#the pool of hope is shallow but not empty

[kawarikisaki]

Okay! So with the new case finished up I'm ready to talk into the void about it.

Starting with the fact that this case has made me reevaluate how strong Hakuba is.

Cause I have always thought of him as being somewhat strong, but lo and behold he can just lift a whole Kaito and keep him on his shoulder for several minutes (it was six pages, and most of it was dramatic deduction time, which is usually not particularly fast dialogue) without any signs of being encumbered by the weight. He does adjust position a few times (his hand moves between panels so either he's adjusting or he's rubbing Kaito’s ass, I'm eating well as a Hakukai shipper but I'll take the innocent explanation) but there’s no sweat, no wince, no commentary about Kaito being heavy. Like, yeah, a fireman's carry is an effective way to carry a person. However, the average person is still going to struggle to lift someone that's a similar size to themselves.

Also, while im sure his assertion that he was going to walk him to the police station was just him being cheeky and bantering... he didn't seem to have any intention to put him down any time soon. I'd like to think that he was waiting for Kaito to call him out on it then make his escape, but if Kaito hadn't he'd have probably kept it up till the deduction was done then walked over to Nakamori-keibu and said something like, "this is Kid by the way, can you handle him from here?"

Anyway... Hakuba strong actually? I have decided to think so.

Can I just say I love all the little faces they make at each other? All the bois, not just Kaito and Hakuba. Granted, the character interactions and shifting dynamics have always been my favorite part of dcmk.

But like....

Hakuba bending down to talk to Conan. Kaito looking to proud of himself when he pulls out the 'hey did you consider it could actually be suicide?' While Conan’s in the background like 'oh shit oh shit oh fuck'. Conan and Kaito both thinking they had Ran Convinced, but she was sus.

Speaking of sus, I think Hakuba figured Conan out.

Sure, that last page had him back off from it and be like, "You got in contact with Shinichi and had him help." And that explaination works but... its an explanation that just makes less sense the more you think about it.

Even if I give the benefit of doubt it doesn't make sense to do it the way Hakuba explained, because if Conan contacted Shinichi to help then why would Conan be acting as the middle man? It'd introduce unnecessary delay to have Shinichi hear what's happening via phone, then Shinichi tell Conan his response, and Conan bowtie it to Kid, and Kid say the lines. (Realistically speaking the way they actually did it should also have this problem, but adding a step like this when in theory its completely unnecessary to have Conan as the middle man beyond just contacting Shinichi is just going to imcrease the delay.)

That said I can actually kind of see how that could be a conclusion he reached from this interaction:

Hakuba, at this point, knows that Shinichi is Kid and that Conan is helping him by supplying lines, but he hasn't figured out the details. So when he notices that Conan reacts before 'Shinichi' that's him reaching that conclusion that he brings up later about Conan being so invested that he was mimicing Shinichi’s expression and attitude.

I don't think he fully believed that, though.

Looking at the information that we know he had:

1. 'Shinichi' is Kid (and also Kaito Kuroba using his real face)

2. Conan is supplying Kid with lines.

3. The lines Kid is saying are from the real Shinichi.

4. Conan gets worked up if you say something that Shinichi would be worked up about

5. Conan has gadgets. (Hakuba is at least aware of the bowtie having speaker/microphone function, bit arguments could be made that he’s aware of the voice changer and also the sleep needles from the events at sunset mansion)

6. (Bonus) In a previous case Hattori had been upset with Hakuba being the representative 'detective of the east' but was completely fine with Conan taking that role.

I think he figured out that Conan was Shinichi, but that he wasn't certain until he brought up 'the real Shinichi' during the deduction and saw Conan begin to panic. I think he had mentioned it purely to get a rise out of Conan and see how he would react, and upon getting his answer he played along and gave Conan an out to jump on because if he exposed him here he wouldn't get the answers as to how this had happened.

And I feel like this read of is is reinforced by his final lines expressing that he understands why Shinichi/Conan would help Kid for the sake of solving the mystery because it's a detective’s nature. Hakuba gets it because he’s doing the same by helping Conan get away with his deception in hopes that doing so will help him get answers to the mystery.

Thats how I've decided to view things anyway, though it is possible that im partially blinded by my hope that he continues to be relevant.

#dcmk #hakuba saguru #so glad the boy came back #and i pray for his continued existence #the pool of hope is shallow but not empty #rambling #overanalyzing

[prettybabybaby]

Perv! Ethan jerking off while on the phone with you, possibly while you're crying to him about how your date stood you up or something.

again, not exactly what you asked for but this is what came out so.

¡ 18+ only ! ¡ minors do not interact !

content: murder, dark!ethan landry, fem!reader, male masturbation

¡ scream masterlist !

your breathing was short and shallow, the strain on your throat clear even over the static sounds of the phone. he could picture you sat in the small space between the post of your bed and your closet, knees up and teary face tucked between them. he pictured your bunched up skirt that had undoubtedly slipped down your legs, pooling around your hips and exposing a sliver of your delicate panties. he let himself wonder what kind you wear.

ethan struggled to keep his own breathing level and push down the whimper that wished to voice his pleasure. his grip on himself was tight, loosening slightly with every twist of his wrist as he kept a slow but steady pace.

“i just,” you let out another sob, “i wanted it to go well. i got dressed and everything…” your began to sniffle again, “and he left me there. all alone. no text… nothing.”

“i’m sure you look gorgeous,” he forced out when you began to cry. god, why did you sound so perfect when you cried? “f-fuck, he, he wasn’t worth your time, beautiful.”

blood was rushing south in intense waves, stiffening his cock almost painfully and causing crystal beads to dribble out of his tip and down his shaft, lubricating his strokes that were becoming more and more frantic.

“i’m still so worried, e,” you whimpered, “with the killer loose…”

ethan glanced around, pumping furiously as you continued, “it’s so scary, isn’t it? anything could happen, no one's safe." you were. "not even him... god, i hope he's okay."

his grip on his phone tightened, trembling as he worked to restrain himself, the task much harder now that he was so close. his hips began to lift, meeting his fists as his eyes flickered around the scene in front of him. the empty eyes, the crimson liquid pouring from parted lips, and the still chest of your lover. your sweet voice confiding in him, trusting him with your concerns and feelings of pain when he was the cause of all of this made him shiver as his cock pulsed in his grasp.

he had gotten jealous, he had followed your date home, stalked him, plotted his demise right under your nose. and here he was, plan executed and not an ounce of remorse. in fact, he'd go as far as to say he enjoyed it.

ethan chuckled, humorous and breathy, "yeah." he couldn't hold back a strangled moan when your sobs started up again, little hiccups disrupting them.

"e," you whimpered. the whine of his nickname had his hips thrusting pathetically, lip tucked between his teeth and grip tightening. "please." his stomach fluttered, orgasm just over the edge. he forced his eyes open, only managing to crack them open, but the bloody scene in front of him was still visible. lifeless and unmoving. no longer a threat.

"i need you..."

his teeth punctured his plump bottom lip, filling his mouth and flooding his taste buds as he came, sensitively trembling as spurts of his seed shot out of him, a thick stream falling down and over his fist.

#tw murder #scream six spoilers #ethan landry (belle's version) #dark!ethan landry #dark!ethan #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry x you #ethan landry smut #ethan landry fanfiction #ethan landry blurb #ethan landry drabble #ethan landry imagine #scream ethan #yandere!ethan landry #yandere ethan landry #yandere!ethan #ghostface ethan #scream six #scream vi #scream #ethan landry

[pursuitseternal]

“All Vim and Vigor, dearest…” a soft, nsfw Vampire Rogue Astarion update for “Bites in the Night:”

Astarion x F!Reader | E | 4K wound tending sex

Summary: the aftermath of a battle, and one companion is missing. Astarion. You race to find him, pulling him the the grip of death.. true death. Your tender, loving care can restore him. After all, you have to make sure all his vim and vigor is returned to him. Entirely.

CW: Blood, near death experience, healing, wound cleaning, flirtation, awkward Karlach interrupting growing intimacy, blow jobs and mutual hand jobs and fingering, just too be sure everything is… healed.

For @genesis-6666 💌

Read here if you prefer on AO3

Find him, save him…

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

The dead lay around you. Goblins. An ambush. You bend over, hands on your knees, panting to catch your breath. Your wounds are minimal, and already Shadowheart has run to find the rest of your party, healing… or reviving… when needed. She looks up from over Gale’s body, his chest finally breathing again. But her eyes look worried. You scan the area, seeing everyone staggering between the trees. Almost all, you realize as your thumping heart stills. There is one of you missing. And your stomach twirls in knots as you realize just who.

You spin your head, looking. “Where is he?” you call to her. “Where’s Astarion?”

She shakes her head. “I thought he was with you, on the high ground,” she pants. “He was up there last I saw.” Her lithe hand points into the crags of rock and mountain that line the canyon.

It had been quick, sudden, and brutal. The ambush of Goblins swallowing you up. Last you remember, he had stared at you. Excitement, surprise, the thrill of bloodlust and eagerness in his eyes, as the goblin ranks kept coming and coming down from those ridges. One last fang-flashing smirk before he ran into the shadows, skirting up to their source. Your fearless, reckless, stupid rogue.

You hurry, scrambling up the trail, swerving past the thicker pools of goblin blood, leaping over their bodies. You see them scattered all over, dagger stab wounds and slashes.

Signs that he was here.

It’s carnage that you push past. Climbing higher until you reach a plateau, empty, the end of the trail, where you expect to see your vampire, your rogue, your… your love. But there is… nothing. Not a body. No enemies. No Astarion.

Panic fills you, heart rapping in your chest, breath growing short. But you force yourself forward. You make your eyes scan the ground for any clues. His blood. Or signs of his capture. You make your lungs fill, you shout his name…

Then, you hold your breath.

A faint groan comes from the distance, somewhere near the sheer rock face that pierces the sky, from the dense shrubs that line it. You race after it, feet almost skittering as you stumble in that direction. Your hands pushing into the brambles, catching sight of pale skin. Covered in blood.

You reach for his body. His skin is cold, waxy, and tight. You find one arm and pull. He groans as you tug, you grab his second arm, freeing him from the brambles, even as your lungs ease to see his face again.

But your hope fades to agony, his face is bruised and beaten, black and blue and shadowed more than his undead charisma. His breathing is quick and shallow, his eyes nearly swollen shut from whatever beating he took up here. You finally slide him free, his clothing is torn, almost every inch of the skin you see is darkened with bruises.

His voice shakes as he tries to catch a breath, eyes forcing themselves open to look at you. “You’re here,” he manages to rasp out. “I knew you would find me. You always find me.”

“Shhh,” you run your hand through his hair, his brow damp with sweat, his eyes losing focus as his head begins to loll. “It’s going to be alright.”

“At least I got to see you once more…” his voice grates against his throat, breath growing ragged.

You hand digs into your pocket, pulling out your last vial of healing potion. You pull the cork and press it instantly to his lips. The liquid flows into those pale lips, and you can only kneel and pray it’s enough. His breath begins to ease instead of rattle, his face beginning to heal, his pallor returning, the traces of blue-black death fading.

His mouth twitches trying to talk. But you shush him softly, “I’m here, Astarion, it’s alright.”

“F-far from,” he ekes out as his eyes flutter open slightly, the swelling abating just enough for you to see both crimson eyes again.

“I’ll get you back to the others,” you look around, sizing up his lean body, running a hand through his hair before you brace behind his shoulders to get him to sit upright. He groans, limp in your arm. He can be so strong and swift, but it’s only now you also notice how lithe he is. How lean. But still, he’s too great a weight for you to bear alone.

That’s when the running of heavier feet makes your lungs fill fully and your heart leap in hope. “You found him, good for you, soldier!” Karlach trods right up next to you, barely out of breath. “Shadowheart said you would hopefully have found him, I’m to help you back where we are making camp.” Her thick tiefling arms pick him up, none too gently, and you hiss in worry to see him pulled to his feet so quickly.

“I swear, if you throw me around like that, I would puke on you if I had anything left in me…” he snipes as Karlach takes him by one arm, shaking her fiery head at his sass with a smile and waiting for you to take the other.

You snigger. He must be on the mend if he is throwing those barbs out again. But he falls silent again, head hanging low. You shoulder his body as best you can, bracing one hand on his bare chest, wishing for once he had a living heart that beat so you knew he was alive. “Stay with me,” you grunt, shoving your mouth into his long, pointed ear. “I’ll kill you if you die, you know.”

“I know… my sweet,” he manages to rasp, a slight turn of his head to throw you a feeble smirk. Karlach is definitely bearing most of him, but she doesn’t complain, not as you finally make it down the ridges and back to the main road.

“Not too much further,” Karlach heaves more of him on her shoulder, “Gale should have the tents up by now so he can rest.”

You three round a bend, the flickering of a fire and the spattered sight of tents warms your heart. You made it. Even the rose and burgundy canvas of Astarion’s tent is set to perfection. You’ll have to remember to thank Gale later, once your rogue is through the worst of it.

Into the warm dark you go, setting Astarion out on his bedroll, propping him cautiously on a stack of pillows.

“Water, clothes, and another potion,” Karlach points to the supplies placed tidily within reach. “I’ll be back, just shout if you need anything.”

And then she steps away, taking her warmth and her glowing presence back through the flaps of his tent.

You look after her, another friend you’ll have to thank.

Something hard and cold grips around your hand from where it rests on the ground. He’s clutching you, making sure he’s not alone.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before you rest it on his own stomach. “Let me get you cleaned up,” you look into his face, his eyes still shut, face still and unmoving. “Is that alright?”

“More than alright,” he speaks quietly, “the sooner you get rid of this stinking goblin blood off me, the sooner I can just savor that delicious fragrance of yours…” he hisses in pain before the last word is completely off his tongue. Your hand ghosts over the still-sprawling bruisers that run along his side. He tries so hard to be the usually suave, charismatic charmer, but something still troubles him.

Your hand hovers between the cloth and the potion, unsure what to do first. Then you hear it, a wracking cough, one that shakes his frame, bringing blood to his lips.

His blood.

You quickly uncork the second bottle, fairly shoving it in his mouth. “What did they do to you?” You barely get the question out your mouth as he sighs from swallowing the healing mix down.

“Thrashed me an inch from life… or an inch from undeath I suppose…” He forces a blithe smile, his giggle is slick with his own blood, but at least you can hear his lungs filling. More fully than before. The potion working to heal whatever internal damage he must have had.

You eye the red around his lips, pausing for a second. It was a common sight, his bloodied lips, but… never his own blood.

You wonder, for a moment, how does he taste?

You know the salt of his sweat, the bitter tang of his cum, why not? Why not see what his blood tastes of, for once…

“Gods below,” he throws you a mischievous smirk. “You’re wanting to taste my blood now, aren’t you?” You feel your surprise lifting your face, and he only sucks his teeth, shaking his head in feigned disbelief. “Tch, I don’t need a spell to read your dirty thoughts, darling…”

Your eyes dart to his conceited, smirking mouth. You hold your breath… until you close your hand around the towel and soak it in the soapy water. “Don’t be ridiculous, Astarion…” you huff, starting to bring the cloth to his face.

His hand grips the back of your neck, clutching you against his mouth for a wet and bloodied kiss. It tastes… ancient, refined and heady. Rich in a way that coats your tongue, even as his own delves in to tangle with yours. You swallow, sucking on his lips for more. He laughs, lightly, hiding a groan, “If you’re planning on more rigorous pursuits, I’d say I need bathing and tending first, darling.”

You pull away, shocked at yourself, so aroused with him only moments ago near-death. Your cheeks flush, white hot as you begin to clean him. He closes his eyes, propped up as he is on pillows. Lounging, relishing your full attention.

You wash and rinse, wash and rinse. It’s hard not to stare at his beauty, at the hard edges of his cheeks and jaw, the little lines about his eyes that crinkle when he smirks or laughs. He locks those piercing eyes on you as you dip the rag back and wring it out. He stalks every movement you make, washing his body lower and lower, inspecting his bruises as they slowly fade with the healing magic.

You finish his chest, forcing your breath to steady as you wash that rising and falling belly of his.

“Are you sure I don’t need tending any lower…?” he purrs.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Perhaps you rest first before you insist on everything checked for being in good working order, hmm?”

He rolls his eyes back in his head, a sigh of total emphatic drama. “Doctor’s orders…” he grumbles, lounging back against the throws, but not before he gives a little thrust of his hips, a clench of his belly under your hand where it rests on him still.

“Sleep, you scoundrel,” you chide, reaching to dry off his now clean skin, savoring the fresh scent in the air from the soap. You feel his body, still tense under your touch, wound tight and stiff that isn’t the result of his charming flirtation or dirty, lustful thoughts. You look at him, staring at his face, worry furrowing your brows. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes flicker over you, bright with mischief, half-lidded with flirtation. “Vampires don’t require… sleep. Not much. Not as much as… well… other things…”

You look into that beautiful face. He’s gaunt. Pale, well more than usual. Rings line his eyes, cradling that crimson glare in shadow. His lips twitch, fighting the urge to bare those glistening and pointed fangs.

“Oh, gods, now?” you breathe, heart racing.

He waves a hand dismissively, a sharp edge to his voice. Hungry. Annoyed. “Well, if you don’t want your strong, well-fed vampire to heal completely, then by all means…”

“No,” you almost leap next to his face, those smirking eyes scan over you, dilating in his hunger, fixating on the rapid pulse you know must be just throbbing under your skin for him to salivate over. But his hand grips yours, raising it to his lips. Kissing your fingers so softly, your stomach drops and your throat tightens. Slowly, he turns your hand over in his, raising your tingling inner wrist to his nose. You feel his breath, cold and quick, as he inhales your scent. Probably already savoring the scent of your blood rushing just beneath your skin.

“So then, I may?” his voice almost fails to reach your ears, you hear it more from the little tickles his breath makes across your skin, the gentle flutters of his lips over the nerves of your wrist. Like lighting in the air, his breath ripples in pinpricks on your skin.

“Yes,” you sigh, lungs burning as you hold your breath until he bites thos razor-sharp fangs into your tender flesh. Gasping, you hold your wrist to his mouth, every drop of your blood that leaves you, you can almost feel, almost sense, how it makes him stronger again. Empowered again. Hungry again for more.

It just feels so good, even as he feasts on you, as you savor that strange sensation that follows every time he feeds, that union of your bodies, your blood sating his hunger, beginning to course in his veins. A small, strangled moan escapes your lips, your eyes fixated on the way his mouth sucks on your wrist. You’ve never seen it before, never been able to watch his consuming of you, as he drinks from your neck. The little ways his tongue laps at your skin, the small bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallows you down. A different sort of pleasure denied you when he drinks in the middle of the night. Your stomach churns, your thighs burning hot as you can’t look away.

A slight, definitely insufferable smile tugs at the corner of his lip as he sets your wrist back in your lap. “Liked what you saw?” he preens, so proud as he dabs a single finger at the bloodied corner of his mouth. “Or just thankful I’m still here to have my fill of you?”

“Both,” you reply before even a second thought crosses you mind. Your sight lowers to his mouth, you can almost feel those lips on yours, the way the twitch ever so slightly, the little tweaks that lift them to show those pointed fangs you love to have catch your flesh and nip at you when he kisses….

So close, you feel him closing that distance, his breath rushing into you, filling your lungs, your soul, ice cold and tangible.

“Hope you like rabbit, Gale’s got stew nearly done for…” Karlach sticks her flaming, sparking scarlet head into your tent then she strides all the way in. Those glowing eyes go wide. You’re so close, even as you turn your head, you can hear Astarion’s laugh tickle the creases of your ear.

You go flush, and not just because he insists on still giving your cheek a lingering kiss.

“Feeling better, is he?” Karlach laughs, a bit forced. A bit uncomfortable.

“Clearly,” you huff, sliding slightly from his side. But he only leans all the closer.

His eyes rake over you. You can feel it. You can almost see it in the way Karlach sifts from foot to foot. He chuckles, low and slow, “Yes, all vim and vigor, dearest. We were just about to discuss how I was going to make it up to her for all that attentive care and healing I required to pull me back from the brink of death…”

Your eyes flicker to Karlach, who would be blushing beet red now if she weren’t already so scarlet. “Ahem,” she clears her voice and stands quickly, “that’ll be my cue. I’ll leave you two to it..:”

“No it’s okay… the stew...” you begin but she’s already gone and yelling on the other side of the tent.

“Oi, Gale, keep it warm…” a long pause follows, a deep voice muted in the distance. Then Karlach guffaws with gusto. “Yeah, they’ll be fucking for hours most likely… she might not even be hungry once he stuffs her again…” the tiefling’s boisterous laugh fades as she trods away.

Your face goes hotter than an inferno, but that only makes his cold fingers sear all the more as he caresses your cheek. A single finger lifts your chin, turning your face towards that rakish, sultry smirk. “I thought she’d never leave. Now,” he hovers his mouth right over yours, “where were we?”

“We…” you clear your throat, “we were just making sure you were healed…”

“Mmmm, I’m pretty sure you’ve inspected me thoroughly everywhere but one place, darling,” he rasps, catching your lips in a commanding, languorous kiss.

“You almost died, Astarion,” you hiss between his teeth, fighting the way your folds are burning up, the way his other hand begins to slink over the buckskin of your breeches. “Should you really risk so much exertion?” Your body is tensing, your mind remembering the way he rattled as he struggled for air on the mountain, the way his flesh was blackened and sickly. Dead, almost truely dead.

His chuckle, that low-throated giggle, pulls you out of those macabre imaginings. “Well, I'd be more than happy to simply lay back and let you do all the hard work, if that’s what your concern is…”

You give him a mocking smile, “Oh yes, I’m very certain you are only doing this for my sake, love. Making sure I feel good after pulling you back from near death to life… well to undeath…” You give a sheepish grin, relieved that your humor only adds to the mischievous glint in his crimson eyes.

“You know me, the image of selflessness. I’m doing you a favor. If you left now…” his smirk widened, deliciously, wickedly, “…you’d be thinking about it all night.” His hand weaves into the little hairs at the nape of your neck, twirling them in the way he knows drives you crazy.

“Well, I suppose I can be persuaded… just to make sure you’re all vim and vigor.�� You laugh as his hand is already loosening the laces of his breeches. “But,” you place one of yours to stay him a moment. Gods, you can already feel his cock, hard and pushing his way out for pleasure. You swallow, making yourself look in his eyes. At how they swirl with his lust, glassy with his need. “But you tell me the moment it’s too much, you promise?”

“If you wanted me to just be more vocal during our couplings, you had only to ask, darling…” he purrs, forcing his fingers loose under your palm to continue unlacing.

You grab them in yours. “I mean it,” you insist, hard in tone, commanding in just three words.

“I promise, I’ll say when, my dear,” he laughs, finally freeing himself from the confines of his breeches. You look down at him, his devious pleasure of just watching you crawling between his thighs.

You give his cock a good, long lick from base to tip, his groan of approval sending shivers between your own thighs. But you force a dispassionate hum as you wrap your lips around his twitching head. “Seems in good working order,” you whisper.

“I think it needs a little more.. attentive care, darling…” he groans, very loudly as you wrap your mouth all the way around him, taking him in deeply over your tongue. You roll your eyes, unsurprised at how he gives a moan with each suck you make, each lap of your tongue running up his length.

More vocal indeed.

You bob up and down, your lover relaxing back against his pillows, fingers toying languorously through your hair. Your own hand pumps over the rest of him that just can’t fit inside your lips. He feels so good, so hard and strong and full of life. And he seems to be getting louder… his moans increasing. “So good for me, darling…” he starts to praise. “Always so attentive and eager… and…”

You pop off him, meeting that insufferable smirk and quirked brows. “You want them to know, don’t you?”

“Me? Wanting to draw some attention to our lustful pursuits?” He casts that look at you that makes every nerve in your body flame with unbridled desire for him. “I just want them to make sure you care of me is certainly thorough,” he grins, “I’m just so… thankful… it’s hard to keep it in. After all you do… so much for me, darling…”

“Be a dear and shut up,” you purr, giving one more swirl around that ridge of his tip.

“Make me,” he growls, flashing that roguish smirk down at you, licking his lips.

You pounce, flooded with relief that he is alive... that he’s filled with all that vim and vigor and irascible, irritating sass. You’re brimming with the need to feel him, for all his taunting and flirtation, all his lust and passion, you’re just… happy he is here. To kiss, to fuck, to banter with. And you do make him shut up, your lips on his, your teeth sinking playfully into his lower lip, sucking it with a tug. You keep one hand on his cock, riding it, pumping it, keeping time with the way his tongue darts in and out of your mouth. Something cold slips under your shirt, his fingers skating into the band of your breeches.

You keep your mouth fixed on his, making certain he’s far too busy for any noises you can’t muffle. But as his fingers slip between your thighs, an unbidden cry rips from your throat.

“Who’s the loud mouth now?” He chides, sucking his teeth at you, even with your lips coupled as they are. He laughs again, his fingers catching on your clit just right as he rides up and down your seam. “Don’t cease your own task at hand on my account,” he sniggers, his cold fingers lacing around his shaft, interweaving with yours.

His breath sucks in yours. His fingers playing in you, teasing so much wetness from your folds, you wish you had just taken your pants off when you had the chance. Now it was too late. Now, you’d be sticky from your own arousal, probably covered in his cum too as you leave his tent.

The thought makes your cheeks burn but not in shame. In a searing wave of desire. Your hand works up and down, catching that thick, blunt tip with your thumb in the way that makes him groan. His kisses deepen, hungry and feral, the same he’s stoked in you with the little ways his fangs catch on the inside of your lips. He’s losing that refined control he keeps. Pushed past the calculating movements as you stroke him in your fist and lick his tongue with your own.

“Gods,” he growls, his cock so hard, his fingers inside you working at a fevered pace. “You’ll come for me too, darling. My recompense for your care.”

“Yes,” you moan, his fingers diving deep into your cunt, crooking on that sweet spot he knows well.

You clench, shaking as he pummels inside you, your own hand struggling to work on his cock with how hard he is. How thick he is. But the instant you drench his fingers and fill his palm as you climax, he follows you into that messy, groaning bliss. Hot cum drips down your arm, spattered on your sleeve, on the belly of your shirt.

He’s gasping into your mouth, his lips pulled back wide in a genuine smile. His forehead presses against yours as he catches his breath, stealing your own from your lips. “Well,” he pants, “am I fully recovered?”

“All vim… and vigor…” you heave, moaning as he slips his fingers from your thighs.

“Hmm,” he hums against your lips, trapping them in his own with a slight nip. “Are you sure you’re satisfied with my performance?”

You laugh, giving a little shove against his chest. “For now,” you tease, “but it seems another round of cleaning is in order.” Your hand reaches for the rag, wiping his juices from your hand, your arm. Only to hear him sucking on his own fingers.

His brow arched wryly as you turn to watch. Those two long fingers that still drip with your cum are shoved far back in his mouth, his tongue swirling over every inch. “What?” he smirks, “why waste something so delicious…”

You shake your head, lovingly irritated at his cheekiness, but already your body is already aching for more. “Perhaps,” you clear your throat, heart pounding as you watch him sliding those already drenched fingers over his tongue. “Perhaps you do need a little more inspection, just to be sure…”

“Thought so,” he sniffs, that insufferable smirk widening to show his teeth. “Best be sure… just in case…”

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Read more “Bites in the Night:”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Read Ascended Astarion in “The Rogue You Were:”

🩸Part 1 🩸 Part 2 🩸Part 3 🩸 Part 4🩸

Read my Drabbles

“Just a Drop…” Astarion as Tav turns

“Beg me…” A highly NSFW Ascended Astarion x reader

“Your Reward:” Ascended Astarion Dark!Fic

#astarion romance #astarion my beloved #astarion smut #vampire rogue #healing trope #wound tending #astarion x female reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x mc #astarion x reader #astarion x f!tav #astarion x female tav #astarion x f!reader #astarion baldurs gate #baldurs gate astarion #baldur’s gate astarion #baldur's gate 3 astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion #astarion ancunin #baldursgate3 #baldur’s gate iii #baldurs gate smut #baldur’s gate 3 #baldur's gate #baldur's gate 3 #astarion fanfic #astarion fic

[niki-phoria]

pairing: leon kennedy x gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: angst word count: 729

includes: implied re4 leon, leon cries, so much angst

a/n: inspired by this prompt list by @urfriendlywriter and this post by @rishiguro !! i'm debating making a part 02 of this where reader survives if anyone's interested

warnings: lots of blood, mentions of death

“no, no, no,” leon whispers. he all but falls to his knees beside you, desperately pressing his hands against your torso. “come on, stay with me.” 

“leon?” your voice is raspy and strained as you force the words to leave your lips. squinting up at him, you can just barely make out his blurry figure hovering just over you. “lee-” you choke. 

“shh, don’t try to talk,” he whispers. “it’s okay. i’m here. just… keep your eyes open for me, okay?”

blood seeps through the thick fabric of leon’s gloves, staining his fingers a deep red. he moves without thinking; his heart beating violently in his chest reminds him of his own mortality as he rips his shirt and harness off.

leon’s hands tremble as he balls up the fabric of his t-shirt before pressing it against your wound. a low groan of pain escapes you at the contact. your hand instinctively reaches up to wrap around his wrist, though you don’t make any real efforts to pull away from him. 

“i’m sorry,” he whispers. his eyebrows furrow as he racks his brain in an attempt to remember his first aid training. tears blur his vision before he blinks them away to focus on the task at hand. “i know it hurts. just look at me. just keep looking at me.”

your eyes flutter shut for a second before you force them back open. the world around you spins. you can feel your own heart beating violently against your chest walls - desperate to keep you alive. “leon,” you choke out once again. blood pools in your mouth with each strained movement you make. your chest shakes as you cough uncontrollably. 

“don’t speak,” he whispers. his eyes flicker from your chest to your face. “it’s okay. don’t try to talk.”

you squint up at him. a shaky breath leaves your lips before you do your best to softly smile at leon. “i- i love you.”

the words sound more like a choked groan when they leave your lips, but you hope the message comes across nonetheless. you shudder as another, shallower breath escapes you. black spots begin to appear in your vision. 

leon presses down on your chest even harder. a hiss of pain escapes your clenched teeth. “stay with me,” he whispers. “y/n, please stay with me.”

your breath hitches in your throat. the black spots spread until they all but overtake your entire field of vision. before you know it, the world slowly begins to fade away. 

“y/n, come on,” leon mumbles. bloody hands reach up to cradle your face. his name leaves your lips like a prayer. like if he hopes enough he’ll be able to save you. 

tears roll down his cheeks in waves before he realizes. it feels like it’s been years since he’s cried. at least not like this. his throat burns as choked sobs escape his lips. the world seemingly falls apart around him. 

“please don’t leave me,” leon whimpers. his voice cracks as much as his heart does. each beat of his heart is more painful than the last. “please… i need you. i need you here with me.” 

you don’t move. your hands don’t shake from fear. your eyes aren’t squeezed shut in pain. leon sobs. you look so peaceful. death is peaceful, he supposes. in the golden haze of light and heaven or the dark nothingness of the empty there’s nothing else than can hurt you. no more monsters to jump out from behind corners and litter your body with even more scars. no more sleepless nights spent desperately trying to fight off any new nightmares. no more worry. no more agony.

guilt racks through leon’s body. you look so peaceful, but a selfish part of him wants you back. wants to keep you alive despite the suffering of life. wants to feel your heart beating when he falls asleep on your chest or your fingers tangled in his hair after a tough day or the warmth of your fingers as they gently massage the tension from out of his back and shoulder blades.

leon’s entire body shakes in anguish. leaning down, he presses his head against your chest, desperate to feel your heartbeat. a breath. anything.

“please…” he repeats. kneeling down on the cold concrete ground, crading your limp body in his arms, leon’s prayers go unanswered.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x male reader #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fluff #resident evil x reader #resident evil x male reader #resident evil fanfic #resident evil fluff #resident evil angst #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy one shot #leon kennedy drabble #leon kennedy scenario #resident evil leon #resident evil x you #resident evil x y/n #resident evil one shot #resident evil imagine #resident evil drabble #resident evil scenario #re4 leon #male reader #gn reader #fem reader #leon kennedy soft hours #leon kennedy soft thoughts #resident evil soft thoughts

[hopelesslyromanticshark]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Know It's For The Better, Know It's For The Better

content: leo valdez x daughter of poseidon! reader fic warning: ANGST, ANGSTY ANGST THAT'LL MAKE YOU ANGST LIKE YOU'VE NEVER ANGST-ED BEFORE author's note: i would like to formally apologize for this one. phoebe bridgers is not the ideal thing to listen to while writing bc this is what comes out of me. i dont feel bad bc if im sad you guys have to be sad, but you should probs attend therapy after this.

“y/n?! it’s over! ha, i really thought-…” percy’s words got caught in his throat as he moved towards his sister, his smile slipping off his lips. y/n's back was to him, but as he approached, he noticed the sword sticking out from her chest. He now heard her shallow breathing and saw the tears pooling in her eyes and blood dripping from her lips.

“no, no, no, no, no, oh gods, no, please,” he repeated like a mantra, rushing towards y/n, the world fading around him. she was stumbling on her feet, falling backwards into percy’s arms. he gently lowered her to the ground, his hands gripping the sword and tugging it. a groan left y/n's lips, her teeth gritted and bloody.

“i know, i know, i’m sorry, y/n, i’m sorry,” percy muttered against her hair before removing the sword, watching the blood quickly fill the empty space. his hands rushed to the wound, pressing down as best he could with tears blurring his vision. he spun, his eyes looking around for help.

“help! help me, please! gods, i’m begging, help her!” he screamed, his face turning red at the effort.

“…percy,” y/n's voice whispered out, her eyes blinking slowly as her head rested against his chest. He instantly looked down at her, shaking his head.

“no, no, no. y/n, stop, help is coming. some-someone had to have heard me,” percy choked out, struggling to pull breath in. y/n whimpered in pain, her eyes squeezing shut and tears leaking from them.

“percy, i’m- i’m scared,” she managed to get out, more whimpers following and percy couldn’t tell if it was from pain or fear. percy’s blood ran cold at those words, ones y/n had never once uttered. it scared percy that his big sister was scared; this untouchable girl…was scared. he’d kill whatever scared his sister, he promised.

“it’s okay, y/n, don’t be scared. it…it’s okay,” percy stated, unsure what else to tell her without lying through his teeth. y/n was rapidly losing steam as she seemingly fell against him.

“…i’m…sorry,” y/n managed to get out, lifting her hand with great effort and resting it on top of percy’s. both were coated with her own blood. he hung his head, resting it against her temple, letting his tears run without any holding back.

“it’s not your fault. i love you, y/n…i'm so, so sorry,” he muttered against her hair, pressing a gentle kiss to her scalp, holding his sobs in so as to not jolt her too much. a dying smile took over y/n's blood soaked lips, her gaze turning distant as she stared ahead of her.

“lo-…look…th- sea,” y/n fought to get out, percy’s blurred vision shifting up to the nearby lake, a tide crashing against the beach. the water slammed, and slammed, and slammed against the sand, percy feeling the vibrations in the ground. his eyes drifted upwards, knowing their father was behind it; stormbringer, earthshaker, god of the sea. all for his dying daughter. percy’s eyes snapped down to y/n, noting her faded gaze and still chest. his shoulders began to shake like the earth, curling around his big sister.

“percy?! what-” annabeth asked in a panic as she saw him before stopping, her eyes drifting to y/n…y/n's body. her hand shot to her lips, tears springing into her eyes. she fell to her knees beside percy, her other hand hesitantly resting against the small of his back, in hopes to stabilize him even the slightest bit. percy glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, unable to move away from y/n anymore than that.

“i- she-”

“no…you don’t have to,” annabeth whispered back, another shake running through the earth as the waves continued to crash. surely all of camp felt that one and percy silently hoped his father brought down buildings and nations with his earthquakes and waves; it was the only amount of pain that would even be close to equaling the squeezing of his chest right now.

“guys, have you seen y/n?! i- i- i can’t find her anywhere and-…” leo asked, out of breath, as he ran up to the pair, halting to a stop as he stared and percy finally looked up, his bloodshot eyes meeting leo’s. leo’s face fell at this before his eyes jumped down to what percy was holding against his chest, a ringing filling leo’s ears. he just stared and stared, waiting for her chest to heave or her eyes to fill with that glimmer that leo loved so much.

“y/n?” leo asked, breathlessly, taking stumbling steps towards him before thudding to his knees beside her. percy watched all of this, holding y/n even closer.

“i’m sorry,” percy whispered back, waves crashing in perfect tempo. leo couldn’t hear it, he couldn’t hear any of it as his hands hesitantly reached towards her. he took her left hand into his own, tucking it firmly into his hand, feeling the cold metal of the ring he’d given her dig into his skin. the promise ring he’d given her. a million different promises, lost in a moment.

“leo?” annabeth sniffled after a few minutes, using the heel of her hand to wipe away some of her tears. leo shook his head in response, tears rolling off his cheeks.

“no, no, no. she- she promised to be safe. she…told me she was going to come back and- and-” leo choked out, coughing on his own sobs. he was wheezing, struggling to get air into his lungs, and he didn’t know how to stop it. y/n would know how to calm him down, he thought, bring a new panic to his struggle to breath.

he was already using past tense.

“leo, you need to breathe. listen to me, do you hear the waves? what do they remind you of?” annabeth asked, her eyes wide in panic as she tried to calm leo down. percy was in no state to help, his eyes back on his dead sister, his hands fruitlessly combing through her knotted hair.

“her. they remind me of her,” leo bit out, sucking a breath in through his nose as he wrapped his second hand around y/n's.

“okay, good, and what does she remind you of?”

“everything that ever mattered,” leo murmured, his heaving breaths beginning to level out as he thought about y/n.

not the pale and dead girl in front of him, but rather the girl who always smelled like an ocean breeze, the girl who’s smile was like a sun glare off water, the girl who’s laugh always reminded him of hearing the ocean in a seashell. his breath calmed, his heaving chest simply breathing now. but he could still feel it; the shatter of his heart, his ribs cracking to make space, his soul screaming and screaming and screaming.

he knew he'd never recover from this, never be the leo valdez he was with you. that man, he died the moment you breathed your final breaths. leo would never see that version of himself again, expect for when he's looking at pictures of y/n and manages to catch a glimpse of his reflection in the glass. the reflection of a boy long lost to the rolling tides of life.

I wanna be the power ballad that lifts you up and holds you down I wanna be the broken love song that feeds your misery And I can wish all that I want, but it won't bring us together Plus, I know whatever happens to me, I know it's for the better

#postcards from covey ౨ৎ #all my love ౨ৎ #pjo #pjo fandom #heroes of olympus x reader #hoo #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez

[tacticaldiary]

Where One Goes, The Other Follows

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Angst.

Note: Mentions of attempted suicide. Death on a mission

"You said we'd get out of this, remember? You promised."

She feels him shake his head minutely, a movement she might have missed if not for how close she was pressed against him. "Promised you'd...get out."

A/N: I don't feel great, so you get to not feel great with me! You're welcome!

Masterlist

It hurts.

Everything aches, a deep-seated anguish pulsing through her entire body. Like a shot to heart...no, a shot to the heart would have been quicker than this. Painless. Instant.

Merciful.

She chokes on shallow breaths as blood pools between the shaky hands pressed to the middle of her abdomen. Crimson gurgles up in her throat, so metallic she can almost make herself relax with the familiarity of it.

A simple mission, they had told her. A simple in and out, no clearance to engage. Keep it clean and quiet. When Price had handed her the packet of information, Ghost already flipping through a similar one, she'd joked about it being a vacation from the gruelling environments the team is usually forced to tough out.

It was supposed to be easy.

So why does she have a bullet lodged in her stomach? Why did they pick up the intel in a suspiciously empty warehouse, only to be ambushed by a few dozen Russian soldiers laying in wait? Their intel was rotten, she grits her teeth at the thought.

Pinned behind a metal container, the roar of gunfire crescendos over her ears. Pressed thigh to thigh, she feels hopelessness claw at her when Ghost makes a frustrated sound at the empty clicking of his last pistol.

Nothing. They had nothing but the slowing beat of their hearts and the uncertainty of their lives.

Despite the situation, she laughs. A tortured, humourless, choked sound as her head hits the metal behind her. One soldier injured, the other soon to be ripped apart by dozen. What a way to go out.

Ghost glances at her, eyes a little too wide under his mask.

It was funny. Everything was a little funny under the prospect of dying right now.

"Keep pressure on that." He orders when her hands slip. "They don't know we're out of ammo." Patting down his vest for a second, he unclips a grenade. The last one there, a last resort. You didn't throw a grenade like that in a close quartered environment unless it was a last resort.

"We'll make a run for the shutter on the left once this goes off, yeah?" He says, eyebrows knitting together in what's blatant concern when she doesn't respond. "Copy, Sergeant?" He says sharply, moving to shake her shoulder.

"I can't move, Simon." Comes a soft reply, the resigned tone sends chills down his spine. "I'll stay here and distract them. You take the shutter. Gotta get this intel to Price."

"Negative." he barks, shifting into position. "We move as I planned. Evac is just beyond those doors in the field. They won't follow us there, not enough cover against heavy fire."

For a moment she comes back to herself. Did he not hear her? "I can't...Simon I can't move-"

"Heard you the first time, love." That's all he says before pulling the pin out and tossing the object. There are a couple of clinks as it rolls, then the shouts and yells of their enemies as they recognise the threat. "I'm gonna get you out of here."

Hope dwindles, like the last rays of light before the sunset. There was no getting her out of here. She knows that. Dead weight is tough to deal with, useless in their line of work.

"Promise?" She breathes out roughly, a joke for a dying soldier.

The conviction he meets her eyes with, fierce and determined makes even her dark thoughts halt in their tracks. "I promise."

She closes her eyes, braces for the loud noise and flying shrapnel, only to be yanked to her feet and thrown over a broad shoulder. The movement makes pain wash across her body, enough to make black dot her vision, but she gets her bearings and clutches onto the back of his vest anyway, letting him do as he pleases.

The explosion sounds, ringing in their ears and Simon takes off instantly. Ducking behind containers, he almost makes it to the exit before shots start firing again.

He grunts, jolts more than a few times before he reaches the shutters, slipping out and slamming them shut behind him.

The metal and concrete is scraped from her vision, replaced with a green field and the sound of a chopper's blades whirring. Wind blows against her hair and for a moment it seems surreal.

She thought she was going to die. A shuddering gasp makes its way through her as they stop midway through the field. Simon moves to set her down gently-

And sways.

"Simon-?" She starts to ask, halfway to the ground. Eyebrows furrowed in intense concentration, she can't help but notice the way his mask is damp from sweat...his clothes too, and surely that much of a run wouldn't have been enough to wear him out. She's so making fun of him the moment she can suck in a full breath if that's the case, and-

Simon buckles to the ground, taking her with him. She lands on top of him, pulling a strangled groan out of the man. "Shit, are you...you okay?" She pants, clutching a hand to her wound before sitting up on her knees next to him.

Her entire front is covered in more blood that it had been before, and that's odd because...oh.

His front is stained with enough blood to make his previously green vest the colour of wine.

The sight stuns her, knocks the breath out of her because...what?

"Hey, you-Simon you're bleeding." She gasps, abandoning her own woes to take a better look at him. Blinking away the sluggish dizziness from her own blood loss, she carefully tears off his vest and-

His torso is riddled with bullet holes.

Too many to count. All of them bubbling and bleeding, pouring out liquid that should be inside him because he needs that, it's important and he's going to bleed out if this keeps going...

Hands hovering over his chest, they move from injury to injury, not knowing which one to press down on. For each one there were three more, and the fight against the rising panic and bile rising in her is getting tougher and tougher by the second.

"Made it out, at least." He breathes, shallow and raspy.

"You-you're bleeding." Is all she can manage to say, voice shaky.

In shock.

"I noticed." His humour isn't appreciated.

"I'm sorry." She chokes out. "I didn't...you got shot because I-"

"Oi." He grits out. A shaky, trembling hand moves to cup her jaw and despite the state he's in the touch is grounding and as rough as ever. "None of...that."

"You can't die." She encases his palm with her own, keeps it pressed there uncaring of the blood slicking her face. "You can't. Simon, you-it's okay. It's going to be okay." A sob rips its way out of her, though she tries to choke the rest back.

"Can't...can't kill someone who's already dead...love." He mumbles into her hair, blooding it with blood that he's coughing up way too fast to not be concerned about.

"Don't leave," She begs, hunched over him, clutching onto his gear. She wants it off, wants to rip it all off and feel his skin, press her hand against his chest, and make sure his heart never stops beating. "Don't leave me, Simon. I can't- I need you." With a scratchy voice, she pleads and begs, trying to keep him talking. "You promised, remember? You promised we'd get out."

She feels him shake his head minutely, a movement she might have missed if not for how close she was pressed against him. "Promised you'd...get out." He croaks, bleeding out but nevertheless the same strong, still presence as always.

Still...still?

Her breath chokes her, her entire body trembling as her grip on his shirt tightens. "Simon...?" She whispers. No answer.

A sob rips out of her, raw and painful because this wasn't real. It was a dream. There was no other explanation.

She'd wake up in her room, head pillowed on his chest and pretending to still be asleep just to have a few more minutes of his warmth. Simon would chuckle, she'd feel the motion under her skin, and he'd prod at her side, line kisses against her forehead until a smile broke free and her ruse was up.

They'd be happy.

She'd be happy.

Her face stays pressed against him, her grip iron. She doesn't pull away, letting the primal fear and grief mix with the senseless hope that maybe he was still alive. She hadn't confirmed it. Hadn't peeked up to see it, so maybe he was still there, waiting for her. Like he said he always would.

Hours, days, maybe minutes? A period of time later footsteps thunder behind her. Shrouded in delirium and grief, she's still a soldier, and her instincts kick in.

Protect, protect, protect.

It's a mantra in her head as she curls over him, unwilling to let them take him away from her.

People surround them but her grip does not falter. Hands grab at her shoulder and someone's speaking, saying words, what...

"-go, you have to let go." The voice is...shaky?

Gaz?

Confused, she tilts her head up a centimeter to catch a glimpse of the person who has her. Gaz. It was Gaz. Looking exhausted, shaken but determined. His eyes flitter away from Ghost on the ground repeatedly.

"Gaz?" She asks, voice cracking. He nods, taking her confusion to his advantage and pulling her to her feet. When she makes a strangled sound and hunched over, he finally notes the wound on her abdomen and curses.

"We need a medic." He calls over his shoulder, pulling to sling her arm over his shoulder. "We've got you, exfil's here. You're gonna be alright now, yeah?"

"N-no." She shakes her head, fuzzy and full. "Not me, I-...Simon...Ghost, you have to help him he's..." A hacking cough cuts her off, sending sharp flares of pain all across her body. Gaz firmly keeps her head towards the front when she tries to look back. "What-...no, not me." A weak attempt at pulling away is made, "Simon, Gaz I need to help...Ghost." Mumbling to herself half incoherent, she finally bats his hand away and turns to cast a glance back.

Her steps falter into nothing when she sees her boyfriend.

The sliver of skin beneath his mask is a sickly pale, blood dripping out from under it. His balaclava is soaked in blood, a strange waterboarding technique to chart for the future, her delirious mind unhelpfully supplies.

It's the stillness that jarrs her, makes the reality finally sink in.

Simon was quiet, he was purposeful, he could lay looking through a sniper scope in one place for hours but he was never still.

This kind of stillness was one brought by the absence of the warmth of light.

Gaz is talking...is he? His mouth is moving that much she can see out of the corner of her eyes, but all she can hear is static as her mind clicks together a devastating picture, a scene that would haunt her for as long as she lives.

Dead.

She thinks she might throw up.

Simon. Ghost. Simon was dead.

They were supposed to be a pair. Unbreakable. Where one went, the other followed offering the silent reassurance that neither of them would ever be alone.

Where one went, the other followed.

She lunges against Gaz's hold, the strength in her battered form surprising the soldier enough to allow her to rip free and stumble over to her lover.

Shaky hands fumble around Simon's body, one of them grips his gloved one in her own tightly, God he was cold, how was he already cold? until cool metal meets her fingertips, slicked with their blood.

People call her name. One person...maybe five? It doesn't matter, nothing matters right now but the press of the barrel against her forehead.

There's no hesitation when she pulls the trigger.

But there's a distinct lack of blinding pain.

A stunned, heavy silence takes hold of the field. Slowly, guilt and dread and hate and self-loathing curling up in her gut, she peels her eyes open to see her team. Her family.

And if the cold corpse of her lover beside her wasn't already punishment enough, the devastated, broken, confused looks on theirs' definitely does.

Soap makes a strangled noise when she pulls the trigger again, her head full of cotton.

Click.

Oh.

That's right.

The chamber was empty, wasn't it?

Staring numbly at the gun, at the pistol that Simon had carried with him throughout his entire career, she doesn't fight the hands that grip at her, that pull her up.

Doesn't fight the way Simon's cold hand slips from hers. When the gun is gently pried from her iron grip.

Words fall upon deaf ears, a buzzing sound accompanying her glazed over expression as she stares at two soldiers dragging over a body bag towards him over Price's shoulder.

"It's alright, lass." Soap mumbles in her ear, and distinctly she notes the sheer of tears in his eyes out of the corner of his own. "We've got ya."

"He's..." She says faintly. Simon's head is zipped into the bag out of view. "Gone..."

And then she cries. No, crying is too lenient a word, for what leaves her is a sound reserved for a wounded animal, a sound that not even the most experienced interrogators could ever hope to coax out of her. She wails and cries, hoarse and raw because nothing about this was okay. Nothing was okay. Nothing would ever be okay again.

Because she was alive.

And her other half was dead.

And she was still alive.

Requests Are Open! Reblog, Like and Comment!

(1/08/2023)

#simon ghost x reader #cod ghost #ghost call of duty #cod mw ghost #ghost cod #ghost modern warfare #ghost mw2 #ghost simon riley #ghost x reader #mw2 ghost #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #modern warfare x reader #call of duty modern warfare 2 #simon riley #fanfic #simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #modern warfare fanfiction #fanfiction #call of duty modern warfare ii #cod modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare #modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare ii #x y/n #angst

[madeofkay]

Rainy Nights | Moon Knight X Reader

ONE SHOT (maybe?)

warnings: jake/marc/steven x fem!reader, angst, !!!dv abuse (not by them, but by an ex), stalking, creepy text messages, and so many typos (ill edit it soon— i wrote this at 4am lol)

summary: When your coworker Steven has growing concerns regarding your safety from an ex-boyfriend, he decides to drive you home one night.

please reblog if u liked it! i love to see comments too :)

Anxiety pooled in the cavity of your chest as you walked through the dimly lit museum, its halls empty now past closing time. A relentless patter of rain against the roof amplified your defeated mood, casting a pall over the end of your shift. Leaning wearily against the gift shop counter, you let out a deep sigh, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on you.

“A long day for you?”

The male voice behind you jolts you, and you spin around, startled. "Maybe a warning next time?" you suggest, holding a hand over your racing heart.

Steven's lips form an 'o' of surprise before he nods hastily. "Apologies, really. I won't sneak up on you like that again." His eyes carry more guilt than he deserves, and you regret snapping at him.

"No worries, I might just startle too easily," you reply, resting your elbows on the countertop. "Nevermind me, how was your day, Steven?"

Steven's nerves spike at the chance to converse with you, a rarity amid your busy tour guide schedule. "Oh, you know," he stammers, grappling for words to make his boring gift shop shift sound cool. "Just a usual day for me." His gaze unintentionally dips to your attire, and he flushes, flustered by the sight of your breasts pressed together.

He shouldn’t look at you that way, he knows that. But you make him so nervous.

“I’m starting to think that I should’ve had control of the body for this interaction,” Marc spoke in his mind.

You nod and smile, charmed by Steven's shyness. "I hope that’s a good thing," you remark, recalling the challenges of your day as a tour guide at the museum. "Today, I was basically herding a bunch of primary school children. They were running off in every direction, and the chaperones were on their phones! It felt like I was conducting a circus instead of a museum tour." You gesture an explosion with your hand, prompting a cheeky smile from Steven.

A pinging sound from your pocket interrupts his response. Your eyebrows furrow as you dig it out of your dress pocket, unlocking it with your passcode.

Where are you, y/n?

Your heart sinks as you read the text from an unknown number, fear washing over your expression. Steven notices the shift in your demeanor, and resists the urge to glance at your phone. "I'm sorry, I just need to respond to this message," you murmur, turning away, your breaths growing shallow.

Please, it’s over. Just leave me alone.

His response came fast.

You know that isn’t true. I’ll come get you, why aren’t you home? I still care.

Are you already cheating on me with somebody else?

Please just tell me where you are, I’m sorry. I miss you so much. I just want to fucking talk to you.

A barrage of texts from your ex-boyfriend fills the screen with message bubbles. You swallow, feeling the weight clog your throat, your hands trembling as the desire to go home fills you.

To hide. That is, if home was still safe.

Steven's concern deepens as he draws near, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. You flinch at the touch, hastily shoving your phone back into your pocket. But you know he's already had a glimpse of your phone screen. "Is everything alright, love?" he inquires, his voice laced with concern.

Marc was pissed off inside Steven’s head. “Who the fuck was texting her all of that?” he spat. Confusion grew in Steven’s mind as he contemplated the identity of the person behind the creepy messages. Lines of worry formed at the base of his forehead from the sound of your silence.

You force a tight-lipped smile, attempting to mask the turmoil swirling within. "It's nothing, just someone texting the wrong number," you respond, your voice strained with feigned nonchalance. Deep down, you know it's far from nothing. The barrage of texts dredges up memories you've tried so hard to bury, reopening wounds you thought had healed.

Steven's brow knit together, his gaze probing but respectful of your boundaries. "If you ever need to talk about it, I'm here," he offers gently, his sincerity evident in his soft tone. His words offer some reassurance amidst the anxiety raging inside your head.

You take a deep breath. “Thank you.”

Steven nods his head in understanding after a few moments, unsure as to his next words. “Y/N,” he pauses, “allow me to drive you home tonight, it is quite late.”

Your mouth parts slightly without a response as you turn back to look at him. His eyes drag over your sunken expression, clearly worried. The sound of rain hitting the museum roof and the darkness of the night influence your decision. “Okay,” you smile gratefully, “I’d appreciate that very much.”

—

Steven guided the way to his car, his presence feeling like steady anchor. The car ride unfolded in silence, punctuated only by the soft tunes of the radio's top hits playing at a low volume. Each bump in the road sent tremors through the small cabbie car, accentuated by the relentless rain hammering against the windows. You felt a sudden jolt as the car hit a rain-filled pothole, splashing dirty street water against the passenger window.

With trembling hands, you power off your phone, the text messages echoing in the back of your mind. Your clammy palms press together, trying to hold onto something solid. As the car gets closer to your neighborhood, your gaze slowly lifts from your lap, uncertainty flickering in your mind.

"Y/N," Steven's voice breaks the silence, causing your heart to slam against your chest like a trapped animal. "This might sound strange, but I want to ask you something."

You nod hesitantly, the taste of blood coating your tongue as you gnaw on the inside of your cheek, a nervous habit of yours.

"Are you sure you want to go back to your apartment alone?" His words hang heavy in the air, abundant with concern. He pauses, using the weight of his gaze to prob you for a response. "I saw some of those messages," he continues upon your silence, his voice gentle but firm. "If you need anything... I mean it, I can help you."

You interject sharply, a defensive edge creeping into your tone. "Please, don't get involved. I'm sorry you saw that, but he's harmless, I swear." Doubt snakes its way down your spine as you utter the words, his past violent outbursts echoing in your brain. The phantom memory of dark bruises left behind from the hard grip of his hands on your skin.

Grabbing, pulling, pushing you.

You fight your facial expression to seem happier, trying to reassure him that everything was alright despite the dread pulling down at your faux smile.

His car rolled to a gradual halt in front of your apartment building as the contents of your stomach threatened to come out of your throat in the form of vomit. You avert your gaze, but you can feel his eyes on you, silently pleading for a change of heart.

"Thank you, Steven," you say quietly, drawing in a sharp breath. "I don't know how I would've managed without you."

You muster a grateful smile, reeling yourself in as you gather your things from the car floor and step out. He breaks the silence by clearing his throat, causing you to pause and lean back into the open door to meet his gaze. Rain hits the clothing on your back.

"I can be there for you whenever," he says earnestly, “Please, don't hesitate to call me if you need me for anything, truly." He extends his hand, offering a taxi business card with his phone number written on it.

—

London Premium Taxi Service

Lockley, Jake

[phone]

—

Your eyebrows knit together at the unfamiliar name on the business card, but with rain still trickling down your clothing, the question fades from your thoughts. "Thank you again, Steven," you murmur, finally closing the cabbie door.

You walk hurriedly out of the rain and into your building, watching the cabbie car drive off as you make it inside. It felt worse to watch your reassurance of safety leaving. With a deep sigh, you enter the arriving elevator and watch as it ascends to your floor. A sense of unease nips at your resolve.

As the doors slide open with a soft hiss, your heart lurches in terror at the sight of him down the hall. A tall man standing outside your apartment door.

Him.

Shock freezes you in place, your breath catching as you lock eyes with your ex-boyfriend. “Oliver?”

“Y/N,” he proclaims breathlessly, his eyes widening with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. As you cautiously step closer, you can see a strange look to his pupils, as if under the influence of some kind of drug.

He speaks again, reaching out toward you. “I’ve missed you so much.”

You instinctively pull your arm away from him, but as quickly as you do, he grabs it again with greater force. You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, trying to steady your trembling nerves. “Why are you here?” A crack in your voice gives your weakness away.

"I just said I missed you, babe," he replies, his tone muddied with false concern. "You're all wet. Let's get inside and get you into something warm."

Your mind races, but every idea that comes to you gets jumbled. You never could properly articulate your thoughts around him. Today was no different. This was your fault, you should have hid yourself better.

You summon the last shreds of your resolve. “I don’t need your help, Oliver,” you manage to say, but your tone is not as firm as you wanted it to be. “Please, just leave.”

His lip curl upward as he tightens his grip on your arm. You suck in a breath, watching his as he slowly moves his free hand to your face. A stand your hair gets pushed back by his fingers, gently yet his fingers forcefully press into the skin of your face. “I won’t ask again,” he whispers.

You comply, digging your apartment key out of your work tote and hand it to him, your apology tumbling off your lips. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you,” you say shakily, trying to placate him.

“Good girl,” he says, taking the key from your trembling hands. And with a sense of dread pooling in the pit of your stomach, you watch as he unlocks your door with ease. The sound of the latch and the creak of the opening door echo in your ears. “Let’s go inside, love.”

As his hand releases your arm and slides down your waist to the small of your back, a shiver runs down your spine at the touch. With a guiding push, he leads you inside, the door closing with a soft click behind the two of you.

Oliver strides into the kitchen with an air of familiarity, his movements purposeful as he rummages through the cabinets and refrigerator for food. "Make yourself comfortable, love," he calls out, carrying a hint of authority as he commands the space.

You take a hesitant seat on your couch, the weight of his presence looming over you like a dark cloud. With trembling hands, you slip off your shoes, but in that moment, you think of what to do.

“Thank you, my love,” you force, “I’m going to go to the bathroom first, okay?”

He nods his head silently, gripping a bottle of wine as he pours himself a glass.

Walking into the bathroom, you close the door behind you with a shaky breath. You flick the business card between your fingers nervously as you dial Steven's number. Your heart pounding in your chest as you wait for him to pick up.

A gruff voice comes through the phone. “London’s Premium Taxi Service, how may I help you today?”

"Steven, is that you? It’s me, Y/N," you whisper urgently, the words tumbling from your lips in a frantic rush. "My ex-boyfriend is inside my apartment, he may be high on something, I’m not sure. I don’t want to get the police involved again, what do I do?”

A screech of tires pierces through the phone line. “Where are you in your flat right now? W—what floor is it on?” Steven stammers, his concern noticeable even through the phone.

You hear the unmistakable crash of a dish breaking outside of the bathroom in your kitchen, sending your heart racing in panic. “I live in 3D. I’m in the bathroom right now,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Stay there and keep the door locked, do not come out no matter what, okay? I’ll be right there to go get you,” Steven’s voice serves as a lifeline for a brief moment before the call ends abruptly. Tears begin to spill as you choke back your sobs.

You hear footsteps from outside the bathroom door. “Y/N! Come clean this fucking mess up,” Oliver’s voice permeates through the door, sending you into a quiet spiral as your hand drags over your lips to keep them shut.

“Y/N?”

“Y/N. Fucking answer me, open this door. What the fuck are you doing in there?” A pounding knock hits the door as it rattles against its frame.

“Open the door!” The sound of his shouting muffles in your brain and you slip into a panic attack, air refusing to saturate your lungs. The door shakes with every hard pound and pull of the door knob.

With a final slam, the door comes off its hinges as Oliver forces his way inside the bathroom. Your body trembles with sobs as you beg him for forgiveness, but his heavy hands fall on you anyway.

The force of his backhand sends you tumbling to the floor, the impact echoing through the small confines of the bathroom. In your haze, you’re unable to comprehend the words he shouts at you. The world blurs around you as his blows to your body continue. Your eyes flutter, the world spinning dizzily around you as he beats you with a savage force.

Until it stops. You take several moments to collect yourself, regaining your strength to be able to open your eyes. Two voices echo in the walls of your apartment as the ringing stops and your hearing slowly returns. A loud thud shakes the floorboards, followed by footsteps towards you.

“Y/N?” says a sweet voice, unrecognizable to you. “I should have gotten here faster, I’m so sorry.”

A gentle hand caresses your face as you try to open your eyes. Steven’s worried face comes into view, the coworker you’ve grown a liking to over the past few weeks. His phone is pressed against his ear and he speaks urgently into it.

“Steven?” you whisper, the words barely above a breath. In your daze, perhaps you had been delusional, mistaking his British accent for an unrecognizably coarse American one.

“I’m right here,” he exclaimed softly, caressing your hair. “I’m on the phone, an ambulance is on its way.”

As sirens soon begin to wail in the distance, piercing through the thin walls of the building, you find comfort in Steven’s gentle touches. You know that you’ll be okay.

#moon knight #marc spector #marvel fic #marvel #steven grant #oscar isaac #oscar issac characters #moon knight x reader #steven grant x reader #fanfiction

[ctitan98official]

Anonymous: How about some heroic angst? How would Alcina react to [Y/N] almost dying while saving the daughters from hunters?

Yes! This is a great idea! Let’s get into it!

Alcina knew something was wrong that morning when the castle was eerily devoid of the usual laughter and antics.

She had awoken to an empty bed. You were nowhere to be seen.

As she descended the stairs she heard the sounds of a physical struggle from outside.

Then she heard a gunshot. A piercing sound that that left utter silence in its wake.

Alcina ran to open the castle doors and found a bloody massacre outside.

Bodies strewn in heaps littered the ground.

Alcina anxiously scanned the scene and called out to her daughters.

“Bela! Cassandra! Daniela!” She called. And then she remembered… She hadn’t seen you yet.

Only one of her daughters swarmed in front of her. Bela looked weak, but she would recover.

The blonde frantically pointed to one lone body that was still breathing. Daniela and Cassandra were leaning over it, trying to provide aid.

Alcina felt her heart drop. She knew it was you.

Alcina and Bela raced to your side.

“I’m trying to put pressure on the wound, mother… Y/N was shot! There’s so much blood, I don’t know what to do!” Cassandra explained through her tears.

Daniela hung her head and wept. “They were trying to protect us, mother! Hunters were trying to kill us, and Y/N…” She trailed off in a choked sob.

Alcina felt her heart break at your bravery and subsequent injuries.

“Y/N, can you here me?!” Alcina pleaded.

Your breathing was shallow, but you cracked your eyes open and tried to focus on Alcina.

“I’m here… Alcina…” You managed to get out.

Alcina felt relief surge through her veins. You were alive. There was still hope.

Alcina turned to Cassandra. “Darling, go run and get Mother Miranda. Tell her what’s happened.” Alcina urged her daughter.

Cassandra handed her mother the rag she was using to try and curb the bleeding and swarmed off.

“You’ll be alright, Y/N. Just try to stay awake okay, baby?” She rubbed a hand through your sweat-soaked hair as she used the other to apply pressure to your wound.

You gasped out weak breaths as blood pooled in your mouth and ran down your chin.

Alcina sobbed as she gently wiped the blood away from your face.

Daniela was unusually quiet as she rocked back and forth, trying to calm down.

The next few hours went by in a blur. Mother Miranda worked tirelessly to try and heal you, but it was clear it was a lost cause.

The only solution Mother Miranda had left was to give you the cadou.

Alcina cried into her hands as she tried to make the best decision without your input.

She didn’t want you to be forced to walk the earth forever like her… But she felt selfish. She wanted you by her side always.

After she heard your breathing begin to slow… She made her decision.

Mother Miranda gave you the cadou and, thankfully, your body hadn’t rejected it.

Now, only time would tell how your body would develop new capabilities.

You awake to the sight of your precious Alcina rubbing anxious fingers on your head.

Your daughters are also by your side. Daniela snuggled into your side and Bela and Cassandra sitting next to you.

You chuckle and four sets of golden eyes lock on your face.

“Did you miss me?” You joke tiredly.

The girls and Alcina cry and nuzzle their faces into you.

Now you would be with them forever. You feel content with this arrangement.

Masterlist

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #re8 #re8 village #re8 lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitriscu x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x y/n #alcina dimitrescu x reader #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #resident evil #resident evil imagines #lady dimitrescu x y/n #angst #angst drabble #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu

[sayafics]

Envious Cravings

This is my first time writing smut, so I hope I did okay :)

Criston Cole x Targaryen!OC x voyeur!Daemon Targaryen

Part 2

Masterlist

Daemon walked leisurely down the corridor, his footsteps echoing down the empty halls. He had left Rhaenyra asleep, too worn out by the ordeals of the night - their dinner had been a failure, Aemond and Aegon had riled up Jace and Luke and then humiliated them as though they were nothing but the scum on the bottom of their shoes.

Daemon let his thoughts wander for a moment, past his obsessions, and past his loyalties - the boys were bastards, yes. But they were Rhaenyra's sons.

They were also unskilled and untrained.

They fell into submission under the brutal hands of Aemond and the drunken grasp of Aegon with ease.

These boys claimed to be dragons, but the wavering bravery of sheep ran through their blood instead.

He bit his cheek in frustration, unsure of where he was going as he deliberated such realisations.

Rhaenyra's children were bethrothed to his own, and so if they were to unite as one, then one day, Daemon's blood would sit upon the throne of the Seven Kingdoms and become Lord of the Tides.

It seemed like everything he had always wanted. It seemed like the desires that had set him alight all those decades ago were slowly becoming true.

And yet, in the light of who his children would marry - weak and spineless boys in comparison to the fair-headed Hightower spawns - he found himself swamped with bother and doubt.

How would they fair as a King and as a Lord?

How would they fare as a husband? As a father? As a protector?

They fail to protect even their own reputations, they allow their names to become sullied by the whispers of the Kingdom and refute to take a stance against them - hiding behind their mother's full figure like babes who still suck upon a bosom, instead of the men they ought to be.

There was a sour taste upon his tongue as he reluctantly admitted to himself that the Hightower boys had the power Rhaenyra's children did not.

Although they were all half-blooded Targaryens, the dragon's breath ran strong through the Hightower heirs.

And yet the throne would go to Rhaenyra, and though pure-blooded she may be, her children were not.

At least not the ones she shared with a long and dead Ser Harwin Strong.

He clicked his teeth, mind reeling as a puddle of confusion and frustration began to pool over.

Daemon looked around him, eyes frantic in search for a distraction - for something, someone he could let his frustrations out upon.

Perhaps a knight he could duel and bury the hilt of his sword within.

Perhaps a maiden he could roughen and have his way with.

Little guilt washed over him at that point, his mind fogged with the prospects of his future. Of the future of his daughters, in the hands of boys instead of men.

Daemon came across an empty corridor, vast and deep leading down into his old chambers from his days as a young man when his father was still brazen and breathing.

He looked upon the hall in sadness now, a melancholic hue that melted into confusion as he realised the halls rang empty of life - of knights.

Did no one live amongst these corridors any longer? Still, with the vast size of the Keep, all halls should remain occupied - for the safety of the King.

He wandered down the corridor, wanting to see how dismal the place had become in his absence. Wanting to see if the disease of the Seven had reached his chambers and swamped them over.

Daemon searched for a twinge of life within the corridor, a whisper of a being, a shadow of a creature.

But the corridor was quiet and bare, as though Alicent had deemed it unworthy of dignifying with her banners and trinkets.

Dsemon scoffed under his breath at the thought, but the sound was cut off by another - shallow and soft.

It sounded again, now desperate against the silence which echoed around him.

And again.

And again.

A woman. A young woman, who seems to have been on the brink of pleasure.

The sound rang again, breathy and rasped as though she had been screaming for hours now in search of an insatiable pleasure.

Daemon felt his cock twitch at the sound, the desperate moans causing him to reel further in search of the source.

He came to a stop in front of a familiar set of doors - his old chambers.

He thinks he should be angry, digusted that a maid or servant would use his room and sully it with their lust in his absence. But he simply holds his breath as he leans closer towards the door.

The moans are clearer now, as are the frenzied whispers of the girl- "please. Ple- don't stop~ oh, more."

In between such sinful pleas, Daemon hears the drawn-out groans of a man - was this a maiden and a knight? Sneaking away from their nightly duties to bask in the pleasures of a nefarious act?

Oh, how he could barge through those doors right now. How he could send fear shooting down their spines and have their faces flush with shame instead of pleasure. How he could join the knight in his wicked games and make the quiet maid come undone with his deft fingers, skillful tongue and thick cock.

Oh, how he could.

But Rhaenyra.

He clenches his eyes shut against the thought - what little guilt he believed existed alone now began to build.

Fine.

He would not join.

But what was the harm in watching.

Daemon steps back from the door, his footfalls soft and his moves almost silent. He makes his way to a ridge within the walls he knows too well, prying them open with practised ease.

He slips into the dark embrace of the tunnels who welcome him with glee, as though he had only now returned home.

Daemon makes his way through the tunnels, following the path he memorised during his youth. It did not take long before he heard the moans in earnest, heard the girl become desperate and frantic under the relentless possession of a man starved.

Daemon's hand brushed against the border of the painting, which concealed the tunnels from the chambers that were once his.

He pushed it open carefully, the slow and whining creak barely audible over the sound of the girl's mewls and the man's praises.

His eyes scanned the room first, making sure no others were about whom could warn the vivacious lovers of his ill-attention.

The first thought that washed over him was how different his old chambers looked now - splattered in such a feminine touch that it had almost lost every essence to which made the chambers Daemon's.

Lavish furs and pillows, drapes of satins and silk, carpentry made of the rarest of materials and most expensive paints and polishes.

This was not the room Daemon recalled - not the childhood he had left.

A drawn-out wail pulled his attention away, his eyes now landing on the bed.

Amusement flickered across his features, a laugh of incredulity almost escaping him as he watched the scene unfold in front of him.

Laying on a bed of ivory fur, her figure nude and her hair laid astrewn, was his young niece - Visenya Targaryen.

But that was not what had surprised him - after all, he had pursued Rhaenyra in her youth. Should he have seen Aemond or Aegon ravishing her beneath her satin sheets, he would not have blinked an eye.

But no.

Instead, laying contently between her legs and feasting upon her sweet cunt was the Queen's most trusted Shield - Ser Criston Cole.

Daemon almost laughed, he wanted to walk into the room and humiliate the pair. But his cock twitched painfully at the sight in front of him - he hardened within his pants as he watched the pair with shallow breaths.

Visenya had her legs thrown over the knight's shoulders, thighs almost crushing his head as her fingers tugged at his dark locks.

Criston was almost as desperate in his movements as she was in her sounds, her hips rising with every swipe and lick as he held her down, his fingers pressing harshly into the softness of her thighs.

Criston's eyes were closed in bliss, his tongue laving through her folds and he circled her clit and suckled upon it. Visenya bit her lip, tears streaming down her face as she ground her bare cunt across Criston's fluttering tongue.

Criston lifted his head from between her thighs, littering kisses across her thighs - "fuck, you taste so good Princess."

He trailed kisses up her form, her arousal coating his lips and chin as he presses a firm kiss upon her lips. Visenya moans at the tangy taste, pushing her tongue into his mouth and drinking him in.

Daemon's hand brushed over his covered cock, touching himself from his hidden place.

Criston's fingers skimmed down her waist, fingers hovering over her cunt as she canted towards him, whines slipping past her lips.

"Please, touch me. I need you."

Daemon's hands slipped into his breaches, her breathy whines more than enough to have his cock begin to leak all over his hands. He swiped at the pre-cum, gathering it to spread across his twitching cock as he held it in a vice grip. He tugged at his length, his moves slow as he imagined his cock in the place of Criston's hand.

Criston gave into her fervored whispers, his fingers meeting her weeping cunt as he swiped across her entrance to her clit. He circled her clit lightly as Visenya clenched her eyes in frustration, she reached a hand down to pull him closer but Criston was stronger.

He placed fervent kisses across her neck, tracing his way across her body to her breasts. He mouthed at them, kissing and biting as his fingers began to circle her clit faster.

Visenya's back arched from the bed, her hands finding Criston's locks with aching desperation as she pulled him back towards her - "I need more."

Criston placed his head against hers, sighing softly into her parted lips, "my love, you know I cannot."

"You can. You simply do not wish to."

Her whispers sounded hurt, and for a moment, Criston stopped his gentle touches to sit back on his haunches and look at the girl.

"I do. You know I do. I would take you now if I could, but I would not risk your life like that."

Visenya sat up on the bed, eyes stinging as she spoke - "you mean, you would not risk my value. For what gain does a princess hold, if her cunt has been used by another."

Daemon rolled his eyes at that, his hand still within his breaches, and his body still tingling with pleasure as he watched the scene unfold in burning disinterest.

"Do not say that. You are worth more than anything- than anyone. You are all I seek, all I need."

"Then why will you not have me?"

Tears had welled up within her eyes now, trailing softly down her flushed cheeks as she looked at him pleadingly.

Daemon's brows quirked in interest, now this was fascinating. How the knight so easily denied the Princess' wishes, he did not know.

Daemon was sure if he had been there, feasting upon the delight between her thighs, he would have granted her every wish and every desire with no thought of the consequences.

Criston wanted to reach out, brush away her tears, and hold her tightly within his arms. But he was bound by his duties, and he was already spitting upon the vows he had made.

He had made his vows to Alicent, had promised his allegience to the Queen, and yet here he was struggling to not give all of himself to her daughter.

"Because I am not good enough for you. I am not worth something so precious and so pure. Because I am tainted and you are not."

"Then ruin me."

It was a whisper. An order. A demand and a plea.

Princesses did not beg, but perhaps this was the closest Visenya would get.

Criston looked into her eyes, searching for the assurance he needed. But he did not have much time to deliberate, as the shy and timid princess became coy as she crawled across the bed and into his lap.

She threw her legs onto either side of his hips, fingers dancing over his bare arms and watching gooseflesh break under her touch. Visenya dragged her nails across the flesh of his shoulders, admiring the way his eyes closed as he tried to hold himself back, the way his head tilted back and his breaths came to a whining stop.

For a moment, Daemon wished it was him sat under the girl. Wished that it was his skin marked by her, his pleas groaned into her ear, his hands upon her waist.

For a moment, Daemon forgot all about Rhaenyra and found himself lusting after Visenya.

"I cannot. If your mother was to find out, she-"

"She will not. It is only us here. Our secret. Our promise."

"I cannot."

"Criston."

His name was a pretty whine from her lips, and his eyes opened to meet her own that were wide and dark with lust. He leaned close to her, his lips brushing over her own as they gasped into each other - "one day."

"Today."

"One day. Soon, my love. I promise."

Visenya gave in, as she always did. Hot tears were tracking down her face as she kissed Criston with all the passion and love she was forced to hide from lingering eyes and suspicious gazes.

Criston grasped her face, his wretched desires making him so desperate to touch her, to hold her, to know that she is here within his arms and has not been shipped away to another Lord in a city too far to reach.

Visenya shifted, she gasped a delighted sound into the space between Criston's tender lips as her hips ground against his.

Criston threw his head back with a groan, "yes, that's a good girl. You're doing so good - so perfect, feels so good."

He nuzzled his head into the crook of her neck, biting and suckling the flesh there as his hands gripped her hips tightly and ground them against his.

From his place in the shadows, Daemon's desires began to burn once more as Visenya let out endless moans, wrapping her arms around Criston's neck as she moved in earnest.

There was no materials between them now, her bare cunt brushed against his hardened cock until there was a puddle of arousal settled between them. Still, they paid the mess no mind - lost in the gratification they felt in that moment.

Daemon's hand tightened around his length once more, pumping faster and harder as he watched Visenya come closer to the edge. He panted into the darkness, sweat beading on the back of his neck as he forced his eyes to stay focused on the trembling and whining girl.

"That's it," Criston whispered, "come on, cum for me, sweet girl. I know you can. Cum for me, just for me."

It seems those words were enough to throw her over the edge, wrapping her arms tighter around Criston's neck as a sharp cry escaped her.

Criston's moves became sloppy, his hips rutting up to meet hers and grinding against her flesh as he chased his own climax. He came with a rough groan, softly grinding their hips together as they rode out their orgasm.

Visenya whimpered, feeling sensitive but not wanting the shocks of pleasure that rumbled through her to stop.

She was about to pull away from Criston, ready to fall back in her bed and pull his body towards hers so he could hold her until dawn.

Instead, a quiet groan caught her attention - one that did not come from the distracted man beneath her, rather directly ahead of her.

In the cracks of the shadows, she could see the tell-tale flash of a fair-headed Targaryen. Her shoulders stiffened, hands reaching to pet Criston's hair as he whimpered against her flesh and rutted against her in seek of another climax.

Was this Aegon? Perhaps it was Aemond?

If so, surely they would not reveal her dalliances to the Court? To their mother?

But then she saw a slip of skin - a hardened jaw, an angled face, a mischevious grin.

Something that could only belong to one person.

Daemon.

Daemon knew he was caught, but he was so deep - so close to the brink of release, he could not stop.

His eyes clenched shut, teeth gritted to stop his groans escaping him and informing the knight of his presence too.

His cock was pulled out of his breaches, his hand pumping faster and tighter and he rutted into his own palm and imagined Visenya's tight and virgin hole in its place.

His head hit the wall next to the painting with a silent thud, white streaks splattering across his hands and out of the tunnel to paint the luscious rugs beneath him with his essence.

He panted like a dog, one so starved and so hungry, as his violet eyes met the scared and timid gaze of his niece.

Criston had stopped his ministrations now, his head laying contently in the valley of her breasts as he rubbed circles into the flesh of her waist. She continued to pet his hair, but her horrified glare was fixed upon the gap behind the painted frame.

Daemon knows.

Daemon saw.

And Daemon had pleasured himself at the sight.

She was not sure what her next move should be.

What his next move could be.

But she knew she would have to fix this. Otherwise, she could lose the man she held gently in her arms so quickly.

Taglist: @marihoneywk @hangmanscoming

#daemon targeryan #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen x oc #criston cole x oc #criston cole x reader #ser criston cole #criston cole #ser criston #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen fanfic #daemon targaryen x oc x criston cole #daemon targaryen x reader x criston cole #criston cole smut #voyeur!daemon

[hey-august]

Miles above, it’s so serene

A/N: This didn't win in the poll, but I just couldn't let the idea go! (See the smuttier fic here.)

Word count: ~1.4k Warnings: Pretty much SFW, buggy x GN!reader, no use of Y/N, partaking in the devil's lettuce 🍃, buggy is smitten, talks of sex but it doesn't happen, bit o fluff at the end

Title from "High as a Kite" by Weezer

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Cheers, shouts, and laughter from the pub spilled into the night street every time the door opened. A soft breeze carried the chatter and echoing footsteps, picking up the smoke from your group on the way. The edge of the glowing pool of light from the pub was the perfect spot to stand in a circle and bullshit about nothing. 

A lighter clicked, creating a red cherry that flared as one person inhaled. The roll passed to the next hand and the ember burned bright, before making its way to your hand. You took a shallow drag, pulling in just enough to maintain your comfortable buzz, before continuing the chain.

Raunchy jokes, lonely laments, agitated frustrations, and casual gossip bounced around the circle. Lobbies and spikes were unpredictable. New topics and responses overlapped to create a tightly bound weave between the crew. When one pirate beckoned a newcomer to join the pod, the rest of the group shuffled aside to make room. The empty space was filled by your captain. 

While extremely common for Buggy to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with his mates, he was usually found in the pub draining bottle after bottle. Periodically, in certain crowds, he could be found with a cigarette dangling from his lips. It was rare, nearly fable, for him to choose to bond in a hazy cloud. And yet, there he was, standing next to you and effortlessly sliding into conversations like he had been here the whole time.

Soon it was time for your next hit. The roll sat between your fingers as you finished sharing a heated thought about the recent meals. It was a complaint that nearly everyone onboard had said at some point, yet you felt an odd strain emanating from your side. From your captain.

“...it’s whatever, really. Doesn’t actually matter, I guess.” 

You wrapped up the venting with a non-committal comment, hoping it might ease the subtle tension that only you seemed to sense. Maybe it was all in your head, so you set to work filling the space with smoke. You exhaled slowly and held out the roll for Buggy to take next, half expecting him to pass.

You were surprised when he nearly snatched his turn from your hand and took a hard drag, the unseen pressure finally relaxing. Watching the smoke drift from Buggy’s painted mouth as he spoke, you found a way to wheedle your way into his conversation. There was something intriguing and novel about seeing your captain like this, and you needed an excuse to stare.

It quickly became clear that this was not an activity Buggy participated in frequently. His comments became looser and his booming laughter had him bumping against you more frequently. Buggy’s personality was infectious. When one of his hands clasped your shoulder as he doubled over in laughter, it brought out your own fit of joy.

A new roll began its trip around the group. Still comfortable with your buzz, you took another shallow inhale. Buggy, on the other hand, pulled the ember ever closer and refilled his lungs with more unfiltered air than they were used to. Focused on himself, the captain missed the glances and suppressed smiles that flitted around the group.

You accepted the non-verbal remarks when your turn came around again. This time, you passed.

“Actually, I think I’m gonna head back. Captain, wanna walk back with me?”

“Heh, afraid of the dark?” he teased. “Sure, who better to protect you than the guy who ate the chop-chop fruit. No one will screw with us.”

You smiled, pleased that the plan worked. The warmth of the achievement flickered briefly when you realized that the roll hadn’t passed both of you yet. There was a possibility he’d take another hit, which is what you were hoping to avoid. The pirate standing on Buggy’s other side caught your eye and reached over to remove the obstacle. With the roll continuing it’s journey, you and Buggy left the group to start your own.

The walk to the ship was illuminated by the full moon. The ocean was calm, just barely rolling over the small stones on the shore. A soft wind followed you both, whispering through the palm trees and sea grass. With each step, you both continued talking and laughing. 

Buggy’s comments started drifting more frequently. He’d end with trailing thoughts, repeat himself, and launch into conversations that started in his head. It was endearing. You were more than content to follow along, watching to see how high he’d float.

“Y’know, I wish we weren’t walking back together,” Buggy drawled, clearly saying the thought as it appeared in his head.

You stayed silent, waiting to see if he’d elaborate. Did he not want to head back yet? Or did he want to walk with someone else?

“Not tonight, you know? I wouldn’t be able to consent to anything. I want to, but I can’t.”

Despite his continued babbling, you still couldn’t follow the thread he was dangling in front of you.

“What do you mean?”

Buggy turned to face you, leaving his feet to continue walking forwards to the ship.

“If we were to do something back on the ship,” he said, with a tinge of annoyance that he had to explain something that was only obvious to him. “Something,” he repeated, raising his eyebrows.

You bit back a laugh and nodded along.

“You and me, having sex together. Something. But I couldn’t consent like this.” Buggy emphasized his point by spreading his arms wide. “I wish I could, though. With you. I like you.”

It was your turn to raise your eyebrows. This was not how you expected the walk back to go. You rubbed your face, massaging your cheeks which would not relax or let go of the ecstatic smile hidden under your hand.

Buggy continued to prattle on, sharing all the things he likes about you. Observations that you didn’t think he noticed. Compliments that fill your stomach with butterflies. You captured your captain’s attention long ago and his list was long. From your fiery temper to your soothing smile, the way your hair caught the sunlight, how you smelled like the ocean, the scratch in your voice when you sang sea shanties, the shape of your hands, and so much more.

The monologue wrapped with another repeated lament about his inability to safely agree to sex. Buggy’s shoulders drooped and he hung over in remorse as he reconnected with his feet and turned away from you. He was adorably pathetic. Truly a clown.

“I like you too, captain. I promise not to take advantage of you, though.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah, I promise.”

The rest of the walk was uneventful after that moment. If anything, it was as if the confessions didn’t happen. Buggy grew quieter and retreated into himself as you two boarded the ship. You knew that he was losing his hold and becoming untethered. It can be scary to feel like you’d float away, so you continued to fill the silence as you guided the captain back to his quarters. 

“Fuck, why is the ship swaying so much?” Buggy whined, flopping into his unmade bed.

You talked through the laughter that threatened to slip out. “It isn’t. The sea is calm, remember?”

Buggy groaned dramatically and pressed his palms against his eyes. “Everything keeps moving when I close my eyes.”

“Keep one leg off the bed.” You slapped one of his boot-clad feet, prompting him to let it fall to the ground with a thud. “Does that help?”

“I dunno. Maybe?” Buggy stayed silent for a moment, breathing deeply. “It helps a little.”

You were only going to hang around until Buggy fell asleep. With how quickly the smoke consumed him, it shouldn’t take long. However, the night had other plans.

You found yourself waking up in the captain’s bed, with the sounds of your own sleepy breathing fading from your head. Moonlight seeped into the room, but not as much as when you were last awake. Both of you were still wearing the clothes from earlier and laying on top of his sheets. 

In your hand was Buggy’s own, fingers entwined. Flattered heartbeats returned to your chest, nearly aching with how hard they started. As the content feeling flooded through your body, you gave a tentative squeeze. This was real. This was all real. While part of you was eager to know what tomorrow would bring, you also wanted to stay like this for as long as possible.

A moment later, you felt the comforting hold on your hand squeeze back.

#buggy fluff #buggy x reader #buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x you #x reader #buggy op #opla buggy #one piece buggy

[ja3hwa]

Jongho | Blue Lagoon

「Synopsis」 : You head out to sea in hopes the storm hadn't hurt your lovers. But what you are met with was more than expected.

「Word count」 : 2.0k

-> Genre: Smut. Fluff. Fantasy. Adventure.

Paring: Vampire!Pirate!Jongho x Siren!Reader

[Warnings] : Swearing. Pet name. Blood. Bodily fluids. Blood drinking. Sir kink. Blowjob. Throat fucking. Dirty talk. Nudity (Sexual & Non-Sexual). Let me know If I missed anything.

<- Previous Part | M.list | Next Part ->

The cave was warm compared to the freezing storm out at sea. Yunho gave the all-clear when he jumped from the deck to the sand bank. He made sure the anchor was set so they wouldn’t float away, also giving the grounds around them a once over just in case something else decided to pick the same cave as a place of refuge from the hell-bent storm. Wooyoung shouted about getting dinner started making everyone head for the lower deck, sensing their stomachs empty and in need of Wooyoung’s cooking.

Jongho however stayed on the stern deck, looking out to the waterfall that had an opening in the cave roof, making some rain pour in with a loud trickle. He noticed little lagoon pockets, most of them looked shallow but he knew all too well that they were indefinitely deep, making a cave system right beneath their feet. Some blue glowworms gathered on the wet roof, lighting up the cave, making him suddenly see a shadow out of the corner of his eye. He turns and stood up from his slouched position on the railing, trying to get a better look at the figure in one of the small lagoon pools. Maybe it was something to fear or something that could harm the ship, but he suddenly saw a light mixer of colour painted on a long and elegant tail. He knew exactly what he was looking at and it made his heart skip a beat.

The sea was calming around your body. It’s quiet and peaceful compared to the world above. You took a large inhale, letting the gills on the side of your neck filter the water inside your system. It was comfortable, familiar. You missed being underwater, but you loved the surface world as well. You missed your tail every day, but not as much as you liked your legs. It was lonely in the sea. Being an outcast from your home because of your special ability. Being a shifter. A rare form of Siren, a mermaid crossbreed. In other words, an abomination. Something that shouldn’t exist, but I guess your parents didn’t get the memo about that.

You navigate the ocean with ease following the scent of the destiny―the ship Yeosang was aboard―. The smell of wet dark spruce, a hint of honey and chard coal, the scent you loved whenever you stood on the deck of the beautiful vessel. You look up to the break where the water meets the opened air, seeing rain dancing on the face of the big blue. It’s getting heavier, you thought, worried the boys might be in trouble, but when you spot teal blue light bubbles, you knew there is a cave system nearby. Maybe they took their ship into a cave?

Swimming through the small crevasse you try your best not to get your large tail suck. But luckily you were just able to wiggle yourself through. You see thousands of lights from glowworms in your blurred view. The surface. Your hands are the first to exit the water feeling the warm air on your cold fingertips. You close your eyes cutting through the water's face before taking a sharp breath of oxygen in, feeling your lung fill with air as your gills close and seal up against your skin from the loss of water around them.

You open your eyes, looking around the large structure, rubbing your eyes in order to clear your vision. A skip in your heart makes your worried nerves finally calm down, seeing the ship sitting out of the storm. Safe. Placing your arms on either side of the lagoon pocket trying to pull yourself up and after a small attempt you got up, twisting your body so your butt could sit on the ledge. You look around the large hollowed rock structure, suddenly grazing on a figure heading in your direction.

“Shit.” You flopped your tail out of the water, placing a hand on your chest before whispering an enchantment allowing you to shift from your tail to your human legs. You prepared to try and explain to whoever was heading your way why you were naked in a cave but before any excuses come to mind a sigh left your lungs as you spot who it was. “Jongho…”

“Hey there Honey. I thought it was you.” His soft voice and kind smile made your heart flutter. He knelled down to your sitting form not dropping his graze from your face. Such a gentleman. He opens a satchel that rests on the side of his hip, pulling out some clothes for you to dress in. He spoke of keeping clothing for you in the past once you told him about you being a shifter. You found it sweet that he and Yeosang were wanting to care for you so much. You always felt love with their protection.

You take the long shirt from the kind male, smiling with a small thank you leaving your lips. Pulling the cloth over your head to take notice that he finally dropped his view, looking at all of you now that you are covered. He let out a gulp as if he wanted to say something. But he couldn’t seem to find the right words.

“You okay Jong?” You tried to get up so you could stand with him but your legs wobbled and your knees buckled making you fall forward. Luckily Jongho caught you.

“Careful honey. Don’t want ya hurtin’ yourself.” He chuckled wrapping his arms around your soft waist, his fingers diving into your plump skin with care. His face was suddenly inches from yours, feeling his heart rate spike from the distance. Time froze as his red eyes glowed while they gaze into your teal ones. You lent in closer, hoping he would seal his lips against yours but he pulls away instead.

“Why are you here Sweetheart?” he whispers, making you let out a huff while rolling your eyes slightly.

“The storm… I wanted to….” You felt a lump in your throat overthinking basically setting you up for failure but yet here you are. Wanting to make sure he was safe. That they were all safe. Jongho gave a small kiss on your forehead, closing his eyes for a moment, taking in your scent that has lingering hints of sea salt.

“I get it…” His lips trail down from your forehead, the crease of your eye, cheeks, jaw and neck. You took a sharp inhale, letting your fingers slip into his belt loops to pull him closer to you. He placed open mouth kisses down your neck until he finds the right spot making you groan softly. A hunger was brewing in his gut, letting his fangs graze your jugular.

“Are you going to bite me, sir?” You teased suddenly feeling your head starting to spin. He just chuckled in response, licking a long strip up your neck before letting his fangs pierce your flesh. You let out a gasp, hands flying to his chest, scrunching the fabric of his blouse. Your blood trickles into his mouth letting him taste the sweet iron twang on his tongue. You felt lightheaded, trying your hardest to keep your body upright. He finally breaks his fangs from your skin. He watched the blood spill out of your neck, dripping down to your collarbone. Fuck, you are so beautiful when covered in blood.

“Baby…” He went to speak but you wasted no time in pushing him against the large flat rocks that lay beside the lagoon pools, making him lean back with a widen stance of his legs. You grinned while you watched him wipe your blood off his chin. You drop to your knees stalking over to your lover. He watched you with a sly smirk, feeling his cock twitch at your excitement. You really got horny from him drinking from you? Yes… You pull down his briefs and took his cock out quickly. Wasting no time in giving him a lick from his base to tip, flicking your tongue on his slit. Jongho let out a soft moan from your action. You lick him like that for a moment, getting him wet and sloppy. You wrap your hands around him and started jacking him off at full-speed. The filthy sounds of him getting wet and you pumping him echoes in the one side of the cave. The feeling made him close his eyes for a moment to just get lost in the pleasure before they popped open when you swallowed him.

“Honey─” He gasps, his hands flying to your head instinctively. His fingers curl as he felt your head move up and down at a quickened pace. He hums deep in his chest making you dig your nails into his thick thighs before pulling off him with a pop.

“Jongho please,” you moaned. “Can you please..use me.” You pressed kisses all over his cock, occasionally licking it from base to tip. Jongho cursed under his breath and took a hold of your head with both hands. You hum excitedly while he sighed deeply, looking at you as you open your mouth as your permission.

“Damn,” he whispers and with one more low curse, he slid himself in your mouth. Your throat muscles immediately hugged his hard cock tightly, and he felt them moving as you swallowed. He groans, hips moving back and forth slowly at first, giving you some time to adjust, but after a small tap on his thigh that he could translate as a go-ahead he picked up his pace. Soon, he was fucking your throat at a pace that could count as fast,

“You want me to use you, huh?” He rasped. His breath was coming out in pants. You swallowed and hummed around him. “Alright, baby, here it comes.” He tightened his hold on your head and thrusts in. He could feel you struggle a little, throat muscles spazaming and after a couple more seconds of having you there, he pulls your head off, and you gasps wetly and loudly. Your face was a mess, but holy shit did it turn on Jongho more than he ever got before…

“You look so ruined, Fuuck,” he curses. You moan and bent your head to take him in your mouth again, making him thrust in and out of you a couple more times before keeping himself buried there for a moment. He felt you gag softly, nails digging into his thighs, but he didn’t pull out, didn’t move, he just kept your head on his cock. The gagging intensified a bit, the spasms of your muscles following. Just when you dug your nails painfully deep, he pulls out. The gasp you let out was louder than the first one.

“Sir, shit,” you whispered. Your voice, horses and your face was painted with tears. Jongho clenched his jaw and buried himself deep in your throat making you moan when he did. Immediately, you start to swallow around him as you snake a hand to grasp his balls. He gasps when he felt the tight grip you had on them, doubling over, but not pulling out this time for a breather. You fondle his balls, holding them tightly, pulling on them and swallowed around his cock. You heard a strong thud before Jongho let out a punch sound and a choked moan, and he came down your throat. When he finally pulled out, he watches a string of saliva follow, connecting your mouth and his dick together.

“Holy shit,” he pants, breathless. You just smile making his heart flutter. “You’re gonna be the death of me.” he laid down on his back, letting the cold rock cool his body temperature.

“You love me.” You giggle using the lagoon water to wash your face and neck, letting the salty water tend to your wound.

“Of course I do.” He replies.

-

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© 𝐉𝐚𝟑𝐡𝐰𝐚. Do not steal, plagiarise, translate, repost, or use my work in any way, shape, or form.

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑 : 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑁 𝑁𝑂 𝑊𝐴𝑌 𝐴 𝑇𝑅𝑈𝐸 𝐷𝐸𝑃𝐼𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝑂𝐹 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐴𝑇𝐸𝐸𝑍 𝑀𝐸𝑀𝐵𝐸𝑅𝑆. 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝐼𝑆 𝑃𝑈𝑅𝐸 𝐹𝐼𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐼𝑆 𝑁𝑂𝑇 𝑇𝑂 𝐵𝐸 𝑇𝐴𝐾𝐸𝑁 𝑆𝐸𝑅𝐼𝑂𝑈𝑆𝐿𝑌.

#ateez #ateez smut #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez reaction #ateez reactions #ateez fanfic #ateez fluff #pirate!ateez #ateez pirate au #ateez poly #poly ateez #ateez scenario #ateez x reader #ateez jonhgo #atz hard hours #atz reactions #atz fluff #atz smut #atz scenarios #ateez jongho x reader #ateez jongho #choi jongho #jongho #ja3hwa #ja3hwa posts #kpop smut #kpop #ot8 atz #ot8 x reader

[fleshdyke]

i think it starts with an apocalypse. by sheer luck and circumstance, you survive. you seem to be the only one.

everything seems barren, eerily still, nothing but grass and trees and water. you survive, but there is nothing here. the only sign that anyone was ever here is pyramids of solid red brick, stacked up in a uniformly triangular shape. they don’t seem to do anything. you are alone.

your first night finds you tormented by the dead. they groan and creak and seem to be desperate to infect you. they are all dead by morning.

there’s only a few resilient species that seem to have survived along with you. they’re your only chance right now. the sheep provide companionship. you learn not to get attached to the pigs.

you build a home for yourself. it’s modest, nothing fancy, but it protects you from the elements. you still have hope. your footsteps echo through the empty house in the mornings. you are alone.

it takes years, but ever so slowly, the second hominid re-emerges. they build villages and farmland and are happy to barter with you. they have their own language. you seem to have forgotten yours.

you find the remains of wild animals you haven’t killed. you learn to be patient, and watchful, and you see the wolves that hunt in the forests. it takes a long time, but you gain the trust of one of them. she never leaves your side again.

you explore a little more. you find ancient temples in the deserts, booby trapped and filled with forgotten riches from millennia ago. you don’t know who built this. whoever it was disappeared a long time ago.

jungles flourish and bring with them tropical fruit and colourful birds and skittish cats that seem to love fish. you take home as many as will follow you. the world isn’t quite so quiet anymore.

the oceans come alive again. it’s no longer an empty, unforgiving void that you just so happen to be lucky enough to float on. schools of fish flicker away into vast kelp forests when you cast your lure into the water. the tropical shallows fill with a myriad of fish and coral in every colour you can think of. you find an old boat, much bigger than anything you could ever construct, laying dormant at the bottom of the sea. the writing on the maps you find there is familiar.

there is a temple in the middle of the ocean. you don’t know who built it, but it’s been reclaimed by the fish. you don’t dare go there anymore.

bees buzz softly through the air. you learn to keep them, and learn to harvest their honey, and your crops grow better than they ever have. your livestock keep you busy. your livestock keep you distracted.

even the lost dimension that connection to was severed so long ago returns to its former glory. you explore forests of mycelium and dunes of sticky sand and basalt spires and with them they bring the lost intelligent hominid. you learn quickly not to touch their temples, no matter how run down they seem to be. they are holy.

and even in the most hostile, barren places, deep underground, the place where only you seem to have ever been, life flourishes. glowing lichen lights your way and bears you fruit. massive caverns and underground freshwater pools are home to unique plants and unseen amphibians.

and even after so much growth, and so much recovery, you are still alone.

you search. you search for months that turn into years that turn into decades. what was once a humble homestead has grown into a fortress. you are safe there. you are alone. on every expedition, you leave markers and statues, anything to say i was here. i am alive. you set up beacons to signal to anyone who might be out there. no one ever responds. you are alone.

you follow forgotten maps to the ends of the earth to find anyone that might have survived alongside you. you cannot give up. you cannot be alone.

you experiment. you’ve found a way to cure infected villagers, to return them home, but have had no such luck with the remains of your own species. you think they’re your own species. they’re the closest thing to you that you’ve seen. you grow desperate.

the humanoids that walk freely between their realm and yours used to frighten you, but you’ve been alone for so long you find yourself talking back to them. you begin to hear greetings in the noises they make. you know they aren’t talking to you. you wish you could talk to them. you don’t try to make eye contact.

you follow every clue you find in forgotten ruins. they always lead to nowhere. you piece together portals to other worlds, and find nothing but hostile hellscapes and misery. you have travelled across the world. you’ve gone from blistering deserts and over unforgiving mountains and through freezing tundras and across oceans to find someone, anyone. there is never a new signal, a new clue. there is never anything to indicate that there are any survivors.

you are alone.

your bones creak. it’s been so long. you don’t want to die. you don’t want to take your species with you.

so what do you think, when you turn to see someone standing in a doorway in your fortress that you spent decades building? someone so unmistakably human, someone you’ve spent your entire life searching for to no avail, someone you’ve been constantly lying to yourself about, convincing yourself they were out there somewhere, all the while knowing they weren’t?

you don’t know if you’re hallucinating, if you’ve finally slipped into madness. if this is just a stroke of bizarre luck, that the other survivor has found you before you could find them. if this is another malevolent entity in a world full of strange magic and power, something that was once human, or is only somewhat, or is just appearing to be, and is simply better than the others at pretending.

only one way to find out.

#i think today i will write a poem about minecraft #mc is a psychological horror game. and i fully believe this #and that makes it one of the best games ever made amen #btw dsmp fans dont interact. i hate you and your racist white guys #rambles #poetry #poems #minecraft #mc #horror #writing #my art #long post #psychological horror #unreality #100 #best

[shinynewboots]

Staring at the Sun / Adam x Lute Chapter 1

Summary: After the battle, Lute attempts to flee with Adam. They find themselves unable to return to Heaven and must adjust to life in Hell.

AN: Hello all! I have been obsessed with Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss for the past two weeks and got this plot bunny that wouldn't leave me alone! So excited to be writing for this fandom! This chapter is relatively short but I wanted to go ahead and set the scene for the rest of the story. Hope y'all enjoy!

Warnings: Violence, gore, 18+ eventually, Adam-typical misogyny eventually

Chapter 2

“NO!” Lute screamed, running towards Adam. Golden blood dripped from her dismembered limb, leaving puddles of golden tears as it fell. She could no longer feel the searing pain in her arm. No, that pain now belonged in her chest at the sight of her beloved leader being stabbed in the back.

Adam lay face forward, golden blood gushing from his multiple stab wounds as the Damned could only stand and watch in awe as the small demon pulled her knife from Adam’s back.

Lute fell to her knees beside Adam and used all the force in her body to roll him over, the remains of her left arm hanging against her side. 

“Sir! Stay with me sir!” Lute screamed, almost demanding. Adam gave her a soft smile. It had been a long time since she had seen his face, but it was just as handsome as she had remembered. Blood dripped from his nose. His golden eyes were soft but empty, losing light. His hair was messy and full of dirt and debris. His beautiful heavenly robes were stained with blood.

“Adam!” She screamed. Had she ever called him that before? Tears welled in her eyes and she took in the sight of her beloved leader. His eyes closed, and his breathing grew shallow. 

“It’s over,” The Princess of Hell said in a dark tone behind her. Blood pulsed in Lute’s ears and saliva pooled in her mouth. 

“Take your little friends and go home,” Lucifer exclaimed, fire blowing from his mouth in a rage. His voice was low and threatening. All around them, the other exorcists had stopped fighting and Lute could feel all the eyes of Hell upon her. 

“Please,” Lucifer added, a snarky smile on his face. Lute breathed deeply and grabbed Adam’s halo.

“Retreat! All exorcists fall back.” She screamed. Exorcists filled the skies and fled the scene as though it were a crime. The group of Hellions watched on, triumphant looks upon their faces. 

Lute knew she could not leave him. He was better than all of these demons and sinners. He was Adam. He was the First Man. He was…everything.

Lute took in a deep breath and used all of her remaining strength to pull Adam onto her shoulders. It took a few tries as she could not balance him due to her loss of forearm. Finally, she felt secure enough with him on her shoulders. He was much bigger than her and would weigh her down as she flew but she had no choice. She couldn’t leave him. 

She unfurled her wings, beginning her ascent back to Heaven. Exorcists filled the skies, almost all back through the portal that Adam had originally opened. The fucking cowards had not even bothered to try and help her bring back the body of their leader. Fucking bitches. 

Lute could feel Adam’s blood soak into her back. She could no longer hear his breathing. He couldn’t be dead!

He was Adam!

“Don’t you dare fucking die on me Adam,” She whispered as though it were a prayer. Despite being an angel, she had not prayed in decades. What was there to pray for in heaven?

She flew much slower than she ever had, weighed down by Adam and her own exhaustion. Her arm was dripping blood back down to Hell like holy raindrops from above. All of the exorcists were back through the portal.

She was so close!

Just a little further!

But wait.

Why did the portal look like it was getting smaller the closer she got? 

Her eyes widened in realization as the portal closed leaving her flying toward the Pentagram sun, the sky around her empty.

How was this possible?!

She couldn’t open another portal.

She couldn’t—

Falling. 

She felt herself begin falling. 

Her eyes grew heavy. 

She was so tired. So dizzy. She just wanted to rest. 

NO!

Adam. 

Adam needed her. 

Adam was—

Falling too

Everything went dark. 

How long had it been since Lute had been in the dark?

“Dad!!” Lute heard someone scream. Hell Princess maybe?

Adam. 

She had to save Adam.

Adam—

#hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel #hazbin #helluva boss #hazbin hotel adam #adam #hazbin hotel lute #adam x lute #hazbin hotel adam x lute

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Freedom

Sihtric x you

Authors note: I really hope that my dark and heavy period has come to an end with this fic and, hey, I managed to write a happy ending to it 😊.

Thank you so much to everybody who liked my first modern!Sihtric fic. I have several modern!Sihtric requests in my inbox now and even some very fluffy ones. I accept them all and I will write them all. Just please be patient as my maximum capacity is around one fic per week, but I am so enormously happy to receive the requests, so go ahead and give me some more.

Summary: reader is a childhood friend of Sihtric, whom he liberates from the slavery after the fall of Dunholm. The life has not been easy on her since Sihtric left to the point that she does not even recall him at first.

Warnings: mention of violence, blood, slavery and sexual abuse, deep depression, attempted suicide, and to overweight this all – Sihtric being incredibly sweet and caring 😊

Word Count: 3,565

Sihtric immediately recognized you the moment the men swung open the heavy oak doors of the slave pit in the depths of Dunholm.  The pit emptied in an instant as everyone hurriedly fled the smelly and filthy room, almost knocking Sihtric off his feet. He had to sidestep to avoid the rush, momentarily losing sight of you. Concern furrowed his brow as he feared he might have missed you, but then his gaze found you. You were still there. Sihtric's initial assumption was that you had stayed because you had spotted him, and a gentle smile began to tug at the corners of his lips. Taking a step toward you, his heart stilled, his gaze darkening, confronted with the sight that now lay bare before him as he could clearly survey you.

You resembled a feral, abandoned kitten. Vigilant, watchful eyes taking in every motion around, your body taut, spine arching in an innate urge of self-preservation, ready to leap at any perceived threat. Your clothes mere tatters, scarcely covering your delicate, emaciated frame; your hair unkempt, dirty and tangled like a dishevelled bird’s nest, some leaves and twigs entwined within, a few strands falling over your eyes. Your eyes, once two unbelievably blue radiant pools of warm kindness and mirth, had transformed into bleak and desolate orbs, an endless, vast expanse of fear and anxiety. Sihtric advanced another step, and you hissed at him, retreating further into the corner. His countenance fell, the joy and delight in his eyes giving way to a tempest of anxiety and concern, prompting him to turn and storm out of the basement abruptly.

“Don’t approach her and don’t touch her,” he directed sternly to the men clustered near the doorway, eliciting baffled glances. He reappeared moments later, clutching a fresh loaf of bread. Sihtric approached you with care, lowering himself into a crouch, extending his hand slowly and gingerly, palm upturned, the bread perched upon it. You refrained from reaching for it, yet he waited. His hand extended, breath shallow, unwavering gaze fixed on you. No grin, no words, no hasty gestures. At length, you summoned the courage to snatch the bread from his palm and quickly retreated back into the corner. Seating himself on the floor, legs crossed, Sihtric observed as you hungrily swallowed the offered loaf.  Some other men entered the room, wanting to speak to him, but Sihtric merely shook his head and remained seated in his place.

“Do you remember me?” he finally uttered, his voice soft and almost trembling, a stark contrast to his intimidating exterior smeared with blood on his face, armor, and hands. Not a sound escaped your lips. His gaze remained fixed on you.

“Do you understand me? I will not hurt you, and I will not let anybody else harm you. Would you come with me?” He extended his hand again, palm upturned, the other hand raised in the air with an open palm facing you, a gesture meant to reassure that he held nothing concealed within it. Remember? What did it mean to remember? You had long learned to live just for the current day, leaving everything behind. There was nothing to remember in your life. Your eyes roved around the room, occasionally resting on the warrior before you. Your head tilted to the side, your gaze vigilant, yet avoiding direct contact with his. To lock eyes was to issue a challenge, and challenge equated to pain. This you retained. What did the stranger want from you? It seemed that he was not an imminent threat, and your tense muscles eased marginally.

There was just a small, almost imperceptible shift in the startled eyes of the wild kitten, a sparkle of comprehension, a trace of uncertainty overlaying the sheer angst that had radiated from them before. Sihtric noticed the over tensed muscles slowly slacken in the small quivering body. An almost irresistible urge welled within Sihtric, a wish to wrap his arms around the trembling creature and cradle it carefully against his chest, yet he recognised that this would only scare you off.

“Follow me,” Sihtric ordered with a firm voice, rising from the floor and turning toward the door. This was a language you understood. A command, an order. You obeyed, ascending from the floor and trailing behind. Your gaze remained affixed to your newfound master's back.  The air reeked of battle and blood, and you did not want to see all the dead bodies spread on the ground. Your footing faltered and you almost fell, a bare foot sliding on something repulsively warm, squishy, and greasy. Two strong arms encircled your waist, steadying you back on your feet before releasing you in an instant.

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

Freedom. Can one truly bestow freedom upon another? Especially someone who has never known what a freedom is? Someone unfamiliar with the concept of choice. Is it really a freedom then? Or rather another cage, just a bit more spacious, draped with cosy furs and tapestries concealing the bars and razor wire? Could it be that freedom hurts even more than the despised chain around your neck? Hated yet familiar unlike the invisible rope of unknown freedom that constricts you when you least anticipate it.

You don’t count time, but something has changed. You are not a blank, unwritten page when you awaken anymore. You remember. You remember the imposing doors of the big, overcrowded basement chamber swing open, and unfamiliar faces commanding all of you to get out, declaring you were free now. Free to do what? You still have no answer to that. You sense the light sipping through your closed eyelids, announcing another new day rising, but your reluctance to open them prevails. Do you have a freedom of choice? None. You remember the pain, the voices. All memories blurred, but live and present. It scares you.  

The dark-haired warrior with oddly and somehow distantly familiar mismatched eyes, has taken you in. You don’t understand him. He’s your new master, at least that much is clear for you. He hasn’t claimed you. He hasn’t hurt you either. At least not yet. What does he want from you? Your days trickle past in a torturing fog of daze and stupor, mostly spent nestled in a corner of your small room, your gaze fixated on the ceiling, admiring the intricate lines of the wood. There is nothing to clutch, to navigate the passage of time. He does not tell you to do anything. Sometimes you even wonder whether you are still alive. It’s hard to tell. You remember, how the lingering sting of bruises left on your skin by the rough hands of your masters, or the deep pain of the open wounds etched in your flesh by the whip, served as reminders that there was still an awareness hidden within the shell of your body, capable of sensation.  But now? No pain, no hunger, nothing.

You hear him sneaking into your room at night. You feel his breath caressing your skin as he leans over you, lightly grazing your hair with his lips. At times, he refrains from approaching, standing in the threshold and observing your sleep. He doesn’t know that your senses capture his presence each time. You wait. Wait for the real him to appear. Wait for him to grab your hair and pull you out of the bed to your knees to face his manhood, breeches half down. To slap you, push your mouth open, his hand squeezing your jaw, rough fingers painfully digging into your cheeks, and to force his hard, dripping cock within. His other hand would hold you in place firmly by your hair, while he would keep thrusting deep and merciless into your mouth, grunting in satisfaction a lustful grin on his lips. This is what you remember. Isn’t this the reason for your presence here? It’s something you would understand. You’d obey and endure. You would know you have no choice. That would make it all so easy. So, what is he waiting for?

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

Sihtric lingered in the doorway, watching his wild kitten sleep. Slowly you had grown accustomed to his presence, no longer flinching, or snapping your head at him whenever he entered the room. He maintained a respectful distance, never encroaching too closely, refraining from any touch. He wanted you to feel safe in his presence before progressing further. His attempts to speak with you had been met with silence. So, he turned to the other women who had journeyed with Uhtred and his men from Dunholm to Cochem, inquiring about you. Nobody knew much about you. Only that you had been born in the fortress and that your mother had died, when you were still a kid. Until he finally found an elderly woman, who had more detailed memories.

“Poor soul,” she had told Sihtric, shaking her head sadly, “She was so tender when her mother passed, a mere six or seven summers old, no more. There was an older slave boy and his mother – they did their best to care for her. He acted as her older brother, protecting her and ensuring she had something to eat. Then he was sent away, and he never returned. That’s when it all began. Her liveliness dwindled with each passing day. To her biggest misfortune, she was pretty. Men started to notice her. After a while there wasn’t a single warrior in the fortress that hadn’t humped her. She closed herself completely down and even ceased to speak. Sometimes they were taking turns on her, betting who will be the one to make her cry. It’s no wonder she got completely mad at some point.”

Sihtric’s eyes darkened as he listened to the woman, his visage taut and his jaw subtly twitching from the pressure of clenched teeth. Before she could utter another word, he pivoted and stormed away, swiping at the tears that welled at the corners of his eyes with his fists. He had come too late. The realization gripped him like a vice, his chest heavy with the weight of ballast stones, pressing down, dragging him into the abyss of self-reproach. He had failed his promise. Inhaling deeply, he attempted to fill his aching lungs with fresh air. Though he had reached his house he found himself unable to ascend the few steps leading to the door. Instead, he turned the corner and leaned against the wall, trying to regain his breath. Gradually, Sihtric sank down until he was sitting on the ground, knees bent, head resting against the wall, eyes shut. Above, birds chattered amid the canopy of trees surrounding his small riverside housing. Their cheerful twitter brought up sweet memories of him sitting beneath an old oak tree, marvelling at the playful dance of water as it meandered through the rocky bed of the stream flanking Dunholm. He’d share pilfered morning bred from the kitchens with strikingly blue-eyed girl. The birds were chattering with the same unburdened intensity as they did now, and suddenly the girl sprang to her feet, fetching a bucket to be filled with water, playfully splashing a handful onto Sihtric. Her sound laughter sparkled and purled as the stream itself. It was the last time he had seen you, before Tekil had summoned him to gather his belongings and join him on the mission to locate Uhtred.

Sihtric shook his head as though trying to dispel the vivid memory, but it did not let go of him. It felt so tangible, as if he could merely extend his hand to tuck that stray lock of the girl's soft, velvety hair behind her ear – the hair that perpetually cascaded into her eyes. Those same eyes that now gazed at him each morning void of recognition. Empty and wild.

"No, no, no! You won't fail her again," Sihtric murmured, the sound of his own voice grounding him in the present. He was convinced that deep within those untamed eyes, concealed beneath layers of protective madness, there still lingered a dormant soul, waiting to be brought back to surface. And he would do anything to bring the light back to those eyes. An idea took hold of him, and Sihtric sprang to his feet.

“Come with me,” Sihtric beckoned, extending his hand as he entered the room. There you were, nestled in your favoured corner, your gaze fixated on the ceiling as always. He had long understood the futility of posing questions to you; there would be no response. The only way to elicit an action from you was through direct orders, leaving no space for choice or contemplation.

You rose to your feet and trailed after him.  This time, Sihtric clasped your palm in his own, a rush of elation engulfing him as he noted your lack of resistance – no snatching away, no hissing defiance. Instead, your eyes met his with a sense of anticipation. It was still an early morning, the air carrying a gentle, invigorating chill, that foretold the warmth to come.  The sun unfurled its fingers across the horizon, casting a tender, golden glow that gently roused the world from slumber. The birds, perched upon branches, continued their cheerful singing just as the moment before when it had evoked Sihtric’s memories.

Guiding you to the riverside, Sihtric led you to a modest plank jutting into the water. Seated there, your bare feet dangled, almost grazing the surface as the river flowed beneath.

Taking his place beside you, he softly implored, "Listen. Can you hear the birds?" His voice was hushed, carrying an air of reminiscence. "Do you recall the stream behind Dunholm? The one from which you fetched water each morning?" Sihtric reached into his pouch and retrieved a fresh loaf of bread, he had fetched moments earlier in the kitchen. It was still warm, and its mouth-watering aroma instantly hit your nose. Breaking the loaf in half, he extended one piece to you.

The river at this point ran deep, its current strong as it flowed over rocky terrain, a lullabying yet vivid sound emanating from the water as it lapped against the shore. Almost unconsciously, you extended your arm, your fingers closing around the offered bread. Slowly, you brought it to your nose, inhaling deeply, its aroma.

The morning sun cast a luminous glow through your tousled hair. Captivated by the look of it Sihtric’s hand extended instinctively, gracefully tucking a stray strand that obscured your gaze behind your ear – a gesture he had executed countless times before when you both were in Dunholm. You stiffened, the tension palpable, prompting Sihtric to hastily withdraw his hand. Yet in that fleeting moment, it was as though a dam within you had ruptured, unleashing a torrent of distant memories. These memories surged like crushing waves, demolishing the barriers painstakingly constructed around your consciousness, mercilessly tearing down the fortress that shielded your mind. Tearfully, you looked at the man beside you, the gleam of recognition flickering within your gaze. This was the first time you had truly met Sihtric’s eyes and he held his breath locking his gaze with yours.

"Do you remember me?" he murmured, his voice a tender whisper. Silence hung in the air, your gaze drifting from the loaf of bread in your trembling palms to the river beneath your feet. The only evidence that something had changed within you were the tears that trickled down your cheeks, tracing glimmering paths as they fell.

Time seemed to have lost its meaning as you both sat there, enveloped in the moment until distant voices called Sihtric's name and brought you back to reality. He clasped your hand and led you back indoors, where you crouched in your familiar corner. Your arms enveloped your knees, and your head nestled upon them. You looked so peaceful to Sihtric, not noticing the storm of feelings that swept through you.

It was a late evening when Sihtric finally returned home after a long day patrolling along the roads surrounding Cochem. A faint smile played at his lips, his thoughts tracing back to the morning's events. He had been right, there still was a chance to rouse you from your stupor. You had remembered him, he was certain of it. It was only a matter of time and his devoted care, and he would get you back to this world.

Entering the house, he unfastened his armour and carefully set his weapons upon the table.  He hoped you were already asleep as he carefully approached your room, casting a cautious glance within as he lingered in the doorway. His eyes widened in horror as he understood that the room was empty. You were not there. Panic seizing him, Sihtric searched the house frantically, every corner and crevice, but there was no trace of you. His steps led him outside, and driven by instinct, he followed the path that led to the riverside, silently cursing himself. He shouldn’t have done it. He knew he had acted too hastily; you were not prepared yet. His eagerness to prove himself right, to ascertain himself that you were not completely lost to your madness had been unconsidered and premature. Amid the gathering shadows, he spotted your silhouette upon the plank from a distance. Your fragile form trembled in the evening breeze, your back turned to the shore. Sihtric's heart raced as he sprinted toward you, arriving at the beginning of the plank and urgently calling your name. Uncertain if the sound would evoke any response, he watched as your gaze fixed upon him, sharp and concentrated. In the next heartbeat, your attention shifted, and with an abrupt motion, you leapt into the cold, enveloping darkness of the water.

Fear widened Sihtric's eyes. A cry of despair burst from his lips as he reached the end of the plank and propelled himself into the water after you.

The river swallowed you, encircling you, embracing you soothingly. This was it. The end of your suffering. The promised freedom. Freedom of choice you had sought and finally found. But your body had not yet surrendered to the decision your mind had made. The agony in your lungs cried for air and involuntary you breathed in the water, convulsing you into coughs and thrashes. Writhing with your arms you desperately tried to reach the surface once more, to catch the last saving breath. In the moment you thought you had lost the struggle, two strong arms seized you, wrenching you back to the surface and after a few moments you found yourself sprawled on the sandy shore, enveloped between Sihtric’s legs, coughing, and expelling water. His arms clung to you, holding you tight against his chest in an almost suffocating embrace.

“Let go of me!” you cried, wriggling madly in his grasp, striving to break free from his clutches.

“Never!” came a firm answer and the hold of his arms only tightened.

“Why did you come back? Why did you make me remember?” your voice echoed in a shout, the anguish and frustration ripping through the air. "Don't you see? I didn't want to remember. It hurts too much! I don’t want to endure this existence any longer. I can’t!” you shouted, raging against his grip, tears tracing down your cheeks, your words slowly turning into incomprehensible cries of despair.

"I'm here, and I won't let go. Never," Sihtric’s words sounded with an unbreakable determination.  “Do you hear me – never! I am here for you, as you were for me. Do you remember? I know you do. The day my mother died. I wanted to die with her, but you refused to let me. You wrapped your arms around me, clinging to me with all your strength. You begged me to stay with you. You kept holding me through that night. You never gave up on me and I will never give up on you,” Sihtric's voice was a tender murmur, his lips close to your ear. “And now I am begging you to stay with me. Please, forgive me, that it took me so long to find you.” His lips brushed against your wet hair, your dampened cheeks, and your forehead in a sequence of gentle kisses that sent shivers down your spine from the softness of the touch.  Your rage slowly faded, your strength waning, and your cries dwindling into muffled sobs as you surrendered to Sihtric's unyielding embrace.

Lifting your near-weightless form, Sihtric carried you back home. He settled you onto the bed and nestled beside you, his arms never loosening their hold. Throughout the night, he held you close, tenderly caressing your hair and telling you his story – how he found his place in Uhtred's service and how he never stopped hoping to find you.

“I’m glad I remembered you,” were the only words you managed to bring over your lips, looking up into Sihtric’s eyes as the sky began to be painted with the first brushstrokes of dawn's light.  Sihtric's heart skipped a beat at those simple words. He knew there was still a long way to go, but the mere fact that you had recalled him and that he now held you securely in his arms made him almost dizzy from the happiness. Leaning in, he brushed a kiss upon your hair, drawing you closer against his chest, your shared warmth enveloping you both as sleep finally overcame you.

#sihtric #sihtric kjartansson #sihtric x reader #sihtric fic #the last kingdom #tlk #tlk fic #sihtric fanfic #sihtric x you

[candy8448]

Splitting pain

Ao3

merleg!!

Warning for graphic description of mer transformation, including a tail splitting in half and kind of drowning

Sky scanned the surface of the water for the next few hours as he tried to search for any evidence that his brother was fine, hopefully in some boat or raft

What he wasn't expecting was Legend's face to pop out of the water, exhausted as he called for them.

"Vet!" He called, bringing Twi's attention, who came running into the shallow water with him to drag their collector out.

The vet was panting as they dragged him into the shallows, Sky tried to ignore the massive fish tail and scales all over his body but it was hard not to look at the dazzling pink.

Legend looked almost nothing like his hylian self, pink and gold scales covering his entire body, his ears replaced with long earfins and unaturally dialated violet eyes. He had fangs for teeth, claws for fingers, three sets of gills, one on his neck, sides and tail, and most importantly, the massive fish tail for legs.

The veteran yelled as a Twilight accidently pulled too tight on his body, moving his new, harsh wounds. His body was covered in claw marks, leaking red into the tranquil blues.

Sky stopped them at where they were in about knee-deep and the rancher chuckled, "first a bunny, and now a fish. What else can you do?"

Legend only let out a pained groan at that.

"How do we change you back then? Will you need help?" He asked,

"I just need to get back on land, but the transformation is painful. My lungs are full of water"

Both hylian heroes winced.

"Okay then, we'll pull you out on three. One, two three!" On Twilight's command, Sky heaved Legend out of the water, aware of how the transformed vet braced himself tensly.

It didn't even take a second before the torture began, Sky felt as if he was experienceing it himself. The gills were the first to go, shutting and forcing Legend to only take in air, if it weren't for the water locked in his lungs. Legend's head tilted backwards, as he silently screamed, lungs gurgling. Scales started to painfully force themselves back into skin. Streams of water dribbled out of his mouth, constantly retching only to be stopped again as a sickening squelch came from the tail violently tearing apart, some kind of slime spraying out. The scream this time was now audible as some of his lungs were emptied, but water still gurgled up his throat. Sky was painfully aware that the vet had still not been able to draw in a full breath, and the transformation was only prolonging the excruciatingly long process, their collector clearly begining to fade. Final pools of water were choked out as the transformation finally ended and their vet was able to finally take in a strangled gasp.

The other two heroes were calling out to Legend the entire time in panic but trying to comfort him or do something to help, ultimately not being able to do anything to stop the ear splitting pain.

Sky was trying not to cry at what he had just witnessed, Twi had a very disturbed look as he tried to calm down their gasping brother who let out a whimper at their touch, skin still sore. Sky rummaged through his bag and pulled out his final potion while Twilight found some bandages as they worked on Legend, now unconcious in the rancher's lap. The two awake heroes made eye contact, sharing a grimace at the thought of what they had just seen Legend go through,

"Every time?" He whispered,

"Let's just hope it doesn't have to happen again anytime soon," Twi replied.

#i do a little fanfic #leg's mer tail is pink snd anyone saying otherwise is just wrong #linked universe #lu #lu legend #mer legend #lu sky #lu twilight #fanfic #lu fic #whump

[asterefflores]

Hello Aster....

Im the who gave the idea of the twins argument..

Now i have another idea

Please save me😂😭

You know I was just thinking about what would happen if Roksoo just wake up in the middle of the night and feel his body is burning because he's having a fever but he just ignore it and then Cale would wake up by his moans in sleep because he was sick and having nightmares at the same time...

So.. yeah..

with the presence of daddy Tristan Please 😭❤️

Sorry for giving you trouble and Thank you so much😭❤️

Daddy Tristan must be with them in every request now I think lol xD

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

Cold, it was freezing cold…

His body went numb and even stopped shaking at some point. He wondered if this was how he would finally die.

People hurriedly walked past the alley to their homes to avoid the coming storm. It wasn’t like they hadn’t noticed the child lying on the floor curled up on himself, looking too frail and barely alive. Their glances lasted less than a second.

He hoped for a little bit of sympathy. Having an extra layer to wear would be appreciated. However, it appears that people have become accustomed to seeing homeless and dying people on the streets.

Perhaps he couldn’t say people were cruel for this. Surely, ignoring poor people didn’t come naturally at first. He himself had met some particularly obscene and desperate beggars who had come to be viewed as a potential danger to anyone showing a moment of kindness.

He never thought of excusing those people in the past; a kid wouldn’t be able to understand all sides of society. He only focused on surviving and avoiding getting beaten up. He could steal some clothes and food from shops around, but he hates pain. Scamming was much better, but he couldn’t move an inch now after getting ganged up by some teens who couldn’t find a stray cat to bully as their daily routine. Instead, they found a stray kid and probably thought, ‘Even better’.

Now he was all bruised, and he was too tired to try and find shelter for the night. He wished for one person to feel a bit sorry for him, but the streets soon became empty, and there was no one to glance his way anymore. There was no use to keep his eyes open in hopes that anyone would come his way to help.

Even though he probably should keep his eyes open in case other bullies would target him on a whim again, he was too tired.

His eyes slowly closed…

He lived long, yet he still found it difficult to survive once again in a dirty alley with a body of skin and bones.

The storm arrived, and he barely even flinched under the torrential downpour.

However, he didn’t know if he was starting to imagine stuff, but he felt warm below the water that pooled from the rainstorm, or was he dying?

If this is how death feels like, then perhaps he should’ve given up long ago…

“Mhm…”

A quiet sound escaped him as he basked in the warmth at last, feeling at ease as he was drowned underwater.

He felt incredibly light, as if his soul was finally set free. He was floating away and safe from everyone…

“—ung…”

Wait, how is he a kid again?

“—yung…”

Where are his Ancient Powers?

“Hyung…”

“…mmh…?”

The muffled sounds of drowning were suddenly gone when he opened his eyes, though he strained to keep them open before he finally gave up after a few tired blinks.

“…hmm…?”

Why can’t he form a single word? Why does his body feel heavy and cold all over? Why is it hard to move even his jaw?

He soon felt like he was suffocating. He noticed his shallow breathing…

“Hmm…” he made a quiet sound with his eyes closed, appreciating the cool hand that came to rest on his forehead.

“Gentle Human, is the Human still having a nightmare…?”

He heard Raon asking quietly, sounding worried.

“I think he’s awake now, dear. But…he has a fever…”

‘…was I making noises in my sleep?’

Rok-Soo heard Cale softly speaking to the kids while seemingly tapping on some device, almost whispering so as not to disturb his hyung even though his hyung was awake indeed.

He gulped as he thought of speaking, and he slightly frowned in pain at how sore his throat was. ‘I really have a fever?’

How was that possible? What about the Vitality of the Heart?

“Hyung, I called Dad. He’ll be here in a second— ah, here he is.”

‘Right, we decided to spend the night in the tower…’

He could feel at ease with Tristan around. Their dad somehow always manages to solve their issues fast, after all.

Just as Cale announced, Rok-Soo felt another presence calmly sitting by his side on the bed. He felt another hand patting his head gently.

“…something is restricting his Ancient Powers, it seems.”

His eyebrows were slightly furrowed with his eyes still closed at hearing Tristan.   

“Probably the effect of a malfunctioning device in the tower,” Tristan explained, standing up calmly after, “I’ll go take a look quickly.” He walked back to the teleport podium and looked at Cale, “Don’t let him drink or eat anything yet, not even water. It may worsen his condition.”

“I understand.”

Tristan offered a little smile to Cale and the kids, “It won’t take long.”

He left as soon as they relaxed their expressions.

Rok-Soo felt the bed dip a little on his left. The hand on his forehead moved to his chest just above the blanket, patting lightly.

Pat, Pat…

‘…is dongsaeng using magic?’

The action made him feel less cold. It felt nice and comfortable. He could drift back to sleep with this…

…he heard little, soft murmurs from the kids, and it all helped lull him to sleep eventually…

This time, he dreamt of his brat of a dongsaeng joking beside him with the kids before sleep, teasing him with light pats on his chest and the kids mimicking him as they patted his head and cheek with their paws.

He kept sighing, smiling and laughing while they played silly again, as they always do every night.

The rest of the dream was a haze when he suddenly opened his eyes and found the gentle sunlight streaming in through the windows on his right.

He blinked blankly, lying still and staring at the ceiling. The room was as comfortably quiet as usual, with the kids sticking to him in their sleep.

“Good morning.”

He looked to the door at the whisper to find Cale just entering the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

“…did I have a fever?” Rok-Soo asked as Cale walked toward the bed, showing his easy smile as if nothing had happened.

“Yes, you did, it wasn’t a dream.” Cale answered and sat on the chair beside the bed. “Dad came back half an hour later and said it shouldn’t take long for your Ancient Powers to help you recover soon. Minutes later, and your fever was gone.”

“I see.” The whole night feels like a blur in his mind now. It’s been so long since he last fell sick, so it was almost a foreign experience now after all those years. “Why are you smiling like that?” He finally asked when the brat kept smiling strangely with amused eyes.

“I just wonder, what were you dreaming about? You kept smiling the whole time in your sleep before you started laughing.” Cale chuckled so as not to wake the kids, “The kids called Dad again. They told him to come check again because you were probably possessed.”

“……”

Cale started giggling quietly as his hyung sighed.

“Dad effortlessly convinced them they should get to sleep because their worrying souls are the ones disturbing you, so Raon used magic to make the three of them sleep until I wake them up.”

“……”

Rok-Soo just sighed again while his dongsaeng laughed at the whole thing.

He pretended later to have forgotten what he dreamt about, and of course, neither Cale nor Tristan believed him, probably even the kids.

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#lout of count’s family #lcf #trash of the count's family #tcf #fanfic #fanfic ocs