmac as she rushes ahead to the mall doors.

Inside, the crowd makes you want to turn around. Something about seeing the families clustered together and the teenagers hanging off each other makes you feel even more out of place. They all have somewhere to go after this. Ugh, how quickly it all dimmed to gray.

"Alright," Naomi hooks her arm through yours, "let's find the shortest dresses in this damn place."

"Nay," you huff.

"You're gonna rock it. Trust," she giggles, "you always look so sexy." She leans into you, "and tonight, we're gonna get lit."

☀️

Hours spent traversing the mall and your feet thrum. The day is far from over. As you drive down the cul de sac you dread the finish to the long day. A party. You're not a party person and the last one you went to…

Yikes.

Naomi has her seat belt off before you even stop. You shift into park as she reaches over to hit the horn, honking up at the large house. She trills and gets out, grabbing the bags out of the back as she watches the door expectantly.

You climb out on your side, lingering nervously as she heads towards the winding little walkway to the steps. The door opens as she gets to the bottom. Harry greets her with a smirk and a wink, opening his arms.

"Kitty cat," he purrs, "funny seeing you here."

"Whatever, Harry," she chirps, "don't act like you weren't waiting for me."

"Mm," his eyes flit towards you, "didn't tell me you were bringing a friend."

"Two for the price of one," she lets him kiss her lips, "you know how… he is. Fucking nightmare. We need to let loose."

"Bring any goodies?" He looks at the bags in her hand curiously.

"No drinks," she pouts, "sorry, baby."

You slowly make your way up the walkway and hide behind her. You feel like an intruder. You wouldn't have let her bring you if you knew you weren't invited.

"It's fine," Harry says as he backs up, "Peter'll be here. Him and Gwen are on the outs again."

“Boo. So… can we come in or what? We gotta get all thotty for the party.”

He scoffs and waves her inside. You trail a few paces back and give a sheepish smile. He hardly seems concerned with you as he watches Naomi’s ass. Right, you’re not expecting much tonight. Really, you don’t know what to expect.

“Come on, sweetie,” Naomi looks over her shoulder as she struts on, “let’s get you dolled up.”

☀️

The lilac sheath overlaid in indigo and silver sequins is much to scant to your liking. When you tried it on in the store, you swore you'd put it back. Naomi insisted and put it in the basket before you could argue.

The dress is even skimpier than you remember, or maybe it’s Naomi’s insistence that you skip the bra. She didn’t like how the straps peeked out under the narrow purple ones. You’ll be spending most of this occasion with your arms crossed.

You hear voices as you follow her down the hall. You feel ridiculous. She spent too much time prettying you up and it doesn’t feel like long enough. The one thing she couldn’t convince you of is to leave your glasses behind. The last thing you need is to be stumbling into strangers.

“Harry,” she squeals as she takes you through the open sliding door into the backyard. There’s a folding table lined with colourful shot glasses and a cooler underneath. There are several guests already milling about and gabbing noisily. “There you are.”

She saunters forward and you stay stuck to the ground as you watch her sling her arms around Harry. He lets her and puts his hand on her lower back. They kiss, long and sloppy. You knew it wouldn’t be pretty with Naomi sipping vodka while she got dressed.

“Hey, didn’t know you were coming,” a voice shakes you from your worry.

You look over as Peter steps up. A reddish curl hangs down his forehead as he grins at you. He wears a striped short-sleeve button up and teal shorts. His muscled chest peeks out the top as he holds a red solo cup.

“How about a drink?” He offers.

“I don’t know–”

“Sort of the whole deal here, to have some fun,” he says, “she sure will be.”

He glances across the yard as Naomi hangs off of Harry, his hand now firmly on her ass. Oh, yeah, you don’t know why you’re disappointed. You cross your arms and turn back to Peter. You catch his eyes flick up from your chest. Great.

“Uh, sure, why not, I’ll have a soda.”

“Soda and…” he tilts his head coyly.

Your furrow your brows, “come on, specs, live a little,” he grabs your hand and you teeter as he tugs on you. You give in if only to keep from tripping over your own toes. He takes you to the long table and grabs two of the shot glasses, presenting the neon jello shots with a devilish grin.

“Let’s start with the appetizer.”

You accept the orange one. You examine it. You’ve never had one before. It jiggles as you move the glass.

“Go on,” he clacks his glass against yours and raises it, swiftly dumping it in his mouth.

You sigh and do the same. One shot won’t hurt. It’s sweet enough and mostly cool. You can taste the alcohol for sure but it’s not awful. You put down the empty cup and gulp down the melting gelatin.

“Mmm,” you hum through your full mouth.

“Alright, so what’s next? You want a cooler? You a beer girl?” He bends and flips open the cooler.

“Really, that’s good for me–”

“Raspberry lemon twist,” he pulls out a bright pink can, “that seems like a you drink.”

He holds it out. You stare at it. He still has his red cup in his other hand. You reluctantly take the can. He looks at you until you crack the tab open.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

He winks and takes a drink from his cup, “better catch up,” he pulls the brim back, “oh, and before I get obnoxious, I should tell you how good you look.”

“Uh, thank you,” you take a tentative sip. It’s not bad, stringent but palatable.

“You seem… grim,” his smile falls, “what’s up?”

“Nothing,” you lie.

“Look, I’m not looking for a therapy session but there’s obviously something going on–”

“Really, it’s nothing,” you crane and look for Naomi as you hear her giggle.

“Ah, yeah, trouble follows her around,” he says, “she can take care of herself. It’s a party. You need to let loose. You’re wound so tight, I’m sure you could use it.”

You turn back to him, “not to be rude but what do you care?”

“Well, I’m going through a break up. Again,” he looks into his cup and swishes around the contents, “and I need to get a little bit loose myself. So, you and me, we’re sticking together. Think you’re the only one here who doesn’t know Gwen so, yeah.”

“Ah, got it,” you say dryly.

“No, get it,” he insists as he pokes the bottom of your can, “let’s go, sunshine. Get messy.”

You let your eyes fall back to the top of the can. What is the point in staying sober in a sea of drunk idiots? You’re done being the wallflower and you’re done tiptoeing around. It’s one night and you’re not going to spend it thinking about Steve or your mom.

You lift the can and gulp from the top, stopping before you can choke. You cover your mouth and swallow painfully, holding back a bubbly belch. Peter chuckles and empties his cup.

“There we go,” he encourages you, “I knew you had it in you.”

☀️

The world is slanted. You feel light and heavy at the same time. Your vision is hazy at the corners and each step is uneven. You have your arms slightly out as you make your way across the room.

You fall onto the sofa next to Naomi as Harry talks loudly beside her. As usual, she’s in the middle of the crowd, enjoying the limelight. She looks over as you jostle her and she slumps towards you.

“Heyyyyyyy, you’re here,” she says as if she forgot.

“Mmm,” you withhold a hiccup, “yeah…”

She smiles and reaches up to pet your cheek, “are you drunk?”

“Little,” you admit as she caresses your face.

“She’s blitzed,” Peter perches on the armrest on your other side, “told her not to keep pace with me.”

“Whatever,” you blather, your tongue clumsy as his chirping piques your irritation. “You’re the one… giving me drinks.”

“Aw, babe, you’re silly,” Naomi preens as her hand tickles down your neck, “Pete, Pete,” she hisses as she waves in his direction, leaning over you, “doesn’t she look fucking hot?”

You grab the hem of your dress, remembering how short it is. She flutters her fingers down the strap and gropes your chest. You swat her away and squeal.

“You should see what’s underneath,” Naomi slurs.

“Nay,” you catch her hand as she tries to grab you again.

“What? Why are you being like this?” She snips, “she sleeps in my bed and now she’s acting like a little prude.”

“Naomi,” you exclaim.

“I made her cum, you know? She was whining and whimpering–”

“Naomi, stop,” you beg as her other hand crawls back up along your cheek, “shut up.”

“Why, baby? I’m being nice,” she looks at you with her glassy eyes. She’s so drunk her head wobbles. “You like it when I’m nice, don’t you?”

She leans in as you hear Peter snicker. Before you can stop her, her lips are on yours. You wriggle helplessly and push on her shoulder. She slips her hand behind your head, keeping you pinned between her and the couch as her other hand creeps along your thigh. You hear others oohing and awing at her scene.

You whine and shove her as hard as you can. She recoils with a gasp as she wipes the slobber from her lips. You can’t believe what she just did. You know she’s drunk, and you are too, but you don’t understand why she’d do that.

“Ah, come on, that was fucking hot,” Peter growls.

“Yeah, that was sexy,” Harry agrees, “go on, girls, let’s get the full show–”

You grunt as you shove yourself up to your feet. It’s difficult to get them under you as your head swims dizzily. You feel Naomi try to latch on but you swipe her away. Peter pinches your ass and you yipe as you stumble and hurry away. What’s going on?

You stagger across the room without looking back. Are they following you? Where’s your phone? You have to call your mom. You’re scared.

You find your cell outside and find your mother’s number. You stop from pressing down on the screen. You can’t call her, she hates you.

You clasp your cell tight and wade through the shadows around the house. You sidle through the tight space between the fence and the siding and come out to the front lawn. Your car is blocked in by a bunch of others. It doesn’t even matter, you can’t see straight, let alone drive.

Your phone flashes suddenly and you answer without checking the screen.

“Hello?” You garble as you walk aimlessly along the driveway.

“Hey, sweetie, you okay?”

“Dad?” You utter as the deep voice surprises you.

“No, honey, it’s me. Bucky. I’ve been calling you–”

“Bucky…” you mope, “no. I want… I want my mom. I want my dad, please.”

“Doll, where are you?”

“I don’t want to talk to you. I know what you did,” you close your eyes and push your lip out.

“Sweetheart, where’s Naomi?”

“Naomi?” You repeat, “she– please help me.”

Your legs fold and you sit in the gravel. You can’t move. You don’t want to. Moving means you need to think and you’re all out of thoughts. You don’t know where to go or what to do. You’re trapped here in this suburban hellscape. Drunk and dumb and desperate.

“Are you with Naomi?” He asks as you hear a jingle on his end.

“She’s here,” you admit as you hang your head.

“Alright, sweetie, stay on the phone,” he says calmly. The even keel of his timbre comforts you, despite everything, despite his lies, his certainty eases the swell of nerves, “how are you feeling? Why don’t you look around and tell me something. Find something red for me.”

“Red?” You sniffle.

“Yeah, like I Spy,” he says, “find something red. Make me guess.”

“Um, uh,” you stutter and look around, “alright…” you hear rustling, a soft click, and footsteps. He’s moving but you don’t know what he’s doing, “I see… something red,” you focus on the lawn gnome’s cap, the round-bellied figurine standing in the garden.

“Alright, is it something… big?” He asks.

You squint and focus on his question. Hm, it’s not very big but compared to the flowers, it is. Ugh, you don’t know. You’re too drunk.

“Doll,” Bucky urges, “stay with me. You’re gonna be okay, I promise.”

#bucky barnes #steve rogers #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series #au #all the good girls go to hell #marvel #mcu #captain america #winter soldier #avengers

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prettyboykatsuki · 5 months

Text

take it from me | barou shouei ft. isagi yoichi

✮ tags ; gender neutral / fem!reader + afab!reader (reader is referred to as girlfriend but uses they/them pronouns), cucking, petnames (baby, beautiful), fingering, dry-humping, breeding (mentions of getting someone pregnant and kids etc.), 18+

✮ wc ; 2.7k

✮ synopsis ; barou doesn’t like anything isagi has planned for him, but he never backs down from a fight either.

✮ a/n ; a fic a beloved anon commissioner has allowed me to post! also... if i had a nickel for every time i wrote a fic with isagi cucking someone... i'd have two nickels which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice right

It’s easy to get on Barou’s nerves.

But it’s hard to get under his skin.

Very hard. Harder than most people actually understand, because people get a kick out of riling him up. They often get upset when he realizes and stops being mad at all. Surface level frustration is commonplace for Barou, but that skin deep stuff is hard to come by. And whatever does get him truly angry is usually justifiable, understandable. Strangers don’t make this distinction about him but he knows it to be true.

It’s rare, unusual - to get under his skin so fucking consistently.

But Isagi always does.

That shitty little egoist has a talent for bothering him with his antics. Every person who’s ever told Barou off for being egotistical doesn’t know shit about shit. They don’t know the kind of egoism Isagi bears, the kind that’s subtle until it isn’t. Until it’s in your face at your lowest, opportunistic and evil.

He’s fine off the field. Almost innocent when they sit around together for a drink. Off the field, he blushes when he gets any advances and doesn’t carry that same energy. But Barou knows better, can’t let his guard down because when everyone is distracted it slips. Barou sees the way Isagi looks. Plans. Manipulates for what he wants. He should’ve been able to guess that Isagi’s bet on their last match was a ploy to get something he wanted.

But Isagi knows in what way he can push Barou’s buttons. So after carefully placed insults and pushes, a bet was made.

If Isagi’s team won their next match, he got to fuck Barou’s girlfriend. In front of him.

Of course his first answer was fuck no. Barou’s not stupid, wasn’t planning on giving that shitty little brat an inch because Barou knew he’d take a mile. Isagi, though, got under his skin. Pushed and pushed, making digs about Barou being worried about you. Isagi knows that Barou is confident in his soccer, as much as he is in his feelings - but Barou can’t let up to that kind of push. Can’t allow Isagi to think for even a minute he can’t satisfy you. In a fit of anger, Barou says he’ll agree if you do.

And to his surprise, you do - but you’re demure about it. Not that you need anyone but Barou, you assure, but you do want to support his confidence in himself. Sweet thing like you always are, gentle with batted lashes and a hand on his chest.

Barou loves you, would’ve said fuck no again if you showed even the slightest bit of hesitation. Instead, you looked up at him with clear eyes and a gentle smile.

Fine. Barou agrees to play Isagi’s shitty game. He’ll win the next match and it’ll be over.

Except, he doesn’t win.

It’s a close match, but Isagi’s team manages to get one goal in - Isagi himself striking it into the net. As soon as it’s called, only seconds before the last buzzer goes off, Isagi looks at Barou directly. Grins as he scores, smiles like Japan’s sweetheart when everything is over.

Barou wouldn’t go as far as describing his feelings as dread. Dread implies that he’s lacking confidence. It’s more like he was pissed. Pissed that Isagi got his way, pissed that the match was so fucking close, pissed as he was relaying the news to you on the way home. A nightmare of a situation - ultimately.

But Barou is a man of his word.

And as man of his word, Barou puts you three in a groupchat with Isagi. There’s some hoopla about getting to know each other. Barou can appreciate Isagi’s efforts to make you comfortable, despite knowing it’s bare minimum. There’s something real about his approach, his desire. Isagi wants to fuck you as you, as much as he does because you’re Barou’s girlfriend. He just wants you, and Barou isn’t entirely sure what to make of that.

He isn’t sure if that makes his fuck-up worse or better. But he’s here now, and there’s nothing he can do.

He doesn’t really know what to do with his hands. He’s supposed to just watch, and he has some qualms about jacking off while you’re being fucked by someone else. It’s weirder to be in his position though, to just sit and look on as Isagi lays hands on you.

Barou loathes knowing Isagi’s preferences, loathes even more that they have similar tastes. You’re wearing white lace and thin straps and mascara that isn’t waterproof per request. You're beautiful in a way that Barou knows to be normal for you, but still feels impressed by.

And Isagi is there.

While Barou is looking at you, eyes fixated on your silhouette - your expression is turned to Isagi. Bright eyes, fluttery lashes, lips that are parted and pouty. Your hands are clamped up at your sides, thighs trembling. You’re nervous, it’s written all over your face. Isagi is hovering over you - speaking in quiet whispers until you smile or laugh. He gets you comfortable with the way he talks, much faster than Barou could’ve in a situation like this. He’s a people person, notably. Barou can’t hear what Isagi is telling you so secretively.

But it must have something to do with him, given the way you glance over at him and Isagi turns your face gently back his way. He’s not a participant here, not playing on the field. He’s a fly on the wall, a watcher - a passive one, and he isn’t sure if it’s too early or not to be pissed.

“Shouei,” You whisper despite Isagi’s efforts to make you forget him. Barou stills “It'll be okay.”

Barou breathes out at you, softening his features. Isagi’s touch on your body doesn’t make him lunge out of his seat this time.

Isagi kisses you when Barou is looking. From where he’s sitting, he can see it clearly. You crane your neck up like you usually do when you kiss, and Isagi has a hand around the side of your face. He doesn’t know what to think, what to feel - so he focuses on you.

Your lips part, and Isagi puts his tongue in your mouth. Puts his tongue in and nips, laps at the gloss of your mouth until you give in. Your hands clasp around the end of Isagi’s shirt, a flash of innocence.

It’s an explicit way to kiss, lewd. Suggestive. Barou thinks this is intentional. He can’t wrap his head around why Isagi would want to fuck you dirty other than his own preferences. But there’s more to it. So much more underneath the surface of his desire that makes Barou want to get up and punch his lights out.

But he doesn’t. He keeps his hands tucked at his side, and watches as you squirm. There’s something dirty about the desperation in your every gesture. Isagi keeps kissing you as he slowly undoes you.

He starts with kissing your jaw after thoroughly making your head blank. Isagi lets his lips trail over the corner of your mouth, the angle of your jaw, the space where your shoulder meets your neck. There’s no romance laced in it, only lust. Your face twists with each bite and his hands make quick work out of touching you in every place other than where you need. He breaks you apart in careful, calculated moves. Exploits all your sensitivities. His hands squeeze the softness of your chest, groaning at the way it feels in between his fingers.

He teases your nipples, flicking and rubbing them until you’re wiggling away from the feeling. He licks and bites at the tender flesh, sucking harsh enough to make a wet sound.

Barou busies himself with counting all the differences, and measures his own touch up to it. How different it is. The way Isagi is touching you lacks delicacy, finesse.

There are a few moments where you pause, glancing at him to say something. But when Isagi touches you, you can’t get the words out. His groping isn’t very romantic.

But you like it, don’t you? You do. It’s in your face. In your blissed out eyes, and the subtle flutters of your tummy and the legs wrapped around Isagi’s waist when he humps you. Ruts the hard shape of his cock against your clothed, wet cunt and makes you whimper like you’ve been hit. He’s groping you like he’s only known sex from dirty magazines or porn on DVD, but you like it. You’re so engrossed in the feeling that every word you have for him dies in your mouth, gets washed away by your desire.

Isagi makes a show out of humping you, once you both get into it. The two of you break apart only briefly. He peels his shirt back as he sits up on his knees, pulls his pants down enough to just be in his boxers. He lets his hard cock rest against your pussy, still in his boxers. Gripping your thighs, he thrusts - slow and deliberate until the tip pushes into your swollen clit. You cry out, your hands still fisted and trembling around your size. Isagi narrates this time, loud enough for Barou to hear. The sound of his voice grates on Barou’s nerves.

“You’re so fucking wet,” He punctuates, laughing - harshly at that “Do you like when I’m a little mean?”

Your hands curl, and you clam up - but Isagi doesn’t let you shy away. Instead he keeps thrusting his hips over and over, gripping your jaw to make you look up at him. Your eyes are blown so wide, wetness pooling at your lashes as the sensation drives you over. Barou would’ve touched you by now, but Isagi does not.

“That brute is a gentleman to you, huh. I’m a little surprised.” Isagi says conversationally, making Barou’s whole body tense. “But you look like you need to be fucked a little mean. I almost want to make you cry.”

Barou goes to interject, he wants too - but you moan. And Isagi laughs at you again.

“Is that what you want? Hm? Want me to fuck you?”

“Hngh, please.” Your voice nearly breaks as you whimper “Wan’ you to fuck me.”

Shit. Barou is hard.

Isagi grins “That’s what I like to hear,”

Isagi moves, pulling himself away from you. He lifts your legs to take your panties off, and tosses them somewhere carelessly before sitting back. He spreads your legs, coating his middle fingers with saliva before positioning himself.

He hovers over as he lets his fingers dip down to your cunt, brushing over your swollen clit. He ignores your cry out from neglect. You wrap your arms around his neck as he keeps himself upright with free hand, kissing you softly as he starts to finger you. He doesn’t give you room to breathe, doesn’t let you pull away as his fingers start to stretch you open. You mewl at his ministrations, paw at him and kiss him desperately. There’s such a whiny quality to your moaning, one that Barou has only ever heard in bits and pieces before this.

He watches as one finger scissors you open then another. You take it well, don’t complain even Isagi takes his sweet time pressing up against your soft spot. Once you’re all stretched and light headed, he kisses the corner of your mouth.

“Now you’re ready for me,” Isagi mumbles, looking you over “Gonna fuck you nice and full, yeah? Wanna let him see you?”

Dazed, you nod. Barou goes to ask what he fucking means by that, but the words never make it out. He watches instead, as Isagi maneuvers you to roll onto your side.

While Isagi comes to lay behind you. The angle you’re at gives Barou a perfect front view of your body, down the smallest details. He can see the traces of saliva left on your skin, the soft indents of marks. Everything stops, his breath hitching as he gets an eye full of your face. Sheer bliss on your features, shining with a sheen of sweat. Your eyes are glossed over, glassy.

Before Barou can think at all, he finds a hand at his waist - rubbing his cock through the fabric of his pants. Isagi’s arm circles around your middle as his chin rests on your shoulder. You pick your leg up to give him easier access to you.

Barou watches intently as Isagi’s cock pushes against your entrance. Your tight hole stretches around the swollen tip as your voice starts to tremble. Isagi curses behind you, quiet as he eases himself inside. He fills you up deliberately, inch by inch pushing into your hot cunt until he’s all the way bottomed out. Your eyes are nearly rolled back into your head from bliss, mouth agape and drooling. Isagi lets his hand travel down to your clit, his middle finger rubbing soft circles into the bundle of nerves. He bottoms out with a deep sigh.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” Isagi groans, pulling out before pushing in again in one thrust “Makes me wanna cum in you so bad, fuck.”

Barou can see how much the words affect you. Isagi must feel it.

“Shit, you want that, huh?” He laughs, breathless and entertained by your desire. He fucks up into you now, starts his pace off slow - the sound of your pussy filling up the room “Want me to cum in you instead of pull out? Give you a baby?”

You gasp, shudder at the prospect. Isagi is fucking you raw, where Barou is almost always using condoms. He should be pissed beyond what he thought possible, and some part of him is. But another part of him, even quieter, is fixated on the pure pleasure you’re getting out of it. Out of being fucked raw by someone who’s basically a stranger.

Isagi, ever the egoist, sees the opportunity and runs with it. He fucks into you harder, gives it to you deeper with a vicious smile.

“I’ll knock you up, beautiful. Want it so bad, of course I’ll fuck it right into you,” Isagi croons, his voice edging on sadistic but mostly saccharine sweet “Hear that, Barou? Aren’t you lucky, ‘m giving your girlfriend a winner's baby. Maybe you could teach ‘em to play soccer.”

Barou feels his own irritation bubble into his throat - but he can’t be fully angry when you look the way you do. When your whole body tenses and trembles every time Isagi thrusts his cock into you, like you’re practically begging for him to breed you full. No matter what Isagi does, it’s not like Barou could ever be agitated with you, and god - you look like you feel good.

Your voice is choked out as Barou watches you get tipped over the edge. He feels his own cock twitch from neglect, but refuses to let himself go any further. Despite how painful it is to not touch himself. You reach for the sheets as your eyes go wide, fluttering back into your skull.

“Gonna cum, Isagi, Isagi” Your voice is hoarse and trembling “S-somethin’ gonna come out.”

Isagi keeps pace, fucking you how you need.

“Let’s cum together, yeah? Cum with me so your pussy can swallow up all of it, make sure you’re bred nice and full.”

You nod dumbly and hold it in despite yourself, and Barou watches you as you make a mess. Watches all of your arousal drip and stain the sheets as Isagi fucks you, how you’re so wet you nearly push him out. You bite your lip and take his cock like it’s nothing, his grip on your waist nearly bruising. Your shoulders sag with relief as he finally gets close.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum,” He warns, then a little softer “Let’s cum together? Cum with beautiful.”

Barou watches you as you. You cum and you cum hard, hard enough that your eyes squeeze shut and your whole body tightens before breaking out into trembles. You’re convulsing as you pull away from his cock, a wet rush spilling as you finish. Isagi groans as you squirt all over him and the sheets, the mess of his seed mixing as you lay down.

You nearly collapse into the bed beneath you, trembling as Isagi kisses your shoulder. Then for the first time, he looks over to acknowledge him.

“It’d be rude to give them just one right?” Isagi says, giving Barou a cocky glance “Don’t hold it in so much.”

“Fuck you,” Barou curses, groaning.

It’s gonna be a long, long night.

#barou x reader #isagi x reader #barou smut #isagi smut #bllk x reader #writing tag

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parad-ice-lostandfound · 5 months

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Prompt: "Stop trying to get me to walk under the mistletoe.” “You break the tradition and you end up being cursed for life. Is that what you want?” “…Are you blackmailing me right now?”

Pairing: Floyd Leech x GN!Reader

Genre: Fluff

TW: Reader is not Yuu, Reader is implied to be human and an Octavinelle student, Jade is a menace who let's his brother get away with everything.

AN: Day 3 and it's Floyd! His was the first fic that I completed so I have a special spot for this in my heart. I love how this turned out honestly. Also this prompt was the one that gave me the idea to do this event in the first place lol. I tried my best to keep Floyd in character as much as I could, but if he feels ooc I'm sorry hehe. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

You could feel Floyd staring holes into your head as you served the customers in the Mostro Lounge.

The Lounge was busier than usual. With the steady arrival of the holidays, even the gruelling exams the staff had set for the student body couldn't dampen their spirits, which meant celebrating in advance at the Lounge with friends. And with business booming your house warden was in even higher spirits. Of course, the growing rush of patrons for the Lounge meant that nearly all of Octavinelle was roped in to help out, serving dishes and working in the kitchen.

A little extra pocket money never hurt anyone, plus Azul had assured that everyone who would work a certain amount of hours at the lounge would be getting a considerable bonus, so you didn't mind having to work long hours scrubbing dishes or smiling at customers as you helped them pick out what to eat and drink. It was a welcome distraction from poring over your books till your brain turned to mush and driving yourself up the wall overthinking about the results of your exams (that you knew you did well at; it's just irrational fears doing what they do best).

What you did mind, however, was the fact that somehow, you had managed to catch the attention of one of the most unpredictable students at Night Raven College, Floyd Leech.

No, scratch that. Catching his attention was... fine, but holding it for more than two days?

That was terrifying.

You mentally cursed out the idiot who had attached sprigs of mistletoe to all the doorways in the Octavinelle dorm. While it had led to many funny and embarrassing moments for others in the dorm, it had quickly become tiresome to monitor yourself while entering or exiting a room. Especially when the mistletoe couldn't be removed with normal and magical means, much like a heterochromatic eel merman who just wouldn't let you be ever since you explained the silly tradition behind them to him.

"Heeyy flying fishie~"

The familiar drawl of his voice made you freeze momentarily. You held the empty server tray close to your chest as if the round piece of metal could somehow protect you from the tall eel who had taken an interest in you. "Yes, Floyd?"

Floyd gave you a lazy smirk, swinging an arm around your neck and leaning against you. You struggled a bit to hold yourself up with his added weight. You watched your vice-house warden and the twin brother of this menace turn a blind eye to your predicament, and resisted the urge to throw the tray at Jade's head as you caught a glimpse of a smirk on his lips.

"Say, why'd you run away from me yesterday, hm? Did ya wanna get squeezed that badly?" Floyd giggled, and you couldn't figure out whether your heart was cartwheeling inside your chest out of fear or because of how unbelievably adorable that sound was.

"I just- I needed to study."

"Ehhh? Study?" Floyd narrowed his eyes at you, and you prayed you had not flipped the switch on his mood from happy to angry.

"Studying's boooring. I wanna play with flying fishie~" Floyd hummed, a mysterious glint in his eyes as he pulled you towards the kitchen. One that went unnoticed as your eyes caught sight of the one plant you had started dreading seeing.

"Why is there mistletoe on the door to the kitchen?" You asked, but your question came too late. Floyd had already opened the door and pulled you in. Another sprig of mistletoe was stuck on the inside, the white berries looking down on the two of you through flecks of green. It felt like the tiny parasitic plant was mocking you for finally falling into its trap.

"Ohh, we're under mistletoe~ Just like a few days ago, isn't that right flying fishie~" he smirked, crowding you till you had your back against the door.

You looked past him to see.... no one?

Where did everyone go? Service wasn't over yet, so why was the kitchen empty?

"Flying fishie~ Where's my kiss~" he hummed, eyes carefully assessing you as his fingers pinched your cheek. You tried to act stern, but your words came out in a tired tone.

"Floyd, stop trying to get me to walk under the mistletoe with you."

“You break the tradition and you end up being cursed for life. That's what you told me. Is that what you want?” he said, his face turning sombre, as if he hadn't been smiling at you all this while.

"Are- Are you seriously blackmailing me right now?!” you sputtered, your heart beating fast as you looked at him. Floyd leaned forward, smiling innocently.

"Maybe~"

You weighed your options, eyes carefully watching the other, much to his amusement. You were well and truly trapped between the door and this absolute wall of an eel with no way out. Atleast, none that didn't involve you giving in to the tradition some way.

Huffing, you finally decided on a course of action. You held his smug face and turned it to the side, quickly planting a kiss on his cheek. The shock and surprise of this unexpected kiss loosened his hold on you, and you quickly slipped out the door.

Speed-walking past a chuckling Jade and a confused Azul, you tried to control the heat you could feel in your cheeks and at the back of your neck by sheer force of will. A quick glance at the clock showed that your shift for the day was over.

You had never left the Lounge quicker.

Jade entered the kitchen, a smile on his face as he saw Floyd leaning against the wall with a surprised look.

"Flying fishie kissed me," he mumbled, and Jade had to force back the amused laugh that threatened to break free. "I suppose the mistletoe worked its magic. Humans sure do have funny rituals."

Jade's words seemed to bring back the spark in Floyd, who gave his twin a blinding smile. "I'm gonna go ask them for more!" he said as he rushed past him, and Jade shook his head in amusement as he called out to his twin.

"Remember to confess this time, Floyd."

Back to Masterlist...

#ice writes #twisted wonderland #twst #floyd leech #floyd #floyd x reader #twst floyd x reader #gn!reader #twst floyd #floyd leech x reader #merry twstmas event #400 follower event

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notknickers · 7 months

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this fic took too long to commit to digital paper than it should have, but it's done, so let's focus on that. i have incorporated a few of the headcanons i listed in another dedicated post. or, at least, i tried. synopsis: a strange routine has settled between you and colonel könig, your direct superior. one unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome, after you got over the shock elicited by the reserved, dreadful giant seeking you out for comfort you did not imagine him needing… and the fact that he seems to need it from you more often than you from him. but an unspoken agreement is still an agreement.

warnings: unethical power imbalance, ptsd, dub con to full con, muffdiving for comfort, maledom to malesub, crying, heavy petting, orgasm control and denial, könig is a pet, slight degradation, praising, humping, cum eating, dispassionate fingering, second-person narration in present tense, no gender mention, but reader assumed to be afab, military-related inaccuracies, probably.

word count: 3887

A/N: if you're unsure whether to read this fic or not, here's something about me that might help you decide:

i like my porn grotesque and sentimental;

i like my men dangerous, submissive, pathetic (affectionate) and in tears.

a less blurry tentakönig than his previous appearance is once again here to kindly remind us that the following is aimed at an adult audience. please, respect this.

you are walking with a couple of new recruits along one of the corridors of the base’s building. from out the windows, the light hardly makes a difference, too weak at this early hour to lighten the interiors. chill still blankets you like dew on the grass outside: it hasn’t abandoned you since you woke up for drills.

this isn’t the fastest route to report for training, but there is still time, so you don’t fret. you chat lightly, nodding here and there in spite of the little interest you have for the banality of the noobies’ small talk, when the sound of heavy footfalls echoes ahead.

you hear him before you can see, the sight of colonel könig’s imposing frame following close behind the sound of his stomping gait. your comrades hesitate only a moment, going quiet and halting to salute the higher-ranking official. you don’t.

you are too busy taking in könig’s haunted eyes locking on you, a shiver running down your spine as soon as you notice how crazed they look. two dark pits in the holes of his mask, staring ahead through heavy eyelids smudged in black. your body has stopped moving before your brain could take stock of it; his pace has only increased.

there is not a doubt left: you are his target.

the colonel ignores the recruits and, without even slowing, seizes you by the waist with an arm, lifting you bodily and dragging you along with him. you do not fight it. instead, you gesture towards the hesitant others to go on without you and, after an awkward glance exchanged with one another, they are swift to follow your unspoken advice.

if something unethical is going on between an official and a private, neither of them wishes to witness it. the less they know, the safer their positions within their employer’s company.

you watch their shadows disappear on the wall, behind a sharp corner, and the bitter stench of tobacco mixed with acrid breath hits your nostrils, even through the fabric of the colonel’s mask. it makes you think how many hours he has been up, how long he has been storming the base looking for you, how many times he has choked the desire to drag you from your cot in the middle of the night with yet another cigarette for that smell to linger so thickly…

until the distraction of smoking stopped being enough to help him hold back.

he drops you to your feet, unceremonious, back against wall and falls to his knees, masked head reaching above your waist as he hastily unbuckles your belt. it jingles sharply in the gloom of early morning quiet, the padding of his thick gloves hindering the deftness of his movements, but not his will.

«colonel…», you hazard, voice small. but all you receive in response is more of his frenzied panting and a jolt as your belt is finally torn from your trouser’s loops.

one of his hands disappears under the trail of his mask, teeth pulling at glove, before brash fingers are back to tug at your button and zipper. you relent, disliking the idea of having to request another standard-issue uniform so soon and manage to get your hand under his, removing every obstacle along his way.

könig barely glances up at you in approval. he swipes down trousers and underwear in one pull with a groan. you barely see the pale, scarred skin of his lower face flash in the dim light as he lifts the dangling ends of his mask just enough, that his head already dives between your legs.

his thick fingers hold the softer flesh on your inner-thighs apart with such urge you sense with certainty you will find them bruised, as the colonel easily covers the length of your cunt with the flat of his tongue, uses it to spread your lips, so his can attach to your soft, delicate folds and suck enough to make you ache in both discomfort and desire.

«colonel…», you try again to little avail, the wet, smacking sound of his mouth on yours getting louder as he presses his lips, his chin, hard against you, his panting soon turning to satisfied groaning.

«make me…», he rasps hot against your skin while snatching one of your hands and planting it firmly on top of his own head, pale stubble of hair stinging your palm through the neck-hole of his t-shirt-mask.

as if you could really make colonel könig do anything in this state.

so desperate that his hips thrust back and forth of their own accord. they have been since the moment the colonel dropped in front of you to lose himself in his self-assigned task. they always do when his lips can taste your juices – or those of any other, you presume. they fuck empty air, occasionally swatting your legs as he laps at your cunt with wanton greed unknown to you before you and the colonel were introduced, large, gloved hand still covering yours, squeezing your fingers as he fantasises about you forcing him to pleasure you, like he requested.

it’s more of an instinct, an uncontrollable tic for him, than a genuine attempt at release for himself. he doesn’t even register how he could dry-hump your boot to get himself off, so completely taken by his visceral hunger for you while in the unshakable grip of whatever darkness stirs within.

the one that guided his actions so far. the one that guides his actions often.

you are certain he revels in the feel of your sex against his tongue more than you in the feel of his tongue against it; as if every lick and suck brought him closer to a salvation otherwise denied.

this confirms the initial suspicion that formed in your head as soon as you looked at his grey, dire eyes as he came at you like a battering ram: another one of his night terrors. another phantom lingering in his wake.

you don’t know what it is he sees in the back of his skull every time he blinds himself from sight, when exhaustion claims him and he has no choice but to succumb to it. that is the one thing that still remains a mystery and you won’t prise. you can imagine the horrors, you have seen it before, and that is not the kind of information you force out of someone, no matter how erratic they behave because of it.

his messy slurping is getting out of hand; the way he traps your lips and folds in his teeth and pulls on them, before burying his tongue in your slit to harangue your too-sensitive nub with his nose becoming unbearable; his feasting off of you far rougher than usual.

«col--- könig!», you finally call, voice stern, and his head lifts, chin glistening with spit, before the lower hem of his mask falls back down, sticking to it.

he looks at you as if he were seeing you for the first time today, fury, if not sated, at least subdued, for now. the troubled look so vivid in his eyes moments ago dulls enough that it’s only a pale, threatening glimmer on their glassy surface.

you carefully pinch the hem of your clothes, slowly lifting them to cover up. he stops forcing your thighs apart, so you can adjust your uniform around your hips, gaze still boring into his as you refuse to avert it from his unreliable nature, hoping it will be enough to stay his brash hand.

instead, he helps you with the button, then shuffles back a little, signalling he is no threat to you. he never really was. not willingly, at least.

«belt!»

he swiftly collects it from where he discarded it earlier in his state of rash lust and mysterious turmoil and coils it tidily around his fist, before placing it in your outstretched hand.

he watches, still on his knees, as you loop it back in place and buckle it close, his breathing quiet again.

«könig», his eyes are back to yours as he expectantly awaits for your next words, «to your quarters, colonel.»

you are the one to lock the door behind the two of you with the colonel’s implicit blessings. both of you know what comes next, yet könig does not move, waiting for your say.

so you do. you inhale deeply, closing your eyes for a moment to recollect yourself, knowing now that the distance between you, modest though it may be, will still be the same when you reopen them.

«kit off, colonel», there is no harshness in your voice, but it sounds authoritative all the same.

könig complies, ridding himself of any encumbrance save for his mask, then stands there, further waiting. you don’t allow yourself to indulge in his attractive figure too long, even when his arousal is difficult to ignore, pointing straight at you, leaking thickly.

«come», you barely open your arms and he goes down to the floor, crawling towards you. you meet him on the tiles, slipping your back against the door and settling in a squat as you invite him to join you, invite him closer.

now he can touch you.

he hugs your waist tight, almost dragging you down with him, but careful not to. his head immediately finds shelter in the hollow of your neck, silently begging for comforting touch you are now willing to provide. your hand is soon going through his short-cropped hair, mindful not to lift his mask.

not until he is ready to do it himself, or give you leave to.

there, on the floor, you both find your peace. the peace of liminality: fleeting, for it won’t last and, therefore, all the more precious. he barely moves, trying not to burden you with his conspicuous weight, even when, after a while, even your well-trained thighs and knees need reprieve from the squatting.

you sit down, legs spread wide to make room for könig as he slots himself between them, ruined, scarred lips tracing your throat downwards, then up again as his hands open the top of your fatigues, where more of your skin can be freed for him, covered only by your tank top.

he needs that contact. close. warm. reassuring. even when he unshackles your breasts from the trappings of your attire, mandated down to your underclothes, it is not out of need of his loins that he does so.

you hold him to your chest and soon, you feel his throat tremble. hot, wet tears melt his face, safely hidden against you, breaking the soft murmur of quiet breathing in low, reluctant and shameful sobs the colonel holds in until he cannot any more. a litany of exhalations and mutterings in his native tongue pushes out of him to take their place.

delirium

you hold him tighter as one of your hands finds its way under his mask to contour the battlefield that is his face. unevenly raised scars older and newer that litter his skin welcome the pads of your fingers as you wipe the tears with your palms, gently stroking.

he glances up at you, miserable, bloodshot eyes supplicating for things he couldn’t name if he knew what they were called.

«shhhh», you reassure him that there is no need to ask for anything as you begin to lift his mask, slowly enough to give the colonel time to object. he doesn’t and the fabric swishes off his head quietly.

now he is fully bare. a level of nakedness that you are sure not many have had the chance to witness.

your hold tightens around him and your hand runs through his matted hair, his damp cheeks, contouring the crooked shape of the left cheekbone, the one that broke and never healed right, dabbing at ever-renewing tears as he curses a past to you unknown.

the colonel shifts his heavy eyes, voice louder as he hisses at an invisible figure that hangs in the air of his memory, right next to your head, then shelters his face in your bosom again, crumpled on his knees, fingers digging the sides of your back, which he easily hugs.

you haven’t stopped stroking his hair a moment, holding the colonel as tightly as you’re capable of, trying to hush his whimpering with voice steady and secure.

you don’t know what could reduce the epitome of man such the colonel is, or at least, presents as, to this shaky mess and, at this point, you hope you never learn. the slump of his otherwise proud, muscled back looks pitiful as you stare at it. it brings a bitter scowl to your lips. what, indeed, could possibly have brought reserved and competent könig this low, in front of you?

you remember a tune you once heard him hum when he thought no one was there, or when he was so lost in thought that he did not even realise doing it, more likely. you intone it to the best of your memory.

this seems to soothe the colonel, enough that he is quiet, save for the occasional shaky gasp that still seizes his throat. he soon joins you, voice off-key and hoarse, to complete it with sparse words you couldn’t possibly know.

you try not to think of the consequences of missing the daily training, yet have no intention to ask the colonel to vouch for you. you want to keep this strange moment all to yourself, separate from your quotidian routine. a slice of time in an alternate place, cut away from your everyday reality.

yours and könig’s alone.

your thoughts are interrupted by the colonel’s mouth, warm and hungry. it wraps about the tips of your tear-stained tits and sucks, finally driven by different needs than consolation. your body responds right away to the ravenous love bites he marks on your skin, another blemish of his you will carry with yourself. a memento that this was not some daydream that never really was outside of your imagination.

your nipples pebble in his mouth and, as he steals another gasp from your throat, his demeanour emboldens. his large, rough hands cup your breasts while his teeth move to your neck, your jaw, your lips.

you are weak to his advances. you don’t deny him. yet it leaves you wondering who is taking advantage of whom.

«turn around, colonel», you forcefully grab a tuft of könig’s hair and pull the roots to show him you meant it. again, he complies, even though you can sense a note of disappointment.

he sits in front of you and you kneel at his back, bodies pressed tightly together as you reach around to knead his stomach, muscles flexing involuntarily as your hands descend. the thickness of könig’s abdomen forces you to struggle to reach his cock, but you can work with it. you already have in the past and the fingers now curling around the root of it confirm it.

your hand barely contains his heft, but it is quick to move along the heavy organ all the same. you squeeze, a groan reaching your ears as his flesh throbs back your touch, fingers tracing pulsing veins along it until they come away wet, foreskin rolling down softly almost on its own.

enough with the toying. you want to hear the colonel, könig, gasp and whimper as desperately as when he was weeping, but for rather different reasons. your determination spurs your movements and you start stroking his cock in earnest, wasting no more time.

it feels more aggression than service, almost violent, the way you abuse his cock with your hand, but you know he can take it. can take it. the man demands it. you know by the way, uncomfortable though it is sitting on the floor like that, he bucks his hips into your fist, meeting your downward slide with a jolt from his loins.

and when you torture him with your delightful touch, only to open your fist, enough for him to feel the silky warmth of your palm, but none of the friction, he whines for your hand back. he wines oh-so-sweetly for it as you mock him in pointed whispers in his ear.

this only riles him up more, forcing the most endearing of sounds through his broken lips. so you grant him his wish, hugging his girth in your fist and returning to your task, skin sliding smoothly with könig’s own wetness.

you repeat one, two, three more times, delighting each one in his reactions, until you force him to pleasure himself with your hand.

you hold it still around him, making him work for his release, his hips back to their frantic bucking, until you cheat him out of his pleasure one last infuriating time.

he curses in his tongue, that much you understand without need for translation, as you rise from the floor to stand a little distance away, in front of him.

«silence, dog! you know what i want, now.»

his chest heaves visibly as he peers at you from below, almost hateful in the intensity of his leer, but he obeys. back on all fours, he crawls towards your outstretched hand, seeking contact once more.

you stroke his face, damp and exhausted-looking, by now: «you’re a good, obedient dog, colonel.»

he hums at the praise and lets you guide him closer to you by his hair as you extend your left leg towards him, planting the heel of your boot to the floor. he observes while you let a glob of saliva trickle down on its tip and shuffle your foot to spread it on the rest of the black leather surface.

you lean towards him: «you know what i want from you now, pup.»

könig nods, then positions himself atop your boot, thighs straddling each side of it, disappearing it from sight with their large, powerful muscles. he stares up at you as he rubs his cock against the squeaky-clean, smooth leather you maintain in impeccable condition. he would do so even if that hand of yours caught in his hair weren’t twisting his neck backwards enough to relish in the sight of him.

his slower, sensuous movements begin to grow more haphazard once more. you are sure he will give himself rope burns with the laces if you don’t let him find relief.

«go on, colonel. i want you to come. now.»

he buries his face between your thighs as his hips keep working your boot, rubbing his cheeks against the rough fabric of your fatigues, lapping at it with his tongue, mouth hungry for the warmth and sweet taste of your cunt, just below the clothes, yet out of reach for the colonel until you decree otherwise.

he will have to settle for breathing in its scent, especially after those theatrics of his, earlier this morning.

finally, his penance is served in full. he moans against your crotch as he floods your boot with his seed, breath scorching as his mouth seals against your trousers to quiet his pleasured utterings.

his tongue is dry when he sits on his haunches to recover his breath.

you pet könig’s head, sweat wetting your palm as you run it along his skull: «you are a good pup, colonel», he basks in your praises, eyes almost beaming, «but do you know what a really good pup would do, now?»

he nods, sparing you the breath to tell him and immediately goes down to your boot again, lips and tongue working, relentless, to clean it from his mess. he doesn’t come up until not a single trace of his juices is left on your footwear, nor the floor around it, where it trickled.

you watch him swallow the last of it. No complaints.

that’s when you kneel to encase his jaws in your hands, so you can tilt his head towards you: «you were perfect, colonel.»

you can feel all the tension leave könig’s body. as for the anguish that plagues his spirit, you have done what you could.

colonel könig’s uniform looks impeccable on him. it hugs him perfectly, as if every piece of it were not lying crumpled on the floortiles only minutes ago. his mask is back on his head, shrouding his face as he likes. he waits by the door, gaze illegible, with a glass of apricot brandy in hand whose bottle he retrieved from one of the drawers.

he offered you some, but you declined. even if you could bear its taste, you don’t feel like indulging in spirits when your day has yet to begin. he shrugged and went to lean against the egress wall. he’s still sipping on it to rinse his mouth as you readjust your own fatigues.

you nod your head in goodbye and make to leave, but his figure doesn’t budge. you wait for an explanation. all you get is his gaze trailing behind you as he eyes his large desk, instead.

you sigh, considering what he is offering. your absence must have been noticed, by now and you don’t think a few more minutes will make a difference. in truth, your unsatisfied arousal is probably tainting your common sense, but you already said no to the brandy. it wouldn’t do to leave you superior without saying yes to a kindness he offers.

you nod and he sets his glass aside after emptying it. the temperamental giant easily lifts you again, this time much calmer and gentler, allowing you to find balance by gripping his shoulders as he walks towards the elegant wooden surface.

he rests you on it, sheltering your head with his arm and taking a few steps back as he waits for you to undo your trousers and pull them down enough. you do, clumsily, but quickly and you see him return, towering from above, eyes vacuous and inexpressive now that his mask is back on his face.

he repositions you to his liking, bending your knees to your chest to grant himself a nice view of both your face and your cunt, dripping from all the pent-up energy you accumulated during your session.

he ungloves his right hand, bringing the fingers to his mouth to wet them more out of habit than need, then plants the left one beside your face as he leans over you, mask hovering above you, brushing your face as his fingers find easy way inside you.

he gets working right away, no preambles, rather utilitarian in his approach. his thick index and middle finger squelch rhythmically inside you as his thumb covers your clit. he attacks your sweet spot right away, curling his fingertips as you bite hard on your lower lip to stifle your noises.

the recent memory of him kneeling at your feet, obedient and desperate, coupled with a few more pointed, circular motions and you’re convulsing around his hand, arms instinctively sheltering your eyes from his as your back arches. you feel him retreat right away, his job done and you can finally readjust your clothes for good.

you glimpse könig sneak the fingers he used on you under the hem of his mask, the sucking sounds you hear as you buckle your belt around your waist eloquent enough. he doesn’t seem satisfied until he has licked all of your humours from them, then his glove is fitted back on.

now you can leave.

thank you for reading. let me know what you thought, if you feel like it. and please, if you enjoyed it, consider reblogging.

#call of duty #cod #cod fanfic #könig #konig #könig cod #konig cod #könig mw2 #konig mw2 #könig mwii #konig mwii #könig x reader #konig x reader #könig smut #konig smut #submissive!könig #minors dni

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hxzxrdous · 4 months

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Note: The following fic is a collab with @cissyenthusiast010155 She is an insanely talented writer and she's extremely kind and an amazing person. Thank you, babes, for getting me out of my writing slump. 🧡🫶

The School For Good and Evil

Platonic Lady Lesso x Never!reader

TW: None

UNWAVERING SYMPATHY

As the Monday morning sun slowly crept into the dormitory, you stirred in discomfort. Fatigue weighed upon you, amplified by your disdain for Mondays. Your dreaded shark week had arrived, just yesterday evening, leaving you in agony and pain.

Comfortably nestled in your bed, you contemplated rising for the day, it was barely 5am, so you could easily go back to sleep for another two hours. But your eyes widened as you felt it. You quickly stood up, turning on the light on the bedside table... There was a blood stain on the sheet. Panic surged as you looked down at your pajama, feeling the trickle down your leg, staining even your socks and slippers. You would've cried if you weren't in so much pain.

With a lantern in hand, you hurriedly gathered fresh clothes and a towel, making your way to the dormitory's shared bathroom, tiptoeing across creaky wooden floors to avoid waking your fellow Nevers. A warm bath offered a brief comfort, a hopeful start to a smoother day. Returning to the dorm, you cleansed the stained floor and changed the sheets before slipping into the first lecture, albeit slightly late. You entered just after the roll call.

"Y/LN..." The dean, Lady Lesso looked up from her parchment of names. "I don't recall you being on my attendance sheet..." Her voice was stern as her grey eyes continued to rest on you.

"I- I overslept, ma'am," you answered quietly. "I apologize, it won't happen again," you added.

Professor Lesso eyed you for a moment longer before returning to the attendance sheet. The room remained silent as she marked things down on her sheet with a frown.

"You may sit." Lady Lesso pointed to one of the desks with her cane.

Lady Lesso was walking around the classroom, waving around with her cane as she talked. As the lecture progressed, your cramps intensified, distracting you from the professor’s teachings.

You watched the fellow Nevers. Today you felt like they were more annoying than ever. Especially Hort and his single werewolf hair. You looked at Hort who was sitting next to your desk. His werewolf hair, triggering a sneeze from you. It happened again. You felt the leak through the pad. Soon, the bell rang and Lesso dismissed the class with her cane. The students hurried out of the classroom, all except for you as you remained seated behind your desk.

Professor Lesso continued to walk around the classroom once all students had left, looking at you, the lone student who had stayed behind. Her eyes narrowed.

"You," her voice was firm as she pointed with her cane at you, "stand up."

"I- I can't... ma'am," you replied quietly, your cheeks turning red.

"What?" A scowl appeared on the dean's face as she raised a brow at you. "I didn't stutter, I said stand up," she tapped her cane on the floor, waiting for you to obey.

As if this day couldn't get any worse.

You carefully and slowly stood up, feeling the familiar gush once again. Now your blushed cheeks turned pale immediately. You looked down, another pair of your pants ruined. You would run to the bathroom if you wouldn't be so frozen from fear as Lesso watched you like a hawk.

This was more than enough to get her to lose her temper as the dean stomped to you. She was just trying to figure out what the matter was, but you were completely quiet. Her impatience boiled over as she grasped your shoulders, demanding an explanation forcing you to look her in the eyes.

"Well what is it? Cat got your tongue?" There were no other students around so she didn't need to be polite, not like the woman was ever polite.

"I know it's not like you're shy enough to simply be mute. So what's the matter? Do you need to use the bathroom?"

There was a moment of silence between you two as you were standing there, frozen... And your cheeks lost what color they had. Lesso's face went from confusion to mild curiosity as she stared at the stained seat...

"Yes, please," you replied.

The professor's eyes lit up with a mild shock as it finally hit her what you were going through.

How could she have been so ignorant…

Her face softened almost instantly when you finally admitted that you needed to go to the bathroom.

If the dean knew you were having your cycle then she would have been a bit more tactful than she initially presented. She understood that this was a very hard stage of life of being a girl, not just going through teenage angst but going through puberty too.

Lady Lesso sighed and turned her head towards the exit.

“You are dismissed.”

You nodded timidly and began for the door, but the woman stopped you.

"Before you go, Y/LN... You're free for the rest of the class today. Come to my office later when you'll have the time, I'll make you some tea." Lady Lesso said softly, sounding almost as if the woman cared.

Lady Lesso waited in her office for you, two cups of chamomile tea waiting on the desk. You entered, sitting down, your head hung low as Lady Lesso was rummaging through the closet in the back.

"Y/N... Clarissa Dovey once gifted me a blanket. It's enchanted so it helps with alleviating the pain and decreasing the... flow... I believe you need it more than me." Lady Lesso replied softly, walking towards you, kneeling down, putting the blanket on your lap.

"Th..thank you ma'am..." you said as you accepted the blanket that Lady Lesso had given to you, wrapping it around yourself to help with the cramps that always seemed to happen at the worst time. It seemed to work immediately and you snuggled up to the heat it provided, inhaling the lavender scent that came from the blanket.

"I can see you're tired. Off you go back to your dorm and take some rest. If you have any more trouble, don't hesitate to come to my office," the dean said.

"Yes ma'am," you said as you got up to leave, wrapped in your new lavender-scented blanket. "And thank you, again ma’am," you added before making your exit from the dean's office.

#lady lesso #lady lesso x reader #leonora lesso #leonora lesso x reader #sge #the school for good and evil #sge netflix #this may or may not happened in real life #I hate being a woman #:')#ew #leonora lesso x reader platonic #lady lesso x reader platonic

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badnoahmens · 7 months

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I Took Your Keys, It Was Me - Part 2

Noah Sebastian x Reader

Words: 2.5kish

A/N: I’ve never had so many requests to make a part 2 to a fic before, so here’s this. Part 1 found here.

Two weeks had passed now, your normal daily life routine had fallen back into rhythm. A swell of work, sleep, food somewhere in the mix. There was a slight adjustment though, and that was the odd text message from Noah. It wasn’t every day, and no deep, dark secrets were being shared, it was simply a meme, a photo of something mundane, or most of the time, a terrible, terrible, pun.

The communication between the two of you was effortless, like talking to a lifelong friend. There was no sense of urgency, no burdening, no feelings of dread whatsoever, which was unusual for you to feel like that.

Their tour was starting to wind up. Only 1 week left, and 3 cities to visit and perform at. To think back at the meeting you had 2 weeks ago seems like more time had passed than it actually had. It could be because of life going back to normal, or because of all the stories Noah had told you about touring, both old and new.

Your mind got lost in a memory, one of a late night. You were sitting on the couch, dirty dishes on the table in front of you, scrolling through your phone absentmindedly as the TV kept playing in the background.

The sudden vibrations in your hand and a change of screen distracted you from your doom scrolling, seeing Noah’s name flash up. It wasn’t often that he would call, this was only the second time, but there was a comfort in talking to him that didn’t seem to happen with anyone else, especially this quickly after meeting someone.

“You’ll never believe what just happened” he would say, not even letting you say hello. Immediately, he continued. “So, tonight, after the show, we went to get some food because the hungry boys deserved a feast, and then…”

Your mind started to wander. He was so excited about what had happened that he called you. You. Out of anyone in the world. It was something that you tried not to think too deep about, but boy was that hard. He was excited, and thought of your name, and wanted to tell you all about his exciting story.

It was his laugh that brought you back to the conversation, bringing you out of your own head and back to whatever epic tale he was recounting. Something about getting lost and then being chased by some rodent and needing to hide up a tree, then the rodent climbed the tree too… it was hard to follow along with what he as actually saying because of the wheezing and laughter mid-sentence. You couldn’t help but just smile. A big, goofy, toothy grin. He sounded so genuinely happy.

“So, as you can probably guess, I have a new fear of rats now” he finished.

“So what you’re saying is, that big, bad Noah, who wears a ski mask and wraps his hands like a boxer to perform, is scared of a mouse?” You tease.

“Did you not hear me! This rat was the size of a small dog! What if it bit me!” He was off again. Going into strangely specific detail about how big it’s teeth were and how hairless it’s tail was.

Snapping back to reality, you couldn’t help but scroll through your old conversations, giggling once again at some of the photos he chose to share with you. One in particular was a favourite.

It was a selfie, and wore a uniform black outfit of a shirt and beanie. It looked like it was night, the windows showed a dark sky. Although it was a selfie, the photo was aimed over his shoulder, a chaotic scene of arms flailing and frustrated expressions in the band and crews faces. Noah himself looked as though he was stifling a giggle with his eyes semi-closed and lips pursed together. What looked to be a Monopoly board and its game pieces were scattered over the floor, table, and lounge. What you could only imagine is an argument occurred where someone was wrong done by, egos were crushed and friendships were put to the test.

It was these kinds of photos, the casual insights into his life, that made you think more about him than what you probably should.

Almost as though he knew you were thinking of him, a new message from Noah dings in your phone.

“We’re in your town next week!” Is all it said, followed by a second message. “Still offering that tour of the best places to eat?”

Your heart skips a beat. The memory of the offer to show him around your city floods back and you cringe a little at the awkwardness of it all. After musing over a response for a few minutes, you respond.

“I’ve got just the right place in mind”.

————————————————————————

The next week had finally rolled around and you were on your way to the food truck you had told Noah all about. It was… quaint. Set up permanently in an old car park, with some rickety plastic chairs scattered around, it served some of the best food you’ve ever eaten. Throughout the morning, you had changed outfits 4 times, drank 3 coffees, turned the house upside down looking for a hat that you didn’t even wear, and then almost locked yourself out of the house, all thanks to the panic that was starting to set in.

Thoughts if doubt started to creep in, force of habit you guess. Your mind was not the kindest of places, especially to yourself. Some of the things you would say to yourself almost made you pull the plug and not go at all, but you were distracted once again by Noah sending a message confirming the address.

Right now, you were sitting in your car, around the corner from where you were supposedly meeting everyone. You had invited the whole band and crew along to try and ease the awkwardness, but now it has made the whole thing even more daunting.

You leg bounced in its place, nervously tapping a rhythmic and repetitive beat, almost like you were building up the courage to actually get out of the car. A very long 5 minutes passed, and you forced yourself to push open the door. Why was this so nerve-wracking? Was it because it had been building up for a week, or because you were seeing Noah in person for the first time since you last met? Was it because you had brought along the hoodie that he gave you last time to give back to him, but secretly you didn’t want to part with it?

One foot started to move, followed by the other, as you walked closer to the desired location of greasy burgers and fries. Your stomach rumbled fiercely at you, reprimanding your choice to skip breakfast and run only on a caffeine diet this morning. It distracted you enough, right up until you could hear a familiar voice, echoed by a band of laughter.

You stood at the corner, looking at the food truck, seeing all familiar faces crowded around the plastic chairs and tables. Folio was talking to Jolly, making strange expressions and wide arm movements, as though he was telling an age-old story of his, meanwhile Jolly looked as though he had heard it all before. They were the closest, a wall of bodies with their backs turned to you was behind them, a mix of people, of which you could vaguely make out Bryan, Matt, Ruffilo, Dakota, Tim, Steven, and even Miles.

Memories of their faces flash back in your mind, back to the night you met them, sitting around in a circle in the greenroom after their concert. They were so kind to give up their space, time, and drinks for a stranger, let alone a fan of theirs.

There was a shift in the crowd that stood around the plastic table, and then you could see Noah. He was sitting down at one of the chairs, glancing between his phone and his friends around him. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes, along with a white graphic tee and some black shorts. He was a simple fashionista, but you’d be damned if you said it didn’t look good on him.

The 10 seconds that you stood there for felt like a lifetime as the bubbling of nerves in your stomach grew. They all seemed to happy and relaxed, and you could help but think, why ruin that?

The devil on your shoulder screamed at you to leave them alone.

They’re happy.

Don’t ruin it for them.

Look how well they’re doing without you there.

You could feel your eyes welling up, threatening to spill over tears at any moment, but you wouldn’t let that happen, especially with the threat of them seeing you like that.

You suck down a shaky breath, holding it in as you turn on your heels. In the end, that voice was right. Why would they need you to join them? A fan, nonetheless, that they met once, to hang out like they were childhood best friends? It was ignorant to think that it could have gone any other way than this.

You could see your car now, almost acting like a safe place. Your steps quickened as you impatiently headed towards your familiar haven to then let the tears fall. That was until you heard your name being called out from behind you. It makes you stop in your tracks. A feeling of panic rises inside your chest as you hear it called a second time.

It was Noah. It was his voice, undeniably, calling out to you.

Your eyes squeezed shut in an effort to fight back the feeling of despair, forcing the tears back. You couldn’t face him like that. You could hear him walking towards you, footfalls growing louder and the keys that jingled by his pocket rang like a warning bell.

Blinking back the fear you still had, you had no choice but to turn and face him. When you did, his face was full of confusion, slightly tilted to the side, eyebrows knitted together like he was trying to figure out what you were doing.

“The food place is this way” he says, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder, glancing back in that direction. “Are you okay?”

“Just got lost, I guess” you lie. He knows. He can tell something is off.

“We’ve been waiting for you. Need some recommendations for this place!” He says enthusiastically. It’s clear as day to see he is trying to cheer you up. He’s reading your situation exactly as it’s playing out. He gives you a look, tilting his head down and raising his eyebrows almost as though to say ‘you coming or what?’

It was his calm demeanour that was the only thing that could have convinced you to stray from your path of heading to the car. The way his eyes pleaded in the gentlest of ways made it feel like it was all going to be okay.

“The burgers are greasy as, and you’ll regret it afterwards, but they’re the best thing I’ve ever eaten” you finally respond with a slightly shaky voice. There’s still an air of hesitancy as you start walking towards Noah, but you admit defeat and cave anyway.

As you step closer, one arm lifts and wraps around your shoulder, pulling you into a side hug as he spins to face the rest of the band of friends. His arm drops and pulls out his phone, taking a quick snap of the food truck as he strides towards it. You need to quicken your pace because the fucker has long legs and walks fast as hell.

As you near the crowd, they turn and meet your gaze. A chorus of “Hey! Good to see you!” “Where have you been? I’m starving!” And “what’s new key-girl” welcomes you.

You throw out a wave, paired with a “good to see you guys again” and a side glance at Noah, who’s smile is beaming as he looks on at the menu hanging on the side of the truck.

The next hour that follows is one filled with jokes, good food, tales from the road and even a short walk down the Main Street of town. Framing each side of the road are buildings of all different architectural styles. Art-deco neighboured modern, which neighboured neoclassical. There was even a gothic-style library building that you walked past. It was something you admired about this small city, it wanted to be so much more than it was, but seemed like it never really got there.

You walked amongst the group, trailing more towards the back, looking up at how the sunlight danced through the buildings, the trees, and reflected on shop front windows. The sky was a picture perfect blue, letting the sun shine down a radiant warm that gently kissed your skin. It was mid-admiration of your surroundings that you see in your peripheral vision that Noah was looking your way. When you finally glanced at him, you were met with a sweet smile, one that was soft but warmed your heart. He looked away quickly, down at his feet, with his hands shoved into his pockets, along with a little giggle as he scuffed a rock with his shoe.

“Thanks for earlier” you say, looking up at him, squinting slightly as the sun was shining behind him, highlighting a glow around his hair, showing every whiff of the wind that tousled loose strands.

“Don’t mention it” he says, swerving to bump his elbow into your side. It took you aback seeing how comfortable he was being this casually playful.

“I wasn't going to come. I was on my way home”

“I know. I could tell. You had the fear of god in your eyes” he said with a smirk. You couldn’t help but notice how one side of his lips curled up a little more than the other when he smiled.

As terrifying as it was to admit, he was right. You were never that good at hiding your emotions, so why would this be any different?

“I’m glad I caught you, though” he continued, looking back at you, with that damn smile again.

“I’m glad too” you reply, looking away from his gaze in an attempt to hide the blushing in your cheeks. There was a moment of silence between the two of you, yet it was comfortable.

You look ahead, glancing between all of the friends, strolling down the Main Street of your town like it was nothing. Like they weren’t these recognisable figures adored by thousands, if not millions. Including you, you admired them. As artists, as people. They had brought you so much joy and yet here you were, just going for a walk with them.

It was only a few minutes later that you reached your destination, the bank of a lake, splitting off into river mouths and down into streams. It was a favourite of yours because of how tranquil it was, how calm it seemed and how it housed an entirely different world beneath the surface that just fascinated you.

There was a concrete wall that ran along the side where the group had started to sit, some propped up and some laying on their backs on the grass next to it.

But you and Noah decided to keep walking for now, continuing the conversation of small talk and banter.

“How long have you lived around here?” Noah asks.

“As long as I can remember. It’s changed a lot over the years. It’s kinda comforting, but it also gets old. I guess it’s different to what you’re used to” you reply, cautiously asking about him, but not wanting to pry.

“Yeah… I guess you could say that. I haven’t really stayed somewhere too long to really get that used to it. I’m at a good place now, though. Living with some of my closest friends” he says, looking ahead into the distance.

“I meant, with tour, you probably see some cool places.”

“Oh, for sure. We have been to some awesome cities, met awesome people. It’s quite a unique lifestyle that’s for sure.” He looks down at you to meet your eyes, “not for the faint of heart”, followed by a wink.

A wink? Dude, come on. You’re already confused about how you feel, and now he throws you a wink? This man.

“It’s a lot of temporary things. Temporary bed. Temporary city. Sometimes temporary people” he was looking out over the water now.

You admire the way he chose his words carefully. It was clear that he had been through some shit, but he was clever and never intentionally dragged up baggage for pity or for entertainment.

“I hope I’m not a temporary person” you say, almost too quiet. He looks at you and smiles, and you panic. Was that too forward? Would he think you’re clingy?

“So do I” he says, then looks away again.

Your heart starts pounding in your chest, and right on schedule, the overthinking-train arrives. What is that supposed to mean? Is he flirting with you? Is this a joke? Are there hidden cameras somewhere filming this whole prank?

Noah can see your mind racing, it might have been the jittery hands or the rapid eye movements to look anywhere but in his direction.

“I hope I haven’t freaked you out” he admits, and in a moment of confidence, you start to question him.

“Is this some kind of cruel prank you play on fans that you meet?” You ask, in an almost harsh tone. Noah is taken aback slightly, pausing his steps to come to a standstill.

“Why would you say that?” He asks sounded offended.

“You can’t blame me. Think about it. Fan meets band. Band and fan hang out. Fan and band become friends. Fan gets feelings for band. This stuff doesn’t happen in real life” you say with a sigh in defeat. Saying it out loud makes it seem more like a joke.

“It’s… it's not a joke. I rarely meet people that seem like good people.” He pauses, thinking of what words to use, carefully plucking them to try and not make you flee. “It’s different for me too, but you seem like someone I really want to get to know”.

There was sincerity in his voice. You looked at him, and there wasn’t an ounce of falsity to him.

“Plus, did you just say that you have feelings for the band?” He asks, cracking a smile.

You throw your head back, covering it with your hands and turn away from him to hide from the embarrassment. Why did you say that? You have feelings for him? What a way to fuck it up now!

“Yeah… I mean… you can’t blame me” you’re stalling. “I mean, have you seen Ruffilo? The man is beautiful”.

Noah smiles and let’s put a small laugh, but his eyes give away that he’s a little offended that you didn’t mention his name.

Fuck. Now does he have the wrong impression? Why is this so hard?

Now you were panicking, trying to think of a way to fix this.

“But really…” you start, trying to quickly think of the right words to say. “Think about it. Even us walking along here together, right now, seems like it’s a bit far-fetched.”

He nods, acknowledging the strange circumstance that led up to this point.

“I don’t want to seem ungrateful. I mean, I get to spend time with you. That’s something I never expected!” You say trying to change the mood, but Noah shifts and crosses his arms, avoiding eye contact.

“No, I get it. It’s to be expected, really. I guess I was a bit delusional for thinking that wouldn’t come up” he looks out over the water, past you, with a solemn expression. I guess you really did hurt his feelings. You internally kicked yourself for royally fucking this all up.

You stop walking, Noah takes one step more than you, then turns to finally meet your gaze. You take a big breath in, close your eyes, and then exhale. Noah looks at you quizzically. When you open your eyes, you give him a soft smile, and hold out your hand to him. He looks at your hand, then back at you.

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you” you say kindly, then offering your name to him.

“Is… this… are you okay?” He asks.

You drop your hand and give him an exasperated look.

“I’m trying to start things over”.

“Oh.. oh okay. Hi, I’m Noah” he states, then holding his hand out. You shake it, feeling the warmth of his hands and noticing the calluses forming.

Noah’s phone pings at that moment, he takes a second to type out a response, then puts it back into his pocket.

“Everything okay?” You ask.

“Yeah. The guys said they’re heading back. I’ll meet up with them later.”

“If you need to go, I won’t be offended”

“We only just met! I can’t leave now, that would be rude” he says with a smirk.

You continue to wander, side by side, for the next 30 minutes, at some stage turning and beginning your walk back to your starting point.

“Are you staying locally?” You ask.

“Yeah, we have a hotel tonight. A nice break from the bus. That thing gets crowded and smells bad real quick.”

“I can drive you back there if you need. Your hoodie is in my car too.”

“I said you could keep that” he glances at you with a side eye smirk.

“I know, I feel bad keeping your stuff though”

“I have probably a million pieces of Bad Omens merch. I can even give you more if you want”

Your mind quickly flashed to the mound of merch for this band that you already own. “I don’t think that’s necessary, thank you for the offer though”

“Fine, suit yourself.” He shrugs. “But I will take you up on the offer to drive me to the hotel. Think of it as that driving tour you promised me last time.”

You smile down at your shoes remembering the interaction, the hoodie he gave you, him making sure you got back to your car safely. He did everything so right, and you were trying everything you could to not stuff this up even more.

By the time you got to your car. The sun was starting to set. You hadn't realized that you had spent half a day with Noah until you turned the headlights on.

Noah slipped into your passenger seat, legs so long that they almost needed to be folded over each other just to fit. He rummaged around for the mechanism to move the seat, and finally found it giving him more leg room as he slid back in the chair. You couldn’t help but let out a giggle at the sight.

“What? Man needs his leg room!” He throws his hands forward, motioning to his long limbs, which we’re still bent just to fit. You shook your head a little, playfully, and then pulled the car out to start your journey.

Noah directed you to his hotel, saying it was about a 10 minute drive from here.

“For someone just passing through, you sure do know your way around” you joke, keeping your eyes on the road. Noah, however, was looking at you, like you were having a full conversation, only glancing ahead to point you directions.

He was a passionate talker when he got out of his shell, spoke with his hands a lot. The boy couldn’t keep them still at one point he was almost twisted completely around just to emphasize the story he was telling. He had you in stitches, the way he recounted events and waited for your response, then gave you time to recover from a laughing fit before he continued. He watched you react to his words, he paid attention to the small details, the crinkles by your eyes when you laughed hard, how you would glance at him throughout the conversation to tell him you were listening, even the way your grip would twist around the steering wheel when he was describing a scary part of the story. He noticed everything about you. And you noticed him noticing you.

You had a moment of realization that he was just a person. A person who laughed, who cried, who’s been through shit and now, is just sitting in your car. The sudden wash of relief, the pressure you were feeling, just gone.

The drive comes to an end and you pull up outside the hotel. Nothing too fancy, just to get them through the night. You look up at the building, half its lights were switched on in the three-storey building.

You turn and look at Noah then, the glowing of the lights bouncing off his face making him look as angelic as ever, so much, that it actually made your heart skip a beat. Trying to make sure he didn’t notice the hitch in your breath, you twist at an awkward angle, reaching for the black hoodie on the back seat.

You couldn’t help by notice Noah lean to look over too, your faces now only an inch apart. So close that you could even feel his warm breath each over your cheek. It didn’t help the state of admiration you were already in.

Your fingers graze the material, grabbing at it and finally twisting back into your position in the drivers seat.

“I believe this belongs to you” you say, handing over the garnet.

“I thought I said…” he spoke, pausing to take the hoodie in his hands and hold it out by its sleeves. He then leaned towards you, stretching his arms above you and wrapping the piece of clothing around your back and over your arms, twisting it into a knot on your chest. “You could keep it.” He finished, smiling triumphantly.

The closeness had you feeling a little lightheaded, maybe because you felt like you forgot to breathe around him, or maybe the low lighting made this interaction feel way more intimate than it was.

“I guess…. Thank you” you say, looking into his eyes. All you could see was a sweet dark chocolate brown staring back at you.

Noah’s hand then takes yours as he plants a light kiss on the back of it, placing it back down into his hands again. You couldn’t help but stare with your mouth ajar slightly at the gentlemanly gesture.

“It’s my pleasure.” He pauses again, looking outside then back to you. “If… if I asked you out on a date, would you hesitate to show up to that too?” He asked, sounding honest in his intention, his eyes looked in your hands together.

“A date?” You gawk, almost too quickly. He nods. “I, uh, no. I wouldn’t.”

“Because I’m still in town tomorrow if you’re free.”

“Tomorrow… tomorrow…? Uhh..Nothing on the agenda that comes to mind.” Honestly, you had no idea if you actually had anything in tomorrow.

“Great. It’s a date. I’ll meet you here at 10?” He asks excitedly, that sweet lopsided grin making a comeback.

Your heart was beating through your chest, it was a miracle that he couldn’t hear it.

“10. That works. I’ll be here.” You say, not sounding that convincing.

“I hope so” he replies, paired with another wink. With that, he opens the car door, stepping outside, and closes it with a gentle thud behind him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow” he says with a wave through the window. You couldn’t help but smile back at him, taking in the image of him gentle waving and glancing over his shoulder as he walks to the door. He enters safely, and on his way to his room.

That’s when the excitement hits. You grip the steering wheel tight and let out a squeal. That’s right, a squeal. You have never squealed before in your life, but this man has you feeling so giddy it’s unreal.

With a deep breath, you pull the car out again, heading home, already running through every possible scenario that could happen at 10am the next day.

Part 3

Masterlist

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tired-and-ticklish · 4 days

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The Dangers Of Bows

Disclaimer: This is a tickle fic, so if that isn’t your thing, then just ignore this.

Summary: Angel Dust likes pulling pranks. He really should have thought about his plan to prank Alastor a bit more thoroughly.

TW: Tickling (maybe a bit intense?), Restraints, Swearing, Mentions of Cannibalism, Angel Dust being Angel Dust.

Inspiration: This video

In Angel Dust’s defense, he thought it wouldn’t work.

In Angel’s defense, he thought someone would have stopped him.

In Angel’s defense, he thought Alastor would have noticed sooner.

In his defense, he had not expected the Overlord to be that distracted when talking with Rosie. The Cannibal Overlord had come to the hotel to get a good look at the new ‘business venture’ the Radio Demon had taken interest in. Apparently, talking to her put Alastor in such a good mood, he almost forgot where he was for a moment, and thus, didn’t feel the spider demon tie a bow around his tail.

Angel hadn’t even been aware Alastor even had a tail, until Niffty mentioned it off-handedly one day. That gave the spider an idea for a small prank, just a small one. Alastor also liked pranks, sure, but Angel didn’t want to end up double dead. Despite what people may think, he isn’t that stupid.

Or maybe he is, considering he went through with the prank, even though most of his instincts told him it was a terrible idea. He had waited until one of the rare days Alastor wasn’t wearing his trademark coat, and thus, his little deer tail was on full display. The Radio Demon only did this in the presence of Rosie, considering they had been friends for who knows how long.

“Certainly not as long as me and Al’!” Mimzy had said once.

The spider demon had honestly thought Alastor would have noticed his presence sooner, or caught onto Angel’s plans quicker. Hell, he was pretty sure Rosie had even seen him sneaking up on the deer, and yet, she didn’t say anything. Maybe she was curious as to how this would all turn out.

What Angel failed to remember was Alastor’s own shadow, which was almost like having a second Radio Demon. As soon as the bow was tied on, the spider let out a startled noise as Alastor’s shadow grabbed him, pulling him down and restraining Angel to the floor.

“My, you must have a double-death wish.” Alastor said calmly, looking over to the pinned pornstar. “Sneaking up on me while I’m having a conversation with an old friend?”

Angel let out a nervous chuckle. “Alright, you caught me Al.” He said, holding his hands up placatingly. “Dumbass move on my part, I know-”

“He tied a bow to your tail.” Rosie interrupted, casually sipping the tea Charlie had made.

Slowly, Alastor turned his head around to check if what his companion was saying was true. Angel had forgotten that the Radio Demon could turn his head like an owl, it being completely turned as he looked at his own tail. Sure enough, there was a bright pink, sparkly bow tied to the deer tail. Alastor’s head snapped back toward Angel’s direction, the pornstar instantly filled with dread.

“And you didn’t think to warn me beforehand?” He asked Rosie, incredulous.

“I think it’s cute~” She teased.

“A-Al, we can talk about this, r-right?” Angel pleaded, trying to crawl away. “I-It’s just a little joke, you know?”

Alastor seemed to consider this, scratching his chin in thought. “Well, my arachnid acquaintance, if you desired a laugh, you simply needed to ask.”

Before Angel could question what the Radio Demon meant, he saw it. The mischievous glint in Alastor’s eyes as he kneeled by the trapped spider. His shadow yoinked Angel’s arms upward, giving the deer easy access to his worst spots. Angel’s eyes widened, shaking his head frantically.

“W-Wait wait wait! Y-You don’t have to do this Al!” The nervous smile was already starting to form on his face.

“Do what~?” Alastor asked, before poking the spider’s sides. “I’m not doing anything.”

Angel bit his lip, trying to twist and turn away from the Radio Demon’s hands. It was useless, of course, as Alastor’s shadow held the spider firmly in place. The deer poked and prodded at Angel’s sides, his claws slowly, torturously tracing over the spot.

“Ah ah ah.” Alastor tutted when he noticed the spider biting his lip. “Why are you resisting now? You wanted a laugh, so I’m giving you one!”

“A-Ahahahal Ahahal I’m sohhohohorry! I-Ihihihih’ll lehehheeave yoohohohu aloohohohone!” Angel pleaded.

“You should have thought about that before, Angel.” Alastor chuckled.

Rather than go right for the spider’s worst spot, the Radio Demon decided to go for his own personal favorite spot: the ribs. He started at the top, just close enough to Angel’s armpits to get him nervous, before slowly dragging his claws down, tickling each rib with feather-like touches that made Angel lose it.

“S-Smihihihihles plehehehehease!”

“Sorry Angel.” Alastor said, not at all apologetic. “I am a cannibal, I just have to go for your ribs!”

Angel was about to let out another protest or plea, when he squealed as he felt a second set of hands tickling his stomach. He was regretting his decision to wear a crop top that day. Alastor raised an eyebrow, looking over and spying Rosie, who had her own grin.

“Oh Alastor, don’t you know the best part is the stomach?” Rosie asked, digging her nails into the spider’s fluffy belly.

“Really? Again with this discussion, Rosie?” Alastor asked, amused. “Ribs are the far superior meal.”

“Oh please, just look at how soft and tender the stomach is!”

Angel was losing his mind! Both Overlords were tickling him and acting like he wasn’t even there! He sputtered as he felt the Cannibal Overlord drag a finger slowly up the pink streak on his stomach.

“See? This one even comes with his own outline for where we could cut! Just open up this sensitive little belly~”

“Please, he’s so thin, I highly doubt his stomach would be of any value.”

Honestly, most people would be panicking from two cannibals talking about eating them or cutting open their stomach, but Angel knew that if Alastor really wanted to eat him, he wouldn’t bother with tickling him first. That just wasn’t who Al was, he wasn’t someone to give his victims comfort before eating them.

What Angel was panicking about was how close Rosie’s finger was getting to where his belly button would be. Before he could even attempt to beg, she dug right in.

“SHHIHIHIHIT SHIHIHIHIT!”

“See, Alastor? Listen to those little squeals!” Rosie teased.

Alastor let out his own amused chuckle. “Surely you’re joking. I think he’ll scream louder if I do this~”

Without warning, Alastor’s claws dig right into the top of the spider’s ribs, making him howl with laughter. Angel tried to squirm away, pull his arms down, anything to try to block out the sensations, but the Radio Demon’s shadow held firm. All the spider could do was kick his legs out, the only part of him not restrained currently.

“P-PLEHEHEHEASE PLHEHEHEASE IHIHIHIH’M SOHOHOHOHOHRRY!”

“You know, Angel, it’s rather rude to interrupt a conversation.” Alastor hummed. “Did no one teach you any manners?”

“Guess we’ll have to help him with that~” Rosie teased.

She ceased her tickling, allowing Angel to slightly catch his breath, still laughing as Alastor’s hands stayed at his ribs. The pornstar then felt Rosie hold onto his waist, his eyes widening as he realized what she was about to do. He pleaded, shaking his head as Rosie lowered her own toward his stomach.

“W-Wahahahit wahhahait dohohoohn’t!”

Angel’s pleas fell on deaf ears as Rosie blew a raspberry right into his stomach, making him squeal so loud, Alastor thought the whole hotel might hear. The Radio Demon hummed, deciding to show a little bit of mercy and cease tickling Angel’s ribs, allowing the pornstar to only focus on Rosie’s torment.

“I wonder if Husker knows about this little weakness of yours, Angel?” Alastor teased, humming a bit. “A few little raspberries and you’re practically a mess!”

Angel couldn’t help but blush as Alastor said that. The idea of Husk finding out how well raspberries worked on him making the spider both terrified and excited. He kind of hoped Alastor would tell the bartender, it’d save Angel the embarrassment of telling Husk himself. He was pulled out of those thoughts by another raspberry, and a few nibbles to his stomach.

As both Overlords noticed Angel’s laughter start to sound desperate, Rosie stopped her onslaught. Alastor snapped his fingers, his shadow releasing it’s hold, allowing the spider to curl up on himself, rubbing the spots where a few phantom tickles lingered.

“I do hope this goes without saying.” Alastor said, leaning near Angel’s face. “But I trust Rosie’s visit won’t be interrupted anymore?”

“Y-Yeah, yeah, no more interruptions.” Angel said, catching his breath.

“Delightful!” Alastor said, before getting up and dusting himself off. He held out a hand to help Rosie up.

“Aww, don’t be too upset Alastor.” Rosie hummed, taking Alastor’s hand. “He’s such a cute little thing! No wonder Husker likes him~” She teased, leaning down and pinching Angel’s cheek slightly.

‘Little thing’ was ironic, considering Angel was the tallest person in the hotel. The way Rosie complimented/teased him was… weird, but nice. Like a mother or aunt teasing you about your crush. While Angel pushed himself up, Alastor snapped his fingers, the bow the spider tied around his tail now on said spider’s head.

“Pink isn’t really my color.” Alastor hummed.

“Were you more mad about the color than anything?” Angel asked, not putting it past the Radio Demon.

Alastor chuckled. “Not particularly. If it was blue like a certain Television, then, well, I wouldn’t have been as kind.” He said with a threatening grin.

Message heard, loud and clear. Don’t put anything blue on Alastor.

“Now then!” The Radio Demon said, turning to the Cannibal Overlord, holding out his arm for her “All of this has left me famished, shall we head out for a bite?”

“Oooh, you read my mind.” Rosie said, her smile full of teeth as she hooked her arm around Alastor’s, allowing the deer to lead her out of the hotel.

Alastor snapped his fingers one more time, his coat materializing onto him and covering his tail once more.

#hazbin hotel tickle #tickle fic #lee!angeldust #ler!alastor #ler!rosie #*posts this and disappears for a week*

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pedroshotwifey · 3 months

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To the Flame Chapter 4

Series masterlist

Pairing: Dark!Javier Peña x afab!reader

Word count: 2.3k

Chapter tags/warnings: angst, family arguments, mentions of sex, some fluff, shit getting real

Chapter summary: You wake up with Javi and realize you made a mistake...you woke up with Javi.

A/N: Hey babes!! Thank you for being so kind and patient with me! I promise I see each and every one of you who leave likes, comments, and reblogs on my fics, and I can't thank you enough for your support. It means the world to me! I hope you enjoy this chapter!

***

“Sweetheart, wake up.”

You squint your closed eyes as you register a faint, but familiar, voice accompanied by a gentle hand rubbing slowly up and down your upper arm. You also recognise the feel of a body beneath yours, an equally familiar feeling.

Humming contentedly, you tuck yourself back onto Javi’s warm chest, feeling his arms tighten around you in return. A chaste kiss is pressed to the side of your head. The panic doesn’t even come until you register that it’s lighter outside than it should be.

You prop yourself up as quickly as you can as a sense of dread consumes your body. It’s light outside. It’s morning. You slept in a field in the back of Javi’s truck when you told your parents that you would be home by 11:00pm the night before. They hadn’t even wanted you to go in the first place, which pissed you off because you’re a whole ass adult, but that didn’t mean you were going to purposely make them worry.

Now you’re going to have to go home and get chewed out by your angry parents. At least they hadn’t been nosy enough to try to figure out where you were going, you’d be in some deep shit then. A pang of guilt joins the dread as you think about how much they would both disapprove of you hanging out with Javi, a man who was probably twice your age. You still haven’t asked him exactly how old he is, but you have your guesses.

You whip around to see the man in question looking at you with a perplexed expression, obviously confused by your sudden energy. You don’t even have the mind to apologize as you begin collecting the things spread around in the bed of the truck to put yourself together. You push the sleeves of your dress up all the way and tug on your shoes.

“I need to get home,” you tell him frantically, already hopping off of the truck and into the tall, dewy grass. You turn around to face him and see that he hasn’t moved to follow you.

“Javi, please, I wasn’t supposed to stay out last night,” you try to keep from whining, but you need to get the point across. He furrows his brows but starts to sit up.

“Well I wish you would have told me, I wouldn’t have let you fall asleep, sweetheart,” Javi says as he jumps out behind you, dragging the blanket out with him.

You hum a little in affirmation, though you’re already distracted with opening the door to the cab and hopping in. You feel bad to have sprung this on him after he took the time to plan such a nice date out and hold you through the night, but you feel worse that your parents are probably worried sick right now. You’ll be a little surprised if they haven’t called the cops yet.

Javi gets into the truck a second after you do, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he starts it up. He looks at you and you share a heavy stare. It makes you want to beam at him. The fact that he’s in the truck and willing to take you home, no questions asked and no hard feelings.

The poor guy isn’t even fully awake yet, and he’s already having to deal with your shit. He doesn’t seem to mind at all, and the smirk he flashes your way says as much. It might be the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen, to be honest. You never though bed head could look so good on a person before.

Despite your anxiety right now, it makes butterflies stir in your stomach. Your cheeks start to pink after a moment as you recall last night. You had sex with Javi. As if the soreness of your cunt wasn’t enough of a reminder. And you’re his. You’re his girl. He’s yours.

“Sorry I didn’t say anything, I really didn’t think I was going to fall asleep,” you blurt, trying to find a different headspace so you don’t jump his bones and make yourself even more late.

“It’s okay, honey. I should have asked if you needed to be home at a certain time.”

You both smile lightly at each other before Javi puts the truck into first gear and begins to turn around. He rolls the windows down just enough to let a nice breeze in, and puts the radio on low as you make your way back down the path you took last night.

You sit in a comfortable silence as you gaze out the window. The sun is up just enough to cast everything in a warm golden glow and reflect off of the morning dew still lingering from the night before. Birds are starting to chirp and there aren’t many people on the road. It’s a peaceful morning, and you can’t help but lean back and take a big sigh to appreciate it despite the ball of unease in your stomach.

Javi glances your way as you rest your head back and let your eyes drop closedd, and extends his hand to rest reassuringly on your thigh. You smile and take it with your own, giving a small squeeze.

“It’ll be okay, sweetheart.”

You nod, trying to believe that yourself.

“I hope so,” you tell him truthfully.

Now it’s his turn to nod as he focuses back on the empty road. A song by Waylon Jennings comes on and you reach to turn it up just a little bit. Before long, you can’t help it, and allow yourself to sing along. Javi casts you a glance, smiling widely at your shenanigans. You can’t help but to smile back. Might as well enjoy your last ten minutes of freedom before your parents chain you to the floor.

A couple of songs later, you're pulling into your driveway just enough for you to get out without Javi’s truck being seen. You had told him that it’s probably safest that way. Unless he wants to come face to face with your father’s shotgun. The first thing you notice is that there’s no cops around, so at least your parents didn’t go that far.

You refreshed as much as you could in the truck, trying to smooth your hair down and re-adjust your dress so you at the very least didn’t look like you just got fucked within an inch of your life the night before.

Javi puts the truck in park and leans your way for you to meet him and plant a short kiss on his lips. You hum against him, savoring the plushness of his lips. You already miss the feeling even though you haven’t left yet.

“Thank you again for everything, Javi,” you tell him as you separate, wishing you didn’t have to go.

“Anytime for you, sweetheart,” he responds smoothly and flashes you a wink. Yeah, the smug bastard winks at you.

Clearing your throat and trying to keep from melting to a puddle on the floorboards, you open up the door and slide out until your feet hit the rocks beneath you.

“Call me later?” Javi cranes his neck slightly to ask as you’re shutting it behind you.

“Sir, yes, sir,” you stand and salute with the most serious expression you can muster. He smiles and rolls his eyes playfully, reaching over to tug the door shut when you step back.

“See you soon, bebita,” he says through the open window.

“See you, Javi.”

A stupid grin stays slapped on your face as he backs out and drives off, leaving you with a delightful buzzing sensation spreading throughout your body. God, you’re so fucked. You wish you could just stay with him and not have to worry about people getting pissed. Why can’t your parents just not be overbearing for once?

You never liked your curfew as a teen, but you’d understood it. But You’re fully grown now, and even though you’re living with them again, you don’t think they should be allowed to implement one at all.

You huff and turn to walk up to the house, trying not to come in looking as guilty as you should. You’re not dumb enough to hope that your parents are still asleep. Even though it’s the weekend, they were probably up hours ago to start work around the farm.

The main door is open, as you expected. You take a deep breath and pull open the screen door, which creaks loud enough to let everyone in the house—and quite possibly the entire state of Texas—that you’re home. You wince as you step inside.

You turn towards the kitchen as the door smacks shut against the frame behind you, but you’re stopped dead in your tracks when you see the pile of stuff stacked in the living room doorway. Your stuff. Your heart drops as you take in your suitcases and a few boxes all shoved into a pile by the entryway.

Your body starts to shake as you fight the urge to pinch yourself. This isn’t happening.

“You have until the end of the day to be out of here,” comes a voice from behind you.

You turn on your heel, coming face to face with your mother and father walking out of the kitchen through the tears in your eyes. Your mom is drying her hands with a dish towel, and your father has a folded newspaper in his hand. They look like they would any other morning, but the pure anger and disgust on both of their faces contradicts that.

It feels like someone grabbed your heart from your chest and slammed it on the ground to let it shatter into a million pieces. Never in your life would you ever have thought your own parents would look at you with such hatred in their eyes.

“I-what-what’s going on? I-?” you stamper, your throat dry as you try to figure out where to start your questions. A tear slips down your cheek but you can’t find it in you to be embarrassed.

“Got a call last night,” your mom says in a tone so laden in disappointment that it feels like a shank being sent into the center of your chest..

“Some man called to let us know that our daughter—our daughter—was whoring herself out last night.”

Her voice is bitter but you can still see the mist that coats her own eyes even so.

The shock on your face as you take a step back isn’t enough to prove your innocence. You’re guilty, they know you’re guilty. But how do they know? Who the fuck called them? You didn’t see a single other person last night aside from the car behind you when he was picking you up, and even then it would have been too dark to see what was going on.

“N-no, I–please,” you continue to struggle as you take a step toward them now, not sure of what to do with yourself. Are you supposed to deny it? Play dumb? Beg on your knees for forgiveness? You’re in disbelief, and for what may be the first time in your life, you’re lost.

Even with your ex, you knew what your next plan of action was going to be each time he messed up. Even with that last straw, when you caught him with your best friend, you knew what you had to do. Not now. It feels like you’ll never have a clear enough head to know what to do now.

“I don’t want a fucking explanation, I want you to get the fuck out of my house before I call the cops,” your father speaks up. You know deep inside that there’s no turning back now. Once he starts yelling, things are going to get a lot worse than they have to be, and you know he’s not going to change his mind.

You spot a movement from above you through your blurry vision, and see your sister at the top of the stairs. You can’t see the look on her face, but it might be better not to know. You can handle it from your parents, but never from your baby sister.

She’s looked up to you after all these years, the only one who never stopped believing in you. And you can’t help but feel like you failed her. You’re shaking uncontrollably, trying not to break down, but you can’t help it as she backs away and a choked sob leaves your lips.

You call after her, but your dad shuts that down.

“Don’t you fucking talk to her.” The slight raise in his voice makes you flinch. You want to scream, you want to fight, you want to believe that this is all a nightmare. But you don’t, and you know it’s not. You did this, now you have to live with the consequences.

“L-let me use the phone?” you manage to squeak out despite the fact that you feel like your skin is getting too tight for your body, and the world is closing in, and your intestines are tangling themselves into tight knots. There’s a crushing pressure encapsulating your brain, but you try to ignore it even as it gets worse.

Your dad steps aside, letting you in and then trailing behind you until you pick up the phone with a lump in your throat. You dial up the number you’ve come to memorize, and wait for those usual three rings before you’re greeted by a familiar voice that almost crushes you.

You hear your nickname, and a small part of you perks up at the sound, but it’s still not enough to overpower the nauseating feeling in the pit of your stomach. Sucking in a breath, you try not to start sobbing. That will have to wait until you’re safe in his arms. You know he’ll let you get it all out.

You don’t have anywhere else to go, nobody else to call. Having to call him in front of your parents might be the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done, but you don’t even consider that fact though your shallow breaths and the light ringing in your ears.

“Javi?” you croak, not waiting for him to confirm. You know it’s him. You can sense his presence even through the phone line. “Can you come pick me up?”

***

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Fic tag list: @corazondebeskar @yorksgirl @nerdieforpedro @axshadows @melaninmommy @survivingandenduring @kewwrites @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff @movievillainess721 @callachloe

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thewinchestah · 2 months

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Strawberry Fields (sonhei com campos de morango) - Alastor X Reader fic

Summary: On a dreadful night, Alastor goes to collect one of his contracts. Something goes terribly wrong. He finds you.

Warnings: fem!reader, Human!reader, smut, 18+, period sex, overstimulation, light cannibalism, blood, A LOT OF BLOOD, general creeppiness, Alastor is in hell for a reason, oral sex, alastor kind of hunts reader down, possessive!Alastor

A/N: Soooo!! This was a long time coming but here it is. This idea has been on my mind for a long time now and I wanted to test the waters before i commit to a long fic. I hope you guys like it, i'm kinda on the fence about it. I'm working on the requests and they should be out soon I PROMISEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. Also I got a little carried away, i'm sorry. Hope you guys enjoy it. It's always a pleasure to write for you. The visuals and the title for this fic are heavily inspire by this music video. Not the lyrics tho, i always felt like the singer did a poor job with this concept and i wanted to do it justice.

Taglist: @markster666@jyoongim@stygianoir @pepperycookie@fraspent @aether-th3-enby @lady-valtieri @karolinda007-blog @jesi-pinkman@polytheatrix If the tags aren’t working or you wanna be tagged, let me know.

You curse when another sharp stone cuts your feet.

You regret it a second later when you hear the ominous sounds that reverberate through the trees. They are closing in on you.

You don’t know how you got here, you just know now you are running for your life inside these woods now. The only guiding light, a full moon that looks weirdly otherworldly.

Adrenaline burns inside your bloodstream, the forest seems devoid of any living thing. It’s only you and whoever is chasing you. You wish you could hear gunshots, you wish you could hear screams. Anything besides the occasional twig snap or wind caressing the pine trees’ leaves. The eerie silence is deafening, and worse: the eerie silence makes you even more aware of your situation.

It’s incredible how everything gets clearer when you’re about to die.

Maybe you shouldn’t have traveled alone, maybe you shouldn’t have decided to go somewhere where the closest thing to civilization is the village’s old-yet-charming dinner.

You just wanted a little bit of quiet, a place that made introspection inviting. Next time you should go for a beach vacation.

Next time? why does next time sound so… far away? Somehow your feet carry you away from the forest’s well marked path and deeper into the thick vegetation, hiding behind a large tree. You gained a few minutes on them by taking a detour.

Breathe. Remember to breathe.

Right, your mind remembers. You’re being hunted down like prey in the creepy horror film woods, time to focus on surviving again. You can overthink later.

You assess your options: you can keep going into the woods, a deadly game of hide and seek. Zig-zag through the trees, keep them guessing. There’s a good chance you will find wildlife as you go deeper. This could be a problem, it’s too dark to make anything out, an encounter could cause enough of a distraction, you could take advantage of that. Or you could end up mauled. Plus, you are absolutely positive there are bear traps somewhere. If you're gonna die, make your death less dumb. Quite an embarrassing topic of discussion in the afterlife, saying that you died like horror film pretty girls making dumb decisions that you clearly would never make in a situation like that. You just know they are incredible hunters, you need to take them out of their element, expose them.

So yeah, going deeper isn't an option.

Something catches your eye, there’s a big opening in the thick vegetation, there’s a clearing ahead and… sparks? You definitely see a light. You were told by the locals how the population is scattered across acres and acres of practically untouched wilderness, there’s also the park’s rangers stationed on specific places that grant them a visual advantage in case of emergencies. A big clearing is perfect for that. Maybe, just maybe there’s hope.

Of course bolting there will make you terribly exposed, they will know your position all the time, and they can still hunt you hidden by the edge of the trail. Besides there’s no guarantee of what awaits you when you reach the promised land, they could have a partner waiting, there could be nothing at all there. Taking this risk for nothing sounds worse than being lured into a trap. You just have this gut feeling that’s where you should go. Your brain starts to pick the plan apart, this doesn’t sound good. Hesitation can be fatal. But you are all adrenaline and primal flight intistic -

The decision was made for you, you start running again. Taking advantage of the final stretch of cover you still have until you hit the trail again, you take several deep breaths. Oxygen needs to keep coming, so you can make decisions, so your limbs can respond quickly. Your peripheral catches something that’s also running. It’s a stag.

He’s also prey. He’s an omen. He’s your cue.

You leap across some fallen branches and your scratched feet land on the main trial. As soon as you complete your first step you hear movement and hurried voices. They are onto you. “What do we say to the good of death? Not today” you give yourself a pep-talk as you keep running. Maybe thinking this is all fiction will help you survive this, detach yourself from the situation, don’t think about the consequences, just act.

And like that, you don’t stop running. You sing your abcs to focus and stop spiraling. Evolution is truly amazing, the cuts you suffered don’t hurt anymore, precious shooting adrenaline, adrenaline that makes you tunnel vision towards your objective. By now you know where to step, when to dodge, when to slow down and when to go faster. Millennia of sheer force of survival catching up to you.

breathe, remember to breathe.

You inhale a good chunk of oxygen and look ahead. There’s a man on the edge of the tree line and a few meters left. Your mind wants to sing in victory, but you refrain from that, you know better than that it only ends when it’s over-

You’re positively sprinting towards the man right now, like he is your assured salvation. Something inside you screams louder and louder guiding you to him and you follow the sound.

You hear gunshots.

So noooooow they bring out the guns? That’s low.

But that’s a good thing right? If they are shooting they are getting out of time. A single gunshot can take you down and they can smoothly and swiftly carry you away, like it’s a normal hunt. No one will question shooting something they didn’t see getting shot so deep into these woods. But shooting a girl in front of a witness? that’s for amateurs right? So, the man is not a partner you decide.

remember to breathe, you are not breathing.

You are so close now, you see an outstretched hand coming your way only a few more steps

breathe.

You don’t, instead you leap towards your loosely established finish line and take the hand an-

Dirt greets your face as you fall face first into the trail, and you crawl like a zombie that just rose from its grave. You have a collection of new cuts and scrapes now, it hurts and you can’t bite your lip to suppress the pain. Still, you intertwine your fingers with his, your other arm aggressively seeking for leverage, clinging to your flesh lifeline. You blur out a bunch of incoherent things as he effortlessly lifts you up in one swift motion.

“Get behind me, my dear.” he asks. He has a weird voice almost like it leaves something in the air that caresses your skin, an inviting voice nonetheless. You hide yourself inside the crook of his arm, giving you the ability to witness just a little bit of the action there’s about to happen. You never let go of his hand. Your prince charming feels awfully cold.

Alastor waits, rather impatiently, for his clients to arrive. Making a deal with a human is his ticket topside and Hell is still terribly boring, even with the hotel. The Radio Demon was no stranger to contracts with humans, they were a win-win situation. Those who seek him always have a taste for the wicked and deranged, so it’s easy to figure out what they want and twist it for his own benefit. When they inevitably die, be it death by old age or death by occupational hazard, Alastor gets useful men from the moment they manifest in Hell. They always know exactly where they are and why, they are not confused sinners, petty crime or moral crime sinners. They are, most times, skilled killers who take no trouble doing Alastor’s bidding. An accomplished killer in life makes an even better prolific hellish soldier, someone who will continue indulging in their desires without the constraints of society, but eternally tied down by Alastor’s constraints. With the right incentive, they can rise in the ranks and become treasured resources for the overlord. Plus, the camaraderie isn’t all bad. Takes one to know one, they say.

However, humans these days are getting careless, sloppy. This entire display is proof of that, they should be over to kill and cover their tracks alone. The basics, for hell’s sake.

Alastor only takes care of the details. Tampering with some evidence here, getting a victim on the right place at the right time there. The occasional final encouragement to give into the darkness and finally kill, some advice. A self respecting killer should be able to kill and get away with it without the demon’s aid. He’s there for consulting and making sure there are no loose ends.

But never this. Having to intervene in the middle of a kill because his client made a very very big mess that screams “you’re getting caught!” is below him. Amateurs are not worth Alastor's time.

The two men approach the tree line, clearly worked up from the hunt and shocked to see him there. If Alastor is withholding a victim, something went very, very wrong.

“Good night my good fellows!” the greeting leaves his lips in an overly-chirpy tone. Is that static in his voice? Radio static? Is that what’s leaving goosebumps on your skin? The stress and the adrenaline are making you imagine things. You took the “pretend this is all a fantasy and you the main character” too seriously. Because now you are hiding behind Darth Vader’s skirts. That’s impossible, right? right?

“Great.” you can see the sarcasm dripping from one of your aggressors. “You’re here to watch?” the question asked all passive aggressive with an edgy tone. That’s definitely a teenager. What the fuck? you were being chased by a high school kid? This is ridiculous, utterly ridiculous, how can a teen pull this off? And you almost died? What? Your mind starts spirling.

Alastor ignores the son, is the father he cares about. They’ve known each other for years now, and he’s underperforming to say the least. He waits for the father to address him, it’s his mess after all. The older man gives his son a stern look and finally breaks the silence.

“Goodnight. We didn’t expect to see you here tonight, to be honest.’”

The second voice is much older. That doesn’t quiet your thoughts at all. Is this a cult initiation thing? Hunting girls down like they are prey? WHY DID YOU TRAVEL TO THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE IN THE FIRST PLACE??? OF COURSE THERE WOULD BE CULTS HERE, DUUUUH. IF I WAS IN A CULT THIS WOULD BE THE PERFECT PLACE TO HIDE. There are so many voices screaming inside your head now, you are shivering. With anger, anticipation, fear. Your inner monologue overrides your brain and you are not sure you can cope with everything that’s going on. The voices, all the voices, sound wrong. They land weirdly inside your ear and you need to think hard to understand the words, you know how crucial every piece of information is. They could make all the difference when you talk to the police. They could help a conviction when you are on the stand, giving your official statement. You are surviving this. You are going to watch these fuckers get life in prision or worse. You are surviving this right? There’s so much you haven’t thought through. Whose hand are you holding again?

“Oh please. Don’t act all coy now, it doesn’t suit you old friend” Alastor is starting to cross the line from nuisance to anger. He twirls his microphone in annoyance, and makes sure to sink it deep into the moist ground. “Let me remind you about the terms of our agreement. For each 2 kills you make, one soul is mine to take. Or am I wrong?”

“No. You aren’t”. The father answers through gritted teeth. “But I never thought you would want to collec-” Alastor tilts his head, his grin widens and he snaps “Never thought what? That I would claim what I am owed at my leisure? That I would stop waiting patiently for you, acting at your whim? You earned the privilege of killing unbothered by my vigilance. Because you always delivered your side of the bargain with excellence. I can revoke said privilege whenever I want. Especially after this pitiful performance.” The seasoned killer seems to slightly cower at Alastor’s words. Good. He always regarded the demon without fear or trepidation. His work was meticulous, spotless, basically perfect. And that gave him the justifiable confidence for going toe to toe with the Radio Demon during conversations, a bargaining chip during dealings of his contracts. Few could say that.

You feel nauseous. Reality is crashing down at you hard and fast. How many people have these people killed? They are trading lives like it is the stock market, and yet you can’t let go of your prince charming’s hand. There’s no rational thought to justify it, actually rational thought is also being slaughtered like a sacrificial lamb tonight, because despite the gigantic red flags you are not letting go of this man’s hands. Everything about him screams danger, everything about him screams your safety. He’s the type of paradoxical that messes with your primal senses, that makes a moth go to the lights that will kill it.

From the crook of his arm you finally gather the courage to open your eyes. You try to look up to your prince charming, but his face is concealed by the shadows of the night. Actually, everything of importance seems to be conveniently hidden from you. Your aggressor’s faces look distorted, recognizable traits melting together like watercolor painted by 100 shades of darkness, voices and words fuse together creating only cacophony. You hear things, you see things, but you can’t discern them. The three men keep going back and forth, but their conversation seems to dissipate into the air. Everything about this feels like a dream.

Of course you can’t register anything of importance. Alastor makes sure of it. You are a potential victim after all. A liability, capable of making a positive identification. It’s wishful thinking that someone would take your account of what’s happening on this dreadful night seriously.

Alastor has no shame in using the prejudices of your world to his advantage. If you were to tell, everyone would make the assumption that you are “just another hysterical woman, thinking too much about folktales”. You had too much to drink, partied too hard. Hallucinogens are a common party drug and this is the result of a bad trip. At worst, “someone tried to spike your drink, but nothing happened. You should be thankful, not getting in the way of important police work”. Alastor also knows that injustice is no real crime, and yet he decided to spare you. It doesn’t feel fair for you to perish in such crude ways, a practice run for a post pubescent, obnoxious serial killer in training. A precious thing like you should be honored, savored. In the odd chance that your voice was heard, the Radio Demon guarantees that no reliable information will come out of your mouth. His clients might be lacking, but in the dealmaking business your words are your worth and Alastor has a silvertongue. Surely that pretty mouth of yours won’t be a problem.

“I’m afraid I have to insist, my good friend. The pair of you caused enough damage already with these sloppy, impetuous spree killings. Your law enforcement is already on your scent, tracking the pattern and by the looks of it tonight’s mess will send quite a message. A message that I will have to make sure is delivered faultlessly. I will uphold my hand of the bargain, you will uphold yours. The girl will be spared. There’s plenty of prey out there, plus her death would only act as an aggravation, she’s not your type, and trust me, they will know you made a mistake, you will be exposed.” The Radio Demon’s patience is wearing thin. He shouldn’t have to justify his actions to humans. There’s no compromise to be found here, they went to him and the deal is always on his terms. You squeeze his hand really tight during the discussion of your scheduled demise, like a reminder that you are still there. Still afraid.

How cute. Alastor thinks. Your adrenaline is starting to wear off, dissipating into the cool forest breeze and opening space for a strong sense of false security, equally as inebriating. The smell of your sweet fear laced blood is unmistakable, assaulting your savior’s nostrils. Your knees buckle, and you struggle to keep yourself on your feet, clinging to prince charming’s hand for dear life. “Breathe darling, you are forgetting to breathe” He turns quickly towards you, his voice impossibly soft, shooting. You try to look up at charming’s face again, the only new discovery made is that he's awfully tall, and his face is still hidden by opaque darkness. You work really hard on breathing normally again, but you want to keep looking. Their faces are a monstrous distortion, vacant eyes that seem to cry blood. Your entire body tingles, you feel weird goosebumps. It takes all of your willpower to keep standing. You won’t lay yourself at their feat, defeated, like the corpse they would drag from these woods. But you just can’t keep looking, so you shut your eyes and grip the hand that has become your lifeline even tighter.

“You won’t even truly use the bitch, she’s no use for you” The entitled brat opens his mouth again. That’s the trigger.

The Radio Demon grows as tall as the native pine trees, his antlers furiously expanding and casting a shadow so dark over the two serial killers that the moon is completely obstructed. The only source of light in the forest now is the burning red dials of his eyes. The father sees the burning inferno of Alastor’s eyes and for the first time he is speechless. Maybe the realization of where destiny is sending him finally happens. The son sees raw, untamed power for the first time in his life and cowers like a scared puppy. Pathetic.

“Now let’s get something clear here. I’m only tolerating your insolence because of my decade long relationship with your father.” You shut your eyes harder, your eyelids a shield from whatever is about to happen. Foreboding making the forest air too thick for you to breathe. You finally break down and start crying, too fucking much. Alastor’s face meets the son on eye level. His teeth are bared, static picks up around the group to the point both men are struggling to breathe. A clawed hand traps the father’s face, a trail of blood dripping from the older serial killer’s cheek.“He’s as close to a professional as our kind gets. Shame the same thing can’t be said about you. This juvenile outburst does not make you more feared nor does it assert your dominance. It displays how weak you are, inept to succeed on this because you can’t keep your entitled demeanor in check. You are not owed anything in this lifestyle, if you want something you need to prove you’re worthy of it by taking it yourself. Whining like a petulant child won’t get you anywhere” You feel dizzy, the earth beneath your feet quakes, whoever, whatever is holding your hand is sheeting with rage so consuming the ground shakes with the intensity of their emotions.

Alastor’s attention is now focused on the father, the red inferno from his eyes making the man feel genuine fear for the first time in his long, violence-filled life. “Teach your spawn some manners and proper work, otherwise get him out of my sight. This was a courtesy. Fulfillment failings lead to contract termination, and contract termination means a lot of details appearing. You do not wish to make an enemy of me” Alastor delivers his last threat with a snarl. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up at the intensity of his words, you feel a powerful rush of wind, leaves ruffling, hurried steps and suddenly the world is at a standstill. The forest seems devoid of life excluding you, your mysterious prince charming and your two aggressors. All of your senses are assaulted with an overwhelming feeling of wrongness… darkness. Darkness that feels like the most luxurious silky dress on your skin, the most intense look of a passionate lover. It feels dangerously alluring and your will power is being gladly tempted by it.

You feel like you’ve been holding your breath for hours, the rollercoaster of adrenaline inducing hyperventilation and conscious calming breaths making your brain enter some sort of high. Is that what people felt after a battle in ancient times? Is that what It means to stare death in the face and come out victorious? You don’t understand what you are feeling, but when oxygen finally feels normal again, tall, dark and handsome is escorting you deeper into the woods and you don’t even care.

You’ve just slayed the dragon with your bare hands. You don’t care. You just want to bask on the feeling. To fucking feel. To remind yourself that you are still alive.

Alastor is drunk on something that he rarely indulges in. Desire. Pure, raw carnality that makes him antagonize one of his greatests clients. Someone Alastor awaited his inevitable death with anxiety and hopefulness, someone he could actually call more than a partner in crime when in hell. A friend. A friendship born from blood and gore but bathed in kinship and inexplicable understanding of one’s dark nature. And the Radio Demon almost killed the man and his useless spawn and fucked everything up because when he saw your running for your life something ignited inside him. When you squeezed his hand so tightly, with such abandon and trust, like he was an Angel sent from heaven to protect you when reality was the most wicked antonym.

Alastor spared you because you were prey. Beautiful, delicious prey that defied your destiny by accepting the nature of your condition. You didn’t dare to fight, you didn’t dare to think you could stand a chance against your hunters. You just fled. You fled and was perfectly lured into another trap, you doubled the bet when you held his hand and didn’t let go, serving all of your vulnerability on a silver platter to someone you deep down knew was way worse than any serial killer.

Prey, that will chew its own leg to get out of a trap. Prey, that will offer herself to the most ungodly creature around if it means she can survive a few more moments, just to spite those who started the chase. Prey, that now holds his hand completely carefree and all giggles while she is led to a much more final and insidious type of slaughter. Prey that he was now going to claim.

Your wounded feet start to land on soft squishy things, a familiar scent invades your nostris. From the scent of sweat, blood and gore now to the scent of juicy, plump strawberries.

“Hey, are we on a strawberry field?” it’s the first time you addressed him directly. You trail behind him, hurried steps crushing the strawberries on your way. You look up and for the first time you can see open skies. “You don’t need to worry my dear, you are perfectly safe now”

Are you?

You decide that he doesn’t sound like Darth Vader anymore, his voice is impossibly staticy, it prickles your skin and it feels like goosebumps that accompany butterflies on your stomach. He sounds like someone you would meet at a ball and have a cinderella moment with. The blanket of stars that illuminates the clearing you ferociously fought for grants you a better vision of his figure: scarlet red, snug tailcoat, perfectly tailored. Long legs and trousers that fit like skinny jeans. He dresses like the lead singer from a classic emo band. You can’t say you are complaining, you always loved the idea of a tall dark and handsome prince charming.

“So, you have some weird friends don’t you?” you ask him. You can hear him chuckle, it is a very pleasant sound. Suddenly the twirls you, a fucking disney princess’ musical number twirl, and you find yourself in front of very big bed.

With impeccable white sheets, you mind adds. Must be really hard to maintain white sheets in the middle of a strawberry field. Wait, what is a king size bed doing in the middle of th-

“Ah, I don’t really do friends, more like reluctant colleagues” bootleg brandon urie is the melancholic type, then.

Alastor finally takes a good look at you when you take your seat on the bed with a contented sigh. You look marvelous. Your hair is messy and wild, your cheeks and neck flushed red from the effort. Your eyes big and pliant, waiting for his answers. You look so human, so deliciously alive. He desperately wants to be the cause of your disarray, to make the blood rush to your face under his materfully wicked touch. To feel your pulse fluttering when he touches your neck.

You still can’t see all of him though. There’s stars, a big full moon whose light outstretches far, bathing the clearing in ethereal silver. The brightest lights cast the darkest shadows, your savior is always in the shadows.

By now you know he is purposefully hiding his identity from you, but you always liked a game. Plus you don’t really have anything to lose now, you just want to forget everything that happened to you tonight, you just want to inebriate yourself, and charming really looks like someone who could show you a good time.

Either that or you are having a psychotic break after enduring life threatening stress.

Anyway, you decide to bite. One possible psychotic murder, funny, charming murderer is better than two lukewarm ones.

“Do you always take random women to a creepy bed with impeccable white sheets in the middle of the woods or am I just special?” not a chuckle now, a laugh. A beautiful, full laugh. The residual static on your skin making you shiver.

Alastor completely understands what you are trying to do, and it’s truly hilarious. Your petulance and sarcasm towards him means to an end. You’re so precious, talking to him like this, thinking you could take him at his own game. What a beauty! Seeing you think you are succeeding in this only for him to take that conviction away from you at the last minute is going to be so entertaining. He wants you to dig your own grave, lay yourself at his feet.

He doesn’t indulge you, instead he takes a thick, silky strand of your hair and inhales deeply. You smell like sweet innocence and summer. It makes Alastor euphoric.

His head tilts down as he smells your hair. You don’t that’s creepy, it looks creepy, it sounds creepy, but you feel reverence in his action.

And then out of the shadows comes a revelation, you see his horns. You suspected his unhumanity, but the confirmation of it knocks the wind out of you. Your eyes widen, you simply cannot make sense of this night, everything feels too surreal and raw reality at the same time, it’s giving you whiplash.

“Are you the devil?” you ask him without much consideration of the weight of this question. You do your best to keep your voice from failing but it’s impossible. You never dropped his hand, in fact you feel like you are permanently attached to him, like a marble statue. Your fingers open and interlock again and again, reflecting your anxiety, but you don’t let go.

You can’t see it, but Alastor’s grin is as big as a cheshire cat’s.

“Do you seek the devil?” answering a question with a question. Smoke and mirrors. Alastor waits for you to answer, but you don’t. You don’t know what to answer, you try to contemplate if enganding further could mean eternal damnation, or if you are already damned. Is he going to make you an offer you can’t refuse? an offer you aren’t allowed to refuse? Alastor will blame it on lack of patience, but the fact is he can’t wait anymore to taste you, there’s a burning desire inside him, that only gets more and more ferocious as he tastes the inebriating smell of your fear blessing the air he breathes again.

He removes your interlocking fingers, his hand quickly trapping your tiny wrist inside. You hear heavy breathing.

“Or do you seek a taste of the forbidden fruit?” The demon licks the long cut across our open palm. His tongue is sensual and cold, the sensation of it slowly dragging across your wounded skin a soothing balm. You moan, he growls. “Forbidden fruit it is.” he announces, delivered like a sentence.

You are completely free of his touch for the first time since it all began, but it feels like you just suffered an enormous loss. You feel taunted, like someone just dangled a shiny new thing in front of you and took it away. It’s like your entire being has become tunnel vision and you need to get to the bottom of this, whatever this is. Consequences be damned.

You watch closely as your paranormal paramour moves towards the bed, he is completely concealed by the darkness. Darkness deep and palpable, he morphs within it. The visuals are beautiful, it looks like one of the art’s greatest masters is painting a watercolor in front of you. Darkness from absence of light floating and mixing with otherworldly opaque darkness, flowing like a river. You wonder if it would run through your fingers like water if you touch it.

Antlers. He has antlers, not horns.

The not-devil settles himself behind you, back against the headboard. He quickly maneuvers you onto his lap, grabbing you by the waist. You squeal in surprise as more of him touches you, now pressed flush against his hard chest you feel something you shouldn’t be feeling, nonetheless resistance is futile, you spread your legs giving him more access. He has barely touched you, and yet you are completely surrendered to him.

Alastor wasn’t joking when he established that a woman like you should be savored, slowly consumed so he can extract everything you have to offer. He knows your mind is exhausting itself trying to discern what is happening, how the body and the spirit get more susceptible to succumb to desire after surviving imminent death, and he intends to take full advantage of it. Alastor wants to see you writhe under his touch, pain and pleasure. He wants to torment you and make you pay for existing near him, for making him careless. For making him indulge in carnality and arousal. But mainly, he wants to punish you, because you battled so hard for your survival against them. When you should fear him.

The Radio Demon touches your neck, exactly where your pulse is, where he can feel your beating heart, full of life pulsing. Life that taunts him and seduces him. The thump thump thump of your heart beneath his fingers like a moth going directly to the light that will kill it. He holds your entire life, your entire existence under his clawed finger, it makes him delirious.

You feel a sharp sting on your neck, fangs that break your skin and spill your blood, red and ready for his taking. Holding your breath while he sucks the life out of you, your head swims, and you drown on the feelings. You feel pleasure, forbidden pleasure from having something hurting and feasting on you.

“If you are not the devil, are you a vampire?” It might be a dumb question, but it’s the logical one. Sometimes the obvious needs to be said. He laughs again, a full deep laugh,mockery dripping from it.

“Why? If I were a vampire would it make you feel better about spilling your blood for me?” he dodges the question again. Bait and switch. He’s feeding on you and you are enjoying it.. You don’t know what he is, you don’t know his name. It only spurs the burning desire in the pit on your stomach.

Alastor licks the entire length of your neck, his other hand applying light pressure on your pulse point. He bites down on you again, harder, going deeper. You roll your eyes and moan obscenely as he sucks on it. This is going to leave a mark for sure, but you don’t care, because whatever he’s doing to you feels delirious, it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt.

Your blood is dripping from Alastor’s lips, he licks it not wanting to waste a drop. He can taste your eagerness, your fear, your essence, your soul. The red liquid is solid proof of how alive and defenseless you are, completely at his mercy. You keep moaning and melting on his lap at his ministrations, a finger starts tracing your arm, feather light touch that leaves you shivering in anticipation.

He’s gently scratching, teasingly. It’s a claw, you realize. Another part of his unhumanity making you scared and deliciously trembling in anticipation. It’s Alastor’s turn to moan now, his clawed finger comes to torment your clothed nipple, he makes sure to do it tantalizing slow to give you just a taste of what it could be. He wants to hear you ask for it, beg even.

“I’m afraid I’m way worse than the Devil, little doe” his low, threatening tone makes you close your legs together and rub, desperately seeking friction, some relief.

“Re–really? You don’t sound that bad” A lie. You just want to say something back.

Your paramour laughs again, he takes your hand in his and starts making his way downwards.

“How precious are you, lying like that to me” He stops both of your hands on your lower belly, threatening to cross the point of no return. You squeal and struggle on a desperate attempt to raise your hips and get something more, anything.

Delighted in seeing you writhe this badly when he has not even properly touched you, Alastor squeezes your neck tighter, inflicting just enough pain and pressure to make you sing. The Radio Demon finally makes the decision and drops any pretense of moderation, hastily dropping the band of your panties and guiding your joined hands to your slit. “I can taste the fear in your blood, how your sense of pleasure has been forever skewed”.

The two digits tease your entrance that is coated with arousal and something more, his touch is masterful, like he knows the ways of the human body the same way a talented musician knows their way around an instrument. He makes you moan, he makes you sing with only the possibility of his actions. The idea of being taken by something unholy.

At last, Alastor finally enters your tight wet pussy, his finger guides yours as he undoes you in ways that should not be allowed. He pumps your cunt mercilessly, gone are the careful, calculated touches, he wants to make you crash and burn as quick as possible, he wants to make you understand that you crossed the most important line of your life. There’s no going back now, your pretty mortal body is forever tainted by unholiness, by his darkness.

“You spread yourself like this for me, a wanton little thing while I choke and feast on your blood”. Alastor curls the fingers inside you repeatedly making you move your hips in the maniac rhythm he has set. You ride your joined digits, moaning like a whore while your lover’s grip on your throat tightens and releases making your brain short circuits in pure unknown carnal feeling. “You are not the demure, feisty thing like you desperately tried to prove earlier. It only takes the slight touch of something forbidden to make you moan like a common whore” he adds another one of his huge fingers and starts scissoring inside you, the combination of two of his digits and your little one only adds insult to injury. You will never be able to replicate these ministrations, the feeling of being this full and stretched, you had a taste of the forbidden fruit, you are high on it and you will never get another hit on your own.

Alastor alternates between choking you and curling the fingers inside you, your lightheadedness combined with the assaulting pleasure making you feel feverishly delirious. Your body is hot from desire and adrenaline combined, a starking contrast to your mysterious lover’s touch, ice cold. The two of you distinct seasons, distinct stages of existence mixing together, life and death tethering each other, blurring the lines of worlds that shouldn’t exist together.

Orgasm building quickly, you grip the white sheets tighter and tighter and tighter but your fingers feel wet, you look down to see a mess of redness leaking from your core.

Oh fuck, you are on your period. You completely forgot about it. In normal circumstances you would feel mortified about being fingered like this while bleeding, but right now it makes things even more erotic, you’ve learned that your lover may not be a vampire, but he definitely has a thing for blood and something inside you ignites at the idea of letting him feast on your blood, eat you out while you bleed for him.

Your pussy flutters with the fantasy of that tongue working your pussy and with a particularly harsh pinch on your clit you are off. Waves of pleasure spread across your entire body like wildfire, he chokes you merciless making the urge to scream to the universe how fucking good you feel impossible. You want to scream his name, but you don’t know who he is, what he is. You just want more.

While you ride the waves of your orgasm unbothered Alastor takes the opportunity to take fingers from your pussy to his mouth, red with blood and slick with arousal, he moans audibly as he tastes you, the most intimate parts of you. Only a little bit of it inebriates him, this is better than 70% of what he does in Hell. This feels better than closing a new deal, watching the princess of Hell fail miserably at rehabilitating sinners. You taste so sweet, so alive and afraid. He’s hard with the conviction of how scared you are, of how he has permanently tainted something so innocent and pure. How you stupidly threw yourself to his mercy. Perishing at the hand of those serial killers is more merciful than him. And now you will know.

You must have babbled something while you came, about wanting to scream his name and not knowing it, because now you find yourself completely lying down, the bed feels soft like a cloud and you are sprawled like an angel, and he finally reveals something about him of his own volition.

“The name is Alastor, my dear. It has definitely been a pleasure meeting you.” Alastor, now you know, settles himself between your thighs and the pooling redness from your core. You feel him running his claws across the impossibly soft flesh of your inner thighs, you cover your face with your arm.

“Alastor I’ve never… No one has ever…” you trail off, you shouldn’t be embarrassed at this point, but nevertheless you feel your cheeks burning. Is he really going to eat your bloody pussy? fuck.

Alastor’s name on your lips sounds so soft, so pure. He wants to ruin it. He wants to destroy the careful constructed cognitive dissonance that makes you feel safe and comfortable around him. He wants you to be completely afraid and craving being scared of him, disrupting your sense of pleasure so he can ruin you completely, getting you hooked on him and delirious for more, willing to do anything for another taste of the forbidden fruit.

So, he makes you look.

“Look at me” you don’t want to. You feel a lot of things right now, but mainly you feel as if you really take a look at your dark lover tragedy is going to happen. Eros and psyche all over again, but bloodier.

He claws your thighs, you hiss at the delicious pain, but still disobey him.

“Look. At. Me” he snarls, definitely a threat. You feel yourself getting wetter.

Alastor slaps your ass, hard. He’s losing patience, his temper turning quick at the realization that you not knowing who he is isn’t a perfect plan.

You moan from the pain, from the sting. It feels wickedly erotic. You almost want him to hit you again. Since when pain felt so fucking good?

So you do, you finally look at him.

Red. The first thing that your brain fixates on is how much red there is. Scarlet red hair, red blood running down your core and staining the white sheets. Red claws that pierce your skin.

Red eyes. Burning red eyes that entrap you. It’s like you can see the blazing fire that tortures the damned inside those eyes.

If this is why people fall from grace, you totally understand the appeal now.

The second thing, the thing that makes you transfixed at the sight of him is how wrong he looks. His antlers are beautiful, growing from his scarlet hair beautifully adorning ears that look extremely soft, non-threatening, like a crown. His eyes are big and sharp, close together

while he stares at your soul, eyes of a predator in the middle of softness of prey. His grin is completely predatory, dangerous, sharp teeth that hurt and maul, but at the same time bite you just the right way to make you moan in raw carnality. The skin is pale, not in a michael-jackson-thriller-way but in an ethereal way. His voice is static that seems to tickle your skin, sometimes more than others. He’s paradoxical, everything you should be afraid of and the comfort you should seek at the same time. A force you shouldn’t meddle with. Primal and raw.

You may not know what exactly he is, but one thing is certain: he’s dangerously alluring, and you completely fell into his trap. But it hardly matters anymore, because he is about to drink blood from your pussy with that marvelous silvertongue of his.

“Fucking beautiful” you blur out, not realising he’s going to hear you.

One of Alastor’s eyebrows shoots up. He’s not regarded as beautiful often. Alluring, maybe.

He wants to make you pay for all the soft ideas you have about him.

You soon learn how hard it is to hold the gaze of your lover’s eyes, his burning red irises entrap you. It's impossible to look away but overwhelming to stare into.

“If all the mortal men you’ve been with are weak and pathetic enough to decline the dark gift of your bleeding cunt, then I’m honored to be your first” and without much more warning you feel a delicious cold tongue licking your entrance and you are off

Alastor isn’t eating you out, he’s feasting on you like you are his last chance of salvation. His face is completely buried deep in between your legs as his tongue assaults you at a merciless pace. He makes sure not to waste a drop of anything your gushing pussy gives him. His tongue enters you and the contrast between your tight heat and his coldness makes you delirious. Exquisite carnal pleasure, you could cum from it alone.

Alastor is having a hard time navigating this double edged knife: you don’t know who he is what is capable of, which means your aren’t near as scared of being this vulnerable with him as you should be, a literal cannibal delighting in your soft flesh, drinking the warmth of your sacred blood. You must taste delicious terrified. But the silver lining is that the fear he inspires would make any woman who knows more compliant to this, even offering this to him freely. You have no idea about his exploits, he can and he will tarnish you with all of his unholy darkness, wrecking your world during the eleventh hour when you realize what you’ve done, who you’ve so easily corrupted your morals and your spirit for. You’re so beautiful, so naive, so trusting, so alive. You moan “Alastor, Alastor, Alastor” soft ohhhs and aaaahs as he polishes your cunt, every sound you make, every twitch of your legs and roll of your lips reminding your ungodly lover of how delicate and rare you are, aiding him on his mission. Gripping the sheets isn’t enough anymore, you instinctively place your hands on his antlers, the texture indescribable. Again, the contradiction of the softness of his velvet and the sharpness of his teeth, wickedness of his tongue giving you whiplash. You start rubbing them furiously, trying to mirror his ministries on your swollen folds. It definitely is doing something to him because he drags his teeth along your inner tie, breaking more skin, drawing more blood, hissing. You scream at the heavenly pain mixed with unholy pleasure.

Normally, Alastor wouldn’t let anyone near his antlers, arguably the most sensitive part of his body. If worked right, the sensations take him to another level of desire, insane carnality. But you taste so sweet, rich blood mixed with erotic arousal on a soft flesh platter, he consumes your innocence as he coaxes another orgasm from you. You hold on to dear life on his antlers, his velvet shedding and bloodying your hands, running through adding to the painting of reds that connects you two. Something ignites on you and it’s the most intense orgasm of your life, you feel every nerve burning from everlasting fire, that transforms and transforms until it explodes in a supernova. You don’t have the strength to scream, so you whisper Alastor’s name like a filthy prayer.

He looks up grinning like a devil. Something makes you open your eyes as you ride out the waves of pleasure. There’s so much blood, blood dripping from his lips, blood on his nose, blood cascading down his bewitching face mixing in a flowing current of red, it ends in a glistening red pool where you meet each other in immoral sin, so inviting you could jump in. It’s like what would happen if the killers had caught you, but twisted into wicked, ungodly pleasure, it’s almost worse. Because well, if you’re killed you’d be dead and would never have experienced this, but now you have and the ephemerality of this night crashes on you and you feel conned, betrayed.

He licks his lips and stares right at you, a doe caught in the headlights of his eyes, you almost cum again.

Alastor feels delirious from the bloody mess in front of him, carnality so powerful it makes him insane, he needs to finish this. He needs to sink his cook deep into your slick cunt. Pushing himself up, he starts to position his cock on your entrance. He’s so tall, the shadows of his bloodied antlers cover you and hide the welcoming silver lighting of the moon. The stars look so different today, and the welcoming sight of a full moon looks merciless, devoid of warmth and hope.

“Women like you are not meant for mortal men. They cannot honor you, they cannot savor you, they cannot satisfy you. Once you take a bite of the forbidden fruit you understand your place. Pliant and submissive beneath me. To be ravished and tamed by something beyond puny mortality. You are made to me fucked, to be owned by the better man who defied destiny and transcended what the hands of fate enforced on him. You are Helen of Troy, tailor made to fit my cock, satisfy my thirst”

He teases your entrance with just the tip, making you greedly roll your hips towards him, a primal response to the ravishing words. Alastor laughs mockling at you attempt of getting him to fuck you on your terms, your time. You may not be aware of everything but by now you know you can’t outfox and fox on his own game.

“please. please. PLEASE” you scream the last word, you can’t take it anymore. A second without him touching your body feels like an eternity.

“Tsk. You look so pretty when you beg” the condescending compliment lands like music on your ears and he finally enters you. Inch after inch he spreads your tight walls open, practically breaking you. You understand now why people in times before yours had sex after battle. It’s the most rare and coveted feeling in existence, to greet imminent death, escape her fatal calling and then do the thing that undoubtedly proves you are alive. Only to meet her again at the finish line of carnal sensations and no rational thought. Primal need to feel, to live.

Alastor finally bottoms out with an animalistic growl, making your shiver under him. He fucks you at a merciless pace, he fucks you with haste, with urgency and abandon. He knows what he needs and he is going to take it.

“Hoooooly FUCK Alastor” you scream.

“There’s nothing holy here. Everything that’s holy has abandoned you. There’s only me, your wicked god who has you completely at his mercy, to fuck, to break” he takes it all out and enters you at once. You try so bad to look at him, to hold his piercing gaze with adamantine conviction but you can’t. It’s too much, overstimulation creeps on you and everything hurts. You shut your eyes.

“Look at me. Fucking look at me or I will stop” it’s not an order, it’s a threat. You should be scared, you feel scared, but tonight fear is diesel to your desire, and the pain makes you enter a mind numbing stage. The lines of torture and relief blurring together until you can’t discern a thing, you feel.

You do as you’re told. You look at him as he fucks you, thrusting like a mad man, obscene sounds reverberating throughout, you are being so loud you are sure they can hear you back on the village. The village, your cabin. You had a life before tonight. Will there be life after tonight?

You don’t have time to have an existential crisis because what Alastor does next gets your undivided attention.

“You will look at the demon who is ruining you, fucking you. You are no immaculate maiden anymore. You are a common whore for the Radio Demon” your eyes widen at the revelation. He is not a vampire, he’s not the devil. The fact that he is a demon and not satan makes you even more mortified, like you’ve settled for less. Just a little demon is what it takes to completely undo you.

Alastor keeps thrusting at a breakneck pace, feeling vindicated. He did exactly what he said he would do, he took the last fiber of comfort, of dignity away from you. He can see your entire world shattering on your beautiful doe eyes, making you finally feel the right amount of horror on the edge of a rapturous orgasm.

You feel true terror now, there was still a slimmer hope that he wasn’ evil incarnated, that he had a redeeming quality. After all, he saved you. Didn’t he save you? Or did you start something you are not even close to understanding? You feel terrified because there’s a demon fucking you, biting you, feasting on your blood and you fucking love it, you want it every night. You really took a bite from the forbidden fruit and ruined yourself.

“It’s too much, Alastor I can’t” the words leave your lips and feel like confession, like somehow if you admit your complete surrender it will absolve you of something.

“Too. Bad.” Alastor punctuates his point with delicious sharp trust after each word. He finally tainted you with his darkness and made you aware of it. He feels delirious, he feels like victory incarnated. Your moans grow louder and louder, now pleasure means pain, hell means rapture. Things that should not exist together making you feel the best you have ever felt. Tears spill from your eyes, the overstimulation something you’ve never felt before, mind numbing and life-altering.

In an act of paradoxical mercy, your demon lover rubs your clit and you’re out like a light. Your walls tighten around Alastor’s cock, and white hot pain, blinding red pleasure overcomes you. You feel like falling, you feel your literal fall from grace as your body tingles and burns with ineffable, forbidden pleasure. Alastor howls and cums inside you.

You land on silky, comfortable, alluring darkness.

The cool forest breeze greets your abused skin, it stings but feels soothing at the same time. Paradoxical, like everything from this night. Alastor holds you tight, cradling your head on his chest, petting your hair. He draws lazy circles on your hip bone, featherlight touch, careful and coy. You turn on your side to face him.

“Can you see it now? It’s beautiful, he’s so beautiful” your mind asks you. You agree.

You start giggling, laughing. It is also so funny.

“What’s so funny, little doe?” Alastor asks you, genuinely amused. He feels elated from this night. He feels satiated, contented. It’s a very rare feeling for him.

“For a while I seriously considered you are an alien” you tell him, you can’t contain your laughter now. You are so silly. Alastor’s eyebrow shoots up, quizzical. He chuckles and indulges you. “Alien, is so mundane. You could never be an Alien, it’s way too easy”. What your giddy minds means is that now you know Alastor is anything but easy, actually there’s nothing like him. He’s something else. Something entirely different, a delicious mystery that creeps inside your heart, haunts you forever.

You stop laughing when realization hits you.

“Will I ever see you again, Alastor?” you ask him, your voice failing, nothing more than a whisper. You feel the ephemerality of this night, you feel daylight closing, ruthless sun rising that ends this everlasting dream.

Alastor stares deeply into your eyes, he sees your wanton desire, your trepidant expectations. “That depends entirely on you, my dear doe. It’s time to make a decision.” his voice is so soft it fucking hurts.

You look at the fading moon on the horizon, the distant stars judge you, the earliest of birds sing for you.

Yet from those starts, no light but rather, darkness visible.

You open your eyes, you feel impossibly rested. Your bed feels soft and you want to visit dreamland again, but the noise stops you.

Songbirds and blazing sirens mix together a cacophony of urgency. You get up fast, trying to remember little bits and pieces of the crazy dream you had and run to the big window across the room.

You look down, you see ambulances, police cars, lab coats and tall guys in FBI jackets.

Something definitely happened here last night.

That explains it then, the nature of your murderous dreams. The sirens creeped their way into your subconscious making that murderous, dreadful dream. You take a quick look and your hands and see nothing. Perfect, unblemished skin.

It felt so real. Strawberry fields and blood.

Your neighbor from across the street gestures manically at you from her window.

Fuck, it must have been really bad. There’s a lot of people at your doorstep.

Hurrying to put your robe on, you fly down the stairs towards the bustling crowd outside.

You are dying to know what happened. You were always a vivid dreamer.

You reach the hall and open the door, a polite officer starts talking to you.

You don’t notice the old radio on your vanity, or the opaque darkness that followed you from the corner of your room to the world outside.

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