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taylormarieee · 2 months

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Not so tough now huh? CRM!Rick

A/N: ok so I watched the first episode and I just felt the urge to write for him immediately. I couldn't resist... so here you sluts go! enjoy and happy reading!<33 This is also based on this moodboard made by the lovely @angelicalhqrt

Summary: You were tough but Rick was tougher and afterall, you were still just a horny girl...

Word count:2.0k

Pairing: crm!rick x fem!fighter!reader

Warnings: smut~fighting~sexual tension~readers tough but Ricks tougher~horny thoughts~lots of yearning and physical touch~PiV sex~unprotected sex~(wrap it b4 you tap it)~slight age gap { readers in her early 30s and Rick is mid 40s}

You and Rick didn't get along. Well, you guys got along but you didn't at the same time if that makes any sense at all.

You both couldn't stand each other yet always found yourselves around each other. It's like you were constantly drawn to him and as he was to you.

It seemed as if you guys had this mutual respect to leave each other alone but in this line of work, you guys were always around one another.

Especially now that Okafor has asked you and Rick to work together to re-shape the CRM. He wants the A's to be able to lead the CRM and change the way they do things. Lead the B's to stop being so scared.

Of course Rick was against it and was very confused. "I don't give a shit about this A's and B's shit Okafor. I'm not livin' here! I'm not happy here, I'm certainly not going to give my life for a place I can't leave. For a place and their bullshit secrets." He protests.

"Rick. You think you have a choice? Now that you joined and are no longer a consignee, I need you. You will do this because you shouldn't even be alive with how many times you've tried to escape. You and bullet over here are special assets to this plan and whether you like it or not, your doing this."

Bullet was the nickname he gave you because you shot at him and grazed his forehead after he tried to rescue you. You needed to get back to your sister, you didn't want to be taken by a strange man and taken to a strange secret city that no one knows about.

"Rick. Just stop fighting it. I learned to stop fighting it long time ago. We've been here for six years. It's time to let go. Whoever your trying to get to just forget it. There alive but in here we can die at the snap of Beales fingers. So please..." You plead looking at him with a stone cold face but a hint of sympathy and concern.

"Whatever." He says gruffly before listening to the rest of what Okafor was saying.

The next day you and Rick and all the other soldiers are training. Obviously yet again, you get partnered with Rick. Your spinning your knife in your hand as you look at him with a slight smirk on your face.

You lunged at him and he blocked it and when you tried again he turned you around and had his arm around your neck and your back to his chest. You feel his warm breath on your cheek.

Your wiggling against him and he grunts in your ear. You try to pry his hand off your neck and flip him over and down to the ground but it was true, he was tougher and much stronger than you.

He pushes you and lets you go. you stumble but turn around standing your ground and facing him with your knife in hand and fists up. You lunge back at him and cut his hand, the one that's still attached of course.

He groans and holds his wrist. "Fuck." He yells out and you smirk at him. "Wouldn't fighting be much easier if you didn't cut off your hand Mr. Grimes?" You say with a slight chuckle.

He quickly turns back and the punches you in your face. You stumble back and wipe the blood that's made its way to your lip.

"Wow. That was a hell of a good punch Grimes." You say smirking and licking your lips. "Thanks bullet." He says smirking at you with his signature look.

You roll your eyes and punch his chest and he tries to hit you again but your duck and serve him a nice right hook. He stumbles back and when you try to punch his face again he grabs your right fist and slowly brings it down twisting it and hurting your wrist.

When you try the other hand to catch him off guard he dodges it and knees you in your stomach before punching your ribs.

You cry out and he lets go of your hand as you grab at your side and stomach. You glare at him from your hunched over position and then you swiftly get down and swipe your leg under his making fall.

You get on top of him and punch him in the face. You see his nose bleeding and his cheek is starting to bruise. You punch once more before a guard yells at you enough.

You get off Rick and look around at everyone looking at you before you look back at Rick on the floor and you scoff before walking away and slamming the door as you walk out.

You take the wrappings aggressively off your hands as you walk to your room. 'At least you had rooms and comfy beds here', you thought.

Where you came from you had to make do with dusty comforters and blankets on the cold, hard floor of an old abandoned building.

At least you had your sister, now you have no clue where she is... Broken out of your thoughts you hear a knock on the door.

You ignore it the first time quietly muttering a go away. When the knocks happen again you groan and get up.

As you open the door your met with Rick pushing past you and rushing into your room.

He's got a patch on his eyebrow to close up his wound with the stitches and his cheekbone is now bruised a darker color then before. Even his hand is all bandaged up.

"What the hell was that huh? Why'd ya go all psyco on me? What did I do to you huh?" He says pacing the room as he thrashes his hands around.

"I did it... because I wanted to." You whisper as you step closer to him with a neutral look on your face. You were unfazed by his act at trying to intimidate you.

"Oh really huh?" He asks stepping real close to you. Suddenly you really notice how dark his eyes are.

Even in this piss poor lighting. He looked looming and scary. Your facade falters immediately as he backs you up against the door.

The tension in the room changing slightly from anger to something more intimate...more primal. It excited you yet scared you.

You really didn't know Rick like that at all. You don't know how crazy he is- I mean besides the fact he cut off his own hand.

Your thoughts began to drift at how he looks. His brown curls framing his face perfectly, his beard full, nice and clean with greys decorating it.

You looked at the outfit he was wearing. A tight black shirt that hugged his body in all the right places with black cargo pants.

He looked...hot. Intimidating.Sexy. Dominant...I mean there were many words to describe Rick. He brought something out of you that you didn't like. He made you excited and wet at the slightest touch.

This interaction bringing back memories to 3 days ago.

{Flashback}

"Rick! Wait up!" You call out to him.

He was walking down the street in his combat outfit.

"Wassup bullet?" He asked with that look in his eyes. 'God that look does things to me,' you thought.

He looked like he wanted to throw you against the wall and eat you.

"I-I wanted to say good luck out there. Okafor can be pushing and hard to deal with." You say with a closed lip smile.

He nods and looks you up and down before speaking, "Thanks for the luck. I assumed i'll be needin' it. Especially by you." He says smirking at you.

That's the moment you knew that he knew, that he knows he makes you nervous. He would make any girl nervous. Eyelashes fluttering at the sound of his rough southern drawl. Sounding all sexy and wise.

That deep voice and pretty smirk on his face. The way his eyes will trace your body and your face as if he's remembering every tiny detail about you like a robot.

You swallow hard and you swear he could hear your heart rapidly beating, 'God girl get it together!' You immediately nodded your head before walking off and leaving him to stand there.

He watched as you walked away all flustered and cute. He chuckled to himself as you looked back and watched him walk away now.

{end of flashback}

You look up at him as he looks down at you with a smirk. His head tilted slightly to the side.

"Whatcha thinking about sweetheart?" He asks with a smirk. You roll your eyes and scoff trying to act tough.

"Nothing Rick. Get out." You demanded as you pushed past him walking towards your bed.

You didn't notice he was silently following you and he ended up behind you with his crotch to your ass and his hands on your hips.

"Why don't you stop this tough act baby and lemme take you right here hmm mama? Would you like that instead? Fuck that attitude right outta ya?" He says in a low seductive voice.

Shivers ran down your back as he said that. His words repeating like a mantra in your head over and over again. You wanted so badly for him to take you right here.

"fuck, yea I want that real bad." You mutter and he smirks as he starts kissing your neck and behind you ear. He slides his pants down and rips his cock free from the bondage of his boxers.

He removes your pants leaving you in your panties. When he slowly removes your panties they reveal your soaked cunt.

"Fuck mama, your soaked." He says with a chuckle. You whimper and grind against him. "Please Rick...I need you i-inside." You whine.

He chuckles and without warning slides in. As much as he wants to tease you, he doesn't have the patience tonight. Maybe next time..

Just thinking about being able to fuck you like this again, his hips roughly thrusting into you as your eyes roll to the back of your head or cross at your nose made his cock twitch.

Just looking at your body exposed and vulnerable to him made his cock jump with excitement to be buried so deep inside you. He kissed and sucked at yor neck leaving hickies people will surely be asking about later.

He was proud to mark you up as his. You cry out and scream out as his cock brushes your cervix just right. His cock hitting that sweet spot inside you that had you shaking intensely when your orgasm rolled around.

"fuck Rick! I-I'm gonna c-cum Rick! Oh shit, please lemme cum!" You beg. He looked at you and pouted.

"You wanna cum babygirl? Hmm?" He asks tauntingly. You quickly shake your head yes as he shakes his head and clicks his tongue. "Words baby. I need words." He said moving his hand up your chest slowly to lightly grip your throat.

You moan out as you grab his arm and your eyes roll back before you mutter out a little, "Yes Rick! I'm gonna cum, please?" You beg again hoping he has mercy on you.

"I'll allow you to cum but next time I won't be so nice babygirl." He says before thrusting into you with such force it makes your headboard thump against the wall.

You didn't want a noise complaint but the way your oragsm ripped through you, you honestly couldn't care.

"oh fuck!" Rick grunts out before he quickly pulls out and jerks off. You quickly scoot down and open your mouth for him to cum all on your face and tongue. You moan in pleasure as his warm seed spills all on your face.

When you swallow the amount that went into your mouth, you smile at him before licking the rest of by using your finger to apply it in your mouth.

He groans at the sight and he lifts you up placing you neatly and softly on your bed. Your so drunk off his cock that when he goes to try and get a warm cloth for you you grab his arm stopping him.

"Please stay with me. I don't wanna be alone... not tonight." You whisper. He smiles and nods before crawling his way into bed with you rubbing soft circles on your waist as you drift of to sleep.

Taglist: @dustbunniess @dollyfl1rt @rickswh0r3 @sinsandsweetness @justjasminne @itzdarling @versatilehater @aerangi @2svnder @keiva1000 @prettyluhdavis@hutchersonsgurl @grimesuniversexx @liliesdiary @writella

#rick grimes x reader #rick grimes smut #rick grimes fanfiction #rick grimes #the walking dead #twd rick #rick grimes twd #rick x you #rick x y/n #rick x reader #rick grimes the walking dead

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navybrat817 · 11 months

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Around Your Throat

Pairing: Vampire Mob!Bucky Barnes x Gifted!Female Reader Summary: Bucky has the perfect accessory to go around your throat. Word Count: 1.9k Warnings: E/xplicit s/exual content, f/ingering, b/iting, p/ossessive behavior, b/lood, feel (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?). Graphic talent and thanks: Banner - @sgt-seabass, Divider - @firefly-graphics , Moodboard - yours truly A/N: Set before Lay Me Down, we're visiting our vampire to kick off Hot Bucky Summer challenge hosted by @buckybarnesevents! Theme - "What should I wear?" ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You stood in front of the full length mirror, a frown on your face as you looked over yourself. The black and gold gown you wore was beautiful, the v-neckline and fitted bodice drawing attention to your chest. Bucky had it designed for you, with your approval. He wanted only the best for his bride-to-be.

The fact that he had a matching suit almost put a smile on your face.

But you couldn’t figure out why you weren’t happy with your look. You thought for a moment that the dress was too much for a dinner, especially since you would be one of the only people at the table eating an actual meal. As Bucky’s future mate and your father’s daughter, however, it was the expectation that you’d look your best.

At least I won't have to create an illusion since I'll be amongst Bucky’s friends for the evening.

“I'm not sure about this,” you told your fiancé since he insisted on being in the room as you got ready, admiring your side profile with a sigh. "Should I change into something else?"

"Why would you change when you look good enough to eat?"

You spun around to face him, your breath catching when he stood from his chair and straightened his tie. He slicked his hair back for the evening and you longed to run your fingers through it to make a mess of it. This man managed to steal your heart and he would be the reason you took your last breath.

He was both your ending and your new beginning.

"Just what every girl wants to hear when she goes to feast with vampires," you teased, turning back to the mirror.

"If you sensed something was wrong, we wouldn't attend," he pointed out. He wouldn't risk your safety. He assured your father of that. "Should I tell Steve to play host while we skip it?"

"No, my love, because nothing is wrong," you assured him. You trusted his friends and the only gut feeling you sensed was that your evening would end happily. You looked forward to it.

"Then what's the matter?" he asked as he crossed the room and placed his hands on your hips. Though you couldn't see his reflection in the mirror, you imagined his blue eyes either darkened or glowed at the sight of you. Both stares always set the blood on fire in your veins. “Do you not like the dress? Should I rip it to shreds?”

“Don’t you dare,” you answered, narrowing your eyes when he chuckled. “I love this dress.”

“If you won’t let me tear this gown from your body, at least let me lift the skirt and bury myself in your pussy again,” he said, making you gasp when his cool lips brushed the shell of your ear. Your core throbbed at the idea, tempted to let him bend you over in front of the mirror as he took you apart. Once he turned you, you wouldn’t see your reflection ever again. “And if you love it, why have you stood here for the last two minutes, spinning and frowning at every angle?”

“As much as I’d love for you to ravage me, I don’t think we have time,” you said, gesturing to yourself. “And something’s missing. I can’t figure out what.”

Bucky hummed, gripping your chin to turn your head toward him. “I can get you off quickly," he said, which was true. "And you're missing an accessory. You need something around your throat.”

“Of course,” you smiled softly. Such a simple solution to a ridiculous problem. “What should I wear?"

He moved his hand to your neck before you could go to the armoire, making you moan when his fingers tightened. “I have something perfect in mind.”

“As much as I love this type of necklace,” you said, wetting your lips with your tongue. “I can’t go the whole meal with your hand around my throat.”

Bucky chuckled again, spinning you and pinning your back against the mirror with lightning speed. You trembled when his eyes began to glow, your blood rushing through your veins at the sight of his fangs. The mix of pain and pleasure whenever they pierced your skin brought you to a euphoric state. It was no wonder some begged to become a blood mistress or paramour.

You were lucky enough that you would belong to Bucky forever.

“And just because I can’t ravage you with my cock right this second doesn’t mean I can go through an entire meal without having a taste,” he whispered, pushing the skirt up so his cold hand could slide up your inner thigh. No tights and no underwear so he could have access to what belonged to him. His rule for the evening. “I need your blood and your cunt so I can behave myself."

“You better satisfy your craving then,” you whispered, knowing he’d want more before the sun came up. "And we'll see how well you actually behave."

Vampires had no shame when it came to sex or anyone who witnessed it.

Your wet, warm folds welcomed the cool feel of Bucky's expert touch. Before you could grip his arms, he pinned your hands above your head. His strength turned you on more, which you didn’t know was possible. You were almost in a constant state of arousal around him. “You'll beg for my cock long before you finish dinner,” he whispered against your lips, teasing your entrance as he kissed down the pulse in your neck. “Don't fucking move."

“Yes, sir,” you breathed, closing your eyes to brace yourself for what was coming.

Which would be you coming all over his fingers.

“Mine,” he growled, drawing a cry from you as he sank his fangs into your soft skin and slid two fingers inside your wet walls. You did your best to keep still as he slowly thrust and moaned against your neck. A submissive position he put you in to assert his power, yet you didn't feel weak. Even as he took your life essence and pleasure as his own he empowered you.

Because in return, you’d get every part of James Buchanan Barnes.

“Please, Bucky,” you begged when his thumb toyed with your clit. You wanted to grind your hips down, but he told you to stay still. If you had more time, you would've pushed to see what kind of punishment he'd dish out. But you knew he wanted to get you off quickly, like he said he could. "Please."

“So needy, darling. One of the things I love about you,” he said when he stopped drinking, blood running from your neck down your collarbone and chest as his fingers curled. He pulled back so you could see the red fluid around his lips. The feral look in his eyes as he licked them clean, your head spinning as you teetered on the edge. “Come for me.”

Your body seized up as you gushed around his fingers, your moan of ecstasy lost as he covered your mouth with his. You tasted your blood on his tongue as helped you ride out your orgasm. Days from now you would know the taste of him. Pleasure, eternity, love.

Your new life.

It took a moment for you to realize you were no longer against the mirror as you recovered. Bucky moved you to the bed to rest for a moment and catch your breath. the pinpricks in your neck closed and your dress straightened out. “Thank you for letting me have a taste,” he said, sucking his fingers into his mouth. “Didn’t think anything could make your blood sweeter, but your pussy does the trick.”

“Best combination,” you smiled.

“My favorite,” he agreed, helping you stand once your head stopped spinning. Lust still lingered in his gaze, but you couldn't ignore the concern that shone through. "Are you okay? I didn't take too much?"

"I'm okay," you assured him. He never wanted to lose control and take more than what he needed. No matter what, you were his number one priority. "And you won't have to worry once I you turn me."

"I'll still worry," he whispered. Loving you meant having something to lose. It also meant he had something worth living for. "One more thing before we go."

You smiled when he held up an onyx pendant surrounded by diamonds, like he pulled it out of thin air. Perfect to go with your dress. "It's beautiful," you said, allowing him to put it around your neck. "How did you manage to hide that from me?"

His fingers traced the delicate, gold chain as he smiled. "Because you aren't psychic, but you get feelings. Which is probably why you felt off when you looked in the mirror. You were waiting for me to give you this."

"It's like you know my gifts better than I do," you smiled, touching the pendant before you noticed there was still blood on your neck. "I should clean myself up."

"No," he said firmly, pulling you to his chest. You suspected his heart would race only for you if it could still beat. "You'll wear my mark with the necklace I gave you and your blood on your skin. You're going to be my wife and my mate. I want everyone to see that you belong to me and that there's no shame in my want for you."

You'd wear every brand and claim of his with pride.

"This won't show them that?" you asked, holding up your hand with your engagement ring.

"Vampires don't look at hands," he said, taking yours and kissing it. "They look at throats. And anyone who sees yours will know you're mine."

And I will be until the end of time.

"And when you turn me?" you asked, brushing your hand along his cheek. "Will I get to leave my mark on you and show everyone you're mine, too?"

"You can make an entire path of bites around my throat if that's what you desire," he offered, his icy hand covering yours. "I'll wear them proudly."

Bucky loved with his entire being. Not only were you strong and willing enough to accept it, you'd give him the same love in return. You would always be in each other's care.

My eternal partner.

"I might take you up on that," you smiled, feeling how hard he was through the fabric of his pants. Tempted to drop to your knees and return the favor, you asked, "Do we have time for me to take care of you?"

"We're already running late," he said, giving you a gentle kiss. "But maybe you can keep my cock warm at the table. No one will mind."

"I thought you were going to behave at dinner if you had a taste," you said, your walls clenching with the need to surround him, like he hadn't brought you to orgasm moments before.

"I will behave," he said innocently, but his eyes flashed as he showed his fangs again. "But we'll see how long you last before you try to ride me in front of everyone."

"Well, you did say I'd beg for your cock before I finished dinner."

And you suspected his hand, the necklace, and your blood would be the only things you wore around your neck once he took you to bed for the night.

Who wouldn't want an eternity with Bucky? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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taintedcigs · 1 year

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✦ POLAROIDS: part II | perv!eddie x reader ✦

read part I HERE.

wc: 2.8k+

pairing: perv!eddie munson x (kinda perv)!reader

warnings: 18+ !!smut, smut smut!!, MINORS DNI!! or*l (male receiving), PERV!EDDIE, degrading!! panty-stealing perv!eddie. slight dubcon, dom!eddie, slight mean!dom!eddie, sub!reader, but kind of switch??, p in v, kind of a breeding kink, creampie, very very very brief choking kink if you squint, this is kind of dark so if this kind of stuff bothers u DO NOT READ!! i am not responsible for the media you decide to consume!!! JUST OVERALL FILTH MINORS DNI!!!

summary: you are determined to make eddie's fantasies about you come true.

authors note: i kinda hate the moodboard pics btw but they'll have to do... also idk if i like this a lot but i hope u guys enjoy it :(( and the ending is weird bc i didn't know how to write the ending im stupid okay, ily all thank u sm for the support on the first one hope yall enjoy it mwah xo, em💌

'w-what?' eddie stuttered, he was always confident with you but now he was taken aback, his heart was pounding out of his chest.

and the way you were still standing in front of him with just a towel wrapped around your body was dizzying him, you were getting closer to him and blood was rushing to his cock again, aching to be touched by you.

'oh c'mon, eds. you don't think i'm that gullible, do you?' you hummed, and eddie gulped.

you took a step towards him, he was standing by your bed, and you couldn't help but giggle at his dumbfounded expressions.

'what did you think about?' you asked, innocently.

'i- i don't... i didn't...' he was still a stammering mess, you enjoyed it, but you needed him right where you wanted him.

'oh, c'mon eds, you mean to tell me you weren't thinking about me when you were jerking off? you weren't spilling your load into my panties as you moaned my name?' eddie almost coughed at your nonchalant words, you were being so open that he was about to cum in his pants, he needed to do something, say something, because you were driving him crazy.

'y-yes.' he almost groaned answering you, and you hummed sweetly, pressing your body against his. he lost all control when he felt your boobs pressed against his chest.

'what were you thinking about me?' you asked, looking up at him, all doe-eyed, and eddie's pants tightened from excitement.

'you were- you were on your knees.' his breath almost got caught in his throat.

'like this?' you hummed, going down on your knees, eyes never leaving his as you giggled.

he nodded quick, so quick that his head was about to snap.

'just like that, baby.' he was regaining his confidence as you stood in front of him, your eyes so innocently haunting that all he could think about was how much he wanted to ruin you.

'and what else was i doing?' you asked, your hands were quick to rub him through his pants as he hissed, his tip was still sensitive from when he came minutes ago.

eddie knew you would be the death of him, he realized that the moment he met you, but now it clicked in his head, each time you bent down in front of him, each down you brushed against his already hardened cock, you were doing it on purpose, you wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

and this caused a smirk out of him, he was more demanding when he next spoke, 'your pretty little mouth was wide open for me, begging, pleading for my cock.'

his words caused you to rub your thighs together, you knew how perverted eddie was, and for some twisted reason, this turned you on, made you want to tease him, further and further, till he couldn't stand it anymore.

your hands reached for his pants, to unbuckle him, to feel him, but he slapped them away quickly. 'nuh-uh princess, just keep that pretty little mouth open for me.' he ordered as you nodded, the dynamic between the two of you had shifted so quickly that it gave you a whiplash.

you had thought he would be putty in your hands but he was in control now.

he held your face with one hand while the other one was working to unbuckle his pants, his bulge could be seen through his boxers as your mouth watered, you always assumed eddie was packing, because of how big he felt when you sat on his lap, but now you could finally see it.

when he sprung his cock out from his boxers, your eyes widened. his cock was thick and hard, and his pink aching tip was dripping with his pre-cum, you licked your lips at the sight.

'need to taste you.' you whined.

he fisted your hair with one hand, causing you to look up at him again, the kiss he placed on your lips was sloppy and messy, he was eager, so eager that you could almost feel his cock ache as you started stroking him while he was distracted.

'do you wanna know what i thought about when i fucked my cock into your panties?' he asked, smirking.

you nodded almost groaning while your hand slowly rubbed him. 'i imagined you, on your knees, taking my cock like the good lil' girl you are. begging for me to fill your throat with my warm cum.'

'you want me to ruin you, pretty girl?' he murmured. 'fill you with my hard cock as you plead underneath me, want me to turn you into my little cockslut?'

he slipped his pink tip into your awaiting mouth, slowly gliding himself further until he was buried all the way down your throat.

he lowly groaned as he did so, his head thrown back from the pleasure, finally being able to have you right where he wanted.

finally getting to fill all your holes like he desired.

'f-fuck.' he whined, 'takin' my cock so well, such a good girl.' he praised and you felt your heat get wetter by his words, you needed him, and you needed his cock.

the way your mouth was wrapped around his aching cock was enough to make him want to shoot his cum right down your throat, it didn't matter if he had just spilled his load all over your panties, you were all of his desired wrapped up into one and just by looking at you felt his balls aching, wanting to release.

you blinked up at him, teary-eyed as you tried to take all of his cock in your mouth, you looked fucked out and eddie was enjoying every second of it.

as you finally adjusted to his size, you started licking and sucking, hollowing your cheeks as his tip hit the back of your throat, causing you to gag a bit as eddie's grip on your hair tightened, letting out a moan.

's-shit sweetheart, you do that again and i might cum.' he muttered, 'and as much as i love seeing your mouth filled with my cock, i need to cum inside of you, fill you deep with my warm load.' he mocked as you looked up at him, your eyes glimmering as he said those words.

'look at you doll, so eager to have my cock inside of you, so eager to suck my cock, and you put those polaroids yourself...' he chuckled.

'if i knew you wanted me this fucking badly, i would've taken you a long time ago, sweetheart. would've made you mine, my own personal fucktoy.' he hummed at his own words, excitedly.

your head bobbed up and down as eddie threw his head back, groaning. 'that's it, baby. suck my cock like the good little whore you are.' he almost growled, the vibrations from the way you moaned while his cock was down your throat sent shivers down his spine.

he knew he wouldn't last long if you continued like this, he was barely holding himself from exploding down your throat.

'need you on the bed.' he demanded, you looked up confused. 'now.' he ordered again and you obeyed, getting up quickly as he whined at the empty feeling of your mouth leaving his cock.

'eds...' you murmured. his eyes were trained on you as you teasingly slid down the towel, so excruciatingly slow that eddie was about to roll his eyes, you finally dropped it with a small 'oops' and a giggle as you threw it at him.

eddie's eyes widened in shock, no matter how much in control he was, whatever you did always surprised him, he threw the towel aside as his eyes trained on your body, you felt exposed by the way eddie gazed at you, devouring you almost as he took every detail of your body, engraving it in his mind.

so that he could never, ever forget it. he almost fell on his knees when he got closer to you. 's-shit, pretty girl.' he groaned

'you're gonna be the fuckin' death of me.' he cursed. 'perfect, perfect fuckin' tits, sweetheart, so fuckin' perfect for suckin' and nibbling' his words were slurred now as his hands massaged your breasts, you whined at his touch.

you slowly took of your panties when he did so, holding it out for him when his attention shifted to you.

he grabbed them quickly but he was overstimulated by your body, he groaned again as his gaze shifted towards your pussy, 'can't wait to taste this sweet little cunt, fill it to the brim.' he gave your cunt a tight pinch making you whine.

he guided you toward the bed, plopping next to you as he started rubbing his thumb over your swollen clit, gentle at first before slapping it, a yelp of surprise escaped your lips as you whined.

's'fuckin' whiny for someone who was beggin' for this, hmm?' he hummed mockingly, he stuffed the jizz covered panties in your mouth, muffling your whining.

'taste it, baby, taste my fuckin' cum, i'm going to fill you so deep when we're done, you'll never get it out of you.' you moaned with his words, his still warm cum entered your tastebuds as he sickly watched, his cock ready to release at the sight.

his palm was heavy against your pussy as he slapped it, again and again, not stopping until he was sure you were dripping down your thighs.

you were shaking and you could feel your cunt throbbing, because of eddie.

who gave you pain and pleasure in an equal measure, you needed him and you needed him now.

'such a good girl for me, takin' it all so well.' he hummed as his fingers entered your folds without resistance, 'hmm, all ready for me.' you nod at him, approvingly.

'need you, eds. need you inside of me.' you murmur. he almost mocks you as he chuckles, 'my lil' cock slut, so eager to have me filling all of your holes, don't worry pretty girl, i'll fill all of them and i will make sure they are covered with my cum, always.' he presses a sloppy kiss to your neck.

then he strokes your bare pussy with the head of his cock, dragging it up and down your slit, the angry pink-tip of his cock is leaking with pre-cum while your juices mixes with his, he groans, 'gonna fuckin' ruin you, gonna make you my personal little cum dump.'

his words are filthy, so filthy that you know you are just as sick as him by the way they turn you on.

'ple- please, eds.' you're mumbling now, the way his tip teases your pussy lips is too much for you to handle, you are desperate.

your pleadings don't stop, eddie decides he finally had enough teasing as he slowly pushes the tip of his thick cock inside of you, he doesn't move much, teasing further as he withdraws himself until only the head of his girthy cock was inside of you.

you whine, your begging is getting louder now, and eddie gives you a smirk. 'such a tight fuckin' cunt.' he curses under his breath.

then, without any warning, eddie suddenly slams into you with a merciless thrust. his one hand fists your hair as the other caresses your breasts, as he bottoms out with each downward stroke.

he's so gentle but rough with you that it dizzies you, the way his cock is hitting all the right places causes loud moans out of your swollen lips, your eyes are rolled back as eddie is as loud as you imagined him to be, he is grunting, lowly groaning as he twists his face.

whenever you moan out his name, his pace gets faster, and his skin slaps roughly against yours, then his groans get more animalistic, it makes you want to repeat his name like a mantra.

'you still got that polaroid of yours?' he asks, his thrusts are sloppy now, you nod quickly, 'bedside drawer.' you manage to get out between your moans, and eddie reaches over, smirking as he grabs the polaroid.

'f-fuck, need to fuckin' engrave this memory in my mind, make sure i have it always with me. i always wanna see the way you look s'fucked out beneath me, pleading for my cock, lookin' all pretty as you moan out my name. need to show everyone that you're mine, my pretty girl, my lil' cock slut, my own personal fucktoy, my princess, all fuckin' mine.' his eyes darken when he emphasizes how you are his.

'f-fuck. yes please.' you lowly groan, your eyes are locked with his, 'i'm yours eds, i'm all yours.' you murmur, a smile plastered on your face.

'you agree with me so easily, pretty girl.' he almost chuckles, a grin on his face. 'when i say you'll be mine, i mean it.' his face is serious now.

'it means you're mine. your pretty lil' tits are mine.' he says as he traces his ringed fingers along your nipples, 'that pretty lil' mouth is mine.' his fingers travel up to your lips, and you open your mouth instinctively as you suck on them, the taste of metal and your juice engulfs your senses, you groan at the feeling.

eddie can't help but let out a guttural moan at your actions, he sheats his cock further as he curses, 'this tight lil' cunt, it will be mine, and only mine, princess.' his words are rough.

'd'you understand?' he asks, his voice is serious, you can't help but nod, you are ready to give him all of you, to ruin, to take, to have.

'tell me, tell me who you belong to.' he urges, and his cock is in and out of you so fast and rough as it sends a shiver down your spine, you can barely comprehend anything.

''m yours, eds, i'm all yours.' you let out between your desperate whines, he smiles proudly.

'good girl.' he murmurs, placing a kiss on your nipple, sucking and nibbling. 'my good fuckin' girl. don't fuckin' move.' he orders.

his hand picks up the polaroid camera, positioning it in his face as his other hand has a tight grip on your throat, your eyes are rolled back as eddie's thrust are still fast, he watches himself slip in and out of you with glory.

snap.

you barely notice the flash because of how fucked out you are, eddie smirks as the camera chews out the photo, and he shakes it as he waits for it to develop.

another smirk engulfs on his face as he admires the picture, it's so much better than the ones you took for him.

snap.

another picture, but this time his hand is squeezing your left boob, and he puts both of the pictures aside.

'my pretty girl.' he murmurs as he presses a kiss to your shoulder.

'eddie!' you yelp out, his cock hitting deeper and deeper, stretching you open fully, and you weren't sure if you could handle it anymore.

'need to cum, need to cum.' you moaned, pathetically. 'that's it pretty girl, cum for me.' he urged you to do so, he was close as well.

he reassures and encourages you to cum, he is kissing your neck, and playing with your nipples, you are whining, pleading, begging, it is so desperate, so beautiful to eddie, to have you like this in front of him.

and with the final confirmation from eddie you fall apart beneath him, breaking into a million pieces around his cock.

'gonna fuckin' ruin this cunt, make it mine, fill it with my warm load, just like you wanted, princess.' he has that sick grin again.

'gonna fill you so fuckin' deep that you'll never fuckin' get it out of you.' his words make your cunt ache.

'p-please, eds, want your cum.' you beg, almost. and with your final begging eddie comes inside of you with an animalistic groan, biting into the flesh of your neck.

despite having jerked off minutes ago, he is pumping an impressive amount of his load into you, you can feel his cock throbbing and his balls emptying inside of you.

he collapses on top of you the second he's finished, both of you trying to catch a breath.

once he does, he quickly gets up, making you whine.

'where are you going?' you ask innocently, as if the man in front of you didn't just fuck you into oblivion.

'we-' he corrects you, '-are going to the kitchen, i'm gonna bend you over the counter, and fuck you till all that pretty lil' head of yours will be filled with thoughts about my cock, ruining you, stretching you open.'

'we need more polaroids.' he grins.

❥ all the pretty ppl who wanted to be tagged mwah: @jordanwalkersworld @spenciesprincess @emmalee-01 @dumbslxtclub @tlclick73 @cherrrygirl @upside-down-angel @sebastiansstanswhore

#eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #perv!eddie munson #perv!eddie munson x reader #perv!eddie munson imagine #perv!eddie munson smut #eddie munson oneshot

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flowerandblood · 2 months

Text

The Fall from the Heavens (13)

[ dark • Aemond x Strong • niece female ]

[ warnings: angst, arranged engagement, violence, swearing, trauma, regret, depression, mention of a suicide attempt ]

[ description: A cool distance turns into friendship and more when two children see that they can find refuge and understanding in each other. However, naïve dreams collide with the reality in which every event has consequences and what once could have been love becomes a dark, newly painful obsession. Angst, sexual tension, obsession, violence, madness, very dark Aemond. ]

The story in this series is an alternate reality from the oneshot Stay and love, leave and die, in which Aemond reads the letters his niece has sent to him over the years. They are the same characters and it shows what would have happened between them − I have changed the background story from their childhood slightly for the sake of the plot.

Characters & Series Moodboard

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Daemon understood better than anyone what it meant to be the second son, the one who would inherit nothing. It seemed to him that, in contrast to Viserys, he was a blazing fire like a true dragon, giving warmth, light and shelter to those close to his heart, burning those whom he saw as his enemies.

Viserys was always blind, soft-spoken, lacking strong character and clear opposition when things got too far out of hand.

This trait of his had been carefully exploited by Otto Hightower over the years, putting himself in the role of his friend and adviser, playing his part with an extraordinary devotion from which he felt like throwing up.

He knew it was pure courtesy, perfectly calculated, taking advantage of the mourning of the entire Red Keep and his inattention after Aemma's tragic death he slipped his brother his daughter under his nose.

Looking at her on their wedding day, standing in a long, ornate gown he thought she looked like a child on whom someone had put layers of cloth and precious stones; overwhelmed by it all she looked down at her feet, around her nails the red wounds he had seen on her hands ever since.

On that one day, knowing what was awaiting her, he truly felt compassion for her.

After that, however, he stopped.

She could have built her independence, committed herself to the needs of the kingdom, she, however, in the company of that cunt, Criston Cole, gave herself over to prayer and mortification, obediently following her father's orders.

As a woman, she was in his eyes pitiful, weepy, whiny, merely pretending to be saintly and virtuous, having in fact nothing to do with these qualities.

His feelings about her and her father moved involuntarily to her children.

He recognised the dragon's blood in them and treated them differently from the Hightowers, yet he was unable or unwilling to bond with them, seeing how they were suckled to their mother's breasts, which did not allow them to think or breathe on their own.

He watched from the sidelines, observing from afar as Rhaenyra and Alicent's children trained together, how a divide formed between them. He knew that once they grew up and understood what was really at stake, they would throw themselves at each other's throats.

He knew perfectly well whose right to the throne he would support.

Aegon was a drunkard and a cunt, Helaena was quiet and withdrawn, Aemond was sullen and vindictive − he thought with amusement that each of them had inherited the worst from his brother and their mother.

However, he couldn't help but show at least a little compassion and understanding for his brother's second son, who had been punished by the gods, left without a dragon of his own.

Some part of him wanted to speak to him, to get to know him, to see through him as a kind of reflection of himself, but on those rare occasions when he was with Leana and his daughters in the Red Keep he never made such a gesture, which he later, though he did not want to admit it to himself, regretted.

Perhaps things would have turned out differently then.

He could see with what admiration he looked at him, how much he longed to hear at least one word of appreciation from him, any gesture of interest.

He knew that if he could decide who his father-figure would be he would choose not Viserys or Cole but him, and he pretended not to notice that.

Once though, he noticed something that surprised him; strolling through the cloisters of the Red Keep he spotted his nephew and Rhaenyra's only daughter standing side by side in the square, leaning over the table filled with the various weapons. He smirked under his breath as he walked closer, wanting to listen to their conversation.

They were betrothed.

A clumsy attempt by his brother to avoid what he felt in his bones had to happen.

He saw his niece point her finger at one of the weapons lying on the wooden tabletop, a steel black spiked ball hooked on a chain to a special handle.

"What is it? It looks scary." She said with amusement, her voice light and pleasant; he thought with surprise that his nephew's grim and stormy nature did not deter her.

Alicent's son grunted loudly, lifting his chin slightly in a gesture of superiority and intelligence that he hated so much about the Hightowers, clearly proud to be able to speak on a subject in which his knowledge was extensive.

"It's a flail. A very heavy weapon requiring great strength and agility in its use. It literally crushes the opponent." He said, forcing himself into a low, mature, masculine voice, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, his hair in a slight disarray from the few duels he had already had.

"That weapon looks like the kind you die from in agony." Mumbled his niece, tentatively touching her fingertip to one of the spikes – her uncle pushed her away immediately, surprised by her gesture, grabbing her hand by the wrist.

"Are you insane? What are you doing? It's sharp after all, you could have hurt yourself." He said angrily, but she only blinked, surprised by his outburst, and smiled indulgently, showing him her finger.

"I know, silly. I wouldn't want something like that to hit me in the face." She sneered, raising her eyebrows in amusement, joy in her gaze and embarrassment at the fact that he still hadn't let her go.

She took a step closer to him, but he stepped back quickly and lowered his gaze, he noticed in disbelief that his pale cheeks had turned scarlet.

"Not here. Later." He muttered letting go of her wrist immediately. He heard her quiet sigh of disappointment as she nodded and walked away without another word.

He watched as, a moment later, his nephew cursed under his breath, pulling off his leather gloves and moved after her, grabbing her at one of the side entrances by her arm. She turned to him with a smile as if she was sure he would follow her, her lips placing a quick, brief kiss on his cheek.

He let her go, embarrassed and blushing, looking sideways, muttered something, and she nodded and disappeared behind the walls. His nephew returned to the square as if nothing had happened, a lazy, barely visible smile on his face; Aegon looked at him from afar with a look full of pity, as soon as his younger brother came closer he said loud and clear:

"What a twat you are."

He snarled under his breath as he heard Criston Cole immediately respond to his remark by saying that it was inappropriate for a prince to use such vocabulary, his younger brother only gave him a grim look indicating that he himself was torn internally, ashamed of his weakness.

He thought then, moving ahead, amused, that his brother had inadvertently contributed to something that was certainly not his original plan.

These kids really wanted it.

He felt shame because, looking at them, he wondered how he really felt about his wife. He recognised that she was his companion and lover, whom he respected and cherished, but she was not his friend, he could not allow her into the depths of his heart.

Only when he saw Rheanyra did he feel something more; he had the feeling that the air around them quivered when they spoke, he sensed that she understood perfectly the source and reason of his impulsive nature.

Despite this, he found his life peaceful and prosperous, and the death of his wife in childbirth was something shocking and painful to him. He covered his grief with laughter, the thought that he had wasted years of her life, a wonderful, beautiful woman who deserved someone to love her with all her being, giving her something more than a substitute of affection.

Then, however, his nephew lost an eye and everything fell apart like a house of cards, showing how weak their family actually was.

The events that followed wove together in his mind, the closeness of Rhaenyra and their later nuptials brought him a sense of relief, as if two parts that belonged together had been joined.

He watched her daughter from afar, the sadness and grief painted on her after all still so young and innocent face made her seem to him pale and lifeless, at once beautiful, cool and inaccessible, walking around Dragonstone like a ghost, not speaking to anyone despite how much his daughters tried to get close to her.

She was warm, helpful and welcoming when anyone approached her, but did not raise any discussions herself, eating and drinking little at suppers, immersed in her thoughts.

He knew that she was with them only in body.

He decided not to make the same mistake as with his nephew and offer her his interest, his support in the ironic and mischievous form peculiar to him, the only way in which he could show his affection to anyone.

What surprised him was how much she clung to him, how often she cried during their walks together; despite her innate vulnerability she had a strength of character that he appreciated – she was inclined to rash actions or anger, but she was also not docile or naive, she tried to find order in the chaos that surrounded her.

Only he and his niece had been invited to Aegon's nuptials to Helaena; Alicent had expressed in her letter her concern that the meeting of their children might affect them badly and reawaken old wounds, which his wife took as a reasonable argument, and indeed, albeit reluctantly, it was only the two of them who travelled to the Red Keep.

The whole ceremony in the Great Sept dragged on endlessly for him; he looked around, bored, unwilling to stare at the horrified, sad faces of his nephew and niece, testament to the fact that neither of them wanted this marriage.

The wedding supper held in the fortress was lavish with dancing and music, lords from all over the kingdom descended and gathered in the throne room at large, long oak tables filled to the brim with food. Sitting down in his seat next to his wife, he glanced sideways and noticed a figure looking at him intensely, the One-Eyed Prince staring at him coolly, his lips pressed into a thin line.

He raised his eyebrows in disbelief and admiration, finding that he looked like a man, well-built and muscular, tall, his hair much longer, a black eye patch covering the left side of his face.

He grinned with amusement and mockery, wondering to what he owed his attention, and his nephew only hummed under his breath, looking away, apparently discouraged by his reaction.

He wondered, looking at him, taking a sip of wine from his goblet, if he had shown him fatherly concern then, taken him under his wing, separated him from Alicent and Otto, he would be a different man now.

Several toasts were made to the bride and groom, during each of which Aegon drank his cup to the bottom, clearly intent on fulfilling his marital duty completely drunk.

"Stop it. You've had enough." Growled his younger brother, taking his goblet from him with an aggressive flick of his hand, setting it impatiently far from his older brother's reach.

Aegon slapped him angrily on the shoulder, mumbling something under his breath; his younger brother stood up, towering over him, showing him wordlessly that if he touched him again he would regret it.

"Aemond." Said their mother, this green whore, who was looking at them in pain, her hands folded in front of her as if to pray.

His nephew rolled his eyes and left the hall by a side entrance, furious, unwilling and unable to look at it apparently; Aegon with a wide grin reached for his cup again and to his despair took the empty seat next to him that had been occupied earlier by his wife, now conversing with the King.

"Uncle! So many years." He mumbled, tapping him on the back in a friendly, masculine greeting. He rolled his eyes, amused, smelling the stench of alcohol and sweat from him.

"As you can see, everything stays in the family. I don't know how I'm going to survive this. After all, she'll surely cry. Fuck." He muttered, taking a deep, catchy sip from his cup, tilting it so that he drank it all at once.

He ran his tongue over his lower lip, feeling discomfort at the thought that he felt compassion for Helaena for what was about to happen to her.

"She doesn't seem to fully understand what I will have to do to her. After all, she's my sister. I don't want to hurt her. She's odd and I don't understand her, but I don't want her to fucking cry." He mumbled out covering his face with his hand, his voice breaking with his every word – he drew in air loudly as if he was out of breath, and he looked at him not knowing what to do.

He glanced at her sad, petite figure; she sat gazing off into the distance somewhere, dreamy.

He wondered as he watched her if she realised what awaited her.

What was he supposed to answer him?

"Be gentle and kind. Make her feel as little pain as possible. You know very well that how it will look lies in your hands. If you want her to suffer as little as possible, stop drinking because it will take you a fucking hour." He growled, taking the cup from his hand just as his younger brother had earlier, and wondered if that was what he meant then, if he knew his condition would only worsen whatever was to await them next.

"You pity yourself and you smell of alcohol and sweat. Go take a bath or do you want to lay on her like that? Give her some dignity for goodness sake." He said coolly, looking ahead indifferently; his nephew swallowed loudly, sitting beside him like a little rebuked child, playing with his fingers.

He wondered, looking at him out of the corner of his eye if his brother had ever spoken to him about it, if he had prepared him and explained to him how he should behave.

"All my life I've envied him. My brother. He had someone of his own who cared about him. I think he really loved her, uncle. Now I barely recognise anyone myself. I'm not sure any of us are the same person anymore. Only Helaena has remained the same − innocent and ignorant. That's because she doesn't step outside her mind. If she did, she would have gone mad like we did."

It turned out that he was partly right.

What he didn't expect was that when they arrived all together as a family after several years in King's Landing to defend Luke's rights to inherit the Driftmark these two would be lying in bed with each other on their very first night.

"If you tell me you still want to marry him, I will help you. I'd rather you be his wife than lead you and him into a scandal that could destroy your mother. Your betrothal has never been called off, the king will easily prove that no other plans for you can be in force against his decision. But if you decide not to, I will personally see to it that you never see him again and that no letter of yours leaves Dragonstone. Make a manly, mature decision with all its consequences, and stop wallowing over yourself."

He told her then, wanting her to understand that they could not stand in the middle, that they had to choose, or their decisions would drag them all down.

Watching them in the throne room audience, however, the greedy, desperate gaze of his nephew fixed on her as if he wanted to devour her gave him no illusions.

What this boy was telling himself was one thing, but what he was feeling was another.

It was this thought that made him decide to question Alicent's decision in front of everyone, wanting to hear his brother's opinion on the matter, the only one that really counted. He had expected nothing but objections from both sides, however, against the desperate attempts of their mothers, his nephew and his niece's daughter made a decision that did not surprise him at all.

It was enough for her to get up from her seat and walk out to make him press his lips together in rage and follow her out, exactly as he had done then, in the courtyard, when he had thrown himself after her, and she knew perfectly well that he would do so, knowing his nature.

He wondered if she had kissed him this time too, if the tension between them had eased.

He thought that this marriage might actually calm the emotions a little, especially as his brother was over his deathbed.

This union was forcing both parties to be cautious, which could be mutually beneficial.

"She has decided that she wants to stay in the Red Keep until I return." His wife said to him, putting her black leather gloves on her hands, walking beside him towards the dragon's lair. He stopped, looking at her in disbelief, furious.

This was not the plan.

"What?" He growled, looking at her as if she had completely lost her mind. "You're leaving my daughter in the care of that whore and her father-traitor?"

He saw that she smiled at his words emphasising that in his eyes she was his child, that he had taken responsibility for her and protected her as any true father should.

"She asked me to do this. I imagine they both want to clarify a lot of things with each other. Since the nuptials are to take place as soon as possible there is no need to fret, I will personally take her back in a few days." She replied calmly, and he let out a loud breath, impatiently licking his lips.

It was a bad idea, he could feel it in his bones, but he didn't protest and that was his mistake.

The next day he lost two of his daughters.

Rhaenyra, his brother's heir to the throne fell with a groan when envoys reported to her that her father was dead, that her brother had been crowned king, that they had imprisoned their daughter.

She cried out loudly in pain, clutching at her womb; at first he thought it was despair, but then he saw the pool of blood beneath her feet, her terrified gaze, her lips parted in agony.

They both knew it was too soon.

Their daughter already looked like a tiny infant, but sadly her fate was sealed; she wasn't moving or breathing, she was cold, looking more like a doll than a human being.

He felt that he had to leave the fortress; he followed exactly where he always went out with her, with one of his daughters, to the sea itself, and he fell to his knees, breathing heavily, not knowing what he was supposed to do with the rage and chaos that overtook his mind.

He wanted to mount Caraxes and burn them all.

However, his cousin and daughters had cooled his ardour, recognising that they needed to prepare, gather an army, make a plan of action.

He recognised that it was only female sentiment, a weakness that kept them from making the risky decision that his whole life consisted of.

When his wife finally recovered from her brief mourning, despite his entreaties, she did not listen to him and decided to send her sons as her representatives, wanting to extract the pledge of allegiance from those who had paid her tribute many years ago.

He had thought it nonsensical, however, when Luke returned from Storm's End it turned out that his step son had been a naive idiot.

"You flew after him? You flew after him knowing he could imprison you, use you as your mother's weakness? Fucking fool." He growled, turning away from the table with fury, massaging his face with his palm, not believing he could have done such a thing.

"Daemon." Said Rhaenyra in a voice trembling with despair; she looked at her son, trying to calm herself. "What happened next?"

"He brought her. Someone hit her, mother, and I think she tried to take her own life. There were cut marks on her wrists." He muttered, forcing himself into a calm tone of voice.

He turned towards him, looking at him with his heart beating fast.

She had done this for them, so they could attack the Red Keep without fear.

She wanted to make a manly decision, to sacrifice herself, his brave daughter, his little dragon.

"Gods." Said his wife, clutching at her womb, apparently involuntarily recalling the moments when she had carried her under her heart, the maternal tears of pain in her eyes.

"And then?" He finished for her, seeing that she didn't have the strength to get anything else out, Luke swallowed hard, afraid to look at him.

"I told her to run away with me, but she didn't agree. She told me to tell you that she loves you and that she remains faithful to you, mother." Said with difficulty, Jace slammed his fist on the table, furious.

"That fucking bastard purposely made her stay. He planned this, he never had any intention of marrying her!" He said red with anger and he glanced at him indifferently, sighing heavily.

"And then what? He let you just walk away? No one else saw you?" He asked further, pretending not to have heard his outburst; Jace pressed his lips together, furious. Luke shook his head quickly.

"N-no, I was surprised, but no. Forgive me, I had to see her, make sure that she is still alive." He muttered, and he sighed heavily, placing both of his hands on the table, leaning over it, and closed his eyes, trying to focus.

He let her see him without any other witnesses and then let him go even though he hated him, even though he could have trapped and humiliated him.

Why?

A memory flashed through his mind, the way his nephew cursed as he fought with himself to finally run after her, her smile full of reassurance as she turned to him knowing he would follow her, his blush of embarrassment and lazy smile as her lips placed a soft, warm kiss on his cheek, her proof of her devotion and affection that he craved so much.

He had never stopped loving her.

This stone-cold, dangerous man had done something for her, surely after she had tried to take her own life.

"Bring me a parchment and a quill. I need to speak with my nephew."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes

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ladamedusoif · 2 months

Text

able

(Joel Miller x disabled F!Reader)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Disabled F!Reader

Summary: "I just don't think she'll be able for patrol". But then it's just you, Joel, and your trusty walking stick in the middle of nowhere...

Content/warnings: Reader is disabled (she has rheumatoid disease/arthritis in addition to panic attacks, she uses a walking stick as necessary); Reader had a sister; Reader is an art teacher; strong violence; blood; description of panic attack; references to impact of chronic illness and disability; references to medication; references to disease and death; non-canon compliant; Jackson!Joel; strong language; ableist language and abusive language

Rating: Mature; 18+ MDNI

Word Count: ~3.7k

A/N: After making a plea earlier in the week for people to actually write disabled Reader fic, as opposed to forcing writers to feel they have to tag literally everything in an able-bodied Reader story, I knew I had to put my money where my mouth was as a disabled, neurodivergent writer with various mental health things going on here and there. And this one-shot is the result.

This one is a little personal. I was diagnosed with rheumatoid disease about ten years ago, and Reader’s experiences are informed by my own (though, thankfully, I haven’t had to contend with an apocalypse that meant I couldn’t access the medication that has kept me going). She’s also inspired by @agentjackdaniels, who acted as consultant extraordinaire on walking sticks and panic attacks, and suggested the Joel picture for the moodboard. Thank you, Luce, for this, for fighting the good fight for representation in fic - and for beta-ing the story.

(A note on terminology: rheumatoid disease/arthritis are sometimes used interchangeably. ‘Arthritis’ often sounds like it’s ‘just’ osteoarthritis to people who don’t know the difference. Rheumatoid, unlike osteoarthritis (which is shitty in its own ways), is a systemic, lifelong, chronic illness and an auto-immune disorder that affects the entire body, not just bones and/or joints. So personally I use ‘rheumatoid disease’ as it conveys more of the impact of the condition. It's also often seen as an 'old person' disease but this simply isn't true - not that this stops mobility aids being modelled by people in their 80s all the time...)

Please follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications to stay up to date with my work.

Dividers by @saradika - moodboard by me

You weren’t supposed to make it.

Twenty-odd years in the apocalypse with your fucked-up joints and no steady supply of the meds that kept you going, pushing through the cycles of fatigue, and fighting off your own goddamned immune system as much as you were fighting clickers and raiders.

You really weren’t supposed to make it. But you had Annie.

You were sharing an apartment when the outbreak happened, a quirk of shitty personal circumstances - she’d just broken up with her long-term boyfriend - that probably helped save your life. Annie was the all-action sister - the kind of person who thinks there’s nothing weird about spending your weekends doing triathlons and “Tough Mudder” challenges, who had a perfect bill of health your entire lives, who bounced out of bed in the mornings while you cracked and creaked and stiffly manoeuvered yourself into being.

The good days generally outweighed the bad in the years between your diagnosis with rheumatoid disease and the initial outbreak - or maybe you had just gotten used to the aches and pains and the occasional flare-ups of fatigue. You invested in a walking stick to help on those days when mobility was particularly bad: solid, heavy, and carved in a pale yellow wood. It felt like a comfort in your hand, more a sign of strength, to you, than of weakness.

Annie helped you through the panic attack that consumed you on outbreak day, working with you to regulate your breathing and relax your tense muscles until you could finally say what was on your mind.

“My meds. What am I going to do without my meds?”

Nothing a quick smash and grab at the local pharmacy couldn’t fix. It was the first of many, stockpiling the little yellow tablets you relied on and taking as many packs of over-the-counter painkillers as you could carry. Useful currency in the apocalypse, as it turned out.

All-Action Annie was never going to cope with life in a QZ. She got the two of you out after months of planning, nights of whispered talk about a town out west that was normal - or something close to it, anyway. She hadn’t entertained your protestations about you slowing her down, holding her back.

“You think I’m leaving behind a girl who’s so handy with a weapon?” she’d teased, pointing to your walking stick. “Be real. We’re busting out together.”

The infection took hold in her about three days from Jackson. Fuckin’ barbed wire, tearing a jagged line through Annie’s hand and leaving behind an old-fashioned kind of threat to life, the kind penicillin had mostly dealt with. But that was then. This was now.

She died in an abandoned farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, you holding her hand until the end, talking to her about your childhoods and trying to keep smiling until she closed her beautiful eyes.

It took all your strength to dig her grave. And then, somehow, you found more.

You weren’t supposed to make it. But you did.

Jackson stands before you.

He sees you for the first time in the community dining hall, talking animatedly to Maria as you hungrily devour the food set in front of you. Eyes wide, face grubby, clothes ragged. Half-wild, he thinks, like most of the new arrivals. Like him and Ellie, once upon a time. He returns to his bowl of soup and his own thoughts - at least, until he’s interrupted by Maria.

“Joel? Want to introduce a new member of the community, just arrived.”

He doesn’t quite know why he’s surprised when he realises you’re leaning on a sturdy hand-carved walking stick in a solid, light yellow wood. Maybe it’s because he knows how physically hard it is to get here. Maybe he just assumed folks who needed a stick wouldn’t have been able to manage the journey.

For a second he can hear Sarah’s voice in his head, chiding him for focusing on what a disabled person can’t do instead of what they can.

“Joel?”

He snaps out of his reverie and looks from Maria to you. “Uh, hi. Sorry, just…sorry. Forgot my manners.”

“I was just saying how glad we are to have someone who can offer some art education in the town, isn’t that right, Joel?”

Your eyes are warm and mischievous as you meet his gaze, silently conveying your amusement at Maria’s rather brusque manner. It’s all Joel can do not to laugh.

“Sure is. You’re an artist, then?”

You shake your head. “Not a real one. I was an art teacher, before. Long time since I created anything, though, so I hope I remember how.”

He smiles softly, his gruff exterior receding a little. “Bet it’s just like riding a bike,” he says, before his face falls as he looks at your walking stick. “Oh, shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean… Shit. Hope I didn’t offend.”

“As it happens, I can ride a bike, Joel. The apocalypse just doesn’t give me much cause to.”

You leave him with a smile and a wink as Maria ushers you to meet other townsfolk. He watches you as you walk away, the tap-tap-tapping of your stick beating out a new rhythm in the heart of Jackson.

You think of Annie every morning when you wake up in the little house you’d been assigned. Sometimes, as you potter around the kitchen, still revelling in the novelty of making yourself morning coffee for the first time in two decades, you even talk to her. You tell her about the town, the townsfolk, your work in the community vegetable garden, your art classes.

“Honestly, An, you wouldn’t believe how popular they are,” you tell the Annie who, in an alternate universe, is sitting at the kitchen table with her own mug of coffee. “I’m setting up extra sessions to cater for demand.”

There’s something uplifting in how hungry the people of Jackson are to make art, no matter their experience or existing skill level. They’ll draw stuff from memory, they’ll dutifully work on a still life, they’ll even traipse outside with you, wooden sketching boards in hand, and make rapid-fire sketches of the goings-on on Main Street.

Joel doesn’t join a class - but the teenage girl Maria refers to as “Joel’s kid” does, all potty-mouthed and enthusiastic and pretty damned talented, to boot. Ellie tells you how she’s pinned up the drawings she’s proudest of in their home, “like our own fuckin’ art gallery or some shit.”

You pull up a tall stool and sit beside her, resting your stick over your thighs. “Joel’s got his guitar and those dumbass model figures he paints,” she continues, leaning around her easel and squinting at the woman who’d volunteered to act as a life model for this week’s classes. “But this shit? This is real art.” She adds a little highlight to the woman’s sweater and leans back to assess the work.

“You probably got exempt from patrols, I’m guessing. On account of the stick, an’ all.”

“Maria asked, and I signed up happily. I got all the way here, didn’t I? I’m sure I can manage patrols. And it’s the least I can do - they’ve even found me some of the medications I need.”

Ellie nods, somewhat convinced, and returns to sketching out the contours around the model’s jaw.

The day of your first patrol arrives. You bundle up and set out early for the stables, allowing extra time to get there on account of the flare-up you’d been experiencing the day before.

You arrive early - just in time, in fact, to overhear a heated conversation between Joel and Maria.

“She’s doing enough, ain’t she? I just don’t think she’ll be able for patrol.”

“You’ve seen her out and about, Joel. She’s mobile. She’s competent. She’s good with the horses. She got all the way here, the last stretch on her own. What more proof do you need?”

“You’re seriously gonna send a woman with a walking stick out on patrol?”

“I seriously am. Sent you and your bad back out, didn’t we?”

“That ain’t the same and you know it.”

“Just saddle the horses, Joel. And, in case you’re wondering - yes, I paired you together deliberately, just until she gets settled.” You hear her footsteps recede as she leaves him.

You had misjudged how much your already-limited grip would be further impeded by the gloves you’re wearing. The stick clatters to the ground.

“Who’s there?”

You emerge from the shadows. “Me. Sorry.”

Joel rolls his eyes and gruffly points out the tack and supplies.

The first patrol passes in silence. You wonder what happened to the softer man you’d caught a glimpse of the first day you arrived.

On the second patrol, you ask him questions about himself. On the third patrol, he asks (fewer) questions about you. By the fourth, you’re having something approximating normal conversation.

“Sarah loved to make all kinds of stuff,” he ventures, leading the way on his chestnut horse. “Those beaded bracelets, that girly Lego in the pink and purple, all of that. My girl had enough Magic Markers to supply a whole elementary school. Maybe two.”

You can hear him smile, even without seeing his face. His shoulders relax a little as he recalls the memory.

“So she was a creative kid?”

“Creative, sporty… she could do anything. Made the school soccer team, she was so proud. Just a…” He pauses. “A great kid.”

There’s a few beats of silence, punctuated only by the sound of the horses snickering and the steady rhythm of their hooves on the ground.

“What about your sister, was she arty like you?”

You’d told him about Annie on the last patrol. This was the first time he’d asked about her explicitly.

“She was the sporty one. I think that’s why I survived so long, truth be told. She was so strong and fast and tough as fuck.”

He chuckles, the burr of his voice resonating in the cold air. “Sounds like a good balance, though.”

“It is - it was. Was.” Your voice grows quieter as you repeat the word to yourself, chest starting to tighten. The horse slows, responding to the tension of your body, as Joel continues to trot on, not realising you’ve come to a halt behind him.

And then the tell-tale snapping of a twig, the sound of footsteps, and the realisation there’s someone else there, emerging out of the woods. Two someones.

Raiders.

The panic attack that has been building inside you gives way. An innate fight or flight response kicks in as you roar his name.

Joel turns and charges back towards you, just in time to see you take out one raider with a crack shot from your pistol. He slows the horse and readies his rifle, staring at the other man who is now trying to haul you off your mount.

“Get the fuck off me, motherfucker!” You flail against him, desperately shifting your weight to the other side of the saddle to try to shake him off.

Joel takes aim.

You think you’ve kicked the raider off. And that’s when you hit the ground.

He can’t take the shot now, not with her half-hidden from his view and audibly fighting off the man who’s dragged her to the ground. Joel is still a little distance away, slightly too far to see exactly what’s happening.

Why didn’t he hear her slowing? Why didn’t he realise she was further behind than she ought to be? Why did she slow in the fuckin’ first place?

Joel quickly dismounts, rifle in hand, moving closer so he can get a clearer shot at the guy who’s now standing over her. The horse’s elegant neck obscures the raider’s hands from Joel’s vision - he has no idea if he’s pointing a gun at her or not.

He thinks he has a clear sight on the guy’s head, provided he stays in the same position. He readies the rifle.

Suddenly, the raider disappears, letting out a primal roar before he hits the ground.

“You fucking cunt!”

Joel can see she’s standing now, the man prone before her. As he rounds the horse he sees her lift her cane, hands securely gripping the pointed end of the stick.

She brings the solid, weighty handle down on the raider’s leg with a sickening crunch. Even Joel recoils a little at the sight and the sound.

“F-f-fucking…c-c-cunt!”

Thwack. The other leg.

Fuck. She knows exactly what she’s doing.

”Keep calling me that, and I’ll keep the blows coming.”

Holy fuck. Who is she?

”C-c-c-cripple.”

”Excuse me?”

The raider props himself up on his arms. “I said, cripple. Fucking crippled cunt.”

“You shut your fuckin’ mouth.” Joel cocks his rifle.

The stranger sneers at Joel. “Awww, he’s actin’ the big man now. Weren’t too quick gettin’ back down here to save your cripple woman, were ya?”

Before Joel can react, she swings her stick over her head and brings it down on the man’s skull with a furious scream that seems to come from the very depths of her being.

She screams and screams as she hits him, over and over, eyes wild in her blood-spattered face. Joel recognises this: in himself; hell, in Ellie. It’s the moment when the floodgates open and all those years of pain blend together and zone in on this convenient target, an avatar for everyone and everything who had forced loss and trauma upon you.

He roars at her to stop, but knows she can’t hear him. It’s just her and the raider, now: her rage and fear and grief finding their expression through a walking stick turned cudgel.

A single shot ends it. She turns sharply, as if snapped out of a trance, and sees the smoke leaving Joel’s pistol.

“Hey. Hey. You alright?” His broad hands grip your biceps as he looks into your eyes.

Yes, you tell him, yes. You’re fine. But Joel keeps asking.

“Talk to me. Are you okay? I’m worried about you. Please, just talk to me.”

You are moving your mouth, but no sound is coming out. The familiar vice is tightening around your chest. You look down at your blood-stained hands and you struggle to breathe.

“‘M dying, Joel. Can’t breathe. All the blood. So much. Why can’t I breathe?”

Oh, he realises with a pang. She gets these things too. And I know how to help.

“You’re okay, you hear?” He’s rubbing your arms gently, keeping his gaze on you. “You’re alright. Breathe along with me, okay?”

It’s difficult to find the rhythm, at first. Joel’s hands find yours and squeeze them in time with his breath.

”In through your nose, that’s it. Slow and steady. Now out through your mouth.”

He can see your muscles starting to visibly relax. A wave of relief courses over him.

”Yeah, that’s it - you got this. You got this, good girl, you’re just fine. Gonna be alright.”

When he’s confident your breathing has settled and the panic attack receded somewhat, he gently guides you away from the body of the dead raider, one hand holding your horse’s bridle and the other holding yours.

“Why don’t you have a seat for a minute, huh?” Joel gestures to a long, low tree trunk lying near the forest’s edge and opens his saddlebags, rummaging until he finds a cloth, a battered hip flask and a bag of dried apple slices.

”Here.” He wipes the blood as best he can from your hands and proffers the flask, settling his substantial frame beside you on the log. “Have a sip or two, just to relax you a little bit more. Got a snack, here, too.”

You flinch at the taste of the liquor, but take a second sip regardless. The apple slices barely taste of anything in the afterburn of the moonshine. Joel nibbles on some jerky and stares into the middle distance.

You take a break from patrol, agreed with Maria, and a few days off your art classes. It was tempting to keep going, to return to the light and airy studio and to your students. But you feared a relapse.

And your body needed to recover physically, too. You ached from head to toe, fingers and toes puffy and swollen and movement seriously restricted. You ration out the supply of medication you’ve secured since getting here, and use hot water bottles and plenty of rest to try to ride out the flare in your arthritis.

Three days after the incident, there’s a knock on the door. You hobble to answer it, leaning on your trusty stick for support.

”Came by to see how you were doing. Got you some things if you needed ‘em.”

Joel is standing on your front porch, holding a jute grocery bag. He pauses, as if waiting for you to give him permission to say more.

”That’s so very kind of you, Joel. Come in, won’t you? I was able to set a fire so it’s nice and cosy.”

He watches as you lead the way into the living room, noting how much slower you were today. Guilt laps at his conscience. He said she shouldn’t go on patrol. He knew.

”You want me to bring these into the kitchen for you?”

“That would be a great help. Thank you.” He’s glad to see you smile, after the trauma of the patrol. “If you want a drink, I’ve got some tea and coffee in the cupboard just to the left of the sink.”

He pops his head back into the living room. “What would you like?”

“A tea would be perfect. Mugs are in the cupboard to the right.”

You wrap yourself back up in your blankets on the couch, making room for Joel when he returns with the drinks and a couple of cookies, sent over by Ellie as part of his care package for you. The mug feels like a comfort in your aching hands, its heat assuaging the inflammation ravaging your joints.

He sips his coffee and you sit in silence for a little bit, watching the flames dance over the firewood.

“Have you, uh - you been okay, doing okay, since…”

Joel stares into his coffee cup and then looks at you, a little awkward. You smile, hoping to reassure him.

”I’ve been okay. Just the physical pain and exhaustion, mostly. And - well, you saw it. The panic. It can leave you drained.”

He nods and takes another swig of his drink. “I know. I - I’ve had times like that, too. Real fuckin’ scary, when you’ve never gone through it before.”

You study his face for a moment or two, noting the little scar on his temple, the lines on his face, the stern expression completely undermined by the warmth of his deep brown eyes. For an instant, he seems so vulnerable, this strong, tough man sitting on your little couch.

“I haven’t had an attack like that in a while. But then, I hadn’t done anything like that in a while.”

This time Joel turns to look at you properly. “Not your first rodeo, huh?”

You giggle at the turn of phrase. “Not quite. Let’s just say my stick did a lot of work over the last twenty years. He wasn’t the first to feel the brunt of it.”

Joel nods, and you feel strangely relieved that he doesn’t seem surprised. “Doesn’t get easier, though, does it?”

“It does not. Which is why it’s better to avoid having to do it.”

”I agree. Gotta say, though, I - I was worried you wouldn’t be able for patrol, y’know?”

You arch an eyebrow at him. “I know. I overheard you, remember?”

He blushes. “Aw, shit. Yeah. I’m sorry about that. I just didn’t want anything happening to you, what with your - condition, and all.”

You sigh softly, not really noticing the affection in his voice. “Most of the time, I’m fine. Y’know? I’m slower, but I do okay. I get tired more easily, but I manage. I didn’t come here to be a drain on the community.”

”You aren’t.”

”I know, but I want to keep it that way. I want to pull my weight. I’m able, Joel.”

He huffs in agreement. “Not like I’m a perfect specimen these days, either. Knees, fuckin’ back, deaf in one ear…”

You chuckle. “And you thought I wouldn’t manage patrol? Anyway, you’re not doing so bad, are you?”

He gives you a little smile, but that constant sadness still haunts his eyes. He stares at his coffee for a moment.

“You knew what you were doing, though.”

”I did. But I didn’t feel like I could stop.” You sip your tea, swallowing hard. “And I’m scared that makes me some kinda monster. You know?”

Oh, he knows. He knows it too well.

”You aren’t a monster.” Joel resists the urge to put an arm around you. “You just… something snapped, I guess. All that - well, all that hell you’ve gone through. It… it changes you. But it doesn’t make you a monster.”

He realises you’re crying before you do, spotting the fat tears that roll down your cheeks. He finds a clean handkerchief in his jeans and offers it to you.

Fuck it.

“Can I - can I put an arm round you? Just for some support?”

Your eyes light up, tears or no tears, and you nod enthusiastically. Joel is warm and comforting, his broad chest and strong arms a kind of anchor in the emotional storm. You nuzzle against him, and he gives you a little squeeze on the arm.

”You’re a really brave woman, you know that?”

His voice is quieter, more intentional. You look at him quizzically from under your lashes, unused to praise of this kind. For an instant you think about asking him what he means. But the safety you’ve found in the broad arm draped around you is all you need right now.

You nuzzle a little against his chest, and watch the fire dancing for the rest of the night.

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x disabled f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #soft joel miller #disabled f!reader #disabled reader fic #hbo the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedrostories

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biteofcherry · 10 months

Text

to find the light, we must first touch the darkness

Please also check out @bluepinkangel’s amazing hot moodboard for this universe 🖤

dark mafia!Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: When you unexpectedly are appointed to run a health center, you foresee many struggles along the way, but not one in the form of a merciless mob boss. Steve Rogers’ core aim is to own and he won’t take no for an answer. To any of his demands.

warnings for this chapter: dark!Steve Rogers; power imbalance; forced relationship; D/s undertones; public humiliation; groping; dirty talk

I did warn you this Steve is dark 😜

word count: 4k

Touch the Darkness Masterlist

Main Masterlist

5. Breaking ice

~ * ~

You’ve never been more annoyed with a sunny day and warm lightness filling your bones than you felt the day after the apothecary incident. Extra bounce to your step as the sun stroked your face and corners of your lips threatening to curl up irked you immensely.

Every other minute you tried to force yourself into a stormy mood.

Into an expected reaction to what has happened.

You faced direct danger, witnessed people being killed in cold blood, you were trapped in a relationship with a fucking mobster, who - on top of it all - screwed your body and mind in a most wicked, deranged way.

You shouldn’t be feeling cheery. That reaction was inadequate to the situation and to the moral norms you thought you possessed.

Either Rogers had that strong of an impact that you quickly bent to his dark whims, or the spine you thought you had always been a noodle not a steel rod.

How otherwise explain the fact repulsion at his manhandling transformed into thrill and arousal?

Last night, when you finally went to bed after taking a thorough scrubbing shower (and crunching a few cranberry pills to pray the UTI away), the images of being fucked with a gun resurfaced in a colorful burst.

The crystalline blue frozen in ice of Steve’s irises, the soft pink of his lips inches away from yours, the black of the gun against your floral dress.

It made you sticky instead of sick.

You had some knowledge of the psychological aspects to rough sex fantasies, or bdsm preferences, even consensual non-consent role play; but they all were considered normal when consented and previously explored.

You did not give Steve your verbal consent. Yet you didn’t exactly fight him. Convincing yourself it was because he had a gun and could kill you with it fell poorly since your pussy clenched at the memory of the barrel against your skin.

What has your life become - cranberry pills and getting wet from being violated.

You were angry, yes, but not at what you should be. Your annoyance with Rogers was peaking, but the true resentment wasn’t only toward his actions. It was directed at yourself for not being outraged by what happened.

When the next day at work Natalie asked you about the meeting, you gave her the short version - a trap being set up and Rogers coming to save you. The part about coming all over his gun was left unspoken.

You told yourself it’s to spare yourself further humiliation, but a part of you simply feared you’d get turned on thinking about it again.

Really, that should be a topic to pick at a therapy session, but you couldn’t do that either. You had enough common sense to know going to a psychotherapist was out of the question, not with the man who was about to become your husband. You couldn’t tell all the truth in a session (to not risk a therapist’s life) and going there only to lie and omit had no sense.

So you decided to channel everything onto the job.

Focusing on work meant not allowing your thoughts to roam around Steve fucking Rogers, as well not giving your body reasons to stir with arousal.

You caught up on paperwork, made a few phone calls - including those less important, just to occupy yourself; you visited the new speech therapist in their office. Being busy enhanced the sense of lightness, which you preferred to read as having no space to overthink and stress, instead of wondering if getting debauched was the sole cause of your serenity.

However, the lull of denial burst the moment Natalie came into your office with lunch.

Lunch you didn’t order, and a couple trailing behind her with creepily bright smiles on their faces.

“Miss Leigh Parrish and Mister Elias Asher are here for you.” Natalie informed you, professional as always, though you noticed the barely constrained eye roll. “And they brought you lunch, apparently.”

“What?” You looked at the set of neat three boxes with delicious looking food then at Natalie and at the pair behind her.

The two walked in with confidence, as if they were about to take over your office. The woman, Leigh, had a pad in her hand and a huge binder under her other arm. The man held some small kind of measure tape and a little blue notebook.

If they were some new donors, or a company who wanted to start a program with your health center, they sure were the very first to start negotiations this way. Usually you were invited to lunch, not have it brought. People meeting you were also more reserved and polite, instead of barging in with some wacky energy.

“Lunch is from Mister Rogers, we’re just delivering since we were going to be here anyway,” said Leigh, her toothpaste-commercial grin not changing for a second.

Instantly your mood dropped, your eyebrows creasing into a hostile frown.

“And why are you here?” Your tone remained calm, but you made sure displeasure in it was audible.

Steve randomly buying you lunch was a worrying problem you stored to resolve later; though you had a feeling he wouldn’t care that these nice gestures annoyed you, as they clashed with the picture of a ruthless mobster you were adamant on hating forever.

The two cheery people coming in unannounced - at the direction of Steve, undoubtedly - became the aim of your irritation and distrust.

“To help you plan your wedding, of course.” They both beamed in unison and you almost groaned at how overtly sweet the woman’s tone has become.

“Mr Rogers mentioned you’re fighting nerves, which is absolutely understandable,” Leigh cooed and your fingers twitched, ready to reach for something to throw it at her. “Planning a wedding can be stressful, especially an impromptu one. But that’s why I’m here! I’m the best wedding planner in the city and I’ll make sure it surpasses all your dreams.”

Your reluctance toward the wedding wasn’t something you hid from Rogers. Quite the opposite, you announced it any chance you had; within limits of reason, to avoid being disposed of.

Him sending in an actual wedding planner was a move you did not expect. At all.

You’d sooner anticipate him dragging you in your pajamas in front of a forced registrar to get it over with.

Ah, but that would be too easy. Not enough torment for you. Not enough room for you to show how obedient of a wife you’d be.

We both know you will be a good girl for me, Princess, his voice resounded in your head, a decadent richness that softened your limbs for a split of a second before your resistance kicked in.

Having you organize the wedding, or at least actively participate in it, was a lesson - that you would follow his orders even if you hated them.

“The best wedding planner in the city has a free slot to organize a wedding in a month?” You arched a single eyebrow, studying the woman. “What skeletons are in your closet that my fiance managed to blackmail you?”

You didn’t doubt she was one of the best, but those had their schedules booked for three years in advance. To have her clear it for you meant there was more than just money at stake for Miss Leigh Parrish.

Her smile faltered for a second, but she regained her composure fast. She ignored your question, walking instead toward your desk and placing her huge binder on it.

“Since we have the venue covered, with Mr Rogers estate being more than enough to host the event,” she went on, “there are only details to talk over. Let’s start with the wedding rings, so that Elias can begin working on them right away.”

Her companion stepped forward. The tiny measuring tape in his hand now made sense, as it apparently was to measure the circumference of your finger to match a ring size.

“Let’s start-” you interrupted, pushing your chair back- “with you leaving my office.”

Interesting how you managed to maintain your poised self, professionally cool as you delivered the polite fuck you, while that composure quickly dissolved around Rogers.

You kinda stepped on eggshells around him at first (and still, sensing when the crossing line was too near), but then his demands lit your fuse. Somehow you dared to stomp your foot, be loud in your outbursts and acts of rebellion. And it wasn’t because Steve provided safe space, oh no. He was far from safe.

“What?” The man blinked, confused, while his friend blanched.

“We have to get it done. As soon as possible.” Still trying to sound sweet and soft, Leigh made the mistake of allowing a tremble to shake her voice.

“Then get it done, I don’t really care.” You shrugged.

It was the truth. You didn’t care for the ceremony at all.

You had a brief thought about hating it, if it was some overused boho or retro theme in a barn, but then again you would hate it anyway, since you didn’t want to marry Steve. Besides, it could be funny to see his face if someone told him to wear suspenders and a flat cap for aesthetics.

“You, um, you don’t want to participate in preparations for your own wedding?” Leigh frowned, utterly surprised. “Not even pick a dress?”

“I can wear a t-shirt and flip-flops for all I care.” You probably wouldn’t go that far, but you really didn’t care.

If Rogers didn’t order you to wear a wedding dress, you’d do it anyway just to please your parents who were going to be completely oblivious to the truth behind your speedy wedding. You preferred to keep it that way, playing someone so dumbly in love she was ready to marry a few weeks after meeting the guy. You didn’t want to worry your parents.

Natalie snorted at your words, for the very first time so openly showing amusement. She even grinned when you glared at her, then turned on her heel and walked outside.

“The, um, the wedding rings?” Elias cleared his throat.

“Barbed wire would be fitting,” you snorted under your breath, but he didn’t seem to hear it. You suspected he might’ve fainted if he did.

“Whatever Mister Rogers wishes,” you shrugged. “As a matter of fact, why don't you go and consult with him?”

To underline that you were done with this whole shit-show, you opened one of the lunchboxes and dug a fork into it. You didn’t lift up your eyes from the delicious food until you heard the door closing.

You ate your lunch while idly browsing the internet, just to get your thoughts off the wedding completely. It was approaching with each passing day and you preferred not to accept the fact.

Though you weren’t sure denial would work once there was an actual ring on your finger.

It seemed it wouldn’t work even before that, because not a half hour after you dismissed the wedding planner the door to your office opened with impetus.

Steve strode inside, a force of a thousand storms contained in a man’s body.

His heavy boots and the hem of his tight jeans seemed to be freshly stained with something wet and dark. The rest of him was perfectly clean, not a smudge of dirt on his hands. You tried not to think of blood splashing on his shoes and legs as a lifeless victim fell at Steve's feet.

You definitely tried to ignore a wave of heat that washed over you at the thought.

You forced your eyes to stay on the devil’s angelic face, drowning in the hues of blue, so that your gaze wouldn’t slide across Steve’s body in search of a gun holster.

“Princess.” Steve sighed, but there was an undertone of amusement in his voice.

He walked toward you with purposeful steps; his mass seemingly changing the gravity inside your office, so that all light fractured to disappear in his approaching darkness.

Or maybe it was your attention discarding anything in your peripheral to focus on him, as if he was the center of your world.

You abruptly stood up and shuffled back instinctively, bumping into a bureau. Steve caged you against it, blocking any route of escape with his arms on both sides of you. It was only then that you tilted your chin up, tapping into the remnants of your steel defiance.

“Why am I hearing that you’re scaring off the wedding team?” Steve tilted his head to the side and chuckled. “They’re here to take the planning burden off your shoulders, so that you can focus on your work. And your future role…”

You swore that if he said anything about wifely duties, you’d kick him.

“I told them they can plan whatever they want. As long as they do it far away from me,” your mocking sweet smile combined with your sneer.

Perhaps your tone provoked it, or maybe a challenging fire in your eyes, but Steve’s lips curved into a wolfish grin.

“Oh, Princess,” he cooed, brushing a thumb over your bottom lip, “look at your cute yip, yet there’s no real bite to it.”

It was very dangerous to do anything to antagonize Rogers, especially when he was this close and could snap your neck with his bare hands, but you acted before a reasonable thought settled in.

You opened your mouth and caught his thumb between your teeth, clenching your jaw enough to cause pain, but not drawing blood.

Steve’s eyes hardened, the blue of his irises darkening. Time froze for a split second; you could almost hear the ice cracking beneath your feet and the murky depths awaiting to swallow your dead body.

Suddenly your eyes widened, when instead of backhanding you, Steve pushed his thumb further between your lips.

Your teeth released their grip, his digit easing into your mouth and pressing against your tongue. Saliva pooled around it and you instinctively hollowed your cheeks.

Twisted satisfaction igniting in his eyes and the subtle thrust of his thumb along your tongue stirred you from stupor. Scorching shame filled you to the roots, though you hoped it didn’t show.

You pulled back, turning your face away from Steve as you swallowed remnants of his taste. He tilted your chin with his wet thumb, forcing you to look him in the eye again. What the fuck was with this man and maintaining eye contact?

“Let’s get it over with, shall we?” He smoothed a hand down your arm and wrapped his fingers around your wrists.

Next thing you knew Steve was calling for Elias Asher, as he stretched your arm out; thumb pressing into your palm to make your fingers stretch.

Elias stumbled inside and almost tripped over his own feet at the sight the two of you displayed - you pressed against the bureau with Rogers’ intimidating size looming over you, your hand offered on a silver platter.

“You mentioned you need measurements for the ring size,” Steve intoned conversationally, “do what you must.”

You glared daggers at Steve, which he accepted unbothered. The jeweler’s fingers didn’t shake as he wrapped a small measuring tape around your finger and wrote down the result in his notebook. However, all the while he was staring either at your finger or his notes, never up at either of you.

That way it was easier to pretend the scene before him wasn’t close to intimate, or that he didn’t suspect you were being forced into marriage.

“What type of metal?” His voice wavered slightly.

“White gold,” came Steve’s decided reply.

Something told you that while he was giving you free will to organize the wedding however you liked, Steve had already chosen how your permanent shackle looks like.

You peeked at his hand, gaze sliding across the rings adorning his thick fingers. You noticed there was none on the finger on which a wedding band is worn. He was going to make sure that your rings matched the set he was already wearing.

“Pure and fierce, like my fiancée.” Steve added, with a mocking tilt.

“And the cut?” Elias scribbled down, not lifting his eyes at either of you even once.

Steve’s eyes sparked mischievously. His right hand moved up your thigh, squeezing your thick flesh through the fabric of your skirt.

“Cushion?” Steve mused aloud.

Then his touch moved upwards, along your ribcage and ghosting over the swell of your breast.

“Round?” He cupped your tit indecently, causing you to gasp in outrage that he dared to do it in front of someone.

That he dared to do it at all!

“No. We know which suits you best, right?” Steve’s hand ventured north, brushing your collarbone before his fingers curled around the front of your neck.

“A princess cut.”

Ringed fingers wrapped around your throat loosely, but it was a firm enough gesture to boil your blood and weaken your knees.

You couldn’t blame it on the fear of being strangled, because not a single thought about it entered your mind when Steve did that. Neither when he did it the first time, in his kitchen, nor now.

What you thought about was the power he spread over you and how it melted your resolve into an obedient puddle. Against all reason.

Unable to look away from Steve, you didn’t notice the jeweler leaving your office in a hurry, undoubtedly ready to drink away what he tried not to witness. You didn’t even hear the door close, your ears were filled with the sound of your own heart pounding in a quickened rhythm as Steve’s hold on you continued.

Slowly (it seemed reluctant, too), Steve loosened his grip. He didn’t move it away, though, shifting it only slightly, so his hand splayed like a necklace above your sternum.

You took a shaky breath in, cogs in your brain starting to turn anew.

“Why can’t we just sign the papers without this wedding party fuss?” You asked quietly, gaze shifting from Steve’s hold on your hand to his face.

He brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles before he let go of it and took a step away from you. He swiped a hand over his mouth then gave you a blank, almost condescending look.

“Because I need everyone convinced I’m here after your cute ass, Princess. Blind with love or lust, or whatever people want to believe in,” he winked at you, as if you were supposed to agree with his cynical assessment.

You thought quite the opposite. That no one sane would believe Steve Fucking Rogers was interested in you.

“Who would even believe that?” You snorted, frowning.

It wasn’t about insecurities of any kind; you were mildly confident both in your looks and your worth. However, men like Rogers didn’t even circle around women of your kind.

Men of power; men who rode the thin line of morality, mostly treading through the dark side; they went for women who craved such things. Women who suited that lifestyle. Women rotten at the core, or greedy (whether for wealth, or for power and influence). Or at least for women who looked really fucking good on their arms, like models and escorts.

No one, none of Steve’s rivals surely, would believe that he was simply courting you. You beside him made zero sense.

Steve laughed. Actually laughed. A warm, sparkling burst of amusement that made his handsome face gain impossible boyish charm.

“That a man got addicted to a sweet pussy?” He looked down at you, still grinning. But that grin transformed into a sly curve.

“Everyone, Princess.” He leaned closer, again; voice nearly purring as his lips brushed your cheek. “I can assure you that even at this moment they’re thinking I’m balls deep inside you.”

You couldn’t help the shiver that rocked your body. Judging by the way Steve’s eyes dragged down and up your frame, he noticed your reaction.

“I’m kinda thinking about it, too.” He licked his lips, drawing your hungry attention to them.

But the ire at his crude words snapped you out of daze. Your fingers curled in a fist and you pounded it against Steve’s chest when he pressed his weight into you.

“In your dreams!” You hissed.

Your small fist made no real impact against Steve’s hard chest. It didn’t deter him and it seemed he didn’t even feel any pain from the hit.

His hands returned to your body, boldly gripping your hips and holding you in place as he licked along your jaw. He flicked your earlobe with his tongue - a lewd tease that should disgust you, but instead made your pussy tingle.

“I’m dreaming of our wedding night.” Steve whispered before pulling away with a low chuckle at your wheeze.

“There will be no wedding night!” You pounded two of your fists against his chest. Futilely.

Steve regarded you with a look one may give to a small kitten trying to appear intimidating toward a wolf fifty times its size.

“I’ll make you a deal, Princess,” he tucked both thumbs beneath the hem of your blouse, his touch nearly scorching against your skin.

“On our wedding night, if I touch your sweet pussy and it’s dry, I’ll let you pick a bedroom for your own. So you can live in solitude, unbothered by my presence.” He sounded sincere, like it was a business deal he was really willing to propose.

Then his hips were pressing against yours, bulge in his pants prominent as he rocked it into you. Steve’s eyes flashed a dark gleam; his sensual lips parting enough to reveal a row of sharp teeth ready to take a hefty bite.

“But if I find your cunt leaking, as I know it is now-” his deep growl resonated straight to your clit.

“I’ll take a pound of flesh. And I’ll be taking you over and over and over again, until you lose your voice from screaming my name.”

You clutched at his shirt where your hands rested on his chest. You wanted to be able to shove him away, to punch away the beam of smug victory off Steve’s face. Reasonably, you knew you couldn’t do that without serious repercussions happening.

You were also too busy with the inner battle, fighting some fucked up, primal need to have Steve do to you exactly what he threatened.

The bastard was unfortunately right, you were soaked. Something you’d never admit to him.

Even if he pushed his big hand up your skirt and dipped his fingers straight into your dripping cunt, you’d deny it to his face. You’d deny it to yourself. Forever.

Thankfully, Rogers didn’t push further. He seemed satisfied with his stupid bet and that you didn’t fight back (even if you kept your mouth closed in fear of releasing a whimper). Steve let go of you, only lifting one hand to cup your chin.

“Now be good, Princess,” he commanded. “I don’t have time to deal with hysterical wedding planners.”

You grimaced - eyebrows drawing in a frown, nose scrunching up. You weren’t interested in dealing with wedding planning either, but you were aware Steve considered the topic closed. If you reopened it, he might do more than just bend you into obedience in front of a stranger.

“Then why did you come here?” You asked instead.

“I came for my distressed fiancée,” Steve’s grin was cheeky as he used his grip on your chin to slightly shake your head.

He squeezed a tad tighter and when your lips puckered he pecked them.

“You’ll get a big girl kiss when you start acting like one,” he added at your indignant glare.

Then released you and simply turned around to leave. You cursed him and called him names in your head. You prayed that one day you’ll get reckless enough to throw something at him, consequences be damned. For now, you still liked to be alive.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #dark!steve rogers #dark mafia!steve rogers #dark mafia!steve rogers x reader #dark mafia!steve rogers x female reader #dark steve rogers #touch the darkness #my writing

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originalwitchedits · 10 months

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HADLEY HALE X SOPHIE-ANNE LECLERQ (TRUE BLOOD)

#true blood #true blood edit #truebloodedit #hadley x sophie anne #hadley hale #hadley hale edit #hadleyhaleedit #sophie anne leclerq #sophie anne leclerq edit #sophieanneleclerqedit #evan rachel wood #evan rachel wood edit #evanrachelwoodedit #lindsey haun #lindsey haun edit #lindseyhaunedit #moodboard

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theextendedzodiacas · 1 year

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The Extended Zodiac as Moodboards: Sagicen ♣️ True Leo ♣️ True Pisces

#sagicen #leo #true leo #pisces #true pisces #the extended zodiac #moodboard #derse #blood #life #heart #indigo signs #fuschia signs #olive signs #extended zodiac #homestuck #the extended zodiac as

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pursuitseternal · 4 months

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“Lapping:” post-battle lust runs hot for Astarion and Cordehlia in “Our Blood is Thicker”

Moodboard fanart by @marimosalad , my love

Link to the full nsfw art here

Astarion x Cordehlia (f!oc) | E | 4.3K of post-battle lust and licking

Summary: the fight was over, quick and hot, but not as hot as Cordehlia’s blood burns. A private room (mysteriously) secured at the Last Light Inn, the lovers take every advantage of the opportunity, but not without a little more conniving from their mysterious guest.

CW: Oral sex, hints of submission, devilish deals, bad puns from Gale, Very Intimate Missionary™️, with that hint of angst that runs through their lust

Previous chapter | Ao3 link | Fic masterlist

Chapter 9: Lapping…

🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️

The Last Light Inn, there was no name more fitting for this place. Surrounded by shadows and curses, not to mention it seemed to be barely holding on by a thread. “More like On-Its-Last-Legs Inn…” Gale had joked under his breath as everyone wandered back down the stairs. Everyone one heaved, blood running hot after the latest ambush.

And the vampire was not tickled by the humor.

Astarion spun around, unamused and taunting as he smirked back at the wizard. “Really?” he jibed. “That’s your wizardly wit contribution after all that just happened?”

Gale shrugged. “A little humor, even spattered in blood, isn’t distasteful.”

“You play with words about as well as you cook,” the vampire grimaced, grabbing his arm around Cordehlia’s armored waist. “Not that I mind a little post-battle, covered-in-blood type of celebration.” He threw a little sidelong glance at their intrepid leader in his hold.

She smiled into his face, the briefest of loving grins, before looking over her shoulder at the rest. “Camp will be well deserved, to be sure. Perhaps the Inn has some remaining supplies.”

“Some ale?” Wyll chimed in, hopeful. “I doubt anything as good as Baldurian, but I’d settle for anything that doesn’t taste like piss at this point.”

Cordehli burst into giggles, that steadying hold around her body cooling the bloodlust that had threatened to surge inside her moments ago. “Such language from the Blade of Frontiers,” she taunted in between her laughter. “I’ll see what I can scrounge up for my merry band.”

The Inn was a sea of organized chaos, Jaheira’s exacting voice pierced through the clatter of weapons and the boisterous conversations. Enemies defeated, Harpers already cleaning the blood and disposing of the bodies, it seemed that the shock of the attack of one of their own set everyone on edge. Making each one seek a little respite to celebrate the victory. Their safety from the curse and the preservation of their mission to end Ketheric Thorm, his poison, and the threat of the Absolute.

The scent of roasted meat and alcohol began to fill the Inn, fortunately covering the stink of blood.

And as the party began to sidle up to the bar, their eyes coveting the tankards of drink and sparse platters of food. Jaheira slinked over, waving the group forward with a sweep of her arm. “For saving our very existence, you all have more than earned it.”

Cordehlia smiled, nodding her head in gratitude, her body still and steady where she remained in Astarion’s slight embrace.

“You, Not-So-True-Soul, you have an extra reward. That messenger you sent ahead, he has secured you the room you requested. Your meal awaits you,” her sharp eyes scanned the masculine arms still around her waist. “I was told to send enough for two…”

Her rogue’s hand brushed possessively over the curve of her hip, making the metal of her armor clatter slightly.

“The rest of your party is welcome to the grounds in the arc of our light, once they finish celebrating to themselves, I’m sure.”

Cordehlia cleared her throat. “While the accommodations are most welcome, I sent no such messenger,” she replied, that commanding tone still in her voice.

“Tall, tan,” Jaheira grinned, “most persuasive. He left just before the battle broke out. If he wasn’t from you…” her face tweaked suspiciously, “perhaps you have a clandestine advocate.”

“Tall, tan, persuasive? Certainly no demon in disguise,” Astarion grinned that slanted smirk at his own humor. And if it weren’t for the plate metal on her arm or covering his belly, she would have rammed him with her elbow for the joke.

More like a devil in disguise. What was Raphael’s game…. But Cordehlia’s wondering ceased as Jaheira gestured sharply towards the hall.

“Up two flights of stairs, you’ll find the room I’m sure,” she gave a little leer as she began to turn away. “Nothing has a nose quite like two lovers looking for a quiet place for an evening.”

Cordehlia’s heart leapt right into her throat. It was… almost too much. Too much insinuations too much to have to wait. Her blood pounded, her body on fire from fighting, even if the fight was small and over quickly. Of course, Astarion’s touch on her body, even through the leather and metal of her armor, it was enough to both ground her and stir her. They made their way up the stairs, almost ceremoniously at first, with sure and steady footsteps, even as his fingers, always so dexterous, slipped their way into the top of her armor at her waist. He found purchase above her belt, the soft, thin layer of leather beneath like a second skin, barely hiding the fervent way he dug into her skin. They way the tips of his fingers fought their own battle, pressing towards that bone of her hip, reaching further and further towards the pool of her desire.

He caught her eye at the top of the first landing, his eyes wide, dilated dark as he began to pull her faster. She couldn’t look away, barely noticing where the stains of their battle still remained across the floorboards they crossed. The second set of stairs, he practically yanked her up their creaking wooden boards.

Even as lithe as she was, Cordehlia couldn’t match his vampiric agility, stumbling into him somewhere in the middle. And Astarion took every advantage. He pulled her into his arms, his mouth already wet, salivating with his never-ending hunger. And not just for her blood. Armor and all, he lifted her in his arms, her mouth trapped by the working of his lips and the nipping bite of his fangs. Dragging her up the remaining few stairs, he gave that gut-dropping giggle, pushing her against the closest wall. Their armor clashed and cracked as he pressed against her. Everything was hard and sharp… the metal on their bodies and the fangs on her lips.

And Cordehlia gave a matching laugh of exhilaration, catching his lower lip in her own teeth and biting down. His blood coated her tongue, rich and tingling and coppery. The groan from his throat only fed into her own insatiable need, the driving beat of her lust. Her arm reached, hand fumbling for the doorknob beside her. Astarion smiled into the grip of her kiss. “So eager… how delicious,” he purred into the hot damp of her mouth.

His hand strayed from her hips to open the door, the warm light of the room embracing them as they stumbled inside. The scent of food, the fire in the grate. They didn’t even break to find the bed, Cordehlia merely backing until her legs butted against the edge of a mattress. Ever dexterous, he already had half her buckles and braces unlatched, the metal of her armor falling with thuds and clangs at their feet.

She hurried to do the same. Breath heavy, air whistling in their blood-coated mouths. Finally, their bodies shed the metal, the last little plate clattering from Astarion’s thigh, Cordehlia’s own nimble hands loosening the last buckles as she knelt at his feet. The Pale Elf’s eyes were closed, his head back as her hands ran up the thin leather of his breeches beneath. Her mouth trailed kisses over its soft stretched fabric until she hovered right over where it bulged to near bursting.

But she laughed, settled back on her heels. Hands tracing back down the hard muscles in his legs.

Astarion hummed, taunting and teasing as he began to look down at her. “You, my darling, certainly know how to delay grati…”

His whole body went rigid, his fangs baring and mouth hissing in surprise. “What do you want, devil?” he growled toward the crackling fire, and Cordehlia scrambled to turn around. To face the unseen voyeur behind her.

Certainly, tucked into the shadows, reclined in a modest chair, Raphael sat, smirking in that fair form of his. “Oh, do not stop on my account, I beg you. It would be the greatest sin to prevent two such beautiful, powerful beings such as you from chasing after the most natural of pursuits…”

Choosing to ignore the insinuation, she spoke clearly. “I assume you are here to call in your bargain, Raphael,” Cordehlia rose to her feet, that heat of her desire cooling to iron. She needed no armor to stiffen her form or shield her in false confidence.

She could have been naked, and just as fearsome.

“Calling in a bargain is what drunkards at gambling tables do, little warrior,” Raphael pressed the tips of his fingers together, raising them to rest against his chin. Cunning and careful. “I take as much pride in crafting mutually beneficial deals as you must in finding yourself covered in blood and well…” the devil’s dark eyes skated to the rasping male beside her, “…other fluids, to be sure.”

Astarion’s body braced against her back, she didn’t even need to turn to feel his lips raise, threatened by the insinuation about what was his. “Careful,” he kept his voice ice-cold, “or you might find your own body short some of your own fluids.”

“Be equally careful, for my blood burns hotter than Wyvern Whiskey,” Raphael taunted back, “besides, how could I translate those inscrutable scars on your back if I’m dead?”

Astarion relented, reluctantly snapping his jaws shut, eyes still diligently scanning for any next move.

Cordehlia crossed her arms, intimidating and covering the way her nipples already strained for attention from the man beside her. “Say what you want, and speak quickly,” she hissed. Terrifying and burning. “I’m not sure how long I can tolerate you standing between me and my desires. Unless you wish to see my lust turn back to bloodlust once more. My vampire is not the only one who can drain you of your blood.”

Astarion shivered, and not from fear. “Now, now,” he hummed, still suspicious and defensive, wrapping his arms posessively around her stiffened form, “let’s hear what he has to offer you, my darling, hold your talons in for a moment, little raven…”

She arched back into his embrace, grinning like a fool at her new pet name… his raven… no longer the dreadful Corvus…

“Wise indeed,” Raphael smirked wider, his eyes scanning over every place their bodies met, “especially as I have the offer that might be exchanged for the knowledge of those curious scars you surely grip as he fucks you, my lady.” He grinned as he stood, a wriggle of his body to adjust his tight fitting clothes… and breeches… assuming a confident and relaxed posture. “You will soon encounter a creature most foul once you undoubtedly reach, and leave, Moonrise Towers. You will find him haunting the domains of Shar. Do not underestimate him, and dispatch him quickly.”

“That’s it?” Cordehlia gave a cold cackle. “Kill a monster? No army, no death-defying mission, no curse to call down upon generations?”

“You will not defy death if you aren’t careful. He is an Orthon, my greatest foe, covered in more blood than you,” his thin lips drew wide at that, at the way she twitched in reaction. “Kill him, and you will know all about that Infernal fragment on your lover’s smooth, ivory skin.”

He crossed the distance, catching Cordehlia’s hand from her crossed arms, drawing in a deep inhalation of her palm before placing a gentlemanly kiss on the top of her hand.

“Until your victory, my lady…” he bid, all cordially, even as his eyes drank in the sight of them. Until he vanished in a swirl of smoke and brimstone.

Vanished just at the right time, as Astarion already had pulled a small dagger from his boot, almost ready to send it flying through the wisps of lingering demonic smoke.

“My, my…” Cordehlia ran a finger over the little blade from over her shoulder. “Coming to my defense so quickly,” she purred as she traced her touch down the blunt flat face. “Not that I don’t love to see you as the jealous lover still.”

“I wouldn’t have killed him… not quite yet…” He let the blade drop, forsaking the cold steel for her warm flesh instead. Astarion’s touch launched over her front to creep under the fabric of her tunic. “As for my… jealousy… it's nice to hear somethings must never change. And you… So fearsome and defiant, my love,” he rasped in her ear, the tip of his tongue tickling over its curve. “We are so close now, I can taste it…”

“I think that’s just your hunger for where we left off,” she chided back with a single laugh. Turning in his arms, she let his hands shimmy her shirt free.

“Which was where, exactly?” he toyed with her. “I think I recall your mouth so close to somewhere largely important.”

“Hmm,” she pulled his own shirt from the band of his breeches. “Is that what you wish your little raven to do?”

Those crimson eyes scanned to the waiting bed beside them. “I think I wish to finally fuck you in a proper bed, and,” he whispered against her mouth, feeling the warmth of her breathe sighing into his cool lips, “for you to fuck me too…”

“You always know just what honey-sweet, romantic words to say…” she murmured in reply. Her fingers flew to pull the laces from his breeches, easing them just enough to slide her hand into the stretched leather to take him in her grip. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable first, my defiant, protective, possessive rogue…”

His face quirked, twisting with teeth, eyes bright with desire. “Not sure, I kind of enjoyed the sight of your kneeling at my feet, darling,” he taunted in that provocative, silken voice.

Cordehlia sniffed, amused. Aroused. Gripping tighter as she stroked his erection, she peeled off leather breeches to reveal more of that pale skin and etched muscles. Slowly, her touch danced over his legs, that fabric shuffled lower and lower, her body following suit until she caressed him, rubbing her hand up and down his length, wetting her lips as she smiled up at him. On her knees.

“Mmm,” he hummed, stepping from the pile of their clothes, laughing as he shifted even closer to where she knelt, his cock unable to hide the jolt that made it twitch as it brushed against her face. “A sight fit for a king,” he moaned, one hand reaching to claw his fingers into that mess of burnished red hair. “Though you would be no one’s vassal, my love.”

And that, that earned him a wide mouth smile, the running of a tongue along the entire length of his cock, a hand gripped tightly around its girth. “Even so,” she hummed, another dripping lick of his cock, “I would still aim to please you, Astarion…” She stood, hand still stroking him, letting the slick of her split spread under her touch. “Now, I think we have waited for that bed for long enough.”

He pulled her tight, trapping her in the iron hold of his arms. Settling her on the bed beside him, Astarion lounged back into the parse pile of pillows. He could have cared that the fabric was coarse, the smell a bit musty, the mattress a bit lumpy. But the moment she slid that smooth, warm flesh to cover him, all his biting critiques and criticisms vanished.

He could have been lounging in a palace, his body alive, cushioned on the plushest of beds for all he knew as her mouth trailed little sucks and nips of her teeth over every ridge and rise of his chest. His cock strained, waiting for that now centuries-old, familiar warmth of her lips and tongue to wrap tightly around it.

That hair, lustrous like light and red like fire, he needed to hold it, to weave his touch in it to feel every little jerk of her head as she sucked him and lapped him. Her voice hummed, little mewls with every kiss she traced down the v-shaped muscles of his hips.

Cordehlia glanced up, her silver eyes bright with lust, her lips licked over and over again as she gave him that heavy-lidded gaze. Then, that pink tongue teased just the weeping slit of his cock.

“Gods,” he groaned, head thrown back, face lit in extacy. As her tongue repeated the motion, harder and laughing, his body bucked beneath her. “My little raven, more tongue than talons… how divine…”

He could feel her smile against his thigh, her tongue swirling around the soft, supple skin of his balls, her hands pressed inside the rocklike muscles of his thighs, spreading him wider. He felt it then, just after she gave another taunting laugh.

The hard edge of her teeth dragging around his balls, just enough to make him gasp and squirm.

“Easy, darling,” he gripping into her hair, lifting her head to reveal her conceited, smirking grin.

“But I am going easy,” she pouted, wrapping her fingers around his cock to stroke it harder, faster. “Just remember that your darling has bite too…”

Her tongue returned to that hypnotic rhythm, up and down his shaft, catching his cock with every little unbidden twitch it made as she pleasured him.

It was… glorious. And it only grew better, Cordehlia raised up, crawling towards him. Hands grasped on the headboard, her folds drenching his cock as she settled on it. Rock hard, it pressed into his own belly, warmed by the heat of her arousal and the molten slick that seeped from her cunt.

Astarion hummed his approval, eyeing the way her fiery hair cascaded loose from her braids. “You may have been the one on your knees, my sweetest, but you deserve all the worship you can tolerate. My love,” he purred, hands holding her hips, bracing there to caress the clenching of her muscles as she dragged her folds over his length. He groaned as she bucked faster, careful not to let that shaft pierce into her, not yet. “A man could get lost in his need for you, my darling Cordehlia…”

“Not just lost in your need to drink from my neck and fuck me between my thighs?” she hummed, tossing her hair, finally reaching a hand between their drenched bodies to guide him inside

“Never,” he groaned, satisfied in the wet warmth he craved. Hungering for it equal to her potent, addictive living blood. “You’re more than a lover to warm my bed and a neck on which to feed…”

His words barely left his mouth before her lips silenced them, sucking them from his tongue with her own ardor.

“With you, I feel… alive again. I feel… real,” he panted into her kiss, her own hunger nearly suffocating, painful if he didn’t truly need the oxygen to survive.

“You are real,” she hissed her reply. Her hand tearing his fingers from her hip, pressing them into that dripping crest of her folds. Their fingertips catching her clit, brushing where they joined. “This is real.” She writhed as he circled that spot, her voice thick like honey even as she grinded and rode his cock. The friction so instense, so fast and heated, for an instant she forgot just how cold his flesh was. How undead.

That strong digit, dexterous and skilled, pleasured her perfectly with each rise and fall of her body. Orgasm clawed through her, waves of warmth tore her apart as she bucked at random, her arms giving out until she collapsed on his chest. The chill of his skin making her breath catch loudly. Astarion’s giggle was soft in her ear, his body coiling its remaining strength, rolling her quickly and carefully onto her back.

And she was grateful for the caress of a bed once more as well. The way it cradled her, sucked her in as he bore all his weight on top of her frame. She clung to him, arms around his shoulders, thighs wrapping about that narrow waist of his, etched definitions of his muscles hard against her supple curves. Trapping her, caging her, imprisoned by the wiry strength of his arms, pinned by the crushing weight of his hips and the merciless press of his thighs.

Spreading her wider, cock at the ready to spear into that awaiting molten slick. “I want to watch you come undone, my love,” he growled, braced on his arms, letting all his weight rest on that dripping curve of her mound. One hand slinked its way down her belly, the haphazard rises and falls of her breath as she shuddered from her need making him salivate. A growl, his fangs grit and bared, he guided his cock over her seam, her juices coating him in that warmth he needed like he once needed air to live. Her body squirmed as he toyed it over her clit, so hard it almost pressed back against his erection. She mewled with need, silver eyes wide and glued to watch the magic he conjured with his cock.

“Fuck, Astarion,” she panted, straining against his weight to try and catch his cock inside. “I need you,” she groaned, much to his wicked delight. “Cease this flirtation and do it. Don’t you know how badly I’ve burned for you all day…”

“I know,” he growled, finally sliding inside her trembling walls, “I just like to hear it, my love.” He began his familiar gait of thrust, slowly at first, to make her shiver and buck and writhe for more. And all the while, those crimson eyes drank in her every reaction, every bite of her lower lip, every time she forced her fluttering eyes to return his stare. “Always headlong, aren’t you, my darling? Like an unbroken filly, galloping at breakneck for what you want, damn the consequences…” he began that inevitable climb, fucking faster, each intoxicating swivel of his hips making her gasp. “Strong willed and fearless.”

“Cease this comparing me to a horse,” she hissed, raising her head, hands gripping into the bulging of his biceps.

“Why? You’re an even more pleasing mount, darling,” he giggled, her silver eyes rolling at the humor and the pleasure he stoked inside her. “Perhaps that is an idea for our next round, darling. I’m too enraptured watching your face turn beet red with pleasure to bend you over and take you from behind…”

She shuddered, her body shaking visibly, eyes rolling back at the image he summoned. “Please, yes…”

“Enjoy for now,” he emphasized each word with a dive of his cock completely within, silkenly gliding through that hot slick. “I know… I am…”

“Gods,” she groaned, head flailing from side to side, breath after breath as she wriggled beneath him. Driven closer and higher and hotter as she began to clench around his cock. Ecstasy began dawning on her face, those lines forming as her mouth gaped open and panted, her eyes forcing themselves to remain half-open, just to watch him drinking in this sight beneath him in. Her shoulders rose and slammed against the mattress, her hands clawed hard to his arms as she shattered. Pure bliss. Obsession. Trembling satisfaction as she screamed over and over again with each wave of climax.

Her thighs bucked hard against him, and suddenly his own climax pulled him under. Surprising him. He hitched with stilted thrusts, arms shaking in her grip as he came. Grunt after deep-throated grunt, he pulsed harder than ever before, consumed by the sight of her, of her pleasure and submission, the way her lips turned coyly as she was equally memorized by the sight of his bliss. But he didn’t allow himself down. Not just yet. Lowering his head, he pressed his lips, dry from all his panting, against her wet and eager mouth.

Slow. Languorous. She kissed him back, savoring the taste of his tongue, the play of his lips. He gave a few more thrusts, the mix of their cum just drenching their bodies and the bed. He would feel sorry for the Harpers who would have to change these sheets if he cared for anything as much as he cared for her.

But no, there was nothing else in all these realms but the red-haired warrior who clung to him as if he would save her life, a rock in the stream that almost drowned her.

For that was just what he was to her. He knew.

At last, he lowered into the bed, their kiss unbreaking even as he laid in the coarse sheets. “So, about Raphael and his bargain…” Astarion murmured between the wet plucking of their kisses.

“Tomorrow, to Moonrise Towers and the devil’s old enemy to slay beyond,” Cordehlia whispered back, raising herself to rest her head in the valley of his chest, splayed on the cold and hard planes she knew so well. Her hair cascading like a tumble of fire over the chilled, pale skin of his torso.

Astarion pouted a bit, his long fingers straying through those mussy locks of hers. “No bathing in the blood of our foes? No dancing on Raphael’s enemy’s grave? I was hoping for something a little more bloodthirsty sounding… a little more romantic when it comes to finally getting these scars deciphered….” He kissed the top of her forehead, his breath drawing in the scent of her sweat and her hair.

“Mmmm,” she hummed, reckless desire blooming on her cheeks. “A little more effort from your tongue, and you might just hear all sorts of things from mine, my love…”

His chuckle resounded beneath the ear that pressed into his ribs. For that moment, she stilled. Listening.

The sound of his laugh… the rush of air in his lungs as he kept inhaling her scent… a little growl of his stomach from his unending hunger…

But as her own skin cooled, her heat drawn from her body by his cold flesh… she grieved one sound that no longer met her ear. His beating heart.

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curiositydooropened · 26 days

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Ranged • 00: Prologue

After Hell brought Horror to the Heartland, America’s dirt roads and open woods began to fall to rot and ruin. To prevent further inter dimensional slips, the government dispatched several workers, such as yourselves, to travel the country saving small communities.

Pairing: special agent!Steve Harrington x special agent!Reader

Wordcount: 922 - This fic is episodic.

Warnings: very slowburn, coworkers to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, canon-typical gore, weapons, fighting, murder, viruses, decay, monsters *This chapter contains mentions of animal harm, blood, and vomit/nausea.

This blog is 18+ only. I do not give permission for any of my fics to be duplicated, reposted, or put into AI. Thank you!

Navigation • Masterlist

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Moodboard • Episode 01: Firetower

Blood shone in thick, dark splatters across a freckled cheekbone. It stuck his hair to his ear and his collar to his throat. It stained a shoulder. You watched it glimmer under street lamps, watched the clench of his knuckles around the steering wheel, watched the bob of his Adam’s apple as he avoided your gaze.

There was no point saying it anymore, the words exhausted their meaning a year ago, but it was true nonetheless. You can’t save everyone. You both knew it. It didn’t hurt less.

You mopped at the blood splatter on your own cheeks with a spare t-shirt to flirt a discount out of the motel attendant. He slid you a key on a novelty ring while Steve parked on the far side of the lot.

You’d set the phone on its receiver by the time he exited the shower. You rinsed bloody clothes in the sink and brushed your teeth and slipped into an oversized t-shirt. You couldn’t remember who it belonged to. Maybe you’d picked it up at a thrift store along the way.

“Owens?” He asked, voice gruff, eyes red. A claw mark dug into the flesh of his cheek, to the bone.

You reached into your duffle for the first aid kit to procure ointment and a butterfly bandage. “Sit.”

He sighed, but did as instructed, towel falling to his shoulder. He winced as you patted ointment into his wound. “Did he say where to go next?”

You nodded, pressing his flesh together until it wrinkled near his eye. “Small town in Western Montana. Locals think it’s the water supply. Park ranger called it in.”

“How far?”

“Eight hours.” You zipped the kit closed and wedged it back into your bag.

“Okay,” he muttered, tossing his towel into a corner near the sink. He stretched sore muscles with a groan, and you watched the bruise on his ribs bloom in greens and browns. The swelling was down significantly from two days earlier. “We’ll leave first thing.”

He meant first light. You glanced out a fogged window at the glow of street lamps. The vacancy sign buzzed bright red. The sky remained dark just beyond.

“Okay.” You sighed and toed under linens that had yellowed years ago.

Steve triple checked the lock and toted his bat from the nook near the front door to his bedside. Then, he pulled his lighter from his pants pocket and shook it to his ear. By the look on his face, it needed a refill. He placed it to the bedside table between you, just beside the Bible.

“Are you okay?” He’d asked it four times already, a compulsion you’d learned to ignore.

“Yes.” You knew better than to reciprocate, knew he wouldn’t answer you anyway. You had minimal sleep hours left. It wasn’t worth the fight. You can’t save everyone.

“I’m going to turn the light out.” He warned, sliding himself into his own double bed. A large hand reached beneath an orange lampshade and the room went dark.

The darkness was spotted orange and blue, and you fought back the images of Steve’s fists meeting and elderly man’s face. You fought back the screams that rang in your ears, the copper taste on your tongue, and that pang that lay permanent in your nostrils.

Steve shifted in his bed, springs groaning beneath his weight, and you honed in on him instead. Every night, you fell asleep to the steady in and out of his breath, the comfort of him an arm’s length away.

—

The ranger’s uniform matched the coffee and cream in your styrofoam cup. The confusion knit between his brows matched those of dozens of local law enforcement across this country over the last year. You flashed you badges and asked him to take a seat, and hours later you were holding your hand over your nose to mask the smell of decay.

The corners of Steve’s mouth pulled upwards in a grim apology, sipping his own coffee.

A room full of National Guardsmen looked aghast. There was no guarantee a burn of that size could stay contained. Half of the state could be up in flames by the end of the week.

“Better than the alternative.” You promised.

The Spread started on a cattle ranch north of town, the herd dwindling as calves and heifers slipped into cracks and broke legs and necks. A large crevasse rotted through a patch in the back forty, splitting the land down the middle from government land near to the rancher’s estate.

On the back side, it seeped into the river. Trees were downed and turned to mush and rot. Where once sat a hunting perch, now folded into a vat in the ground.

The Ranger had taken you up by four-wheeler, an excursion neither of you had been prepared for in slacks and blazers. You supposed those were hazards of the job though, wading through the remnants of a hillside in nylon stockings.

Steve rolled the cuffs of his sleeves up past his elbows to dive into the meat of a fallen tree. It came back green and gooey, but nothing had nest inside. Not yet, at least.

“You called just in time,” he wiped his hand on his pant leg and you dry heaved a little.

“So this… virus,” the Ranger gestured to the pocket of melted flesh, root to branch, “it can infect humans too?”

“If it festers too long,” you nodded.

“And what might that look like?” He asked like he already knew the answer.

---

[A/N: Here she is. These two have been my new best friends lately, the one thing I've written that actually stuck because it felt good. Let's hope it stays that way so I can keep riding this train. I don't know how often I'll update this, but it'll be on-going. I'd love to write blurbs, and I have a few episode locations/monsters in mind.

I'd really appreciate it if you reblogged and/or left me a comment. Or if you're more inclined, head to my Ao3 and leave me a comment there. It'd really mean the whole world. xoxoxo]

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #stranger things fic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington hurt/comfort #steve harrington slowburn #amanda's wips #wip fic #ranged fic

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anika-ann · 6 months

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Back and Forth - prologue

Prologue: Flash Forward

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 800

Series summary: Calling yourself an Avenger would be overstatement, even if you have been joining them on missions quite frequently lately. Calling them your friends would be an overstatement also. Calling you and Steve Rogers friends, now that would be an insult to the entity of friendship – though unlike him, you have enough self-awareness to admit that he isn't the only one to blame for that. Most of the time anyway.

However, the Avengers need your abilities and so you and Steve tolerate each other... and then you’re thrown into a situation where mere tolerance isn’t an option. That should end well, shouldn’t it?

Series masterlist

Warnings: canon-typical violence, allusions to death, pain, blood, hurt/comfort-ish, language

A/N: prologue to a new series with enemies-to-lovers-ish vibes and inhuman reader; dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕; moodboard is for the vibes and does not necessarily reflect reader's appearance

The exhaustion was coming and going in waves, alternating with pain, concern and fruitless determination.

You wondered if Steve felt the same; you assumed he did. Asking would feel a little silly though; you didn’t see the point and frankly, you and Steve had never been close enough to just sit down on a couch and share your feelings, keeping them close to the vest except for the heat of your occasional arguments. So you stayed quiet, alone in your wondering.

The pulse of pain in your legs dulled a while ago; you let your head lull back against the wall you were leaned against, the thud sounding just as dull.

The irony wasn’t lost on you; you and Steve had been colleagues, reluctant friends as best, guarded and unsure about the other most times despite him being one of the most honest people you had ever encountered. It was true that you stood by his side and he did by yours, but there had always been an invisible wall between you. By the irony of fate, now, when an actual wall separated you, you could feel the figurative one crumble down.

It was surreal and frankly scary; which was just as ironic, given your circumstance that should feel much more terrifying. And yet… you couldn’t help the little warmth spreading in your chest, knowing your back was aligned to the same wall Steve’s was, mere inches apart, and while admitting certain things to him hadn’t been pleasant, in hindsight, it felt good. No matter the outcome, you had no doubt that if you survived, you’d remember these moments fondly, at least to some point.

And yes, it probably made you a masochist; but what else was new.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the files?” Steve’s low voice snapped you out of your musing, making your heart jump a bit in fright.

It shouldn’t have surprised you he asked one of many questions you didn’t want to answer. It was another of his annoying and endearing talents – and you rarely gave him the satisfaction of replying fully, just for that. But what the hell, right? Maybe you were about to die here. And you had just thought about how telling the truth, while embarrassing, felt liberating too.

“Would you have listened?” you questioned him back anyhow.

“Yes.”

“Liar.”

You heard him shift, the clank of metal and a low hiss escaping his lips making you gulp. You weren’t the only one battling pain.

“I would have heard you out. I admit I was angry at that time and I wasn’t… behaving as I should have and I’m sorry. But I would have heard you out.”

A brief barely-there smile curled your lips as he apologized again. Steve Rogers, ladies and gentlemen, unable to bear the fact he himself had been less than a gentleman. You might have been far from a friend and even farer from being able to tell you knew him and understood him despite having screamed at him the opposite, but you understood enough. Even if you sometimes wished you didn’t.

“But would you have listened?”

He didn’t reply.

You both knew the answer: no. He wouldn’t have, because he was the damn Captain America and he believed he knew the best, blindly following his inner compass pointing the true North even should all hell break loose, and those files weren’t a real concern anyway, were they?

Damn him.

And yet. As you challenged him further, you couldn’t stop the warm feeling in your chest humming louder, because yes, that was who he was, and you liked him that way, even if he was driving you mad at the same time.

“Or would have you just waved it off, because you are invincible?”

Silence stretched again.

You closed your eyes and tried to focus on hearing his breathing through the wall, still startled and relieved at how easy it was to do so. It was a good distraction from the pain still radiating from your wounds; and it kept your hope alive.

Dum spiro spero, right?

Despite the situation – or maybe out of spite, given both yours and Steve’s nature – you were still breathing and so was Steve. As infuriating as he was, you knew your heart would break to pieces if he stopped. Unable to walk or not, you’d find a way to break through the wall in mere seconds if he stopped talking to you.

Which he did just now.

Something in your ribcage contracted painfully, your voice shaky when you spoke his name, praying he was only offended at you calling him out. After all, being shot really fucking hurt, so you’d rather not move at all, let alone try to crash through concrete; that was the sole reason for your prayers. Liar, whispered a breathless voice, but you ignored it, your heart hammering against your sternum.

“…Steve?”

Next chapter

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

Well, well, well... I'm leaving - to a certain point - the realm of fluff to dip my toes in action and angst. Should end well too, right? Anyway. I hope you enjoyed this little tease😇

I admit this fic really is just a baby for now, even as the outline is done, but I simply had to share - too excited not to... oops?

I'm fairly confident this should be around 7 parts including prologue and epilogue, but I'm also me, so the number might slightly rise.

Thank you for reading 💕

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #steve rogers #captain america #agent reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #captain america x reader #shield agent reader #avenger reader #back and forth #anika ann #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #captain america fanfiction #captain america fanfic

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