#shadows house headers

[mandalhoerian]

ghost to its haunt, I | leon kennedy x reader

read part 1: moth to a flame pairing: leon kennedy x f!reader summary: Even if it is full of love, all a ghost can do is haunt. But this time, it has to be different. word count: 6K warnings: angst, hurt no comfort, peppers of fluff as a treat, smut (blink and you'll miss it), leon being feral from day one like seriously he's unhinged, his negative self-talk notes: this installment comes in two chapters. chapter two is still being written and will be published and linked here when i'm done. header template can be found here. we're nearly at the end besties, thank you for sticking with me until the end, and please enjoy.

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i. Leon knew right from day one when you’d breached the solitary safety of his shadowed corner in the bar of his unusual drinking choice, that you were tempting and twice as dangerous as a mirage to a parched man lost in the desert. 

In the pleasantly neon-lit sanctuary of a bustling bar, amidst the cacophony of clinking glasses and spirited conversations, he stuck out like a sore thumb with the air of melancholy around him, making people near his booth uneasy with the way he was observing everything — to them, he was not to be approached, as if one look to his way would be enough for him to start a fight, but in reality it was his inability to relax in crowds, subconscious calculating for unlikely scenarios to unfold and contingency plans on how to get away. Yet he’d wanted to come here just once anyway, see what made here one of Major Krauser’s favorites, it was psychological torture, but Leon did it to himself anyway, knowing so.  

You came to Leon first when nobody would approach him, setting a starting point of the pattern in your relationship where this’d be repeating over and over again. 

The stifling hot humidity of the South American forest and how heavier the stench of blood stuck at the back of his nose still followed him around months after, and you tracked the trail like a shark in the water, it was in the way you’d been openly watching him upon spotting him in his corner, in the way you slid towards him in the booth, eyes glinting, seeking, curious, expecting — giving straight away of how fresh you were to this compared to the poor unfortunate soul before you chasing after Operation Javier. 

You looked young, around his age, but had a certain softness and eagerness that reminded him of an unprepared rookie back in 1998, so before you could get a word in, he’d said, “I suggest you walk away for your own safety. You know how this ends.”  

You know how this ends. 

Such first words. What a way to doom an entire relationship and a person. 

If Leon knew how his words had shaped the reality he’d chosen, he’d have gone with something promising, more open, like, “How’d you know I wanted company?” — he’d expressed himself more, made his attraction more prominent, secured you to him better, but he was always about safety and protection, wasn’t he? Paranoid beyond belief, self-sabotaging. Of course he’d warned you about taking caution so you wouldn’t get hurt, especially given what had happened to the previous journalist looking into the operation. 

Your reaction to this was opting to buy him a drink instead of getting intimidated. Leon had made it clear over and over again he wouldn’t tell you anything and to go your own way. You didn’t know anything about him other than being a connection of the White House to Operation Javier somehow and he certainly wouldn’t be the one reporting this back to the base, so he made sure this was about saving one more person’s life from being ruined in vain even after this brief encounter had led to a hasty hookup in a bathroom stall and eventually to a hotel room like he was some teenager with no control over his dick —

You had ruined everything. 

Unabashedly interested in him and just pushing, eager, genuine, passionate as you kept talking about your job in wanting to expose corruption the more he kept things dry and silent, and he just saw the same spark in you that he had once; how naive, how idiotic, how endearing — such respect-worthy dignity and enthusiasm and drive that you had managed to find him of all people in your pursuit. He’d never been attracted to anyone quite like this, not the same way with Ada, not in that elusively mysterious and alluring, dangerous and unapproachable, thrilling distance, but the other end of the spectrum, the sort that fed on kinship and admiration that made him want to protect you from what he knew would happen if you kept going like this. 

Jesus, it should have been discouraging you from this path and nothing more, instead, Leon had been randomly snapped out of years of dissociation and autopilot since Raccoon City, and for what? Mind-blowing sex he didn’t even know was coming for his throat on a random fall night in 2002? 

Really, it was his routine being broken that had done it.

His life was meticulously governed by strict routines and unwavering habits, as if each day were a precisely choreographed fight, a paragon of order and structure. Leon’s world thrived on meticulous organization, where every document, tool, and weapon had its designated place. Even the symmetry of his living space mirrored the precision of his mind, with every item aligned flawlessly, punctuality eventually becoming second nature to him, his internal clock a finely tuned instrument, ensuring he was never a moment late, not at all a result of being late in his first day as a cop. Time was a precious commodity, a resource he safeguarded fiercely, as he understood that even the smallest delay could have dire consequences. This devotion to structure allowed him to remain laser-focused on his objectives, and also avoid hellish punishments back at Offutt Air Force Base located near Omaha, Nebraska where he had spent quite some time as a special agent trainee.

Military would make a clockwork out of anyone, but being trained under Major Krauser had turned him into a well-oiled machine that only had training and mission objectives in mind. Leon used to be highly adaptable and open to surprises before, but his encounter with you had revealed just how unprepared and anxious to impulses he’d been molded to become. Spontaneity had ended up a stranger to him, an unwelcome disruption that threatened to dismantle his carefully constructed world, and as an extension, anything else was regarded as losing control — which was, an unthinkable notion; he had been trained to maintain composure in the most chaotic of situations. 

There wasn’t even the semblance of composure in how he handled you. 

Never in his wildest dreams would he entertain the thought of someone managing to unbelievably, randomly, turn him on so uncontrollably one day that he’d lose his mind enough to risk public indecency in a fucking bathroom stall with pants around his ankles not only once, but twice. 

Sitting on the toilet with your back to his chest, one leg spread wide open over his knee and the other hiked up in the air from his elbow, you basically limp in his arms as all you could concentrate on was shutting your mouth tight enough not to make noise as he wildly bounced you up and down on his lap — and the next thing he knew after blowing his load right after with no rest whatsoever was that he had you flat against the graffiti-stained door separating a bunch of girls from what the two of you were doing, one hand clamped on your mouth, having you press your thighs together so he could languidly slip back and forth against the tight crevice of your wetness and the plushness combined that he had to use all his control for the door to not rattle and feeling your pussy spasm each time he grazed your clit, his head buried in the crook of your neck whispering filth he didn’t know his mind was capable of conjuring right to your ear with no filter —- how much of a pervert you were to be enjoying this when all it had to take was a peep from you for people right in front of you to discover you were getting off to the thought the humiliation of being looked at while getting fucked from behind, all the while it was Leon who was dying to explode from how horny he was that it was unbearably painful. 

And the only thing he could think about was to hell with it all and the hammering of his heart to hear you moan uncontrollably, he could just plunge inside you right then and there, had to bite down on your clothed shoulder to hold back the impulse, hell, it took everything in him to keep his breathing steady and not heave, every second the girls didn’t leave was dragged torture, his legs were trembling from holding back and the sheer excitement, but holy shit was it concentrated ecstasy that had his eyes rolling behind his head when they had finally left and he’d rammed himself in to the hilt so forcefully that the hinges of the door had almost broken off.

You had consumed him whole, your skin, your scent, your taste, wrapping him in a cocoon of warmth and pleasure and just digesting his whole being that he didn’t even have one grain of logic or common sense as a pea brain or nothing — just that he wanted to keep fucking and it was so soft and everything just felt so good and good god Leon was going to have an aneurysm from overheating because of you.    

The post-nut clarity after all that was interesting to say the least. 

A blood clot had to have shot up to his brain for his sanity to have snapped like that … And for him to think this wasn’t enough and he wanted more as you rested in his embrace — in a fucking bathroom stall. He wasn’t a people person. He simply didn’t do this shit in the first place, what was even happening?

Leon didn’t know what to be embarrassed about: of himself for doing this kind of thing in a place like this or disrespectfully exerting a woman to this degree, he had no idea whatsoever where all the talk about getting discovered had come from, didn’t that make Leon the pervert? Good lord. 

He had to be thankful that you were coming down from a high and had no energy to turn around and look at his face, because you surely would see him transition from all shades of red out of shame. What the actual hell had come over him?  

Leon was made aware that night that it’d been such a long time since he’d felt such a visceral physical response to someone that his whole body was in a flushed flurry — the kind of intensity that hadn’t even scraped the top of his heated need, he couldn’t even think before suggesting you two take this to somewhere else better that he could drown in this feeling some more. 

The man who said this basking in your afterglow and the man who warned you about how this ended were two different people. 

The man at the very beginning of this would have known better than to let himself indulge in you. 

But your pull was worse than that of a black hole’s, and in Leon’s mind, him taking you to a hotel room was equivalent in his mind to tossing you over his shoulder like an impatient caveman foaming at the mouth, and he knew he’d looked so constipated and unenthusiastic about it back then because he was trying to keep his shit together and not let his libido rush straight to his head, it was absolutely batshit crazy that his mouth was fucking salivating over you and he had to physically fight not to get hard where he stood, especially after having a taste of how you melted in his arms and he just couldn’t keep his together and — this was unreal, Leon had never went into a frenzy over someone before and you’d just taken it. 

He wanted to be gentle, enjoy it, savor it, and you weren’t even going anywhere, but even after he’d gotten him and you a room, Leon had taken you like he hadn’t fucked in his life before, like his dick had gotten hard for the first time in his life, and pathetically like he was desperate for his skin to touch another human being’s — and you… 

You. 

You had made everything worse. 

He still remembered that exact moment when your hands found his hair, the gentleness of the caressing contrasting his rough rutting, he remembered how the rhythmic squeaking of the bed stuttered and gave it right away that he was caught off guard even though his head was buried in the cushion of your tits — embarrassing, utterly disgraceful, all that you’d done was pet his fucking head and his heart had purred like a goddamn cat, and even more shameful was that he’d come right on the spot when you’d started pulling on his strands, Jesus fuck, he wanted to die on the spot. 

One condom change and a carry to the bed later (because Leon had shattered upon passing the threshold of the hotel door and he’d wrapped your legs around his hips and had you against the door, again) things had finally begun to become mellow and sensual as he’d started enjoying you, significantly calmer and more collected compared to before, paying more attention to how you liked it and what you liked, where you liked better, putting those observational skills to more gratifying uses. 

Somehow this was the most satiated he’d been yet, actually taking in the sight of you struggling against the pleasure brought him the unexpectedly superior fulfillment to chasing his own height. He was alerted and awake, sensitive to the very last cell watching you, endeared, wanting to give you every last drop of euphoria he could just to see how you’d react to it. And the more he explored, the more he couldn’t get enough, so adorable, so sexy, so hot, how could he take pleasure in making someone cry? How and why the hell couldn’t his dick stay down for five minutes? 

By the time he’d finally become downright spent and quenched the fire inside, the sun had already risen, the floor was just littered with ripped condom packets, you were covered in hickeys, bite marks and bruises that he’d questioned if he was a feral animal, and the sheets were… disgusting. 

Leon was a repenting sinner with an imaginary tail between his tails when he’d wrapped you in clean linen and laid you on the sofa, changed the sheets, and straightened the pillows, getting you to pee and drawing a bath for you afterwards, it was mortifying he’d made you basically unable to walk for the time being, and he surely didn’t deserve your insistence that you two share the bath together, twice as horrified and disturbed at the tender intimacy with which you’d washed him, warm fingers massaging his scalp almost lulling him to sleep.  

Sharing the room service breakfast, streaks of golden sunlight of the early hours washing your face and making the white of your bathrobe glow as he tried not to make it obvious he was ogling, you’d tricked him into promising you a date for all that he’d put you through that night, you’d be calling in sick; and Leon was covering his face in guilt and embarrassment inside even though all that he’d presented you was an abashed grin and an, “As the lady wishes.” — stupidly giddy enough to have lowered his guard (like that idiot in 1998) that you hadn’t suggested this because you wanted information out of him but were genuinely interested in his company, in him. 

He wasn’t overthinking it back then, just reveling in your presence, luxuriating in the fluffy, satisfied, peaceful feeling, new to him, not afraid of how it could be ephemeral. He was drunk, and not conscious about the fact just yet.  

The withdrawals had hit right after parting ways with you — this was a mistake, this was a huge mistake, he shouldn’t have promised anything, he shouldn’t even have done this in the first place. Leon had no time for this, couldn’t even keep a plant alive if he committed, didn’t know how it’d work, nobody was allowed to know about the kind of work he did, the world of bioterrorism was a secret kept so tightly it became nooses around the necks of nosey individuals. 

He just couldn’t allow himself to loosen the leash around his normal because if he did let go of himself, he would make a mistake. That mistake could doom you. 

More importantly than it not being fair to you, he’d be putting you in danger just by being in your proximity. 

All that fretting around, putting the stress of wishing to see you again but the garbage feeling he mustn’t (that he hadn’t expected to make him this moody) into exercising more intensely than before, and ending up scaring the folks around the office unintentionally in work, only to feel immediately like spring had come at the drop of a hat when you’d called saying because he hadn’t, apparently, and you were waiting for him. 

This was terrifying. How you made him feel... It was entirely out of his control. 

I suggest you walk away for your own safety. You know how this ends.

Leon should have kept telling this to himself. 

ii. The date was at your place, planned from start to finish by you, an attentiveness and special treatment he didn’t deserve, but Leon got warm inside anyway, especially after you said this seemed like the better option since he didn’t seem to do well in crowds. Something about him being noticed on this kind of personal level had caused him to confuse his right from his left and he was sure his palms were sticky just from that and the way you smiled. 

You’d said you wanted to get to know him, and Leon unfortunately didn’t have enough going out experience to decide if cooking together and then sitting down to solve a murder mystery game was the most creative thing ever or not, because he thought it was. 

At the end of this, he knew you much better, and had shown you himself in a way that wouldn’t be possible by answering questions. 

Leon had approached the murder mystery solving game with a calculated and analytical mindset, trained to think strategically, he had diligently assessed every clue, scrutinizing them for hidden meanings and connections. He hadn’t meant to get invested this much, but he had ended up approaching the game like a covert operation and a blast from the past to his police academy days, examining evidence with sharp attention to detail and requiring evidence instead of just a hunch like you kept hitting him with. Each clue was like a piece of intel, and he’d taken the murder of Mrs. Huntington very seriously. Relying on his instincts, leveraging his experience in decoding complex situations to unravel the layers of the mystery, his logical thinking and ability to tackle every single thread of this one by one had brought structure and organization to their investigative process.

In contrast, you had embraced the game with innate curiosity and unlike him, a childlike interest — like a game should be perceived. As an investigative journalist, he’d seen that you had a natural knack for delving deep into stories and uncovering hidden narratives, embarking on the game with a keen eye for the human element, looking beyond the surface level clues to understand the motivations and emotions of the characters involved. You thrived on the adrenaline rush of piecing together the puzzle, always seeking out the next lead or breakthrough, and brainstorming on the possibilities, which clashed with Leon, leading to a sort of bickering that was entertaining, really. Your inquisitive nature and intuition led you to explore alternative perspectives, constantly questioning assumptions and seeking out overlooked details.

When was the last time he’d had this much fun? Leon didn’t remember. 

All that you’d given him that night was a kiss, he hadn’t minded you halting things before the heavy makeout session that had his brain melting like jello could escalate into something more, and he definitely didn’t mind being hypnotized into saying yes for doing this again sometime in the future — when he should have cut things off. 

Leon really couldn’t seem to think coherently around you.

And, despite his better judgment, there was a third time. There also was a fourth. A fifth. A sixth. Seventh. Until he forgot it was a matter of numbers and he simply kept seeing you — that was it. 

Amidst the unlabeled dates that unfolded between you and Leon, there was an undeniable disparity in your cooking styles. While he considered himself a decent cook, you couldn't help but find his dishes lacking in flavor and spice, often describing them as bland. Nonetheless, there was a silver lining to this culinary discrepancy: Leon's competence in the kitchen ensured that all ten of his fingers remained intact, a feat that seemed elusive whenever you attempted to prepare a meal.

Your culinary misadventures had reached a crescendo one fateful day, as Leon returned home to a scene of chaos. The kitchen lay in disarray, food scattered about, a bloody rag, and a knife ominously present. Heart shooting up to his throat, he practically shouted, "Oh my god, what the hell happened?"

It was then that you revealed your mishap, a deep and severe cut that required stitches. Despite the severity of the injury, you had opted not to seek medical attention to avoid the burden of an exorbitant bill. Unbeknownst to you, Leon possessed exceptional suturing skills, honed through the necessity of tending to his own wounds after the hazards of his missions. He hadn't disclosed this fact of course, but rather emphasized his meticulousness when it came to first aid that he’d taken a course on it in the past.

He kept on boomeranging back to you every time he regretted the previous entanglement the morning after, dreading this was bound to end badly and he should leave you alone. He could… He could get sex elsewhere, he was a dog on a leash because stumbling on physical compatibility on this level had made him an idiot, that must have been it, he thought.  

But that wasn’t the issue at all. Nothing had thrown him off and even affected his daily life the way your absence did. It wasn’t craving the skin contact and fantasizing about the next affair that did Leon the damage, it was simply wanting to see you and be by you that even his appetite was lost along the way — he had been scared of what this was. The utter enormity of it made him panic. 

In the depths of his soul, a bubbling longing simmered up and up, getting close to the surface the more he deprived himself of you, taking over him with an intensity that defied description. His heart echoed with the fading echoes of your laughter, a melody he yearned to hear once more and came back to him when he least expected it — in the field he could chase away all thoughts and concentrate, but in the waking moments devoid of action, his thoughts collapsed toward you, unable to escape the gravitational pull of your absence. A hunger, primal and unyielding, gnawed at his core, a hunger for the touch of your hand in his hair, the warmth of your embrace, the nightmare-free, cloud-soft sleeps by your side. He’d come to find solace in fragments of memories, savoring the remnants of your presence, like faded polaroids etched in his mind. It was unbelievable to notice the world around him grew muted and colorless, as if drained of life's vibrancy, each passing day intensifying the ache, searing his heart with an inconsolable longing, fueling he urge he kept resisting to bridge the chasm of his own making that separated him and you. 

Leon had to accept he liked you despite himself, liked you to the point of no return, and that he was afraid to admit the stronger word. 

iii. He couldn’t tell you who he truly was and precisely because of that, couldn’t fully let you in. 

Countless reasons came up to defend why this was for the best — it not only protected his heart but also protected you by keeping you at a certain distance from all of this ridiculous baggage…

And he took notice of you noticing and being accepting regardless, settling for whatever you could when you shouldn’t. 

He was such a selfish man to keep taking advantage of that to stay however he was able to, a hedgehog’s dilemma. 

Leon had managed to find boundaries of your unpredictability and had managed to establish a routine, an ebb and flow of some sorts, entirely dependent on the volatile schedule of his missions that you had no idea of and tried acting nonchalant about — the absences, the bruises, the emotional unavailability after losses he had to keep to himself. He had to be wearing you down, crawling back through the dirt and the blood and the undying monstrosities only to be mute about everything and go straight for your embrace in search of a moment's peace. 

And what about you?   

The part of himself that was still sane knew he was making you suffer because of his selfishness, stringing you along in this unlabeled affair with the excuse it was with your eventual well-being in mind when it was easier for him — in the sense that if it came to the worst, you’d be able to come out of this on top and just hate and keep blaming him so you wouldn’t be hurt in the long run. 

But it was selfish, he still wanted to keep being around you, though, didn’t have the right or face to say he wanted you, so orbiting you was the best he could afford to do. 

Just for a little longer. A bit more. 

Leon wished you would be done with him and tell him to leave you alone so he could finally get out of your life for good, but in all his returns you welcomed him coming back with open arms. It was the garden of Eden and he didn’t belong there, feeling like a pillager sneaking in and getting whatever he wanted and fucking right off afterwards, each and every time leaving you with less and less and a faded viridescence. 

But he couldn’t stay. Not for as long as he wanted. Never in the way you deserved. 

And before Leon knew it, he and you had toppled two years of his bullshit — and you were still here throughout it all.. 

In 2004, the truth of bioterrorism and the existence of monstrous abominations with no regard for human ethics were thrust upon the world, and wiped yet another Raccoon City off from the map of the mediterranean — and things got so much more confusing in regards to what was allowed to be secret or not.

Unbeknownst to you, it was this incident that unknowingly contributed to the growing rift between you. Leon carried the heavy burden of witnessing the President's decision to deny AUPIT’s assistance to the FBC, leaving him as a mere bystander while hundreds of lives were lost due to the incompetence and inexperience of those involved. Even Terrasave, an organization not known for its extraction expertise, fared better in their efforts.

The Terragrigia Panic became a turning point, a catalyst for Leon's introspection, the weight of the world he couldn’t lift one finger to help pressed upon him, driving him towards self-destruction and an ever-deepening spiral of despair, soul scarred by the consequences of inaction and the haunting memories of present lives lost and a past city long in the dust. He questioned the system that bound his hands, preventing him from making the difference he so desperately yearned for. It was during these tumultuous times that you stood by him, unaware of the inner battles he fought and the toll it took on his well-being, and it made him feel so much worse about everything. 

His heart trammeled with the inevitable conclusion he could no longer ignore, he made the painful decision to set you free from the grip of his own shortcomings. Overwhelmed by a sense of unworthiness and consumed by his own greed, he knew he had to release you, unable to bear the weight of his own inadequacy any longer.

The timing, eerily close to the anniversary of the day he first met you, held a bitter irony. It was as if fate had conspired to test the limits of his resolve, presenting him with the most challenging mission of his life just as he made this life-altering choice. Bound for Spain, his path was paved with uncertainty, fraught with danger — but he’d sworn that things would be different this time and he could actually return, reformed and squeaky clean, somehow this mission could be his saving grace and actually wipe his brain clean of grime and rust.

The break-up had loomed before Leon like an impending storm, and he had steeled himself for the emotional turbulence that would surely follow, however, what caught him off guard was the resignation from you, as if you had anticipated his intentions and thoughts, ready to release him with open arms — eager to say yes the moment the words would slip out of his mouth. 

Devastated would be an understatement to describe him — he’d sat frozen on the kitchen chair, his mind a tempest of confusion and disbelief, the composed and scripted nature of your words waterboarding him as you continued to speak, nonchalantly expressing your expectations of this inevitable departure. You seemed braced, almost as if you had been reading his mind, as if you knew this day would come. The nonchalant manner in which you spoke of his leaving, seemingly devoid of any emotional attachment, tore at his heart. It was like time itself had paused, and Leon felt the dissociation creep in, his mind unable to process the scale of what was happening, the world around him blurring, finding himself lost in a void of numbness. How could it be that you were so ready to let him go? How could you speak of no hard feelings when his heart was shattering into countless fragments?

Yeah, right. 

Betrayal was it. 

He’d felt betrayed by you when he had no right to be angry like that — because he had warned you right from the start. 

You know how this ends. 

You’d taken his advice. Leon should have, as well. 

iv. It wasn’t only his jacket that’d got taken away by the village freaks, but also the watch you had given him as a gift — which the loss of was more personal and lethal to him.

And he had no time to look for it between saving and taking care of Ashley and trying to navigate a much bigger conspiracy. 

Coming to terms with the fact that it was gone, just like you, seemed poetically fitting, a form of karma that he should lose a memento of you when he hadn't proven himself deserving of it in the first place.

At the back of his mind was the memory of you trying to act like it wasn’t for anything special when Leon knew it was the first anniversary of the day you and he met, you just didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, walking around eggshells around him with the vaguest boundaries and definitions unspelled so he wouldn’t run away — Leon knew all too well. 

He had mentioned going for some type of Casio G-Shock when recounting he’d been meaning to buy a new one, and you’d apparently paid attention to that, not at all questioning why he would want a solar powered watch with 1312 ft. of water resistance — and had given him another much more sporty Longines stainless steel chronograph watch on the side, absolutely humbling him on the spot with just how much money you had to have spent on these two — and the amount of thought you had put into it. 

Modifications on both watches were specifically allowed by him, he'd gotten your initials and the Roman symbols of that day in the fall of 2002 engraved at the back of them to deceive himself, interchangeably using them, the Casio one in the missions, and the Longines in casual days, not bothering to buy any other watch for himself after that. You would see him wearing it all the time, but fortunately for his abashed pride, never commented on it, having no idea just how important they were to him. 

And it was Ada who casually reunited him with it, her throw of the watch certainly gentler than that of the jet ski key’s, as she was walking away with the Amber, a mysterious, knowing glance in his way, a perfectly shaped smile on her glossy lips. “Here. Consider this an equal exchange. Learn to take better care of special things, Leon.”

Somehow she wasn’t just talking about the watch and it irritated him, but she was right. 

v. The depths of Leon's feelings for you were intertwined with an overwhelming sense of terror. 

It terrified him to realize how much he needs you, how your presence has become an integral part of his existence, that you were now the surface he swam up to breathe after hours in the dark of the ocean, and the desire for reciprocation, for you to need him just as deeply, and knowing that you do but unable to bring himself to do anything about it, all filled him with longing and apprehension, both holding hands hiding behind the walls of his own making, pulling each other back as they kept watching you from afar. 

He feared that he may not be enough for you, that his flaws and past were going to inevitably cause harm and ruin.

The emotions that surged through him when you were near, the way his heart raced and his thoughts became consumed — it was new, it was unknown, it was exhilarating, it was petrifying. The spotlight of the vulnerability he’s put in was a double-edged sword, for it exposed him to the potential for joy, but also, immense pain. 

He could lose everything and it would lay waste to his soul, yet in the face of this fear, he couldn’t bear the thought of pushing you away completely, because the terror of being without you somehow had become equally paralyzing that he couldn’t breathe in the PTSD-rooted nightmares of them anymore.

Thus, you had found yourselves trapped in a state of limbo, unsure of where to go or how to proceed, but it was his fault, he thought of himself as a flightless bird sitting up on a roof with you, who could obviously fly; if he attempted to follow you he could fall, if he let you go you would migrate to warmer lands and would never come back. so you were both stuck there, and none of the scenarios involved — what if he could also fly? What if he could do what he thought he wasn’t capable of?

The thought of losing you now, after experiencing the depth of how far he could go with you; the promise, the mirage, the illusion, the dream, was a sense of impending devastation. And yet, he was plagued by the fear that it may already be too late to salvage what he once had with you. What he could have with you, if he allowed himself to surrender — 

Leon had changed, he wasn’t the same person, but he also hadn’t changed, hadn’t lost himself no matter the cost, hadn’t strayed from the original path he was treading on — he was capable of saving people, capable of changing the ending.  

Spain was as traumatizing as it was eye-opening and life-changing, through the reunion with Ada, the betrayal of Major Krauser, the loss of Luis and the successful extraction of Ashley, one single thread of hope had been holding Leon up and running:

He had to get back to you. 

He would come back to you, no matter what, even from the grave, even knowing there was a chance you wouldn’t take him back. To hell with taking comfort in a self-defined ending, to hell with the facade of protecting you when it was just protecting him, to hell with everything. 

This time, it had to be different. 

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s. kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy smut #quote in the summary belongs to baneofambitions

[imyourbratzdoll]

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒓, 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒅

🕊️𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭🕊️

summary - little red riding hood (you) heeds the villager's warnings and ends up crossing paths with the big bad wolf.

warning - smut, inter-species, degrading, dirty talk, dubcon, death, stalking, swearing, creampie, choking, slapping, fingering, biting, dacryphilia.

18+ only please, the gif and headers I use aren't mine.

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

All you had to do was cross through the woods to get to your grandmother’s house. That was all you had to do. It sounded easy, you ignored the warnings from the villagers, and you thought you had this handled. You get dressed in your little white dress, covering yourself with your red hood before gathering your basket of pastries and fruits. You smiled as you passed the villagers, heading through the path that entered the dark, creepy woods. You ignored their worried whispers, too focused on getting where your grandmother was. 

You giggle, smiling at all the pretty butterflies that flutter by, and you begin to hum a soft melody. Skipping along the path, not feeling the air become cold or noticing the animals that start to scatter, you are too oblivious to see how dark and creepy the woods begin to become the deeper you walk into them. Such an innocent little thing you were. Too bad the big bad wolf was going to destroy that. 

Luke lurked, spying on you from behind the shadows, licking his lips as he caught sight of your pretty little dress underneath that beaming red hood. He sneaked and crept, following behind you with caution. Luke grinned, his sharp canines prodding his lips, his glowing yellow eyes following you, preying on you. He could pounce at any moment, and you’d never expect a thing. Luke stretches his hands, feeling his claws come out slowly, desperately wanting to claw into you as he fucks you into the ground. His cock grows, hardening the more he watches you, the more Luke thinks about what he wants to do to you. His cock strains against his pants, and his swollen tip leaks with pre-cum. A growl slips from his lips, and he watches you halt, looking around slowly. 

You didn’t know what that was. Could the villagers be right? Was there an actual beast in these woods? Did you brush off their warnings when they were only caring for you? Was everyone right? Were you really the dumb little thing in their village? You couldn’t be? You were smart… You were sure of it. Your mind raced with thoughts, causing you to forget about the growl or the beast lurking in the shadows. You shrugged, wondering why you had stopped before beginning on your merry way, skipping again with a ditzy smile. Only to be stopped again, staring widely at a large man standing before you, his bright yellow eyes staring at you with hunger. 

Luke licks his lips, “What are you doing out here, little red?” He tries to make his voice as friendly as possible, not wanting to scare you away.

You smile, rocking on your heels. “I’m on my way to see my grandma! Who lives through the forest, near the lake!” You blush, taking in the handsome stranger before you notice the sun going down much faster than expected. “Oh, shoot! I’m sorry, mister! But I’m running late!” You shoot him a small smile before hurrying along. Luke’s nostrils flare as your scent enters his senses.

Luke chuckled, shaking his head at your stupidity. He smirked as a plan formed in his head, giving you one last look before he hurried through the shortcut and appeared at your grandmother’s house. What better way of getting you than pretending to be the one you love? He knocked, straightening to his seven to eight feet height, grinning wide with his pretty sharp teeth showing. The moment the poor little older woman opened the door, he pounced, swallowing her whole before heading inside, checking to see if he looked clean before Luke walked over to the bed, stripping from his clothes, giving his cock a few tugs before he got under the covers. Luke chuckled to himself, knowing you weren’t too far behind.

You skipped to her door, beaming with happiness at finally seeing her again. Your little hand knocks on the door, rocking on your heels as you wait patiently for her. “Who is it?!” You giggle.

“It’s me, grandma! Y/n!” 

Luke smirks, “Oh, how lovely! Do come in, my dear!” You smile, entering her home and placing the basket of food on the small table nearby before you untie your hood and carefully place it on the hook. You turn and slowly make your way over to her bed, wondering why her eyes are yellow instead of her standard colour, and with a worried look, you sit beside her and rest your hand on her arm above the covers.

“Grandma! Your voice sounds so odd, is something the matter?” You question, gnawing your lip as you check over her.

“Oh, I just have a touch of a cold.” Luke fakes a cough, licking his lips as he eyes you. The blanket slowly moved down to show off some of his face, silently sending thanks to the universe for making the lighting so dark.

Your brows furrow, tilting your head slightly as you notice some of your grandma’s changed features. “But grandma! What big ears you have.” You edge closer, extremely worried for your grandmother. 

“The better to hear you with, my dear.” 

“But grandma! What big yellow eyes you have….” You shiver, feeling a chill roll down your spine at the sight of them staring deep into your soul.

“The better to see you with, my dear.” Luke feels pre-cum leak from his swollen tip, soaking the flowery bedsheets. His fingers twitch. He’s so close to having you under him, tearing you apart with his massive cock. 

Your eyes slowly move down the bed, noticing the large tent forming. “But grandma! What… A big tent? You have.” Your gaze slowly moves back up and connects with his eyes, swallowing the saliva that builds up in your mouth.

Luke smirks, throwing the blanket back and wrapping a clawed hand around your delicate throat, turning and pushing you into the bed. “The better to fuck you with, my dear.” He sneers, pressing his stiff cock into your soft legs. He squeezes, staring with a dark glint as you struggle to breathe. “What a dumb little girl you are. Don’t you know that the woods aren’t safe for dumb little things like you?”

You stare at him with wide eyes, squirming as you feel something wet poking your inner thigh. “Y–You, you're the man from before….” You whimper, your eyelids flutter as his grip tightens, feeling slick pool between your thighs. 

Luke grins, his cock twitching as the smell of your arousal hits him. “Yes, I am, little red.” He leans closer, nuzzling his face into your neck. “Mmm, you smell delicious, little red. It seems like you want the big bad wolf.” Luke licks the side of your neck, sucking on your sweet spot as his other hand moves up your tiny dress and cups your clothed core. “Did the dumb little baby get wet from mean old me?” He growls, smiling down at you before he swipes his hand across and rips your knickers from your body. His fingers connect with your swollen button, rubbing and flicking it, watching you whither and moan, trying to break free from his grip.

“P–please, I won’t tell anyone!” You cry, swallowing your sobs. You had realised your fate was sealed and that your grandma was gone. Your plump bottom lip wobbles, staring into his sharp eyes, embarrassed that you feel some sort of way underneath the monster. “I–I’ll be good, I swear!” Fat tears fill your eyes before rolling down your puffy cheeks, whimpering as the man leans forward and licks them up. 

“Of course, you’ll be good, you dumb baby. It’s the only thing you know how to do.” Luke grows harder from your tears and your whimpers. His fingers pick up their pace before slowly piercing through your tight little hole, curling and thrusting, stretching you out and getting you ready for him. “Don’t worry, little red. I’ll take good care of you.” His thumb rubs your swollen pearl, curling his thick fingers into your sweet spot. Your back arches as pleasured whimpers fall from your lips. Your walls squeeze and pulse around his fingers, juices flowing out of you as you cum. Luke licks his lips, slowly pulling his fingers out of your cunt and bringing them to his lips. “Such a naughty girl, cumming for the big bad wolf like the dumb little thing you are.” A moan falls from his lips as he places his fingers into his mouth, sucking your sweet nectar off them. “So delicious, little red.” He pushes you into the bed, crawling on top of you. “You ever been with a man like me before, little red? Hmm? I bet you haven’t, a sweet little innocent thing like you.” His hand wraps around his throbbing base, swiping his leaking tip against your sopping folds.

Your hands curled into the bedsheets, whimpering when he began to push in. More tears flow down from the pain of his massive cock stretching your tight walls. “H–hurts… Please.” You babble, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he continues to push through, his fingers rubbing your little clit, growling as your juices leak out and help lube his cock. Your hands fly up, digging your nails into his arms as he sends a sharp thrust deep inside you. “O–oh!” Your vision goes white, and your walls spasm around him wildly.

“Poor little red, you’re so fucking tight.” He growls, snarling down at you. His hands grip your hips, lifting your legs, so they wrap around his waist, plunging harder and deeper inside you. Luke buries his face into your neck, nipping the young flesh with his sharp canines. “You like the feel of me inside of you, little red? Stretching you, claiming you?” He slams into you, chuckling at the small scream that escapes you. Your hands move from his arms to his back, clinging desperately to him as his pace picks up, pounding you into the soft mattress. “You enjoying this, dumb baby? Being used for my pleasure? Hmm?” He growls, holding your hips tighter.

“Uh-huh!” You whine, and your hips slowly move along with his thrusts. Your legs tighten around him, feeling yourself clench around his thick, monstrous cock as he continues to pierce you with it. “S–so big… So full!” Your eyes roll back, whimpering with each thrust, feeling your mind beginning to slip as Luke’s tip slams into your sweet spot, your mouth falls open, and your body becomes numb from the pleasure. You gasp, feeling a sting on your cheek, and your eyes blink open, staring into his glowing yellow ones, noticing the glare he holds as he continues moving inside you. His hips snap, and your head falls back, exposing your neck to the beast. 

He leans forward and latches down, biting into the soft flesh and groaning as your walls flutter rapidly around him. A choked gasp escapes you, your back arches, and your vision goes white as your arousal shoots out of you, coating the giant beast. He grunts, feeling you squeeze and pulsate around him, “get ready. I’m going to fill you up with so much cum that it’ll flow out of you for a whole month, my little red.” He growls, pounding as fast and hard into you until his thrusts become sloppy, his heavy sacks begin to tighten, his cock begins to twitch and throb, and his swollen mushroom tip swells deep inside you. “Fuck, tightest little cunt on the dumbest little girl.” He roars as thick amounts of cum shoot out of him and into you, filling you to the brim, feeling it overflow out of you and onto the soft sheets. 

Your body sags into the bed, arms falling from his back and legs falling from his waist as your eyes roll to the back of your head, and you pass out. The intense pleasure became too much for someone as tiny as you. Luke huffs, waiting for his knot to soften before he can pull out of you. He looks down at your knocked-out form with a dark glint in his eyes, his clawed hand strokes your cheek, and he grins. “Oh, you poor dumb thing. You have no clue that you’re mine now, forever.” When his knot softens, he slowly pulls out and watches his cum leak from your cunt before he pushes it back in with his fingers. Luke stands, straightening to his standard height as he collects his clothes and gets dressed. He lifts your wrecked body and heaves it onto his shoulder, grabbing your red hood on the way out. 

With the slam of your granny’s door, Luke’s dark chuckle fills the creepy woods as he makes his way to his place with you in his arms. You would never be seen again, being added to the tales of the big bad wolf. You would be known as his whore, his wife and the mother of his pups.

You shouldn’t have been so dumb and listened to the villagers’ warnings.

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

#imyourbratzdollwork #a whores fairytale #big bad wolf luke danes x little red riding hood reader #luke danes fanfiction #luke danes angst #luke danes fluff #luke danes gilmore girls #luke danes #luke danes x reader #luke danes fan fic #luke danes fan fiction #luke danes fanfic #luke danes fic #luke danes imagine #luke danes imagines #luke danes oneshot #luke danes one shot #luke danes au #luke danes x tiny! reader #luke danes x fem! reader #luke danes x female reader #luke danes x you

[itsagrimm]

He Who Comes from under the Water

Chapter 11 - The Dive

Monster!König X she/her afab Reader

CN: Mentions of possible death and injury, fear of water, nearly drowning, mentions of possibly getting hurt, inappropriate use of an axe, depression and bad mental health, on character is passively suicidal, cannibalism, fear of being alone, fear of separation from a loved one, lack of self-confidence, kissing, making out, partial nudity

Notes for better understanding at the bottom!

Beta-read by the equally afflicted @queenquazar. Unhinged writing and editing sessions in the dead of night wouldn't be the same without you.

6.0k words

Masterlist

Hope you enjoyed your summer as I have but now as it's getting colder, darker and most importantly weather outside, I am fairly sure updates will roll quicker now.

also I need to do more trips with my camera, I am running out of decent looking header photos.

I made a playlist for this series. Enjoy.

The fresh morning breeze caressed over your slowly warming up skin. Branches of trees danced a lazy rhythm and the late birds of summer sang their song. Ghost stood next to you, wrapped in his coat made of leaves and moss and sturdy solitude, as you both looked up to the window of your bedroom. König was in there, still asleep and out of your reach.

“Let’s try to wake up König one more time.”

Hope reared its head as you heard Ghost’s words.

But not too high.

“How?” You wondered out loud. “I am sorry that you feel stuck here with me, but König did not wake up last time you tried. Why should he now?”

“Maybe we need to try harder,” Ghost replied and grabbed Königs axe.

Your eyes widened.

“Hold on!” You tried to stop what was unfolding before you, only to witness Ghost grow in size, taller than the trees, taller than the house, and far away from your little human words.

“Enough, little brother,” Ghost groaned from high above you and you had to shield your ears from the loud thundering voice “It is time to wake up. I am tired of guarding your Bride in your stead.”

Birds took off, the earth shook and trees froze as in fear of the giant that was said to be their guardian.

Ghost straightened up and turned to the house.

“Hey!”

Like an animal on the hunt that got caught, Ghost froze and turned back, staring down at you with an oddly blank expression.

“What are you up to, Ghost?” You called, trying to ignore the little voice in your mind telling you that shutting up and quivering in fear before the giant was a smarter strategy to survive.

“Why the axe?” You squeaked as you tried not to squeak.

Ghost blinked, confused by this little being that was his future sister in law. Such a flimsy thing of flesh and bone, shouting at him from her place in the dirt. Ghost glanced at the axe, shaking his head.

“Right. I am sorry. I am not used to explaining myself but you have every right to ask,” Ghost admitted, and fell back into a shape more approachable to you, like a shadow growing smaller by the change of light.

“You can do it.” Ghost said. “Hit König with the axe to wake him up.”

You blinked, it was your turn to stare confused.

“He is just the Vodyanoy napping in water. Swinging an axe against him is like hitting the surface of a lake, stirring up a few waves but nothing else. He will be fine. And hopefully he will wake up from it.” Ghost explained and passed you the heavy axe before growing in size again.

You looked down onto the massive wood axe in your hands, the wooden handle old and used.

“Are you sure that will work, Ghost?” Uncertainty creeping up in your mind and voice, worry and frustration manifesting about your fiance’s wellbeing and actions.

“Have you ever heard of running water getting cut?” Ghost answered. “I am not saying König will like it, but it won’t harm him. Trust me.”

You swallowed, feeling uneasy. Hitting a human with an axe in their sleep was murder. Plain and simple. But, König was as much a human as you were a fish. His skin shifted and shaped as he pleased. He ruled the waters and even summoned them in his dreams after not sleeping for who knows how long, destroying your room. And his eyes…

“I understand this might be a lot to ask,” Ghost paused. “You will have to trust me on this one, Vodyanitza.”

His words danced through your mind like willow branches in the wind. If Ghost would have wanted to and this was ill-intentioned, he could have harmed König without bothering to talk and convince you of this plan. Maybe there was a point in trusting Ghost even if the thought of König getting hurt made you grow colder inside than the cooler morning breeze ever could.

You looked up to the giant and nodded.

“Let’s do this.”

“Hold on tight,” He stated and grabbed you to place onto the window sill to your bedroom. Like a leaf he tumbled into the room after you, turning himself small again and landing in the splashing water on your bedroom floor.

You cried out, first in surprise than dreadful fear from all the water suddenly around you as the heavy axe slipped out of your fingers and landed in the water, sinking down with a shallow ‘clunk’ against the wooden planks. 

“Ghost. I-” you eyed the water splashing around the room like a lively river. Or a dark river, a deep river, deep enough to drown. “I am afraid of water. I can’t get down from here. I can’t do it.”

Ghost made a sound that could have been a grumbled curse whispered by a tree before being hit by lightning.

“A Vodyaniza who fears the water,” He stated. “Sounds right like the mess my brother would cause. Alright, I’ll do it then.”

“Wait,” You looked at König as you tried to calm your nerves as you took deep calming breaths. He was still deep asleep. A mess of tangled unhuman limbs and scales and hair and skin in the waters of your flooded room. Panic and fear surged from all the water, but you forced those emotions in you aside as you tried to commit his sight to your memory, just in case something was to go wrong.

“Okay,” You finally agreed and nodded to Ghost.

This was it.

Ghost picked up the axe from the water and raised it high before swinging it down onto König.

The impact of the axe connecting with Königs head sounded like thunder rolling over you.

Loud and painful and final. 

Suddenly, like a storm, the water rose and reached high before you, waves building and crashing at your feet as you held onto the window frame for dear life while trying to see through the room filled with fine droplets of water and foamy waves.

A groan rang through your ear.

Königs voice - strained and painfully familiar.

Another groan as you heard a second hit from the axe through the wild waters before you … like…

…like a yawn before having to leave bed, yet still feeling tired.

“König?” You hoped aloud, your voice being drowned out by the rushing water and Ghost’s deep voice.

“Wakey-wakey, brother! Stop making your Bride wait for you!”

“Urgh.”

A massive wave crashed right next to the wall with your window, breaking the glass and causing the house to shake from the impact.

“Get up, little brother.” You could not see through all the splashing water before you, only hearing the sound of Ghost’s deep voice. “Stop being dramatic and flooding your girl’s room. It’s rude.”

A third axe hit thundered through the little space before you. More water rose and a wave finally hit you. You wailed as you tried to fight against the dreadful flood, with desperate fingers you reached for safety. Catching the clammy window frame, the sill, and finally just the thin fabric of the curtains until the pull of the retreating water consumed you and took you in to the deep waters.

The silence of being underwater was more unbearable for your mind than the loud crashing of waves and shattering sounds of the hitting axe above.

For a moment fear froze your body and you could not help but stare as you floated impossibly downwards at the sight of König, coiled up like a serpent snake and shifting scales reflecting the light. His eyes were closed except for a sliver of that beautiful blue peeking into the world as if the king of everything under the water was about to wake up. Bubbles of air fought their way out of your lungs and you felt panic as you watched the axe hitting König from above.

Would he be fine?

No blood came out of the wound that broke as the axe connected with Königs sleeping shape. You watched König being unharmed and lazily stretching his long limbs and body as you floated downwards, taken by a strong current in the impossibly deep waters of your bedroom.

Wait, would you be fine?

König did not notice any of it. Instead, his eyes only slightly fluttered, as if merely being tickled awake - lazy, unfocused blinking of blue eyes before sharpening up. Still sleepy, he looked around as if confused if he was still dreaming or awake. Finally, König locked eyes with you and smiled. It was a beautiful smile, toothy and life-savingly-relieving to see him coming back to his senses.

You did not smile back. The air bubbles in your mouth were too precious a cargo to smile for König, opting instead for an unhappy grimace and some waving motions that hopefully spelled out: ‘I don’t want to be here and need your help to get out’.

For a moment, a very long moment as you struggled, König blinked before the realisation kicked in. He was far away, so far away from you in the waters that he had dreamed up. Yet, unbelievably quick the serpent body moved and changed as König headed for you. With hands, not scaled claws anymore,  König reached out as he fought his way through a whole ocean between you and him as a last air bubble left your mouth. 

Your head was spinning and you started to lose sight as you felt hands on you that lifted you up and out of the water.

You coughed, ungraciously spitted out water as König tried wiping out hair and tangled clothes out of your face.

“Bride! Are you okay?”

You vomited water at his feet and chest while he held you like a cat that got rescued from the floods, close to his body and patting you like a little animal.

“She looks fine.” Ghost’s gravelly voice sounded through the air as you still tried to blink and see. “You better worry about this flood you caused.”

“Oh. Right.” You felt König shift and then the sound of water draining away as if someone  had pulled a plug.

You coughed again for good measure, still feeling weak and miserably wet. The cold was starting to set in as the rush of fear and panic started to run out.

Shivering, you tried wiping away the water from your face and opened your eyes.

Your bedroom was a mess. But not in the way your mother would have disapproved of but in a way she would have questioned whether or not it was still habitable. The water was gone, but the signs of the flood were catastrophically clear with nothing being dry, in pieces or not where it ought to be. Your bed was a pile of torn fabrics and splintered wood. The chest with your clothing, tipped over and empty, looked like a sad hungry animal no one had bothered to feed. And your few personal possessions, kept toys from your childhood, gifts from friends, clothes lying around the floor. Ghost was standing before you on something that might have been pieces of your wedding dress, leaning on the axe with the same skull-covered expression as always, yet appearing somewhat amused under it.

And König - he was holding you up to his chest, his hands still patting you helplessly as if that could help you. He looked human. Mostly. The hair was as messy as the first day you saw him, covering most of his face except for blue eyes burning through with worry.

“I-” you rasped despite the storm of emotions waging through you. “I was so worried about you, König.”

Another cough.

“But I have never been as angry as this before. What did you do with my room? And my wedding dress. Also-”

You felt like there was still some water in places of your body where none was supposed to be, wheezing and shaking your head from the uncomfortable feeling.

“-put me down. You are so cold and I feel like I am freezing in your arms.”

Guiltily, König put you down, mumbling something that could have been an apology while Ghost choked on something that could have been a laugh.

You paid no attention to them, concentrating on your weak legs to hold you and carry you to the torn pieces of your wedding dress. Ghost stepped aside and watched you with open curiosity as you held your dress in disbelief of how quickly your work had turned into rags.  Holding back tears, you let the fabric fall back down with a wet squelching sound and turned to the door. If you were lucky the hinges still worked and you could walk out on your own and warm you up again downstairs, away from the left battlefield that used to be your sanctuary.

You stumbled, reaching for the handle and opening the door only to face another cruel adversary.

The stairs.

There was no way you were able to make it down the steps without breaking your neck with how wobbly your legs felt and how ridiculously shaky your hands twitched.

You turned around, the pleading frustration in your eyes too visible for König not to step closer and peaking at the obstacle in your way.

He nodded while trying to control whatever emotions attempted to govern his face.

“Allow me, Bride.” He asked and lifted you up again before carrying you downstairs and into the kitchen, setting you down before the warm oven.

Ghost followed and started preparing tea and a hot stone before leaving the room as König returned with dry clothes for you, magically found somewhere in a part of the house that hadn’t been flooded. You looked at the pieces offered in his hands, only to see that it was a mix of mostly your fathers and brothers clothes from the storage. You did not care. They were dry and the village would judge you no matter what you wore. Might as well just do the best for yourself.

Unceremoniously, you stripped out of your dripping clothes. König held and steadied you where you needed it and grabbed the discarded pile of fabrics to put it up on the laundry line outside once you were done.

You stayed where you were, leaning close to the oven in the hopes of warming up quickly, and refusing to do anything before feeling less miserable.

Ghost was still a guest. And König was your fiance. A good hostess and bride would have started serving them the food that you had previously prepared.

A good hostess and bride would not have been dipped into a pool of dreamed up water in their own bedroom either. You thought bitterly before adding a relieving Fuck it.

Someone knocked at the door and you called them in.

Ghost reappear from the outside with a blanket of moss and leaves, wrapping it around you and placing you in the nearest chair to the oven before passing you a cup of the freshly brewed tea.

“Thank you,” You rattled through cold lips.

König returned with more wood for the oven and added a large log to feed the fire. You had shown him how to care for a fire, never expecting he would ever find a need for it. Both brothers hustled and moved around your little kitchen, hardly speaking and only every once in a while giving you worried glances as they made sure all work of a proper household would be done while you rested and warmed yourself. You closed your eyes, letting the feeling of being safe and cared for, seep in.

This day, even if it was slightly past midday, had punched all energy out of you while also confronting you with every possible emotion a human heart could feel. Waking up in the flood, alone and confused, next to your water serpent like fiance, meeting your future brother-in-law who thought you would die soon, nearly drowning once again while your fiance woke from the literally deepest nap possible in your now destroyed room. You sighed, not even bothering to bring order into your mind.

Instead, you gratefully thought how you finally weren’t alone even if it was scary at times to share your life with beings so different from you - König, Ghost, Farah, talking animals and murderous Rusalkis. Yes, this had been another moment where you could have been harmed. And mourning your room and things destroyed by the flood, was one of many things in the curled grey corners of your mind. There was still anger and confusion in you why it all had happened. But you weren’t alone anymore to face those things on your own. There were people around you now that noticed you and cared for your well-being. Clearly, not all of them to the same degree or out of the same motive. You understood that. But your lost room and wedding dress, your fears and secrets and longings felt more like a coherent song than a desperate cry for help when it wasn’t just your voice.

Someone touched you softly on the shoulder and you opened your eyes.

“Hey.” König stood before you with his blue watery eyes and wild hair.

Both brothers had paused their busy work and stood with their attention turned towards you.

“How are you feeling?” Ghost asked gravely from his far away spot at the door and reached for more tea for you with his long unhuman arms without moving.

You shivered, unsure if from the cold or from the odd reminder that neither of the men were human.

“Better,” You replied. “Thank you for giving me time to recover.”

Your eyes wandered to König, craving to hear his voice again and feel his warming eyes on you. He looked away, avoiding your gaze.

Your little heart dropped deeper than the waters in your room had been, fighting hard to soldier on.

You cleared your throat.

“Well,” you squeaked, your voice still feeling thin and fragily human as you addressed the giant men. “I am starving. This is not how a host normally does it in this house since all I did was sit and rest now. But how about we eat?”

The rabbit stew that you had made this morning smelled tempting and promising from its reheating spot in the oven and you heard your own stomach growl.

“Thank you for the invite, Vodyanitza,” Ghost declared, slightly bowing his head. “But we will have to do that another time.”

“Oh,” You huffed, slightly disappointed.

Ghost stilled, as if thinking before taking a deep breath.

“It has been lovely meeting you, my dear sister-in-law. It’s been a pleasure. Also- ” He paused. “I may have treated you rougher than necessary and I do apologise for that. If you ever need help, just send for me. I may not appear to be the most, let’s say, approachable. But I do hope that there is nothing but the best for you and I am looking forward to your wedding.”

“You are coming after all?” König finally spoke, surprise ringing in his voice as he turned to his brother.

Ghost nodded. “It’s not every day a brother of mine gets married. I need to make sure you don’t drown your own wedding guests.”

König forced a smile.

“Graves marries someone new every couple of years,” He interjected.

“Graves married and remarried so much, he hardly needs his elder brother to tell him how to plan a party. He knows what he is doing.”

Both brothers chuckled and you smiled at the sight, remembering your own brother.

“Before I go, dear sister, allow me to give you something.”

Ghost  reached into his coat. From the depths of his pockets he produced a huge leaf, rolled up into a package and bound together with a simple string.

“I suppose you have none yet, but a future queen should wear one. It would look good on your wedding day.”

You took the package from his hands and pressed it slightly, trying to guess what was inside.

“Thank you, Ghost. Why-“

“Open it.”

Obediently you opened the little knot holding the leaf together with slow, cold fingers and unrolling what was inside.

You gasped.

In your hands was a Kokoshnik, large and covered with fine embroidery and colourful stones of green and blue. It felt firm in your hands. And it wanted to be worn. Like a crown, proud and bright for a special day. At least one thing you would have for your wedding day.

You thought back a sob at the thought of your torn wedding dress, your fingers still holding the precious crown like an anchor.

“I am sure König will gladly help you put it on. But don’t lose it. I made it for you and there is no other like it. It will protect you when you walk in the forest.”

“I…”, you huffed, “…don’t know what to say. This is very beautiful. Thank you.”

Ghost just waved with his hand like it was nothing.

“Don’t say anything and just wear it to keep you safe. Do me that favour.”

You nodded, out of words.

“Well, I’ll be gone then. The forest calls me.” Ghost turned to the door and you started to get up to send him off. “Don’t you dare get up, sister. What’s the point of the Kokoshnik if you fall sick from the cold and exhaustion. No, stay right where you are.”

You fell back onto your spot, the moss blanket encasing you like a cocoon of earthly smell and warmth.

“Save travels then, Ghost.” You spoke. “Thank you again.”

“Don’t mention it.” He waved and stepped outside, followed by König.

You sat there, hearing them talk and laugh and wishing each other well without making much out of it.

Then, finally, Ghost was away.

The rest of your day was spent alone with your own thoughts. König, aside from making sure you ate and rested, hardly spoke to you. His distance confused you. It gave a feeling of newfound loneliness when you stared at the unfamiliar ceiling with the wrong knots in the wood and the wrong bedding around you as you leaned against the oven. Ghost’s reassurances just a couple of hours ago now felt like a lie. You were no queen. And there was no way for you to live long enough to ever learn how to be one for König that was good enough. No standing on a box or life saving spells could change that. The finality of your fate was devastatingly simple. You would drown and König, your beloved König, would find himself a better queen. Why else did he withdraw himself like that?

The mauling insecurities inside of you stopped you from asking.

Instead you listened to König rummaging upstairs while you dozed under your moss blanket, practised drawing letters in the ashes of your oven or thought about how you could fix your wedding dress. It was pointless but you had little else to do and so you continued like you had always done.

König had brought the dress out together with the rest of your wet belongings, hanging it up to dry in the sun. The liberating concentration kept you from your dark thoughts: you had watched the dress through the window, mentally placing one piece of rag over the other in the hopes of possibly having a saving idea as the rags swayed gently in the breeze. It had worked until the light grew low and the trees around the house in the garden had started to spawn more unpleasant shadows than welcome distractions.

You got up from your cosy spot and started preparing dinner. Still feeling weak, your legs carried you with a slight tremor as your whole body was plagued by a deep tiredness. It came from all those times not resting. It felt like all those tears not shed. It was a tiredness that wasn’t fixed by sleeping longer one night because it was deeper than the soreness in your muscles and bones. It was the dark abyss of water calling for you. But you could lie to yourself. Opting to go to bed and calling it a day in the hopes that tomorrow would be better. Sometimes, giving up was actually a smart thing.

You huffed, once again forced to consider the reality of your situation.

Going to bed? Where? Your bedroom was destroyed. And the other rooms in your house had been packed up and sealed when your family died. Back then it was too much to bear seeing their things and looking at the places they used to rest. Even now, under no condition were you ready or willing to disturb those rooms. The easiest for you would probably be to sleep here in the kitchen.

But what about König? Would he need to sleep too? Flood the rest of the house and destroy every last bit of habitable space as he took you out in your sleep? Or would he leave you tonight and watch as the human-monsters and monsters-monsters finally had their feast with you. The thought nearly entertained you. Maybe that was better than drowning and at least some poor Tschort would enjoy a bit of your precious meat.

You chuckled at your own morbid thoughts.

But it was not night yet, and maybe there was a bit of queenly pride inside of you yet as you decided to brace yourself for an overdue conversation with König, leaning against the kitchen counter for support.

You opted to make some food. Since it might be your last chance to enjoy a meal before you became a meal, you took your time. There was not much to be done for dinner: heating the left-over stew, cutting some bread made of acorn flour, setting the table. After you finished, you steeled yourself for the hardest part.

“König?” You called upstairs. “Would you like to eat dinner with me?”

You held your breath and waited as the rumbling from upstairs stopped.

“It’s fine if you are busy, but I am hungry and would love your company,” You coaxed.

Heavy steps sounded through the wooden house, causing the old stairs to creak under the weight of the Vodyanoy.

König emerged into the kitchen, bowing down slightly under the marginally too low ceiling and looking at you sheepishly.

“Are you sure, Bride?” He asked. “I haven’t finished repairing your room.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, too stunned to speak before you swallowed down a good chunk of your raging insecurities. 

“So that’s what you have been doing up there,” You finally said. “I did not know.”

König looked to the ground like he had been caught stealing goodies from the pantry. It was a look that made your knees weaker than even a day facing terrors could.

“I wanted to repair it. I wanted to apologise with more than words. It’s what good kings ought to do.” He explained looking immensely guilty.

Your breath hitched.

He cared?

You looked down, still thinking of your room and your ruined wedding dress. It did hurt you.

But there was hope because he cared. You nearly hated yourself how desperate you were from the affection of someone who you could never have.

“It’s fine,” You said, after a few moments of heavy silence as you fought the storm inside of you. “It’s fine for now. We will make it work and repair it together. It’s, ah, fine.”

He looked relieved as you looked up from your hands.

“I also want to apologise,” You continued. The words in your mouth felt relieving to spit out like bitter medicine. “I thought about this. I was really cross at you. Not entirely sure how much nicer I could have been considering the moment. But I don’t strive to talk to others like that, especially not my fiance. I just felt hurt and alone.”

He turned his head like the Heron when hunting little fish in the water.

“You have every right to be angry, dear,” König stated

“I...” You tried before stopping and starting anew. “That does not mean I am proud or okay with my words. Especially after Ghost explained to me that you probably overworked yourself on my behalf. I am not sure how to feel about that yet but it does not make me feel good. I don’t want you to suffer because of me. I feel so guilty. And like a burden.”

König stared at you.

“Dear,” He said softly. “I know you want to be good and kind. I know you are. But please give me your bad as well.”

You blinked at him.

“What?”

He raised his arms like a man at a loss of word, stumbling around the room until he turned back to you.

“Guess how I feel failing you over and over again when your reaction to me is kindness and surrender? I feel bad. The worst! Don’t do this to me. Be a burden. Be angry. Be the biggest inconvenient person wherever you go. Please be angry and demand better of me! I want all of you. Not just the nice parts.”

Your head was spinning. Was he…? Did he really…?

“I am not good enough!” König continued his tirade with a voice rising louder and louder like a tea kettle that had reached its boiling point. “I am who puts you in danger over and over again. I hardly protect you from the dangers of the world. I am a danger of the world. I am making a poor husband for you. But the reality is, I am not good enough to step away because I am selfish. So, how dare you make yourself feel any less than you are.”

His eyes gleamed with a madness you had never seen before in him as he lowered his voice with the last of his words. It was dangerous. A sign of warning that told you to step back and run as far away as you could like a good girl should.

But you were just invited to leave that behind you.

“I don't want you to leave either!” You hit back, squaring up to the challenge. “I just don’t want to feel like I am a constant problem. I am just a human! A peasant! And a bad one at that since I will likely starve next winter without help! I know nothing of how to be a queen! I nearly drown all the time! How can you not understand that I don’t feel like I am allowed to be a problem when my reality is that no one cares if I live or die!”

“Because you are wrong! I care.” König's eyes gleamed as he hissed his answer.

“Why?” You spit back, the fire in you burning and ready to torch any bridge behind without thinking.

“Because I love you.”

Königs words hung in the air, irretrievable and powerful enough to break whatever you two had.

You looked at him. His face was frozen in fear and panic. Like he had admitted to a crime he’d sworn to keep a secret.

He loved you. The thought raced through your mind, unsure where to be put and what to do with it now.

“I am sorry,” König said. “I understand. I will make sure you are okay as promised anyway and-”

“Please…” you managed to your own surprise.

“Please?” König asked with his eyes shining down at you.

You took a deep breath and all the courage in you that was left, “Please lean down so I can kiss you.”

König looked at you, too stunned maybe or unsure how to touch you without breaking this human body of yours, before finally kneeling down in one, not so smooth, motion. You stumbled forward, colliding into his chest and tangling in his arms before lifting your head and kissing him.

It was all teeth and desperation. König met your lips with a hunger matching yours, and an anger challenging your long hidden fury. He moaned and you wanted every bit of air you could get from him as you roamed his back and shoulders and arms and chest and neck, and at a certain point you got lost in him. You bit his lips and tasted blood. He snarled and pushed you back, catching your head before you could fall and hurt yourself. You stumbled and fell back anyway, taking him with you. The crash rumbled loudly as König caught himself on his arms, hovering above you before continuing where you had left off. His mouth was addicting, and willingly you answered his salty lips and tongue. A bit of revealed skin at his neck here, a tug at your shirt there. You scooted up feeling hot and needing that damn old shirt off your body because you were burning up with it. Instead of getting it off quickly you got yourself tangled in the large sleeves, nearly ready to just tear it off your body as you felt Königs hands pulling at the fabric and freeing you. The kiss of the cooling air on your skin made you still. For a moment you felt shy, making you cross your arms in instinct before your chest.

König looked at you from a position that was something between kneeling, sitting and lying before you, also half out of his clothes with his Rubacha hanging around his neck and head.

“Not sure why I feel like this is new, now.” You admitted. “You have seen me naked before.”

“That was a different nakedness,” König offered and finished getting the shirt off. “This is new.”

You nodded, understanding entirely what he meant, and continued to feel vulnerable. What were you supposed to do? You had no idea what you wanted now except being close to König.

“We don’t have to continue, my love.” Your fiance said.

You nodded again, reassured yet still utterly lost on what to do.

König scooted closer and slowly raised his hands, “Can I touch you? I just want to hold you.”

Instead of bothering with words or another creative and variety serving nod, you leaned into him. Königs warm hands caught you, pressed you closer to him and embraced you.

You hummed.

“Is this good?”

“Yeah, I am sorry-”

“No,” König shut down instantly. “No more ‘sorry’ for you tonight. Or ever. I really meant that.”

You knitted your eyebrows together in confusion.

“But what if I do something bad?” You countered as you enjoyed feeling close to König. “Shouldn’t I say sorry at some point?”

“To me? Always.” König grinned teasingly before growing serious. “The rest of the world, however, has a lot of apologising to do before you ever get back into a situation to be sorry for something, dear.”

“You just want me to be as bad as you are,” You teased back half-heartedly.

“Naturally.”

You stayed silent, not sure what to say or do except enjoying being safe and loved in Königs arms as you mindlessly explored his back and chest with your fingers, drawing little circles and charms into his wonderful skin.

“We should talk about the sleeping situation tonight.” You finally spoke, breaking the silent spell over you.

“Yeah.” König agreed. “I have an idea.”

Cultural Context Notes:

The theme of the unkillable giants as beings connected to nature can be found in the Edda, but it’s not the only place this theme is explored. It’s just the most clear one I thought of, and can be put into words as a place to maybe start researching if your are interested in that. The idea of hitting König as something akin to a giant to wake him up, comes from the tale of Thor and Skrímnir.

Generally, the idea of paralleling gods/godlike beings, humans and giants, escalated into a bit of a philosophical excursion at the kitchen table when I mentioned how the story is unfolding, leading to the question what exactly the difference between godlings, giants and humans is and if there even is one. In plenty of pre-Christian European tales, there aren’t boundaries between godlike beings and humans. If a human stays with a godlike being, they kind of tag along and don’t die like they would have had when staying with their fellow humans. Sometimes there is an explanation for it (godly ancestry, nectar or Idun’s apples, magical blessings), sometimes there isn’t (Thialfi and Röskva as Thor’s entourage, general trope of humans in service of or in marriage with a non-human being). 

Warming stones or using ceramics is an old practice when hot water bottles weren’t available.

There are several legends and myths associating the water or waters generally with snakes. Naturally, there is the saga of the Midgard snake, encompassing the world in Norse mythology. The theme of a great water snake or mermaid-like half-fish, half-human body encompassing the world also comes up in Greek mythology in the figure of Oceanos as the great river god and father of river gods. Since we don’t have plenty of sources about old Slavic beliefs, I am taking the liberty and filling some gaps here from geographically closer regions where we do have more sources on mythology.

Acorn is edible and can be made into a fine flour from which it is possible to bake bread. However, do not just make flour from acorns. It’s a huge process to disinfect and debitter acorns before grinding them into flour. There is a reason why nowadays most cultures opt for utilising cultivated crops like grains and legumes instead of using low yield giving nuts and seeds. (Also, we really need those acorns as food for wild animals and for reforestation!) Cultivation of plants is a huge game changer for human life quality and communal living. It’s really cool. But it does require more cooperative systems of labour since harvesting and processing plants like grain requires sharing of work, space to do it, and natural weather & ground conditions to grow. Plus the grain in itself needs to be cultivated first. And these amazing food sources can be exploited by having control over places in which one can grow certain high yielding crops which can trigger war and oppression. Most noticeably in the Central and Eastern European region, which is obviously what I write about a lot, this is the case with Ukraine. This now independent country has good climate and ground conditions, yielding great harvests of wheat grain and sunflower, leading to the region being dubbed the Granary of Europe. Ukraine was fought over not just today but also occupied in historical moments like WW2 by the Nazis or under the Russian Empire precisely to have access to these high yielding conditions. So, food and where food comes from, is an important angle to understand plenty of conflicts, imperial oppression and cultures. I invite you to read more about the history of grain, why Ukraine has a flag literally depicting a grain filed under the blue sky or maybe learning how to make bread yourself. To return to my point:  Bride lives in an area which has seasons. However, the climate is cooler with lots of swamps and waters around. The forest takes most of the shore space in her immediate vicinity. She has a garden in which she (tries to) grow buckwheat, a very climate-resistant pseudo grain. And technically she owns fields, but has no way to work them on her own due to the lack of manpower, possible lack of seeds, as well as timing issues for the sowing. But common grains like wheat require a warm and steady dry climate which is not the case here. Other grains like rye are historically common in Central and Eastern Europe, however one needs to plant them first and after the harvest it still requires labour to dry and deshell the rye first, a luxury that Bride does not have because she has been on her own for most of the year. So, to finish this long excursion on grains and flours - she uses acorn flour for bread because she was isolated and on her own. Also, agriculture is really cool and maybe you will think about the amount of labour, logistics, politics and historical development when biting into something flour based.

Vodyanitza is just the female version of Vodynoy

Rubacha is the name of the traditional linen shirt worn by historically both men and women but nowadays mostly associated with male clothing traditions. This shirt is often loosely fitted and bound at the hip with a belt. Having embroidery, especially red embroidery on a Rubacha is very common as red natural dye was widely available in the region. The embroidery and introduction of other colours is dependent on the exact time and place a Rubacha comes from. Even nowadays the Rubacha is part of plenty of Eastern European traditional dresses.

Quick reminder: a Tschort is a type of evil spirit.

Would you like to be tagged as well? send me a message.

@thesinsoflust @kdkj122920 @die-prophetin @lillianastuff @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore @fatedeniedhope @queensidillasworld @agspgrwasb @silelda @unlikepoltergeist @matcha-flavored-cake @blvkwondaland @diamondnightdreamer @brooklyn-1918 @thorns-x @icepancakes @sizzlingsaladpeach @peachymonsters @blackrockshooter780 @cl3rks @king-thunderstorm @hosshihusshi @id0nthaveidea @perilous-pasta @lothiriel9 @berryjuicyy @asmohunny @amatis-gray @blubumblebee @ofmenanduhhhwellmen @c00kied0ugh44 @quesowakanda @moonlitmoonpie @ktmjoslin @globalmilk03 @interactive-brain @dark-rosy-amaranthine @quietlyignoringyou @hey-assbutt35

#grimmwriting #he who comes from under the water #hwcfutw #könig #könig x reader #könig cod #könig mw2 #könig call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty #call of duty 3 #call of duty modern warfare 3 #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #leshy #monster!au #monster!König #vodyanoy #vodyanoy!König

[thehistoriangirl]

The Delirium of Still-Lifes [One]

Putting a unrelated gif of the blorbo because I haven't done the headers yet :D and because looook at hiiiim sirrrrr i wanna be ur hexcore--

Happy Halloween! <333

Vampire!Viktor x Fem!Artist! Reader----1.2K---SFW

> MASTERLIST -> Next

Synopsis:

Debts are paid with blood.

After a visit from death and ending all alone, you had no other option than to become like your late guardians—seeking refuge in the shady business where rewards are as high as the risks.

Your latest mission: steal and forge an expensive painting from a secretive private collector to complete the series of your current boss, and thus finally pay off the burden you still carry.

Debts are passed on by blood.

When infiltrating ends up being harder than planned, you have no choice but to apply as a working staff. Though working inside isn’t as easy as it seems, with all the strange noises echoing at night, and the random droplets of crimson staining the floors, the endless hallways with their flickering lights.

There are eyes always watching, whispers carrying secrets—and of course, the hidden painting that would define your life forevermore.

Maybe freedom can be given without the need of blood.

General Tags (per usual, spoiler-y): Gothic AU | Vampire AU | Haunted House | Enemies to Lovers (?) Kinda | Slow Burn | Strangers to Lovers | Dark Magic | Curse | Forced Proximity | Mentions of a firearm (revolver) | Spooky/Slightly Disturbing Imagery |

Ruins, fragments of a gilded past that had died with the house’s owner.

The building itself seemed to mourn; the curtains in the gigantic windows dirtying, sending grey hues against the dusty floor that clung to your footsteps, in the need of company after so many years of oblivion.

Yet there were strange signs of life blooming in the corners of the rooms; there where the furniture wasn’t covered in ghostly bedsheets, with no presence hidden behind them, waiting to haunt you.

Your boss was right—someone was renovating this house, which meant you had to find the forgotten painting, and soon.

The house creaked, breathed alongside you the further you went, the flame of your oil lamp flickering with each step, morphing you into a monster just like the ones the stories said haunted here at night.

From the second floor, you heard the slam of a door. The little hairs on the back of your neck rose with a blow of chilling wind, almost whispering to you to run away.

But you couldn't—there was no escape in that rusty gate you crossed, almost devoured by wildflowers. There was no escape out of the life blood that had tied to you, out of the debts death hadn't erased.

Closing your eyes, tucked in a corner with your back against the wall, you remembered the plans of construction for the house. The third floor was the office and library, your last option. In the second, all the bedrooms were divided in the East Wing, for the members of the late Ulhir family; and in the West, for all their guests. Unlikely.

The first floor, however, was meant to be the gallery, the nursery, and the music room.

A burned and draped carpet was laid over the spiral staircase that submerged in the darkness. However, you only need to go so far. An empty music room, a desolated nursery, all but bare of paintings, though the outline of their places hung in the wall prevailed.

Then, it was the shadow.

A dash of black against the discolored grey of the ruins, of something almost alive—certainly, if it moved that fast. From under the stairs like all monsters crawled under beds in those children’s stories, to the ballroom with the broken chandelier at the right.

Your palms were sweaty while taking ahold of the revolver, the metal becoming sticky and hot too quickly.

Monster or not, you doubted something could survive a dozen bullet wounds. If only you could finish with the monsters in your life so easily.

How the thing had been under the staircase? Nothing was supposed to be under it, only the wall where there was barely a corner to hide, or so the house plans said.

Aiming to the dark, the sensation of being accompanied by something had vanished, leaving only a cold void that could taken as relief when you saw the secret door.

Contrary to the other wings in the house, this gallery’s entry was tucked beneath the staircase, similar to the structure of a wooden decorative wall a simple ebony door, almost drowned in the shadows of midnight, with the clock suspended in the south wall of the foyer chiming so hard it made you tremble.

But with the cacophony, you could open the creaky door without a problem, still thinking that someone may be watching you.

The once spotless, dark ebony floor was covered in the ghostly veil of dust, welcoming your presence with avidness, marking each step you took inside as if the gallery had missed company, with all the unfinished portraits looking at you with the impassive gaze of eternity.

You almost dropped the slippery gun, tucking it behind the belt cinching your dark pants together.

All dozens of paintings, gold-framed and slightly crooked hung on the walls, none of them the ones you were looking for. These merged with the chaos of the desk, stains of color, and unfinished lines like paths leading nowhere.

Except for the one ahead of you; free of furniture, with the floor opening a path to show a bare wall where a lonely easel stood in front of a mirror, the canvas barely visible beneath the web of black scratches covering what once was a sketch.

Not only a sketch but a self-portrait, if the mirror was clue enough.

Opaqued by dust, you could barely see your reflection in it, passing your gloved hand over the surface to let you see the shameful image of what you have become. A liar, just like your parents. A thief. Would your parents be proud of you?

Probably. And such realization hurt so much more.

“I wasn’t aware I’d had guests for dinner.” A voice said, its strange cadence echoing in the still room. “And such a familiar one, at that.”

Your scream mixed with the thud of the canvas falling to the ground, turning to see the tall silhouette of a man leaning against a column, barely some feet away from you, two golden beacons as eyes piercing through the dark to keep you frozen in fear.

“W-wh-who are you?!” you said, trembling fingers trying to pull out the lent revolver, unsuccessfully. Part of you tugged at the sudden dèjá-vu, the cloaked man. Death.

It was Mr. Ulhir, of course. The owner of the manor and the one you were meant to steal from. The one that had died… years ago.

I’m talking with a ghost.

“I believe you shouldn’t be the one asking questions, should you? What are you doing in my house?”

“This can’t be your house—this… this place had been abandoned for decades!” You stopped, thoughts pouring into your brain. “Oh, I get what this is. You took this place for yourself and now you feel the owner…” you spat, walking toward him, just to discover that said beacons were too, too high up.

I’m talking with a ghost.

Your grasp on the revolver tightened, his eyes flickering down to where you kept it hidden in your back.

The man chuckled. “Well, this is getting interesting. What are you hiding there?”

Feeling bold at his taunt, you aimed your revolver toward him, only to feel cold, gloved fingers wrapped around your wrist as soon as you raised your arm. His presence leaning against yours, the soft cotton of his shirt brushing your cheek.

He was cold, yet solid.

He was no ghost.

You tried to yank away, but his grasp was like iron. Huffing at the effort, your eyes got drawn to the mirror, hoping the moonlight could at least decipher the outline of this sudden presence.

Alas, all that you could over its broken surface were a dozen of reflections of you, completely alone in the room.

“Truly unfortunate,” the man said, his free hand guiding your gaze away from the mirror and into his face, long fingers pressing the back of your neck as he tilted you toward him. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

See what? There was nothing there—

He was no ghost. He was…

The man sighed. “Nothing personal, little fairy,” he said, pressing the sides of your neck with his fingers, your pulse quickening at the cold, ruthless movement. Your gaze swam toward the ceiling, parched glass ceiling to block the moonlight, and yet you saw him, truly, saw him.

"Ah—!" you tried to scream, but only a gurgle rippled out your mouth, your limbs becoming heavy, heartbeat exhausted, slow.

“Goodnight,” you heard his voice where there was nothing anywhere else,  your gaze becoming black, brain shutting down until you were one with the night—all darkness, all void.

#viktor arcane x reader #arcane viktor x reader #viktor x reader #viktor arcane x you #arcane viktor x you #viktor fanfic #arcane viktor fanfic #viktor arcane fanfic #arcane x female reader #viktor arcane x f! reader

[hd-fan-fair]

H/D Career Fair 2023 Anon Masterlist

Thank you for your continued enthusiasm and support for our Fair! There’s still a few more days until this year’s Fair end!

Please show all our beloved artists and authors some love by commenting or leaving kudos to their entries.

You can also check out the official Guessing Poll at this form! There’s even a list of all participants included for you to peruse and assist with your detective work! Top three winners will bring much bragging rights and points to your Career Fair Cup Teams. Non-team members can also play for themselves!

We will be posting the anon reveals after Sunday and we will also be closing and announcing the winners of the Guessing Poll and Career Fair Cup soon after!

​Art "H. J. Potter", (2019) oil on canvas, Draco Malfoy (Digital Comic, General) Close Observation (Digital Art, General) Holes (Digital Art, Explicit) Under the Dementor's Watch (Digital Art, General) One Foot In The Grave (Digital Art, Teen) In Life & Death (Digital Art, General) Harry Potter Gets a Job (Traditional Art/Comic, Mature) Art and Fic The Thread that Binds Us (22k, Teen)

Fic Wherever You Go, There You Are (12k, Explicit) Connecting Lines, Connecting Crimes (15k, Mature) Amourous As This Lovely Green (15k, Explicit) Terminal Lucidity (3k, General) Full Fathom Five (18k, Explicit) All the Good Things and the Bad Things that May Be (11k, Explicit) If the Bees Know (20k, Teen) WanderFull Fit (7k, Explicit) Death is Not Fit to House a Love (21k, Explicit) Let's Get Physical (10k, Explicit) Another Side (2k, Teen) A Year In The Life (19k, Mature) Playing Quiddick (12k, Explicit) Within You Without You (40k, Explicit) Blood Tainted Fingertips (7k, Mature) A Competitive Cooperation (20k, Teen) My Own Personal Poltergeist (11k, Explicit) Scanning the Skies (3k, Teen) Once More To Arcady (32k, Explicit) The Sinful Serpent (11k, Teen) Californian Calcite (31k, Mature) Broom Service (7k, Explicit) Half Sick of Shadows (40k, Explicit) Just Take Me Home (5k, Teen) Ten Visits to Fire and Flight: The World of Dragons (17k, Explicit) means to a triumph (5k, Teen) The Plot (15k, Teen) Fawning Over You (39k, Explicit) To have a Home (128k, Explicit) Can’t Pretend (3k, General) port in a storm (8k, Mature) Playing for Keeps (7k, General) The Scent of Soft Rains (20k, Explicit) Launch me to Ultralife (39k, Teen)

Podfic Call Me, Won't You? (4 hours, Teen) in chronological order

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[sunlightmurdock]

The Taste of the Divine | Rhett Abbott (18+)

There’s something wrong with the Abbott land. Something bad about it, it’s clear as day. Angered and maybe on the wrong side of tipsy, Rhett stumbles across something — someone — he shouldn’t have out on the West pasture.

Warnings: vampire reader, race inclusive so ignore the header, written third person with she/her pronouns. Blood, lots of blood, biting, drinking, consuming — yaknow— vampire stuff. Oral (f receiving) and unprotected pinv. Kind of dubcon in that rhett is scared and horny but still down for what’s happening, wc 5.4k

…

“There’s a weird lady out on the West pasture!”

Cecelia’s nerves are already shot to pieces, what with her two terraway boys and all the trouble they’ve managed to cause both recently and over the almost three decade span of their lives. The crash of the door swinging open and banging into her wallpaper, followed by the thundering clap of Amy’s mud-caked boots along her hardwood floors, and then the true snarl of the thunder that rages on outside.

She drops the plate into the sink, suds and soapy water splashing onto the countertops and tile. Curling her hands around the granite, she inhales slowly and closes her eyes.

Royal jolts awake from his nap in his recliner, his rheumatic hands flinching as they clench around the now warm bottle of his beer. Rhett glances up from the shotty news cast on the television as she wizzes past him towards the kitchen.

She’s met with a dubious gaze from her father at the kitchen table and an eye roll that she isn’t supposed to have caught from her grandmother.

“There was!” Amy insists, her voice shrill and panicked as she stomps her boot into the floor and splatters her own muddy footprint. “She was staring right at me! — And she was dressed weird!”

Royal shakes his head and rubs at the bridge of his nose. He exhales all of his irritations out into the room and narrows his eyes at his youngest son, “Don’t worry, princess. Rhett’ll go check it out.”

Rhett scoffs and sinks back further into the arm chair, shaking his head, “No he won’t. Maybe her dad’ll do it.”

“You’ll do it.” Royal stares right ahead at Rhett, serious and stone-faced. “You’re the one who showed her that damn scary movie.”

The young cowboy growls in frustration as his truck plows through the storm, mud plastering the wheels and the paint job. Fucking Amy and her wacky fucking imagination.

He checks damn near the whole west pasture. It’s dark out, pouring with rain. If there was a woman out here, she’d probably be making her way to the house by now anyway.

It’s after he has already given up on looking and decided to come back that he spots it. The herd separated from one of the cows. He drives a little closer for a better look. It’s on its side — dead. He sighs, knowing that Royal will just be pissed about this too. He turns his head and catches movement in his peripheral. Looking back towards the cow, he sees it. The figure hunched over the animal.

Rhett squints, trying to look through the glaring white of his headlights. There’s a figure amongst the herd, he can’t quite see what it is. Hunched over one of the cattle like a damn animal, but it’s not shaped right to be a wolf. His better judgement tells him to stay in the truck.

Chilled fingers reaching out across the bench beside him, they curl around the butt of the shotgun. Brows furrowing, his eyes never once leave the contorted figure. Its shadow through the light tells Rhett that it’s moving, but it’s not right. It isn’t moving… right. Not like any kind of predator he has ever seen.

Being out here in the wide open, with the beams glaring right at this fucking thing, and it isn’t bothered in the slightest. Usually the wolves would be spooked by the lights or the sound of the engine. Not whatever is in front of him now.

Perry used to tell Rhett stories about this kind of thing. Figures lurking out in the pasture, things that weren’t human and wanted to hurt him. Older now, not the same angry little boy staring at the shadows on his wall with his covers pulled up over his face, it’s dismaying to realize that the same stomach-sick, cold kind of feeling washes over him.

Instinct. Royal says that Rhett didn’t inherit a damn ounce of it. But he did. He knows how to keep himself alive. Even after he hits the ground after getting tossed off a bull and it feels like he can physically feel his brain swelling and heart struggling to keep him going, instinct has always pushed him onto his feet and out of that heaving creature’s way. It tells him now to just shift the gears and go back the way he had come. Something tells him that it won’t follow.

Not even sure that he’s still breathing, he sits forwards and tries to make out what it is. It’s not right to be scared of the dark at his age. Of a fucking monster that Amy thinks she saw. Not a monster — a woman. He squints again, tilting his head just slightly. It can’t be a woman. Tearing apart that poor thing in front of it like it’s a sheet of paper. No human could rip through muscle and bone and tendon like that.

Too small to be a bear, not shaped right to be a young one either. It’s not a fucking wolf. He has no idea what it is. But he’ll be damned if he lets it kill off half the herd just for sport. If he could see better, maybe if it was a clearer night or if the rain wasn’t soaking the windshield, he’d be able to see the methodical way that the creature has picked apart its prey. Not sport. Survival.

Rhett’s calloused hand curls around the shotgun, his other grabbing the latch on the door handle. Perry was always more scared of his own damn stories than Rhett ever was.

The sound of the rain amplifies as he swings open the truck door, letting his right leg follow it. His boot touches down into the soaked mud, sliding just slightly before he’s even out. Adjusting the cap on his head, the door swings shut behind him and he tightens his grip on the door stock wrist, gripping the fore end of the gun with his other hand. He lifts the stock up to his cheek and takes a step forwards.

Even out here, Rhett can’t quite make out what he’s looking at. Doubled over and clawing at the flesh of the animal in front of it, he can’t even tell where the cow ends and the creature begins. Jagged-movements, snarling like a wolf, strength like a bear.

“Hey!” It’s a big of a sound as his tightened lungs will let him make. Not meek, it’s deep and graveled. It has scared off bigger animals before. It’s a mistake.

The snarling stops, it doesn’t get any less loud. Rain beating into the ground around him, soaking his clothes and chilling his skin. His heartbeat thudding in his ears is probably the loudest thing for miles.

Like an abstract painting, what is in front of him is just one of those things that doesn’t make any sense until you catch glimpse of that one part that tells you exactly what you’re looking at. Slender fingers braced on either side of the torn open chest cavity, resting still.

The sky and horizon black around it, solely illuminated by the beams of Rhett’s headlights, the creature finally looks up, grinning.

Mouth soaked, chin dripping with blood. Eyes red too, a deeper, more furious colour than the blood that coats her skin. A woman. No longer contorted strangely forwards, her head tilts as she stares right at his face. He’s right — his heartbeat is the loudest thing for miles.

She’s on her knees, pressed into the mud, devouring an animal twice her size. There’s something in her eyes that Rhett doesn’t recognise. He blinks slowly, fingers curling tighter around the shotgun. Rhett has never been looked at by anything the way that she — this thing — is looking at him now.

“What the…” His boots slip in the soaked mud, it cakes the soles and sides, threatening to swallow his footing in the marshy ground if he doesn’t move more cautiously.

She’s barely human looking, there’s something sinister in the reds of her eyes that makes Rhett’s stomach flip. His body carries him backwards quickly enough that his feet start to slip in the mud and the barrel of the gun falters away from the red, splattered target she has made for herself on her chest.

Her lips quirk further at the sides, her grin stretching as he stumbles back from her. Her pointed tongue, a deep crimson as it lifts forwards and cleans the blood from her teeth. She presses her weight forwards onto her palms like she’s going to stand.

Blue eyes widening, his heartbeat falters and amusement covers her chilling features as he drops the gun all together. The safety wasn’t even off. His hands fumble from the door, boots slipping in the mud, rain pouring down his back. With a panting breath, he finishes his sentence. “Fuck?”

Her stomach tightens, reminding her of why she was out here feasting on damn cattle in the first place. She’s so. Fucking. Thirsty. Something in her eyes changes. Rhett recognises the exact moment that he stops being entertainment and instead, becomes prey. It’s not something that he has ever been before, and yet, his body knows exactly what to do. Instinct. Something primal, maybe.

She reaches up and wipes her chin on her forearm, finished with the dead animal in front of her. Primal seems like the right word.

He glances up to the sky, pitch black and still pouring with rain like the heavens have opened up. That seems right too. It’s the first time that his eyes leave her since she has looked up, and he doesn’t dare look back. He tears open the door to the truck and hastens inside, locking the doors and fumbling for the key in the ignition.

He catches hold of the cold metal and looks ahead. She’s standing now. Looking right at him. It’s a little too bright to see with the headlights on, but there’s something disarming about the way she’s looking at him. Blood gone from her chin but still covering her chest, her arms, her hands. It’s the first time that Rhett notices what she’s wearing.

A plain white nightgown, cotton, soaked through and clinging, almost sheer to her body. It comes down to her mid-shins, torn around there. Satin woven through the neckline of it. It’s old — he can’t place it to a certain time period, but it isn’t from this one. Blood and rain mix together to saturate the material, evidence of what she has done lingering on its threads even as the rain washes her skin clean.

She’s barefoot. She must be freezing.

A sick feeling fills him as he realizes that she has drawn closer. That he can see that she is barefoot because she has stepped around the carcass and is walking towards him. He hadn’t even noticed.

His fingers curl tighter around the key but he doesn’t turn it. He just watches. The softened, almost timid look on her face as she stalks towards the truck, bathed in the white glow of the headlights. Still stained in red.

As she reaches the hood, she leans forwards and rests her palms on it. Rhett glances down, remembering the way her slender fingers had been braced on either side of the cow, nails sunk into its flesh. He swallows, blinking hard and forcing his fingers to move. The engine splutters.

Looking back up, his eyes study her face. She’s looking right at him, drenched. Scared. Out here all on her own. He doesn’t try the key again. It occurs briefly to him that something is wrong — that the sick, dreadful feeling had flooded away the second he met her now dark, but not red, gaze.

“Rhett.” She says his name like a prayer. A baited sigh, pleasant and desperate all at once. He blinks at her waiting at the hood of his truck. She tilts her head as he swallows, watching his adam’s apple rise and fall in his throat, listening to the blood gush through his veins. It was the name that the little girl had cried out earlier. She knows that it’s his name.

She mimics his swallow and reminds herself to blink. It freaks them out when she forgets to do that. He’s calmer already, but he’s afraid of her. Her lips almost quirk. He’s smart, he knows better. And yet — as she passes around to the passenger side, he makes no effort to try the key again.

Rhett slides further along the truck bench, pressing his back to the driver’s side door as she watches him through the passenger side window. She curls her fingers around the door handle and it complies with a quiet, effortless snap.

She looks up quickly as his breathing hitches. She shouldn’t be able to hear it from that side of the door, but she does. She shouldn’t have been able to snap the lock like this, but she did.

The door clicks open with no resistance, and Rhett finally gets a good look at her face. His brows furrow slightly as he looks her over, those sweet little features and those big, trusting eyes. He can’t remember why he locked the door in the first place.

“Rhett?” She moves fluidly now. As her gaze breaks from his to watch herself kneel on the truck bed, Rhett remembers. He catches sight of the almost washed away blood on her forearms. He looks quickly back towards the torn apart cow a couple feet from the truck. He remembered her jagged, twitching, animalistic movements. The truck door closes behind her. On her knees, she slides delicately across the bench and rests her hand against his.

She’s soaked, but her hands are warm. She curls her fingers around his palm, lifting it from the leather. His attention turns back towards her, arms tense, breathing shallow. Her lips quirk softly, almost sweetly, as she brings his bruised knuckles to her crimson-tinged lips and kisses softly.

Bringing it back down slowly, she rests his hand in her lap, against the soaked material of that strange nightgown. Next, she lifts her hand and strokes it along the length of his neck, smoothing his hair back away from his jugular. “You don’t have to be afraid.” She tells him calmly.

With every fiber of his being, he believes her. He believes that he doesn’t have to be afraid, but he is anyway. He’s afraid of what he saw, and what she is — plenty of things all at once.

Leaning closer, his scent is intoxicating, her mouth waters as her nose brushes against the stubble on his jaw. Rhett slams his eyes shut, suddenly wishing that he was a kid again, with covers to pull up to his chin, and his parents to tell him that he was going to be alright.

Her throat squeezes, desperate. She presses her lips tenderly to his skin, feeling his pulse under her. Pulling back, she hooks a finger under his jaw and turns his head towards her.

With his eyes on her again, he’s unafraid. Handsome. Pretty, blue eyes with long lashes, sun-soaked skin but in the kind of way that demonstrates hard work. A few centuries ago, she would’ve adored him. Now, it’s enough to just soothe his fears. She sits forwards and presses her lips softly to his cheek, pulling back and doing the same to the other one.

He doesn’t flinch. She can feel how badly she wants her touch, even with his trembling hands still rigid on his thighs. She takes his hand again, this time placing it over her breast through the sheer material.

Rhett’s brows furrow, he searches her face for answers and finds none. She leans into him again, this time kissing his lips. His hand remains stationary, unmoving, frozen. His lips move just the tiniest amount, chasing her kiss.

He had been expecting her to taste like blood, but she doesn’t. She smells expensive and she doesn’t taste like anything at all.

Rhett watches as she pulls back long enough to curl her fingers into the hem of the nightdress, peeling it up her body and letting it fall into the footwell. Kneeling before him, completely bare, she leans in again and kisses him tenderly.

His hand flexes against her hip, curling around her skin, feeling the warmth under his palm. Unmistakably human. He kisses her, fingers pressing into her sides.

“It won’t hurt,” She promises him, smoothing her open palm along his clothed chest. Wordlessly, Rhett understands what she is asking of him. He knows what hunger looks like. She kisses him again, more desperately this time, her fingertips trailing the dampened stitching of his jeans along the inseam of his thigh. Pulling back, she nips softly at his earlobe, feeling him shiver. “You give yourself to me, and I’ll give myself to you.”

Again, he understands what he is agreeing to. Her eyes are more red than they were before, her thumb stroking along the column of his neck. She’s intoxicating up close.

“Rhett?” She prompts him, smoothing her hand over his crotch, featherlight as she kisses his lips again. One more taste and she might just lose her mind. The flush in his skin makes her throat dry. The smell of his hair, his skin, the day that he has had. She growls lowly as he presses forwards and kisses her hard, grabbing at the back of her neck.

Almost eighty years of rest — her thirst nips at her nerves, fingers flexing against his shoulder blades as he covers her body with his, a silent reminder that he is still the one at her mercy here.

Her tongue trails the length of his jugular, as far as it spans along his throat. She kisses him feverishly as his rough, calloused hands explore her smooth skin. Not a scratch on her. Like she was just dropped out here, in the middle of nowhere.

It’s been a while since she has had sex, even longer since she has had sex with a human. She had almost forgotten how eager they were. The beat of his heart against her bare chest is practically an aphrodisiac.

“I need something soon,” She murmurs into his neck, kissing it tenderly as she pushes his open button down back off of his shoulders. Rhett nods as he drops his head down to her chest, suckling at her warm skin. She pushes her fingers into his hair as he nips at her navel. “You aren’t scared, are you, cowboy?”

Rhett looks up at her from where he’s situated between her legs. Rugged, flushed with life, a spark of amusement in those wild blue eyes. It sparks her with envy as she sits up quickly. A little too quickly, something unhuman in the swiftness of it.

“No.” Rhett tells her. She catches hold of his jaw, nostrils flaring briefly. He should be. His hand smooths along her hip. “It’s okay. Go ‘head.”

She softens, not turning her head away from his throat. It’s not his fault, she supposes. She thinks of his family, hearing them pottering around their little home miles away — not thinking of him, out here, all alone with her. She thinks of her own family, long gone now, but not dissimilar to his.

“‘M gonna make it feel good, Rhett,” She says softly, honeyed cadence and soft lips as they gaze his throat. He closes his eyes and waits. Her index finger pressed to his throat, a discreet spot right below his jaw. The nail presses into his skin and drags, splitting the flesh. Blood spills from the cut immediately. Rhett gasps softly as she lurches forwards and presses her mouth to it.

She sucks the fresh blood from his neck, warm and sweet on her tongue — she should’ve known that a gruff looking cowboy like him would taste sweeter than honey.

He grunts as her palm cups his crotch through his jeans, using the meat of her palm to grind against his hardening cock. His eyes flutter closed as he tongue flicks over the small cut, still sucking at the crimson liquid.

Rhett curls a hand into her hair, holding at the base of her neck, keeping her against him. “S-Shit,” He pants out, grinding his hips up into her palm, leaning his head back in surrender. “Oh.”

Her free hand curls into his hair and tugs, exposing more of his throat to him, making him groan. His fingers smooth softly over the nape of her neck, she reminds herself to be gentle with him.

Licking away the remaining blood, she presses her thumb to the small cut to stop the bleeding. He kisses her slowly, slipping his tongue into her mouth. This time, he does taste copper, but he doesn’t mind it that much. She makes it worth tasting.

He glances down at her blood-soaked skin, the remnants left of what the rain wasn’t fast enough to wash away. He knows that he should be afraid of what’s coming, but he isn’t.

She reminds herself to move slowly and to breathe, to blink, as she takes the cap from his head and discards it, moving into his lap. Bracketing his hips with her thighs, she curls her fingers into his white undershirt, lips quirking. It’s not the same smile as earlier, that gutwrenchingly terrifying grin, but it’s enough to remind him to be afraid.

Her nails press into the material, tearing it with ease. It splits at the middle and down the sides. She discards it with little care, pressing her bare chest against his, carding her fingers through his brown locks as he kisses her. Desperate for that taste again, his lips chase hers. She gives it to him graciously, caressing his tongue with hers. Desperate for more than that, quite clearly.

He’s rock hard against the denim of his jeans, breathing hard through his nose as his hands grope at her still-wet skin. They stop briefly, finding purchase on the curve of her ass, using his human strength to angle her hips and rock his hardened cock against her core.

He would have eaten her alive if he had come across her before she was turned, the sweet little thing she had been back then. Raking her nails along his chest, she reminds him swiftly of the now leveled playing field.

Rhett thinks that this is just like every other girl he has been with — she feels it in his movements. The experienced, cool way that he knows how to touch a woman. Curious — how the times had changed.

The last human she had been with hadn’t paid her nearly this much attention. Maybe this is just Rhett, maybe it’s a new fad. If he lives, perhaps she’ll ask him. She hums, somewhat contentedly, as his nimble fingers work circles on her clit. Still in his jeans and not even asking her to touch him. Truly, curious.

Her reaction isn’t what Rhett is looking for. The soft hums of approval, it’s not enough, it’s not worth the ice-cold fear in his chest. She inhales sharply, a purely symbolic measure, as he turns them both and presses her back into the leather of the truck bench.

He’s got a dirty mouth for a farm boy. Wet, open-mouthed feverish kisses on every inch of skin that he can get his lips on. His trail of filthy kisses continues, his thin nose grazing her sternum as his mouth works towards her navel. His hands are strong and capable, holding her in place by your ribs. As much as she will let him, anyway.

Experienced and well-knowledged about sex by this point in her immortality, she can detect his eagerness in his movements, his desperation to please in the way his tongue moves against her skin. It's sweet. He’s good at it. It’s been a long time since someone has burned for her in the way that this rugged cowboy clearly does.

His hands trail from her hips, up and along her warm sides. Calloused hands roam her flawless skin. Move up and back down again. He revels in the feeling of her under his fingertips, on the tip of his tongue.

She lets the cowboy have his fun. It’s fun for her too, to still be surprised, even after all of this time. It’s not the first time that a man has buried his head between her legs, but it’s the first time that she hasn’t been just waiting for it to be over. Rhett knows what he’s doing. His hands grope at her chest as he sucks at the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs.

She cums, shuddering against his tongue, curling her fingers into his hair, making him hiss. Rhett grins at her as she releases him. There is plenty that she knows about him, but he knows what he did just then.

He’s cocky for someone who’s life is no longer in their own hands, warming up to her too much. This happens frequently. A handsome young man with a troublesome smile, and the wolfish woman ready to tear them apart.

Rhett pops open the buckle on his jeans and pushes them down his thighs. Her eyes burn red, crimson lips quirked at the edges as she spreads her thighs for him. Her hand slides between her legs, two fingers dragging along her folds and gathering her juices on the digits.

“God.” Rhett breathes out, covering her body with his, fingers curling tight into her hips. She smiles into the crook of his neck, kissing the taut skin tenderly, feeling his pulse under her lips.

“He can’t help you now, Rhett.” Her breath fans over his ear as she speaks, making him shudder. Turning his head, she kisses his lips. Slow, longing. Like a goodbye.

He groans softly as he presses into her, the storm raging on outside of the truck, wind slamming cold rain into the windows. Her lips are warm against his throat as she hums softly. Her fingers card through the lengths of his hair and along the muscles in his back.

Rhett rocks his hips back and forth gently — she almost scoffs — he’s concerned about hurting her. “More.” She tells him, her nails digging into his skin. Rhett exhales slowly and drives his hips into her.

To her surprise, he lifts his head to look at her. Studying her face, her reactions to the way that he moves. She moans softly, as he tugs at her hips, angling himself against her g-spot. Rhett’s grip tightens, keeping her there as he fucks into her again and again. This predator, much stronger than he is, completely at his mercy, moaning against his throat.

“You want it?” Rhett mumbles against her skin, grunting softly as he snaps his hips into hers. She gasps back. “Bite me, darlin’ — s’alright.”

She moans, an excited sound as he tugs at the lengths of his brunet hair. “I want it.” She tells him, grazing her teeth, featherlight against the oh, so breakable skin.

The truck is filled with their sounds as she lets another delighted cry out, surprising herself. She pants, squeezing her thighs around his hips. He reminds her so much of someone that she knew. Someone that she misses so dearly. It’s why she didn’t snap his neck out there in the rain. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she pulls him closer. He looks down between their bodies, watching as his cock fills her over and over.

“I want you, Rhett.” She decides, something primal and possessive in her voice. Her fingertips trail the stubble on his jaw as she tips his chin to look at her. He nods blindly.

“You got me, darlin’.” He kisses her mouth, another filthy little exchange that’s all tongue, moaning and panting. She grins against him, pressing her heel into the small of his back. “Whatever you need.”

Fingers curling around the muscle of his jaw, her strength braces him there, steady. She leans in close and inhales slowly, savouring this delicious scent. Rhett gasps as her teeth sink into his throat, hips stuttering and slamming forwards. She moans at the feeling, blood trickling down her chin.

She grabs desperately at the back of his neck, not wanting to spill a drop, liquid gold on her tongue. Not only because it has been so long, but because it’s him. Rhett’s fingers curl tighter into her hair, struggling to keep up with the pace of his thrusts as his eyes squeeze shut, muscles tensing.

His body’s natural reaction tells him that he is in danger, but danger has never felt this good. It’s like he can feel every ounce of her desire for him, pulsing through his veins when she’s attached to him like this. His arms squeeze around her middle, desperate to have her closer.

She squeezes her legs tighter around his hips, crying out his name in her mind, moaning against his throat. Her fingers curl into those long locks at the nape of his neck, feeling his blood lubricate that excruciating burn in her throat. Her stomach tightens at the thought.

Devotion. Sustaining her like this, fucking her like this — he’s right, he is all hers. Those people back at the house have all already gone to bed without so much as checking if he was alive. He wouldn’t be, if not for her mercy, and his wonderful mouth.

Hers. She licks a stripe along throat, gathering the spilled blood and lifting her chin to kiss his mouth. He accepts her kiss hungrily, sucking at her tongue greedily. Entirely hers. As their lips part, she goes right back to his neck, biting again, feeling her stomach tighten as his hips stutter.

She bites him harder, feeling him tense up, knowing that she’s hurting him. His blood spills freely into her mouth, gushing onto her tongue and out of the corners of her lips.

“Fuck!” Rhett grunts, feeling her walls clenching around him. The honeyed taste of his blood, the sound of his gravelled voice in her ear, the life flowing through his veins. Her back arches up off of the truck bench as she hits the peak of her climax and spills right over it.

There are a few more, erratic, desirous thrusts before the cowboy is spent, spilling into her. Wrapping the monster tight in his arms, forehead braced against her bloodied collarbone.

“I’m sorry,” She smooths her fingers through his hair delicately, licking the last few drops of blood that spill from the teeth marks on his neck. “Rhett.”

He’s dizzy and warm, burning warm, in fact. He squeezes her softly in his arms, closing his eyes for just a moment. He should have expected to be tired, but not like this. It’s like an anaesthetic— he feels sleep come for him and there’s nothing that he can do to fight it.

It crosses his mind briefly that it could be worse than sleep, but he isn’t afraid for it.

“Damn it, Rhett!” The curtains are drawn open sharply, making him flinch. He growls and pulls the covers up over his sensitive eyes. “We’re going to be late for church!”

Cecilia storms out of the room and slams the door behind her. Rhett sits up in his bed and presses the base of his palm into his eye socket, rubbing tiredly. He glances towards the window and squints at the light cascading across the floor, not quite reaching his bed.

He falls back against the comfort of his mattress and exhales slowly. Fucking weird dream. He shifts, hoping to find sleep again, feeling a soft discomfort at the bottom of his throat. Brows furrowing, he swallows and flinches at the white hot pain that passes through his nerves. His brows scrunch as he sits sharply upright again.

He looks towards the window and brings a hand up to cup his throat. His gaze falls down to his boots by the door, caked in mud and bloodied.

…

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[scriberye]

      ➥  König/Ghost x Reader    |    2020    |    Ao3

⚠️🔞 Canon Typical Violence, Fluff, Polyamory, Sexual Content, Implied Character Death, Gender-Neutral Reader Dire situation prompt fills for Ghost x Reader x König. One is Ghost x König. NSFW fills are at the bottom and marked if you want to avoid them. a/n: prompts from here. header art by @ave661.

[ HIDE ] sender and receiver hide from a threat together

The prank may have gone too far.

Ghost is on the warpath, and you and König have squished yourselves together in a closet hoping to escape his wrath. You cling to one another, trying to remain quiet as you listen to Ghost stomping around the house shouting your names.

“When I get my hands on you two — !”

He sounds closer, but not enough for you to worry — until the noise stops. It goes quiet. König’s grip on you tightens, pulling you up against his chest. You both wait with bated breath, straining to hear any more sounds, hoping Ghost moved again. There’s nothing though. Only the sound of yours and König’s heavy breathing and racing hearts.

The closet doors fly open and Ghost’s shadow looms over, “Found you two.”

You both scream.

[ GETAWAY ] sender acts as a getaway driver for receiver

König kicks the door of the building open, marching out with a silver case tucked under one arm and his gun held aloft in the other. The area appears free of any enemy combatants. He remains cautious though, hugging the wall of the warehouse as he makes his way closer to the road.

“Ghost, I need a lift.”

The radio crackles to life. “Copy. I’m heading your way.”

He hunkers down, scanning around for any threats as he waits. It doesn't take long for Ghost to reach him. The unfamiliar-looking vehicle comes barreling down the road, tires screeching as it skids to a stop in front of him.

Ghost leans across the seats, shoving open the side door.

“Took you long enough.” König teases, squeezing himself into the cramped passenger seat, setting the case on the backseat. The front of the car is smeared in blood.

“Ran into some traffic.”

“Ran into or ran over?”

“Same shite. Put your seatbelt on.”

[ MEDIC ] sender arrives on receiver’s doorstep , badly bleeding

You’re bundled up on the couch with a snack and half-way through a binge watching spree when the front door opens with such force it slams into the wall. In that moment, your heart stops from surprise and the sight of König dragging Ghost inside.

“Guys!?” You untangle yourself from the blankets. König looks fine, tired, but Ghost looks rough. He’s breathing hard and clutching at his side, where blood is slowly seeping out between his fingers. “Oh my god, Simon!”

“He refuses to go to the hospital!” König’s voice cracks as he drags Ghost across the room and dumps him on the dining room table. Ghost groans. It always happens like this because Ghost doesn’t want people asking question — your guys end up doing triage on the kitchen table.

You grab the first aid kit and spread it out within König’s reach. He’s no medical professional, but he knows enough to patch Ghost up and keep his blood inside his body.

[ DRAG ] sender physically hauls receiver to safety

A bullet flies past and König hears the thud of a bullet hitting its mark, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Ghost fall. Another bullet whizzes past, grazing König’s helmet.

“Ghost!” König’s heart clenches and he sees red. He takes aim in the direction the offending bullet came from, and cleanly eliminates his target. He’s satisfied — for now.

“Leave me! Go!” Ghost gasps through gritted teeth, clutching at where the bullet struck him. König isn’t listening. He grabs the back of Ghost’s uniform and drags him back into the relative safety of cover.

“Get out, König! Now!”

“Not leaving you, bruder!” König pulls the first aid kit from his kit, ripping it open. It’s quick and dirty, but all he can do for Ghost now is to stop the bleeding. “Our sweet one would kill me. And maybe start their own war.”

Ghost laughs and immediately regrets it when a fresh wave of pain hits him. He flinches and sighs, “Fuckin’ hell, can’t have that.”

[ UNEXPECTED ] receiver comes home to find sender already inside

Today sucked. Worked sucked. Everything sucked. It’s been raining non-stop, and you forgot your lunch, so of course, when you went out to get lunch nearby, a car hit a puddle, drenching you from head to toe. Worst of all, your boyfriends have been away for weeks.

You struggle to get the key in the door, and honestly, you’re ready to cry cause fuck this door. Fuck this day. You get inside and toss your things aside.

“I’m home.” You sigh, knowing full well no one is going to answer you back.

“Welcome home, mein häschen!”

You look over and see König standing there, arms open as wide as the small space allowed and waiting. He wiggles his fingers, and smiles, and you scream. You jump right into his arms, throwing your arms around his neck. “My bear!”

König’s arms engulf you and you both laugh as he lifts you up off the floor, twirling you around. It’s a flurry of frantic, little kisses as you both try to talk, laugh, and kiss at the same time.

He sets you back on your feet, chasing you for one last peck.

“Where’s my kiss?” Ghost huffs, fresh out of the shower in just his sweatpants with a towel around his neck.

"Simon!” you coo and move into his arms, leaning up on your toes to kiss him. Unlike König, kissing him is much calmer, but more intense. He takes his time, leaving you breathless and weak in the knees.

He cups your cheek, and you lean into his calloused hand. “Welcome home, love.”

“And you, too. Welcome home, guys.”

[ STRANDED ] sender and receiver become stranded in the woods

“It’s dead.” Ghost says, slamming the bonnet of the car down with an irritated sigh. Just their luck that the car would decide to die not even half-way to the cabin. Now they’re stranded in the middle of the woods without a ride. “It’s getting dark. We’ll camp out in the car tonight, then hike the rest of the way to the cabin.”

With all the seats folded down and moved forward as much as the vehicle would allow, König and Ghost climb into the car and you squeeze yourself in-between them. It’s a tight fit, but you manage, throwing your leg over Ghost’s with a loud sigh.

“Everybody comfy?” Ghost grins when you finally seem to settle down.

“No.”

“Nein.”

“Great,” Ghost leans down and plants a kiss on your forehead, “Let’s get some sleep. We’ve got a long hike ahead of us at first light.”

“You know, since we’re camping outside —” You grin, hearing Ghost groan. He knows where this is going and he’s already against it. “We should tell scary stories!”

The car suddenly lurches and rocks from König trying to scoot impossibly closer in his excitement. “I’ve got one!”

[ EMBRACE ] sender kisses receiver thinking it’ll be the last time

Ghost pushes König’s veil up, and his heart breaks seeing the tears swelling up in the other man’s eyes. They both knew, in their line of work, that death was always a possibility and they had made their peace with that a long time ago. But this wasn’t how they wanted to go.

Ghost grips the back of König’s neck, pulling him down and into a kiss. He kisses him over, and over again, hoping each time will keep the tears from spilling over. Anything to distract König — and himself — from the inevitable fate that’s barreling toward them.

[ TOKEN ] sender gives receiver a lucky charm before they go into battle

It was a race against time to get the patches finished. König would deploy first, KorTac needed him somewhere, then SpecGru would ship Ghost off a few weeks after. The patches aren’t perfect, but it’s the best you’re going to get after binge watching crafting YouTube videos. At least it’s obvious what it is now — a skull, a bunny, and a bear all held together by a bright red heart.

“They’re not the best, but here.” You held the patches out to König and Ghost after dinner one night, “You don’t have to wear them or anything I just… thought it would be nice to have something personal, you know?”

You press your lips together to keep yourself from rambling. Nerves did that to you sometimes. König seemed over the moon with joy, examining his patch like a kid with a new toy. Ghost, on the other hand, gave nothing away.

“What about you?” Ghost says.

“Oh, I made one for me too!” You pull a matching patch from your pocket to show him, and that seems to please Ghost.

“Thanks, love.”

“Danke!”

In return for your gifts, you’re given loving kisses and the sight of two grown-men chatting excitedly amongst themselves about where they’re going to put the patch on their uniforms.

[ CORNERED ] sender menacingly backs receiver into a corner

There’s only so many ways to react when Ghost backs you into the corner of the shower, and that’s getting on your knees. He leans over you, a forearm braced against the tile, his other hand on the back of your head guiding you toward his cock.

You’re all too happy to oblige, swirling your tongue around the tip before swallowing his cock. His breath hitches, and his length twitches in your mouth.

“Damn, sweetheart.” Ghost says with a groan, his fingers tightening in your hair. “Love your mouth — so hot.”

You flush at the praise. Oh, how you want to make him happy. You hold on to his hips, flattening your tongue and dragging it along the underside of his cock as you bob your head. It doesn’t take long before Ghost takes control, thrusting himself into your mouth in short, rapid motions. He’s already wound up, and you know exactly what he likes.

Ghost’s muscles go rigid as he spills into your mouth with a soft ‘fuck’.

[ SHELTER ] sender and receiver must find shelter from a storm

A snowstorm wasn’t part of the plan when König dragged you and Ghost to a cabin in the middle of Austria. Or maybe it was. A scheme carefully planned by König to get you both naked. Not that you minded when you found yourself trapped between two heaving, sweat slick chests.

“One more, love.” Ghost says with a groan, his tongue chasing a bead of sweat down your throat. “Just one more, know you got it in you.”

“I can’t.” You slump back against König, mouth agape and chest heaving. The guys have been at this for what felt like hours, pulling orgasm after orgasm from you until you were all drenched in sweat.

“You can.”

König’s hand slides over your stomach and between your legs, coaxing you toward the crest of another strained orgasm. You gasp, reaching back to grab a fistful of his hair, tugging fruitlessly on it as if he’d take mercy on you. Ghost pushes you along, grinding his hips into you, pushing his cock deeper into you.

You bite your lip, back arching, and leg twitching as you came again for them.

[ HUSH ] sender clasps a hand over receiver’s mouth to silence them

There were drawbacks to sleeping with König. His size made quickies impossible, but he made you scream every time he pinned you down and stuffed full of his cock. You didn’t mind, and neither did he, but your neighbors certainly did.

Naturally, you both decided to have sex more often and König had fun in finding out how loud he could make you moan — and the various ways to keep you quiet.

You shudder beneath him, and König’s hand flew over your mouth, muffling your scream as you came hard. Your body shakes and twitches beneath him. You grab at the sheets and whine as König slows down, grinding his hips into yours as you ride it out.

“Mein häschen, so well-behaved.”

He pulls his hand away, pressing tender kisses on your back and shoulders. You slump forward, breathing hard and drooling on the sheets. König only gives you a moment to collect yourself before he braces his hands on the bed and slams his hips into you again.

#simon riley x reader #könig x reader #konig x reader #ghost x reader #call of duty #cod mw2 #könig #konig #simon ghost riley #simon riley #reader insert

[thecoffeelorian]

Red Flags (Crosshair x Reader)

Premise: …If Lucasfilm really is taking the Fanboys’ Way Out (FWO) and un-aliving everybody, this can be canon instead. In any case, this is the official sequel to Understanding, and I'm going to do my best to see it through to a somewhat less abrupt end.

Story Notes/Warnings: All right, Lucasfilm...*sigh* ...Since you've more or less told me with your whole chest that Crosshair is perfectly healthy despite a lump in his head; visual sensitivity to light; growing hand tremors and an inability to shoot, so the only treatment he really needs is the Morality 101 class rather than going straight to emergency care...

...And that AZI-3 is now needed for absolutely nothing regarding the Clone Troopers in general, since Captain Rex totally overreacted about how dangerous the inhibitor chips were and probably even Wrecker would have just grown out of it after an hour...this is now classified as a Canon Divergent/No Retconning AU, because as an autistic woman, it's easier for me to function when the rules don't keep getting rewritten and I'm able to finish what I start in peace.

Warnings: ...Basically all of Crosshair's health issues in the whole series, because why leave so much as a single stone unturned?

Special Notes: I'll be going straight back to my longfics after this, and I really hope nobody expects me to just drop them and/or start over from scratch, because you might be disappointed there. 😅 Also, the header was made by @stars-n-spice.

No Pressure Tags: @shadow-rebel-223 @momojedi @mysticalgalaxysalad @littlefeatherr @moonstrider9904 @ah-prick24 @reader6898 @darkangel4121 @urmomsmattress @nevadastarrsworld @mohsicsu @beatthisbi @weirdest-lights @pachnouci-obuv @tink1221 @groguandthebadbatch @housepartyfortwo @donntmindmejustwandering @briefexpertdeer @ms-grassi @galaxyglittering and anybody still haunting the fanfic tags.

🍽 "eat up" is really the only blessing needed for this meal, as Omega is looking a little ashen and Crosshair is pretty much a dead man walking. It's better that they get started ahead of you anyway, as you're not exactly the type of host that neglects guests on purpose.

🍽 once each of them picks up their respective spoons, however, that's when things take a slight turn for the worse.

🍽 not only does Crosshair's hand shake something terrible, but whatever first taste he hoped to get today spills out onto the table long before he can even bring it to his mouth.

🍽 he answers this accident with a very loud curse word, a thing you would normally hear in the shipyards beyond your house, but not so much in the town.

🍽 nevertheless, as you see him grip at his forehead and wince, you're quick to offer him a napkin, as you know for a fact that you'd hate to be embarrassed in front of strangers, too.

🍽 whatever it takes to get this one calmed down.

🍽 thankfully, you're also not the only one paying attention here, because Omega wastes no time in coming over to assist. Meaning, at least in this situation, she's able to steady his hand just enough to get more than one spoonful into him. (Thank the Force.)

🍽 once he's calmed himself down a bit more, those tremors also lessen enough to allow himself to finish eating on his own. This allows Omega to go back and eat as well, especially with Crosshair insisting that no, he doesn't need her to be his nursery droid, please take care of yourself, too.

🍽 as you remind them in your most gentle tone possible, however...you have questions. Questions about where they came from, what they were doing before their escape, and who exactly might notice that they're missing.

🍽 Omega does most of the talking for this stage, though not without a hint of bitterness in her voice when she mentions the name Hemlock. According to her, as you are careful to not let yourself forget, it's almost a certainty that he's responsible for her brother's new 'condition', if not also the literal suffering of hundreds back in the place they call Tantiss.

🍽 at this same time, you hear her continue, he and a few of his former patients might also be the ones that come calling if you all don't leave soon. She mentions an island called Pabu, though she confesses to not knowing the name of the planet it's on. No matter what, though, they'll be trying to track her down and you need to leave soon.

🍽 we will, you're careful to promise her, not wanting to delay any action that could keep the three of you out of harm's way, but you still have a few more questions to ask.

🍽 first, why did the two of you get separated from the others in the first place?

🍽 and second...why does your brother keep gripping his head like that?

🍽 it's only after you ask this final question that Crosshair finally speaks up, the weight of a thousand crimes evident in his brief, three-word answer.

🍽 "It's my fault."

#star wars #the bad batch #the bad batch fanfiction #no retconning AU #tbb crosshair #tbb omega #tbb crosshair and omega #tbb crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair x you #canon divergence #star wars the bad batch #yes i'm freezing time in a bottle why do you ask? #the mountain goes or i do #tbb: red flags #bullet fic

[lokis-dark-queen]

Even in the Dark, I Feel your Resistance

Avenger Loki/Avenger Reader Fluff

Summary: You are terrified of the dark and all the scary things that could be lurking in it. After recalling a special memory with Loki, you go to him once again for comfort in the form of cuddles and deep conversations.

Warnings/Notes: Rated E for everyone! Loki tried to act cold and mean for a millisecond but he breaks pretty easy. This was an old request that I couldn’t see until now thanks to my inbox being practically nonexistent for me *rolls eyes*. But the problem is solved so we’re all good!

Request By: @lokihiddleston4

Word count: 2.3k

*header from Pinterest*

You stared silently at your bed as you prepared to turn the lights out, fearful of the inevitable darkness that would soon consume your room. You were ashamed of your fear, you were an adult! Not just any adult but an Avenger, you lived with them in their highly guarded tower that housed literal super soldiers and gods! Yet here you were, afraid of the dark of all things. 

You had fought villains and monsters, victoriously living another day to tell the tale. The dark wouldn’t hurt you, would it? Maybe it was what could possibly be lurking in the shadows that scared you. And after your most recent mission that involved hunting down mutilated alien monsters that were straight out of a nightmare, sleep seemed unreachable. 

You never told anyone about your fear, well, no one except Loki. The dark, brooding god who many feared somehow got that information out of you. 

–

It all happened one stormy night when the team arrived at the tower well after dark, soaking wet from the rain. The tower was dark, every corner hidden by a shadow. Tony claimed that the generators had failed and the elevators were down, therefore everyone would have to climb the dark stairs to return to their rooms. Damn Stark and his iffy technology, perhaps he should properly test it against harsh conditions instead of immediately making it the prime source of power for the tower which housed and employed hundreds if not thousands of people. 

Everyone found flashlights or used their phones to find their way back. You, however, forgot your phone in your room that was many stories above your head. Everyone departed quickly, the only person who you could ask for help was Loki as he used the glow of his sedir that he had manifested into a ball of light in his hand. He seemed to stay behind for longer than the others, to this day you don't know why. 

“L-Loki?” You recalled stuttering his name, trying your best to hide your fear. 

“Yes, agent?” He asked. 

“Can I walk with you? I forgot my phone and I couldn’t find a flashlight. I mean, we're on the same floor so it shouldn't be an issue I hope.” 

You couldn’t see him well until the room lit up with a flash of lightning, causing him to tense up, “Of course, agent. Don’t fall behind.” He turned around to continue his journey back to his room. 

You remembered your struggle to keep up with him amongst all those flights of stairs, his long legs carried him significantly faster than yours could. Eventually you tripped on a stair in your attempts to catch up, letting out a small yelp as you fell to your knees. The darkness wrapped around you as you stayed there, too scared to move. 

The darkness soon drifted away as an orb of light came towards you and a hand reached out to you. 

“Are you hurt?” Loki asks, placing his hand on your shoulder. 

“N-no, I don’t- I don’t think so.” You didn’t mean to cry in front of him, you couldn’t stop. 

“Hey, what's wrong? Why are you crying?” His deep voice went soft, a deft finger met your cheek as he wiped a tear from your face. 

Shame flooded you, how could you tell him such an embarrassing fear? 

“I just don’t like the dark.” You choked. 

“You are afraid of it?” He asks. 

You nod, confirming his words, “Terrified.” 

“Come here.” He reached his hand out, offering for you to take it. You gladly did so, needing the support of another. He helped you up and pulled you close to him. You recalled his scent, the wet pieces of inky hair that framed his face. He was normally so well kept, not a hair out of place. He looked so raw, so vulnerable. “Hold on to me, okay? I promise to walk slower.” 

“Thank you.” You croaked, your arm now locked with his. 

He walked you all the way back to your room that night. You recalled how his muscles would tense underneath his shirt at every rumble of thunder or strike of lightning. You didn’t think too much about it as you firmly held his arm, every thought of your fear melted away when you were with him. It was a feeling that no one else had ever made you feel. 

–

You pulled yourself out of your head, remembering where you were right now. The thought of Loki’s support gave you the strength to turn off the light before you ran and jumped into your bed, taking cover under the sheets. They gave you a fleeting moment of safety before you looked at the dark room surrounding you. Pale moonlight seeped through the small cracks where your curtains failed to meet, flooding small pieces of your room with the subtle light. Was it your head or did you see something move out of the corner of your eye? You had no pet or other living thing in the room, so obviously it was nothing… Right? 

Your eyes were wide as they stared at the shadows caused by the little slivers of moonlight, you recalled every piece of furniture in your room trying to comfort yourself, they were only shadows. You counted your dresser, your couch, your television, inanimate objects that were harmless. The shadows stared back at you, at least you thought they did. If you stayed here you knew you would not be sleeping. 

You didn’t think twice as you shot out of bed, wrapping a blanket around yourself as you ran out your door, using the flashlight on your phone to light your path. After that night, you never forgot it again. Your feet led you somewhere safe, to someone safe, someone who understood you. And you prayed that he was awake to hear your knock at the door. 

Sure enough, the door opened after you heard muffled footsteps on the other side. 

“It is late.” He states the obvious. 

“That’s the point. I can’t sleep, the shadows-” You began to explain before he moved aside, inviting you in. 

“I know darling, come in.” 

You carefully walk past his tall frame, turning your head to hide your blush. You had no idea he slept shirtless. 

“I apologize if I woke you, I can go back.” You take it back. 

“Well, we can’t let those pesky shadows get to you, can we?” He leans down slightly, brushing a tangled strand of hair behind your ear. 

You smile and shake your head, “No.” 

Loki walks back to his side of the bed as you stay frozen in place, your stomach feeling as if it were a butterfly cage. Only a lamp lit the room as he pulled the green comforter back, patting the empty spot next to him, motioning for you to join him. 

You walk over to join him, still wrapped in your own blanket from your room. Loki gave you a soft smile as the bed dipped next to him from your body meeting his mattress. He reaches out for your blanket that covers your body. 

“May I?” He asks for permission to unwrap it from your body. 

“But I need it!” You protest, holding it tighter. 

“No you won’t, not with me here. I’ve got you, nothing ever will harm you.” He promises. 

You take his word and loosen the blanket as his hand takes over to remove it and place it aside on the bed. You wore a loose tee with short cotton shorts to bed, his eyes lingered before looking back into yours, your heart skipping a beat as they met. Surely he noticed the pink tint on your cheeks, you noticed he had it too. 

“Get comfortable, my dear.” He says before turning around to turn off the lamp at his bedside. 

“Loki?” You cautiously warn him. 

“It’s okay, just close your eyes.” He softly demands. 

You do as he says, jumping slightly at the slight ‘click’ of the lamp turning off. You couldn’t stop yourself as your eyes came open once again to meet the darkness around you. There was something in the darkness this time, however, It didn’t scare you. Loki moved next to you, wrapping his arms around your form next to him. You buried your face into his chest, his familiar scent filled your lungs like a drug. 

“What did I tell you? You didn’t keep your eyes closed.” He laughs smoothly. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t help it.” You apologize into his skin. 

“Don’t worry darling, nothing will come to harm you.” He assures you, playing with your hair against his pillow. 

“I know that but I’m still scared when the lights go off and I don’t know why. It is so childish.” You shame yourself. 

Loki pulls you up to him, your faces so close. You can feel his warm breath in tandem with his gentle touch that slowly calmed you to a state of fearless comfort. 

“It is a fear, my love. We all have them, not just children. Some of us may grow out of them, some of us may not. It’s just an inevitable part of living.” His deep voice seeps into every pore of your skin. 

“What are you afraid of, Loki? If you don't want to tell me it’s fine.” You tell him, not wanting him to feel pressured. He is doing more for you than you ever thought he would. 

“Thunder.” He describes his fear in one word. 

You stay silent for a second, not expecting such a quick response from the god. “But your brother-” You begin before he cuts you off. 

“I know. I had to grow up with rumbles of thunder shaking the palace walls as my brother discovered his power. Sleep constantly escaped my grasp at night. I was too ashamed to tell him to stop, instead I told my mother who scolded him properly.” He gives a little laugh as he recalls the memory, “I’ve gotten over it, mostly. It still gets to me sometimes.” 

You remembered the night that he walked you back to your room, when he would jump slightly whenever a clap of thunder shook the walls. “You hide it so well, I would have never known.” 

“It helps when I have you by my side. I suppose that night we were helping each other face our fears.” He grins in the dark, inching his face closer to yours, so close that your noses were now lightly brushing against each other. 

A comfortable moment of silence was shared between you two. He brought his hand up from underneath the covers and placed it over yours that was tucked by your chest. He wanted to make a move, you could tell. But he was so scared, so cautious, he didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. Little did he know that in this moment, it was the most comfort you had ever felt in your life. You inched even closer, your lips ghosting against each other. 

Loki could only ignore his feelings for you for so long before they would come to a head. He felt so strong that night that he helped you, despite the storm. Having someone rely on him and trust him, it was a feeling that he had never felt before. 

“Do you want to know why I stayed behind that night, even after everyone else departed?” He reminds you of that night once again. 

“Why?” You ask in a hushed tone. 

“Because I wanted to help you. And I wanted you to stay with me so that I wouldn’t be alone.” He confesses. 

“Why me specifically?” You question him with flushed curiosity. 

“I wasn’t sure at the time. You just had this presence that comforted me, I didn’t understand it.” Your fear of the dark is nearly forgotten as you listen to him speak. 

“Do you understand it now, the feeling?” Your fingers intertwined with his hand that was resting on yours. 

“If I'm not mistaken, I think we both do. You are… different. In a good way, of course. I’ve never been this comfortable, this honest with any other person, not even my own family. I’m drawn to you, my love, if I may have the pleasure of calling you that?” He lifts your hand up from beneath the sheets to give it a soft kiss. Even in the dark, you can see the sincerity in his beautiful eyes. 

Your smile is hidden by the darkness surrounding you two. Instead of instilling you in fear, it wrapped around you like a warm blanket. The dark made the perfect background for such a deep and intimate conversation as his warmth surrounded you, protecting you from the outside world. You didn’t answer, no words could describe what you were feeling right now. You didn’t need them anyway. Instead you confirmed your feelings with a light kiss to his lips beneath the cover of night. It was short and sweet, he barely had time to process what just happened as he silently gasped. 

“Does that answer your question?” You grasp his hand tighter. 

Loki groans in content, moving his body to settle even deeper into the mattress. Your legs tangled with his and your face found a home in the crook of his neck, his black strands of hair tickled your forehead before he leaned down to kiss it. 

“It does.” 

It was there, in the arms of your god, you drifted into a peaceful sleep. A deep sleep with no frights or nightmares. The darkness, the one thing that you feared the most, surrounded your bodies and enveloped your space. Your old fear turning into your closest friend, making it seem that the whole world melted away and the two of you remained. He was the only thing that mattered, and to him, you were his whole world. A world with no fear or darkness, only love and peaceful nights, forever.

#loki #loki fanfic #loki (marvel) #marvel #loki imagine #loki x reader #loki fluff #loki au #mcu loki #loki laufeyson #loki of asgard #loki odinson #loki god of mischief #loki x y/n #loki marvel #loki series #loki fic #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff

[welcometogrouchland]

[ID: a digital owl house comic spanning three images. Panel 1: The scene header reads "in the not so distant future, post hexsquad and C.A.T.Ts reunion" and features Luz, Lilith and Steve. They're in a forest and there's a tent in the background labeled "Camilla + hexsquad camp". Luz says "okay, so "owl house" is a game where King and The Collector reenact our adventures...using the people of the boilings isles sorta like NPCs in creatures and caverns...roleplaying as people from our lives!".

Panel 2: a close-up of Luz, resting her face on her hand, looking questioningly as she continues "hmm...but if everyone on the isle's been assigned someone from our lives to play in Owl House...then who's the collector playing?"

Panel 3: a shadow descends on Luz and she tenses up as a mysterious voice asks "isn't it obvious?"

The final "panel" is a full length image of the collector, dressed in Luz's season 1 outfit, floating above her menacingly as shooting stars and crescent moons swirl around him, the ground turning into a crescent effigy. White text sits above the collector, reading "I'm you". End ID]

Okay I had to post my predictions before we get a sneak peek. What better way to convince Luz her life is worth living than to have someone literally try to steal it!!

#the owl house #toh #for the future #luz noceda #lilith clawthorne #steve toh #i know those last two are just cameos but I like to imagine they're hanging out in the apocalypse #I've been holding out for lilith to be the first adult luz and the gang meet up with after TTT #bc i think it'd be cool for her and Luz to talk about everything that happened during elsewhere and elsewhen #i think Lilith's already had to live through the experience of doing the worst thing she'll ever do #and then having to get back on her feet and make amends #and she's not always perfect but she's trying and that's all anyone can do really #there might not be time and I'm content with the writers going other routes (I'm just excited in general!!) #but it's a neat idea ive been tossing around for a while. didn't get to show it here but know it's implied lol #anyway of course the collector would want to be luz if owl house was a roleplaying game! she's the hero! king loves her! #i have to go now but yknow what you get the idea

[calisources]

B102// HIGH FANTASY. a psd inspired by some high fantasy dramas.

this psd will be free to download in one week time (by July 12th). for the time being it's under a payhip wall. this psd was inspired by fantasy shows (the witcher, shadow and bone, game of thrones, house of the dragon). its soft and tones down most colors.

remember to reblog if you save/use.  credit has to be visible on your carrd/doc if you use. (reblog, not like. please.) it was made to be a pinpost image but can be used as a promo or header. whatever you like.

requires some knowledge of clipped masks.

consider donating through paypal or buy me a coffee through ko-fi.it truly helps me a lot. i am currently in the need of some cash so if you can spare a dollar, that would be great! if not, please just spread the art!

this psd is FREE (TBA) or 5 DOLLARS VIA PAYHIP. if you only use one panel, still has to credit me. i'm specially in need of cash this month, so any donations count, please!

can be found on DEVIANART (tba).

#icon psd #rp psd #psds #coloring psd #rp resources #roleplay resources #( cali psds. ) #if you want it for free you can wait a week! #for now it's on a paywall

[89cats]

Question: Have you had cats your whole life? If so, can you talk about them?

Yes, I have! I grew up with pets in general(my mum is an animal person)

She adopted our first cat, Shalimar an all black cat, when I was crazy young. He was such a trouble maker, and like most cats, got into everything. My grandmother lived on the first floor of the house I grew up in, and he'd always sneak down there and you'd hear her randomly yell up the stairs "can you come get this goddamn cat" (she loved him so though.) she used to carry him like he was a doll or something lol, was cute. He was so sweet. He gravitated towards my sister Jen more than anyone else so he ended up being her cat. He was about 20 when we passed.

Another cat I can talk about is Toby. The best friend I will ever know. If you've been following this blog for a long time, then you might remember him, if not, I could talk to you about him forever. I found him at my high school. A stray cat had a litter of kittens in an outdoor classroom we had and basically never came back(felt like he was meant to be mine) I brought him home one day after school. He was so small and fit in the palm of my hand. He was in bad shape and the vet told me not to get too attached, and to basically prepare for the worst. I told my mom I wasn't going to let him slip, so I woke up throughout the night for many many nights to bottle feed him. Surprise - he survived. Gah, I don't think I'll ever have a bond with another cat like I did with him. He was like my child. I'd come home and he would literally jump from the floor up into my arms and I'd cradle him like a baby. He was my shadow. He'd let me lay my head on him and I'd listen to his purring for hours. Not me getting emotional writing about him, lol. Losing him was so out of the blue and hurt so badly. Felt like I lost the most precious being to me. I'm still not over it, and it's been 6 years now. My once in a lifetime special pet. He was around for a little of Kitten's first year with us. I'm glad she got to meet him.

Serena was another. I got her a few years after first finding Toby. I swear she could have been a bunny in her past life. I always said she didn't know how to properly cat because of how crazy she would knead or how she'd forget to put her tongue back in her mouth lol. She was so stubborn when it came to getting out of bed(she was a big snuggler) She helped me a lot when I lost Toby, it's like she knew I needed her more in that time frame, and then losing her felt just as bad.

My header photo is of her and Toby. I miss them still so much to this day, but I feel lucky having had them in my life for as long as I did. They were truly little lights in my life and I can only hope I did good by them.

#writing/talking about toby is so hard for me #like if you know me in real life you know that i was completely devestated over him #still am really #anyways #feels nice sharing these 3 #they're special to me in their own way #mine

[danmainacc]

FIRST SIGHT

Raph saves you from Meats Sweats and, quite literally, falls head over heels. ( header credit to qoeww ) 

Character: Raphael

Writing - type: One-shot

Warnings: fluff, kidnapping, a little bit of angst ( you know I can’t write without it ), meat sweats wants to eat you

Author’s note: I’M SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG 😭 I really wanted to wait until tumblr released me from my shadow-ban prison, but alas, I am still here ( 10 support tickets later ). I hope you guys enjoy !! Lemme know what you think. And know that I see every comment, even if I can no longer reply 🥹

…

A soft sigh left your lips as you looked out into the sky, the moon’s pale face standing out in front of the navy blue night.

This area of New York was an anomaly. Despite it’s close proximity to NYC, it almost never saw the effects of light pollution, the stars just as visible as they would be in the country.

You found this place not too long ago, about maybe a year or so. You had first moved and you decided to explore, to take your mind off the sudden change.

One thing led to another, and now you’re here more than your own house.

Another sigh managed to slip as you rested your cheek in your palm, the moon’s expression almost mirroring your sadness.

‘This is so stupid.’

You scoffed at yourself, scolding the growing lump in your throat into nonexistence.

‘A year in this stupid town, and not a single friend.’

Some could say that when you tried to make friends, you came off...strong...and loud.

But that’s just how you were raised. That’s how you’ve been your whole life.

Back home...real home...you were a hit.

Your friends liked you, your family liked you, hell, even the people that didn’t like you, liked you.

You were funny, sarcastic, a little clumsy, out-going, happy.

But shit happens.

Jobs run thin, and next thing you know you’re on a one-way flight to the other side of the country, no friends in sight.

You shook yourself out of it as you felt something wet rolling down the apples of your cheeks, the feeling almost foreign.

You placed a hand on your face, pulling it back to see that, yes, you were crying.

You scoffed, shaking your head in disappointment as your cheek returned to your palm, the tears now flowing.

‘Pathetic.’

Sighing, you took out your phone, checking the time to see that it was way past your curfew.

Yet not a single text from Dad.

You groaned, standing up from your spot on the ledge and hooking your ankles onto the nearest gutter, clinging onto it and sliding down like a fire-pole.

When you landed, you came face to face with your usual alley.

Now, you knew it wasn’t the best idea to take a dark alley home every night, but it cut the normal walking time in half. And if you walked fast enough, you could surely be home before anyone noticed you were there.

Letting go of the breath you didn’t realize you were holding, you started on your way, keeping your pace at a power walk.

Though for some reason, the alley seemed different. There was a eerie, almost non-human, feeling to it.

The lights were flickering more than usual, the air was filled with the smell of food, and at times, you could’ve sworn you heard a pig snort.

‘You’re goin’ crazy.’

Just then, you noticed a large shadow that sat not too far in front of you.

It was in the shape of a food truck.

A food truck that wasn’t there two seconds go.

‘Nope.’

Now breaking into a sprint, you tried your best to get past it, seeing as the vehicle was blocking the only exit.

But just as you made it past, something grabbed you by your backpack, harshly pulling you back and holding you up.

“Well, well, well. What ‘ave we got here?” the person creepily smirked, licking his lips.

You couldn’t make out his face in the darkness, but you could make was his overwhelming scent of dirty pig.

“A teenage girl. Nice and plump in all the right places.”

He creepily poked at your hips and stomach, the touch making you retreat into yourself, trying to get away.

“I’d say you’d make a good chili.”

Your heart came to a screeching halt at those words, all the air in the world seeming to disappear.

‘Did he just say...I’d make a good chili?!’

And just as you were about to scream, the man hit you upside the head with the butt of his meat tenderizer.

...

You woke up to see that you were tied up in butcher’s twine, resting on top of a surprisingly large cutting board.

Suddenly, you remembered the words of the man just before you blacked out.

‘I gotta get out of here!’

Lifting your head, you saw him standing next to a very large pot, bringing what looked to be stock to a nice boil.

And not only that, but he was apparently a pig-man-hybrid-thing.

‘Don’t even wanna know.’

Hearing something clink behind you, you realized that the pig man left his knife on the cutting board with you.

You grabbed it, shaving down your ropes until you came loose, and then tucking it into your bomber jacket for save keeping.

Quietly standing up, you tiptoed off the cutting board, taking a step onto the food truck floor, only for it to make the loudest creak the world has ever heard.

“For fuck’s sake!” you groaned, making a run for the door.

“Oh, no you don’t!” the pig man shouted, tossing a butcher’s knife at you.

It landed in the door and stopped you from reaching for the handle, letting him grab you and hoist you up once more, as if you were nothing.

“Whetha you lioke it or not, I’m turning you into chili. And there ain’t nobody around to save ya.”

The realization of your situation finally sunk in.

You were trapped in this pig-man’s food truck of horrors, and were about to be made into a chili for him to eat.

No one knew where you were, or where to find you. And there would probably be no evidence left, since you’d be halfway through his digestive track before morning.

You let out a blood-curdling wail of anguish, shocking the hybrid man.

The wail slowly turned into a sob, no doubt getting the attention of those in nearby apartments.

“Quiet, you!” he shouted, punching you in the face and letting you drop to the floor.

Your head throbbed so hard it was practically audible, and you wanted nothing more in this moment than to be absorbed into the ground and dropped into the safety of your room.

“Now, I gotta get to chopping before this stock boils over,” the pig man smirked.

And just as he was about to grab you, a large, green figure burst through the wall of the truck, knocking the pig-man out the door.

“You stay away from her--.” Raph’s breath hitched as his eyes landed on you, one of the prettiest girls he’s ever seen, sitting on the ground.

His heart banged aggressively against his plastron, and despite his cold blood, he felt warm all over.

He couldn’t place his finger on what it was about you. Your hair, your soft eyes, *cough* *cough* your shorts.

But what he knew for sure was that he had to save you.

Yet that rendered him unable to save himself when she tripped over his own feet.

He fell flat on his face, shaking the foundation of the truck.

Now for you....to say you were shocked, would be an understatement.

You just found out today that pig-hybrids and turtle men exist, and one was laying on the floor not too far in front of you.

But he saved you from the creepy guy, so the least you could do was check to see if he was alright.

“Hey,” you chimed, slowly approaching and giving him a soft poke on his shoulder.

“Are you okay? That was a really hard fall.”

Little did you know that the turtle next to you was as giddy as a schoolboy.

You touched him! And not only that, but you talked to him. 

Your voice was so soft and silky, yet firm it its tone. God, he could listen to you talk for hours.

“Hello?” you asked, wondering if he fell unconscious.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, jumping back up and startling you. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I’m a little clumsy.”

He warmly smiled, making something in your stomach flutter.

“It’s alright,” you assured, standing up.

“This might sound cheesy, but I’m kinda here to save you,” he sheepishly explained, rubbing the back of his neck.

You smiled back at him, a small chuckle escaping your lips. “That’s great, cause I am in desperate need of saving.”

He chuckled as well, taking a step closer to you and holding out his arms. 

“May I?” he asked politely.

You nodded, him scooping you up in his arms and jumping out the hole he first came in through.

And now that you had time to truly rest, you took the oppurtunity, resting your head on the man’s plastron as you fought to keep your eyes open.

You don’t know why you were trusting this man so easily. There was something about him that just made him so comforting.

As your eyes fluttered shut, Raph had to use all his self-control to keep himself from swooning.

Even asleep, with hair disheveled and a slightly bloody nose, you still looked goregous. 

And the fact that he was able to be so infatuated, so enamored with you from first glance, was startng to scare him.

But scary or no, he had to face the facts:

He fell for you. And hard.

...

#rottmnt #rottmnt raphael #rottmnt raph #rottmnt raph x reader

[alexagirlie]

Close Your Eyes and Think of Caladan

(Masterlist)

A/N Here is the first part to the Close Your Eyes Series. I first write this 2 years ago. It has not been re-edited so i apologize for the grammar. I am very very mean to everyone. Please heed the tags. Part 2 will be posted soon! Thank you to @zaldritzosrose for the header!

Fandom: Dune

Pairing: Paul/Duncan (offscreen/implied), Paul/Trauma, Paul/Harkonnen(s)

TW: DDDNE. NON-CON. Canon Divergent. Banquet Scene AU. Major Character Death. The Baron is a Lecherous Animal. Angst. Hurt no Comfort. No Lube. Blood as Lube. Non Consensual Drug Use. Non Consensual Voyeurism. Non Consensual Touching. Non Consensual Oral. GangBang. Spitroasting. Murder.

Summary: "You are going to do everything that I say, everything." The Baron leaned forward in his seat menacingly, his shadow stretching down the table like a phantom. "If you do this and if I'm pleased with your effort I will allow your Father to live and he can join you and your witch mother in exile."

"Strip" The single word made every cell in Paul's body crawl, the reality of what he was about to do making him feel sick. But if his father had to go through the indignity of being drugged, helpless and naked in front of the enemy then so too could Paul. He could handle whatever needed to be done to save his fathers life.

Word count: 5.5K

Taglist: @valeskafics

Paul regained consciousness slowly as he was being dragged along the hard stone hallway outside his bed chambers. Rough hands wrapped around his ankles and animalistic laughter, deep voices speaking to each other. His hair caught and snagged on every little crack in the floor knotting the wild curls. The side of his face felt rubbed raw from sand and grit.

He couldn't make out the words of the conversation happening between the men dragging him. The effects of the sedative Dr Yueh had given him still pulled his mind down and made everything sound like he was underwater. All Paul knew was that he was in trouble and he had to get away. These men were not friends of House Atreides but enemies which had found their way into his room. Who knew who else they had taken, who else they had hurt.

Paul struggled to utilize all his Bene Gesserit training to drive the drug from his system. To fight and regain control of his body like he had been trained to do but it was no use. The drug was still too strong, designed to give him a full night of uninterrupted, dreamless sleep. He was uncoordinated, his limbs weak and not responding to the orders he gave them. He could move them just enough for his legs to twitch, for the men dragging him to notice that he was awake. They dropped him to the floor and two others stepped forward, grabbing him under each arm and continuing up the hallway. His feet kicking and scraping off the stone but he was unable to get his legs under him and stand.

They travelled for many minutes, down corridor after dark corridor that stank of blood, sweat and terror. The further they went the more Paul felt the effects of the sedative wear off and he tried to pull upon the powers of The Voice to aid in his escape. But he could not pull his focus enough to find the right pitch. Still he tried, over and over, voice getting louder and louder.

"Unhand me!"

"Let go of me!"

"You will not win, my Father will see your throat slit for this!"

Finally one of the Harkonnen soldiers grew tired of his words and he moved to strike Paul sharply across the face. It was hard enough to make his ears ring and blood dripped from his nose. Paul stopped trying, accepting now was not the right time. He needed to wait for the sedative to wear off further and his head to clear before he could try and use The Voice.

They turned the last corner before the Banquet hall and Paul could see the several Harkonnen soldiers which stood guard. And to his confusion he could see Dr Yueh. The Doctor was unrestrained and appeared to be unharmed though a look of panic grew on his face when he saw Paul being carried towards the door. Dr Yueh stepped forward and intercepted the men that held Paul captive. He began to question them in a hushed voice filled with barely restrained terror.

"What is going on? He is supposed to be with Lady Jessica. To be taken out into the desert and released into exile."

As Dr Yueh questioned the men, Paul came to the sinking realization that the House of Atreides had been betrayed. That the Doctor who had taken care of him for most of his life was a traitor and had sold them out to the Baron. Fury rose up within Paul, swift and burning in his chest, teeth clenched. Giving a sharp tug on his arms he managed to pull one of his arms free from the soldiers holding him. It granted him enough freedom to swing out with an open hand, slapped the Doctor across the face. The sound if flesh to flesh echoing down the hall.

"You traitor! You fucking trai-" His tirad was cut off by a hand that gripped into his hair and yanked his body back sharply. It pulled a yelp from his mouth and forced him down to one knee before it let him go. He glared up at those standing above him. Paul kept his mouth shut and waited to see what would happen next, mind spinning.

There was a long tense minute where no one spoke before one of the men finally answered the Doctor, "The Baron changed his mind, he demands to see the boy first before releasing him to his fate." The man stepped forward into Dr Yueh's space and met his gaze head on. "Now stand aside Doctor before you find yourself in need of fixing."

The two men stared at each other for a breath before Dr Yueh stepped aside without further comment. By now Paul was able to stand on his own, though his knees still felt weak. On wobbly legs he was able to move forward under his own power and no longer needed to be dragged.

They entered the room and Paul gaze locked onto a naked body sprawled limply in the chair closest to the door. Paul can feel his terror growing, his heart pounded, sweat gathered under his arms and in the small of his back. The soldiers led him further into the room and Paul could see that the body was his father, his eyes were open staring unblinkingly up at the ceiling. He could see his chest rise and fall so he was alive but he wasn't moving.

A voice sounded out from the far end of the room and pulled Paul's attention reluctantly away from his Father.

"Ah the young Paul, we meet at last" Seated at the other end of the banquet table was the most grotesque man Paul had ever seen. His bald head gleamed with sweat and his skin was an ashen shade of gray. His body looked misshapen under his black robes and his chin was covered in smears of food. There was a huge spread of food in front of him and he was stuffing his face. Handful after handful. It seemed he had found the time to raid the kitchen during his great siege upon House Atreides. This must be the Baron of house Harkonnen.

They came to a stop a few feet up the length of the table, the soldiers released Paul and stepped back. Left him alone to face the Baron. Paul tried to keep his disgust off his face, not wanting to make the situation worse, his mind whirled as he tried to come up with a solution the ended with his father and himself able to escape.

He considered a second attempt at using The Voice again but a glance around the room showed over a dozen. He would only have one chance to use The Voice and he wasn't sure if he would be successful with so many to control. Paul decided to save that skill for a time with a better chance of success, hopefully it would present itself soon.

"Such a pretty thing aren't you?" Paul can feel the Barons gaze like a caress, slimy and black as oil on his skin. Nausea built in his stomach at the implications behind the Barons comment. "Stand there quietly Child while we finish our business then we can get to know eachother better"

Paul felt bile rising up his throat and struggled to keep it down. He would not throw up, he was the son of the Duke, the son of a Bene Gesserit sister and he would not let his fear control him. He ran through the Litany against Fear in his head while the Baron conversed with the others around him.

'I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration" He could hear the conversation the Baron was having with Dr Yueh, it explained the deal they had made, the motivation behind the Doctor's betrayal. How they had his wife, how they promised to release her and reunite them.

'I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past, I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.'

Paul flinched at the slick wet sound of a blade being slid into flesh, a gurgle and a thud as Dr Yueh's body hit the floor. The traitor joined his wife in the release of death. The Baron turned his attention back to Paul, his beady black eyes swept over him from head to toe then slowly back up. A sick grin spread across his sticky, sweaty face.

"You are going to do everything that I say, everything." The Baron leaned forward in his seat menacingly, his shadow stretching down the table like a phantom. "If you do this and if I'm pleased with your effort I will allow your Father to live and he can join you and your witch mother in exile."

Paul stared at the Baron in disbelief, did he think Paul stupid? That he would just take him at his word and blindly agree.

"Why should I believe a word you say?" Paul asked "What's to stop you from killing us no matter what I do?"

The Baron let out a chuckle, humorless and menacing. The air seemed to drop several degrees, the sweat on the small of Paul's back cold enough to send a chill up his spine. Or that was the reason Paul had settled on, he refused to let his fear control him. He may have been deluding himself.

"Absolutely nothing," was the response "but you can count on me gutting your father like a pig if you don't." The threat rang with truth.

"Strip" The single word made every cell in Paul's body crawl, the reality of what he was about to do making him feel sick. But if his father had to go through the indignity of being drugged, helpless and naked in front of the enemy then so too could Paul. He could handle whatever needed to be done to save his fathers life.

His night clothes were loose and comfortable, easy to take off. Paul pulled the fear-sweat soaked shirt over his head, dropping it to the ground at his feet. Next he pulled the waistband of his pants down over his hips and ass and let gravity pull them the rest of the way down to his feet. Stepping out of them he kicked the pile of clothes away. He wore nothing underneath, he had hoped for a visit from his swordmaster during the early hours of the morning.

Paul's face burned red with shame but he made no move to cover himself after he had finished getting undressed. Kept his arms firmly at his side, chin held high, he refused to allow the Baron to humiliate him. He had been naked in front of others before, during outdoor survival training back on Caladan.

"Good boy" Paul could feel the flush moving down his chest. This time part of it was fueled by anger, not just embarrassment. Only one person was allowed to call him boy, "Bend over the table".

Paul's blood ran cold and he froze in place, not even daring to breathe. He must have heard incorrectly, this was not what was about to happen. Next thing he knew he had been grabbed by rough hands and was forced face down over the table. He barely had enough time to turn his head to the side in order to avoid having his nose smashed into the hard stone. His head rang from the blow to his temple and he struggled against the hands which held him down by the shoulders.

The soldiers that held his arms pulled them out to the side so they were extended flat against the table and a third came up behind him. A booted foot roughly kicked his legs out wider while a hand came to rest against the side of his head to hold it in place. Paul had no leverage to try and get his upper body off the table and his legs were spread too wide to keep his balance enough to try and kick out.

The Baron waited until Paul was firmly in place before he rose from his seat. Lift repulsor buzzing as he glided down the length of the table, past Paul and came to a stop next to Leto's chair. He addressed his next words to the Duke directly.

"My men are going to reap the rewards of conquest, using your son's body however they see fit. If he lives by the end and has put on a good show then you will be released together into the desert."

His speech made, the Baron drifted back to the other end of the room and took his seat to watch the show unfold.

Leto had thought that being betrayed by one of his own trusted men, paralyzed, stripped naked and left prown was to be the worst part of his final moments. He was wrong. He had watched in horror as his Son was brought in, as he heard the Baron's words. Leto's freedom to be used as leverage against Paul.

The Baron lowered Leto's chin just enough so he could see his son, pressed firmly to the table just feet away from him. He watched as the first Harkonnen soldier, the one that stood at Paul's back, reached down with the hand not holding Paul's head down and removed bits of his armour and pulled his hard cock from his pants. He watched as that same soldier stepped closer to his son and forced his cock into Paul's unwilling body.

He watched as Paul let out a heart wrenching scream which cut off as he let out a sob. Tears ran down his face to puddle on the table top below. He was screaming, pleading with the man to stop but all he got was vicious laughter in response. His body jerked forward with each thrust, and with each thrust his pleader got quieter and his sobbing and screaming got louder and more desperate.

Leto screamed along with his son, only he could not get his mouth to move, to let the noise out. All he could produce was a high moaning sound, the drug still had a firm hold on his body. In his mind he begged and begged for the scene in front of him to stop, to not make him watch as his son was brutalized in front of his eyes.

Leto watched as the fight drained out of his son, watched as the first soldier's thrust grew more erratic and he spasmed, coming inside of Paul and let out a deep satisfied groan. He watched the soldier pull out, and in his wake a stream of blood and cum flowed down the inside of Paul's thighs. Another soldier took the first man's place and it began again and again and again.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl and half a dozen Harkonnens had taken their turn with Paul's body. His son no longer screamed, just made a high pitched pained sound each time the man behind him thrust in. His hips slammed against the stone table, and bruises had begun to form on his body. Finger shaped on his hips and upper thighs, bite marks on his back and shoulders. His eyes were glossy, red rimmed and unseeing, face pale and covered in spilled tears and snot.

The soldiers had exchanged jokes and crude remarks as they took their turns with Paul. Commented on how tight he was or how good he felt around their cocks. Leto had tried to ignore them until one comment grabbed his attention in the worst way.

"Heeey let's have a go at that pretty mouth of his, bring him 'round!" More laughter met those words and Leto felt a tear slide down his cheek as they manhandled his son onto the floor. Down onto his hands and knees. The soldier who made the comment moved to stand in front of Paul, slide a hand into his curls and pulled his face up.

He watched as the man forced his cock into Paul's mouth, heard his son gag and choke at the intrusion into his airway. Heard the horrible wet sounds they made with each thrust. Watched as a second soldier knelt down behind Paul and thrust inside him and Leto screamed.

"If I feel teeth I will knock them out of your mouth" The man spoke barely above a whisper but Leto heard him all the same.

Duncan awoke to the sounds of men yelling and distant explosions. He jumped out of bed, stopped long enough to pull a shirt over his head and grab his sword belt. He didn't wait to strap it on, he buckled it up as he sprinted out of the room.

Speeding down several corridors his heart sank as he took in the distant forms of Sardaukar soldiers and the fallen bodies of servants. The Emperor had taken a side, and it was not with the House Atreides.

He slips past the first group he had come across but soon his luck runs out. Coming to a fork in the hallway he sees a form up ahead in the dark. He pulls his longsword from his belt and moves to confront the soldier. Footsteps and panting breath from his left let him know there were more Sardaukars approaching. He drew his other blade and moved into action.

It was a matter of five, six strikes and the first three men were dead on the floor. A fourth fires a dart from up the corridor, Duncan barely blocking before throwing one of his blades at the man to halt his momentum. He takes a running leap driving his knee into the soldier's chest, driving him to the ground.

The man under him tries to get a hold on his shoulder but Duncan throws him off, bringing his other arm down to strike the killing blow. He gets up, collects his dropped blade and continues on to the Ducal family's sleeping quarters.

His first stop was to check the Duke room; he hoped to find Leto and Lady Jessica still safe in their bed. The room was empty when he arrived, sheets still warm to the touch.

Next Duncan raced to Paul's room, praying that he would not find the same. That he would find Paul safe, his parents by his side. Guards at the ready.

He jogged around the corner towards Paul's room and his stomach sunk. There were no guards and the door to Paul's room was ajar. He burst into the room and confirmed his fears. The room was empty.

"Paul…" His lover's name escaped his mouth in a whisper and he paused just over the threshold. The bed was unmade and one of the chairs had been knocked onto its side.

There was still a chance the Ducal family had made their escape. He would head to the hanger next, to try and steal a thopter and head into the desert. The protocol the Duke and his warmaster created prior to their arrival on Arrakis dictated that was his next move If Paul had escaped he would activate his beacon so Duncan could find him.

"I heard the Baron is letting us have turns with the little Duke. Apparently his ass is so sweet and he's a real screamer" His companion laughed and clapped the first on the shoulder.

He made it several corridors without seeing another living being. Hearing distant voices Duncan pauses and waits to see who was approaching. He watched another two enemy soldiers from the shadows, this time dressed in the armour of House Harkonnen. He was about to spring out for the kill when one of them spoke.

"Well then we must hurry so we can get a piece of that before the others ruin him".

Duncan's blood froze and his vision turned red before he sprung into action, both their throats slit before they could register that they were being attacked. Blood splattered across his face and chest but Duncan ignored it as he took off running towards the banquet hall, the most logical place for the Baron to be. Duncan operated purely on instinct while a single thought ran on repeat in his head.

'They have Paul, they have Paul, they have P-'

Duncan slows down to a silent crouching walk as he nears the hallway that led to the banquet room, the Baron would have the door guarded and he did not want to alert them to his presence. He peeked around the corner and saw that he was correct. There were two men guarding the door but Duncan could tell they were distracted. He could also take a guess at what it was that distracted them. The door to the banquet room was opened, just a crack, but that was enough for the noises from within to drift out into the hallway.

The sound of skin against skin and muffled whines and broken off sobbing.

He bursts into the room with a roar. In a matter of seconds he sees Leto naked in a chair at one end of the table, the Baron seated with a feast before him at the other end. Then Duncan see's Paul, on his hands and knees on the floor. One soldier bent over his back, hips moving at a punishing pace and another at his front, using his mouth. Tears were streaming down Paul's cheeks mixing with the saliva that glistened on his chin. Blood was running in a thin stream down his inner thigh, the red glaring against the white of his skin.

Duncan feels rage boil in his chest, hor and swift and before he even has a chance to think about what he doing he has rushed towards the door, killing the two guards.

Tears were rolling steadily down Leto's cheeks as the wounded noises coming out of his son continued to increase in intensity. There seemed to be no end to the Harkonnen animals lining up to take their turn with him. One would finish, take their leave and another would step forward. He wasn't sure how much more Paul's body could take before it simply gave out.

Leto briefly considered releasing the poison hidden in his mouth, in the tooth Dr Yueh had replaced. It would release Paul from his abuse but Leto couldn't be sure it would travel far enough to also kill the Baron and he had to kill him. This would all be in vain if he couldn't kill the Baron.

Suddenly Leto hears an inhuman roar, full of rage and hate and then Duncan Idaho bursts into the room. He can hear the thud of the two guards at the door falling dead as his swordmaster moves over the threshold. Sees the silver-gray blur of blades flying through the air, killing another two. They had not yet reactivated their shields after having their turn with Paul.

The last two Harkonnen soldiers had only just begun their attack on Paul's abused body when Duncan arrived on scene. They moved quickly to intercept the intruder, barely doing their pants up first. They met in a clash of swords just at the edge of Leto's peripherals. He could see Duncan strike, swift and brutal, easily overpowering them and ending the melee in a matter of seconds. Their bodies hadn't even hit the floor before the swordmaster was rushing to Paul's side.

He sees movement at the other end of the room and pulls his gaze away from Paul and Duncan in time to see the tail end of the Barons robes as they flutter out the door. The coward had taken the first opportunity to make a run for it. No doubt he would be sending reinforcements soon. Leto needed to ensure Paul's safety, and quickly.

Paul who has slumped to the ground in a pile of pale limbs and lays unmoving, eyes staring off into the distance. If it wasn't for the fact Leto could still see his chest moving with his breath he would assume his son was dead.

Duncan gutted the last enemy present in the room, the Baron having mysteriously disappeared during all the attack. He rushes to Paul's side, placing a discarded cloak over his naked form and pulling the pile of his shirt and pants closer. He reaches out to gently touch Paul's curls but freezes when Paul violently flinches away from his hand. Paul not yet recognizing that it was Duncan and not one of those animals that had raped him.

"I'm so sorry my boy… I need you to get dressed so we can escape" He explained gently, hoping a familiar voice will allow Paul to come back from wherever his mind had gone. He nudged the pile of clothes even closer and dared to breathe a small sigh of relief when Paul reached out with shaking hands to grab his pants. "That's it my boy".

Duncan watched as Paul got dressed then tried reaching out again. "I'm going to carry you now, okay Paul?"

This time there was no reaction from Paul. His mind once again retreating in the wake of his rape. Duncan takes the risk and wraps the cloak back around his shoulders, bundles him up and picks Paul up in his arms and carries him to his Fathers side.

"My Lord, can you move?" Duncan knelt by Leto's side, subtly giving him a once over, checking for injury beyond his nakedness.

The Duke could barely open his mouth to answer.

"..no.. you must leave me.." His voice was barely above a whisper, Duncan having to strain to hear his words, "get Paul… away…"

"It will be done"

Duncan closed his eyes and knew that he would not be able to save his Duke and Paul. Not if Leto could not yet move. He shifted Paul's weight in his arms and nodded to Leto to show that he understood. He would have to leave his Duke, his friend and knew that by doing so his life would be forfeited. The Baron would see to it.

Leto let himself feel relief as Duncan carried Paul away. He knew that the swordmaster would do everything in his power to see his son to safety. He did not know when it had begun but anyone with eyes could see that the two were in love. It was written in every interaction the two had. He trusted no one more than Duncan to look after Paul.

The feeling had only just begun to return to Leto's limbs when the Baron made his reappearance. Flanked by over a dozen of his soldiers. It seemed he was not willing to risk Duncan Idaho's blood lust after what had been done to his charge.

Leto can hear the whirl of his lift repulsors as he floats his way across the room. His robes dragged across the floor with a soft slithering sound. The Baron approached Leto's prone form when the duke saw him hesitate mere feet away. It seems his paranoia was showing and he activated his own shield before finishing his approach.

"For hundreds of years we’ve traded blood for blood. But no more. Your son is broken, he will not survive long in the desert. Your concubine is dead. Tonight the House Atreides falls…and soon your bloodline will end forever".

As the Baron was giving his speech he had been leaning further and further into Leto's space. This gave Leto an idea, an opportunity to finally utilize the poison tooth Dr Yueh had left him with. He opens his mouth just enough for sound to escape, he needs to draw the Baron in even closer.

"Here I am. Here I remain" Leto bites the tooth, opens his mouth and breathes the poison into the air.

"What did you say?" It seemed to work as the Baron closed several more inches.

Duncan carries Paul through the palace, keeping to the shadows and out of sight of any other person. As they approach the hanger area he finds a secluded corner just outside the entrance to set Paul down while he investigates. He creeps down the corridor and peaks his head into the entrance of the hanger. He counts roughly a dozen Harkonnen soldiers loitering around, more than he can typically handle in a single fight. He will have to come in fast and brutal, make a show of force and hope they think him not worth the effort.

Duncan makes his way back to where he left Paul, hoping he has roused on his own but he is still zoned out. He is slumped against the wall, eyes staring into the distance. Duncan risks reaching a slow hand out and running his fingers through Paul's hair, trying to detangle some of the knots. Normally Paul would find the action grounding, one common between them after a nightmare but Duncan gets no reaction.

Duncan says a silent apology to his lover and resorts to a single sharp slap across the cheek. He can see Paul's mind snap back into focus, a look of shock coming across his face. Duncan was glad to see some emotion on Paul's face, even if he did not like the method he had to use to put it there. His boy has had enough pain.

As an apology he cups Paul's face between his palms, one thumbs gently stroking across his cheek.

"Listen to me Paul, are you listening?" Duncan waits for Paul to nod in acknowledgement. "There are only a few stragglers in the hanger, I'm going to take care of them, then we are going to take one of the 'thopters. When I call for you, you need to be ready to move. Can you do that?"

Duncan holds Paul's gaze and waits for him to nod again "I need you to say it out loud my boy".

"I understand… when you call for me, I run" Paul recited back to Duncan, voice barely above a whisper, the sound strained and hoarse. Duncan's blood boiled at the memory of what had caused Paul's voice to sound like that, at the image burned into his brain of the Harkonnen animals taking him from both ends. The sound of skin on skin, the pained sounds that had escaped Paul's mouth even while gagged with cock. He fought with himself, with his rage, and shoved the feeling into a box to deal with later. He needed to focus on the here and now, on the men he needed to kill, on the job he still had to complete. They needed to escape Arrakeen and he needed to get Paul to safety.

"Good, stay close and be ready." Pulling his blades from their sheaths with a quiet hiss, Duncan leaned back around the corner into the hanger, just enough to double check their position before he moved in.

They stay low and against the wall of the hanger, circling around to the group closest to 'thopter. Using the Atreides battlesign Duncan tells Paul to stay put before springing out of the shadows. He kills the four men in quick order, they had stupidly left their shields off maling them an easier fight then expected. The scuffle had drawn the attention of another group a few feet away but Duncan saw them hesitate.

Together they climbed into the 'thopter, Duncan at the controls and took off.

He lets out a war cry, slamming his blades together, the sound of metal on metal ringing out. He stalks towards them, pointing his long sword in a challenge which they luckily do not rise to meet. He turns to motion Paul forward only to see the young man already most of the way to his side.

Paul felt empty, like someone had opened his chest and removed all things vital for life. He felt broken, his body screaming at him, to run, to hide, to wither away and die. He had allowed those men to touch him, to take what did not belong to them. What had only ever belonged to the man beside him.

To infect him and make him unclean. He could feel the mixture of cum and blood dripping from his hole, the seat of his pants wet with it.

His fathers absence salt on the wound. After all that he had endured they had to leave him behind. The Baron would never let him live.

The only thing stopping Paul from throwing himself out of the moving 'thopter was the knowledge that Duncan would not hesitate to follow him into death. He would live, to stay with Duncan, to find his Mother, to avenge his Father and himself. The Harkonnens would pay. Blood called for Blood.

#kirstin's chronicles #dddne #non-con #dark fic #dune #dune fanfiction #paul atreides #duncan idaho #atreidaho #paul x duncan #paul/duncan #angst #dune 2021

[top-500]

Just some of the headers I have so far for my on going ghost x undercover!reader fic.

Your position in Shadow company made you the perfect candidate to go undercover in the Bolshoi Russian ballet, a supposed cover for an arms dealing hub and meeting spot for ultranationalist.

It was simple enough. Look pretty on stage, talk sweet off stage, overhear details of weapons trades, give the intel to Laswell, stop the bad guys. Easy Peasy.

After years of posing as a young ballerina hoping to become principle in Amsterdam’s Opera House, two members of an elite task force are sent to bring you back home in one piece. However, when TF-141 member, Ghost see's you, he isn't sure Laswell sent him the correct coordinates.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley smut #ghost mw2 #ghost x you #ghost x reader #cod mwii #ao3fic #ao3 fanfic #john soap mactavish #soap call of duty #ghost x female reader

[nancywheeeler]

PLEASE share some of your favourite books!!! of all time And ones that you discovered this year!! (also only just noticed your header… i love those two <3)

omg anon i would love nothing more!

books of all-time: the secret history & the goldfinch by donna tartt, the haunting of hill house & we've always lived in the castle by shirley jackson, the night circus by erin morgenstern, the immortalists by chloe benjamin, lincoln highway by amor towles, say nothing by patrick radden keefe, the collector by john fowles, never let me go by kazuo ishiguro, tell the wolves i'm home by carol rifka brunt, the night tiger by yangsze choo, the shadow of the wind by carlos ruiz zafon, in the woods & the likeness by tana french, and the bell by iris murdoch.

i'm sure there are some i'm forgetting; i'm sorry to those books!

i try to read a broad range of genres & sub-genres, but my soft spots are magical realism, the promise of an ambiguous and bittersweet resolution, family sagas (or a codependent pair of siblings who are all the other has in the world), novels strongly influenced by classic literature, and unconventional murder mysteries.

and this year, i have favorites for all of the above!

magical realism: the house of the spirits by isabelle allende; ashamed i had not read this classic before, but i arrived at the party and i never wanted to leave.

also recommend: the light pirate by lily brooks-dalton

bittersweet: the memory police by yoko ogawa; more like bittersweet from beginning to end, and haunting. so very haunting.

also recommend: we all want impossible things by catherine newman (if you read the blurb, you'll understand why this is bittersweet, but it is also the funniest book i read all year)

family saga: tom lake by ann patchett; my book of the year, a beautiful exploration of mothers and daughters, our town by thornton wilder, first loves, and the summer stock theater scene.

classic influence: the historian by elizabeth kostova; brilliant take on dracula and vampiric folklore.

also recommend: state of wonder by ann patchett (a heart of darkness, but with women in the amazon!); demon copperhead by barbara kingsolver (tbh i felt it follows david copperfield a bit too closely, but her writing! oh her writing!)

unconventional murder mystery: i have some questions for you by rebecca makkai; not too unconventional, but it has some great takes on the true crime industry.

and since those are all fiction, i'll also add, for non-fiction, that i really loved the wager by david grann, the extraordinary life of an ordinary man by paul newman, and the premonition by michael lewis (great for anyone interested in what america's pandemic response was supposed to be, how it was developed, and why it went so wrong in 2020)

alright wow, this got so long—i'm so sorry! i'd love to hear what everyone else's favorite books they read this year are!

#ask #thank you so much for letting me ramble anon! #and god yeah do i love and miss maeve and amiee <3 #book recs